The Eighth Samurai

The Eighth Samurai

That night, another sunset out our front door. Calen and Brody are in the pool with nothing on but smiles. While Barb is putting her foot up on the couch, I take a picture of Nicole, standing on the veranda overlooking the beach. Her hair is back-lit by the sun and if you look closely, you can see snowy-white foam and breaking waves surrounding her shoulders.

I know it appears stupid but it seems like the waves are endless. Of course they are.

It’s more than peaceful here, and quiet as all get-out. But that’s been working against our love life. Last night Barb and I were getting in the mood for, if you’ll pardon the term, “making woopie”. But our good intentions were thwarted when Nicole fell asleep with the boys. They were on the other side of a common wall. They may have heard us knockin’ boots. Now it’s not that Barb and I are loud exactly, more like enthusiastic. At times even a wanna-be writer searches for words to properly describe something he’s quite fond of. We require an intimate connection, both physical and spiritual, and will accept nothing less. Its purity rivals gold. But now, as usual, I’m going overboard. I’m checking for my life jacket.

Barb and I are heading upstairs. I’m following her and she stops on the second step and turns. Now my face is boob-height and she’s more than my equal.

“Why don’t cha come up and see me?”

She’s not blond like Mae West but I love when she performs like this.

Now she reaches out and clutches me so hard to her bosom the lace on her BRAzzier leaves pretty marks on my cheek.

Wait a minute! What’s happening here? My romantic and cinematic imagination is taking over my noggin! This never happened. It’s a Fig Newton of the imagination! Look what it’s making me write! Better get back to the story, and make it sizzle. This episode is going to be so hot people in a thousand years will still think it’s X rated. Pre-code. Morally questionable, AND romantic at the same time?

Is it possible? Can I do it? I think I can. Hang on to your huevos and see.

Barb’s lying on the bed with her shoes off. Her I pad is open and a glow illuminates her face. That face, the most articulate face I’ve ever seen, has more drawing power than the latest episode of Star Wars. Her blouse, with its delicious blue and white hibiscus pattern, is off her right shoulder, like a Hawaiian Gypsy. Tell you what, and I ain’t kidding. Her shoulders are heaven-sculpted delicious curves, as smooth and creamy as the back of her neck. When I heard Japanese guys were into the backs of women’s necks I thought they were crazy. Crazy Japanese men anyway.

That was before I saw Barbara putting on a necklace. She asked me to clasp it and pulled up her hair. Now there are curves and there are curves. These particular snowy curves, accentuated by wisps of dark hair, oh, by all the saints and sinners, were exquisite. I got all Japanese while looking. Wanted to be presented to the Emperor and eat rice the rest of my life. Wanted to scale Mount Fiji using silk rope and a bamboo pole. Wanted to kiss Tishiro Mifune and become the 8th Samurai.

Our emotional fields are planted the same way, yet we’ve grown up differently. I’m a thick-headed-only-learn-things-after-you-been-bitten-on-the-butt-twice kind of guy; where she’s the long-distance-seer-in-the-future-who-always-has-a-plan-B-kinda girl. I fly by the seat of my pants and she flies first class. Our senses of humor are so similar we can play off each other forever. With Barb and Steve, the game is always worth the candle. The chemistry is recognizable. It’s a force of nature.

When two people are as close as we are, we find each other’s rhythm. We began an intimate conversation early in our relationship. We’re still having it. Part of this conversation is made up of words, pauses, and tonality. The rest is sweet body language. Being articulate and honest is paramount, and communicating on such an intimate level is a process of discovery as stimulating as any drug. We both crave emotional communion, and in the process, become each other’s sanctuary. Physical connection isn’t rewarding without close personal connections of spirit.

©StevenHunley2015 Knockin’ the Boots She Done Him Wrong Making Woopie Seven Samurai

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