Floriday 4

2005-06-10
1:12 p.m.

Hope is a waking dream.

~~Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)

A Ben and Anna Story. Contains adult content

All through the length of last evening the wind tore about the house, shuddering at the casements, howling around the corners, and rattling the very door frames – while the rain lashed at the roof, and sheets of salty spray cascaded over the beach. All around, the eaves of the house creaked with the violence of the wind. No sound emanated from behind Bobbi’s closed door, so that Anna might be the last soul alive, left here at the edge of the world.

Anna was exhausted and Bobbi more so from several late nights reminiscing. Bobbi retired almost immediately after an early supper, leaving Anna to settle into the big easy chair with a cup of tea and a good book.

As the last of the daylight began to fade, Anna crossed the room to peer out the window into the unknown, stretching before her like all the days she had yet to live. Beyond was beginning darkness and the depthless sea, waves lashing and turning against the beach. The air, the sky, the sea were all one, in a turbulent grayness; a mournful picture and rendered sadder still by the ceaseless crying of seabirds. Strange, that on a day of sunlight and wind, the calls of the gulls can lift the spirit; while on a day of lowering clouds, they seem the very souls of the departed, returned to haunt those who live where the earth ends, and the sea meets the limitless sky.

Once more, Ben had not returned her call. And the sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She had come to realize that she was possessed of too passionate a nature, however she may cloak it with common sense. It continually led her to care too readily, and too deeply, for men whose circumstances could never lead to happiness. A more reasonable woman would give her heart to the gallant Jason, who proclaimed assurances of love and affection daily. And yet her heart is unmoved by him; she finds him possessed of intelligence and integrity but not the something more – the lack of which she cannot quite define.

She inspected her face, reflected in the window glass. She had not the demeanor of a mistress. And what was that exactly? An open vulgarity, a blowsy aspect, a decided want of taste? No, she thought, we are hardly as the novels paint us.

“You look very well this evening.” Ben said at her shoulder.

Started, Anna turned, intending to cut him with a glance, but that glance, in revealing all the power of his manner and appearance, instantly overwhelmed her. How should it be, that our hearts leap at the sight of anything graceful, fast, and daring, and turn away from the stolid predictability of the tried and narrow way? Only Eve, clutching at her apple, might have the answer.

His arms went around her, holding her as close as possible. Her hands slid up, under his loosened shirt, moving with ardor over the surface of his muscled back. His head dipped to hers, and the kiss held. Many moments passed as their passion flared into molten life.

Ben kissed her again and again, moving to her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, and down to the sweet joining of her neck and shoulder, where he loved to press his face against her. He burrowed down into it, his speech muffled. “How is it possible that each time I see you I want you more!” His hands moved down to pull her hips against him, and he rubbed his surging erection against her with barely contained urgency.

Knowing she was lost, Anna smiled gently, took his hand and led him to her bed. She could not but cherish every moment with him, for each one was the most rare of pearls along the string that connected their lives.

He lay down beside her, then rolled until he was half on top of her. He kissed her deeply again, a long and passion filled kiss. “My dearest Anna, my darling Anna.” And everything was forgotten in their mutual need for each other.

He moved down, nuzzling her breasts, teasing the nipples. His mouth moved farther below her navel to kiss the mound of curls at the juncture of her legs, then placed himself between them, pressing them open gently. When his mouth came down on her she gasped and started. But in a moment she was moaning, as his mouth moved over the surface of her center with loving skill.

Anna whispered her urgency, writhing and turning her hips up to make closer contact with his moving mouth.“ Ah-h-h, yes my dearest, my heart…” Her moans and whispered words stirred him to greater excitement, and he began to move his mouth over her with more intensity. When his tongue touched on her clitoris she jumped and cried out as waves of pleasure threatened to overtake her.

“No, not yet. I want you in me, Ben, now!” He moved up quickly until his body was over hers, and as he kissed her deeply he felt with unbearable excitement her legs come up around his waist. Then with exquisite pleasure he entered her, slowly sliding his length deep into the place he had known so well, and for so long.

It was always a shock to Ben, that she should feel, and fit, the same as she had thirty some years ago. Perhaps, with a woman such as Anna, whose beauty and spirits always defied attempts to cage them, the flow of years could not be tallied. It may be that she had long since forgotten to consider the anniversaries of her birth, and sincerely believed that age had no power to repress her.

Through his excitement he felt her response, felt her hips come up to meet his, heard her panting breath. Miraculously, she was with him, sharing his rapturous excitement. With a great groaning sigh he relaxed into joy. As he moved within her he heard with delight her voice telling him wordlessly of her ecstatic pleasure, little sighs and moans adding to the blissful reality of being inside her again.

Ben knew they wouldn’t last very long, but she was with him, she was feeling what he was feeling. A rush of love and tenderness came over him, even in the midst of his vaulting excitement, as he saw the tears forming in Anna’s eyes. His heart wrenched in pain for her anguish, knowing he was the cause. Oh my love, my only love, if only I could….if only I could.

“Oh, my darling, I’m ready, I want you now.” Her tears were on his cheeks and her voice in his ear. Her hands came up to hold the sides of his face, as she whispered to him of her pleasure. “It’s too much, it’s coming, I can’t….oh love…”

They slept, serene and contented in the afterglow of their passion. Ben’s cheek rested on the top of her head where she lay pressed against him, her head on his shoulder, her leg raised and resting over his hips to bring her as close to him as possible. His arms were around her, holding her against him, comforting and protective.

Anna woke from the fitful dreaming not an hour past dawn, and found the daylight sky turned peaceful, with the tattered remnants of clouds fading blackly at the horizon. Looking about her, she realized her sleep had been marked by the ceaseless crying of the voices in the wind – her tossing and turning in the reading chair a parody of the frenzied trees beyond the window.

With Bobbi long gone to work, Anna took a solitary ramble along the shore. She found it cleansed by the tides. The stones at her feet were awash in the early light and cold spray; and she walked briskly, glad of the calls of seabirds and suffused with the remembered pleasure of the dream.

This is the season of paradoxes – part decaying spring, part incipient summer – a complexity much like her character. Not that she believed a deeper nature to be more worthy of study than the simple – but complexity is more compelling than transparency. Jason, for instance, could be likened to July – forthright, hot and easy. Ben, however, was neither summer nor its frigid counterpart, deepest January; he is a November of a month, or perhaps a March - that mix of sudden sunlight and chill wind that keeps one always alert for change.

So she mused, as she walked, wondering whether one should be better suited to a lifetime of July, than an eternity of November.

We all have big changes in our lives that are more or less a second chance.

~~Harrison Ford (1942 - )

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