She’s My Womans

She’s My Womans

Opened the front door with the key and walked into the family room where light streaming through the French windows milked essences out of the Asiatic Lilly, its pistils glistening with drops of crystal-clear exudates laden with scent. It was dying, but magnificent in its death.

Stashing my black lap-top bag with zippers to nowhere on the kitchen counter, I took out my Nikon, and raided the fridge. Even after I tossed the dying flowers, long after I got new ones for her, your nose would still run across Asian Lilly’s fragrant nuances on a warm afternoon, like the scent of a woman you’d never forget. It wasn’t like sex on the beach, but almost as satisfactory, like sex in the afternoon. It was nearly four, the photographer’s golden hour.

I put the mail down on the kitchen counter and noticed another fragrance on the way to the bedroom. It was the leftover scent of my woman’s Valerian and Hops bath oil mixed with a hint of White Shoulders.  Maybe it was Wind Song or Island Gardenia or Jean Nate. She was way into her 50’s scent period.

Took me back to my childhood too. Whatever the scent was, it smelled like a 50’s woman. Made me feel mature, like I could handle one, and just look at the goods.

My womans is well put together too. Well put together and smart and fashionable.  She hates it when I use the word fashionable. Yet she’s the one made me wear Sperry top-siders. Like I have a yacht anchored somewhere.

But I love the womans. I call her my womans.

It’s a pet name thing, like Babygirl, babygirl with a small b, Pirate Girl, and Ironwood Girl. You must see a pattern. I love the ridiculous cosmic pattern.

Talk about crazy, she once called me Cado (we live in California) and Long Shlong Silver. (she has quite an imagination)

“Aye,” I replied, “That be me name. And you? You be me treasure.”

OMG OMG, it’s me again, the fella with unbridled enthusiasm.  I do believe I’m surging, power grid, Hoover Dam, radiating energy like Tesla.

When it comes to looks, the bedroom looks like a woman’s bedroom, and I like it that way. You can breath and feel the feminine ambiance in every nook and cranny.

I just pretend she’s Maid Marian and I’m Errol Flynn, and I’ve climbed up a castle wall on a vine to woo her in her chamber. I imagine that Basil Rathbone is listening to us knocking boots from the other side of the solid oak door but he’s too much of a weenie to bash his way in.

The whole thing is very exciting. It’s Romance in the finest sense, because our lives, lives that once started out as trails and tribulations for both of us, end up with a happy ending. And Barbara, I can’t wait to write it with you.

A Happy Ending!

©2017StevenHunley Robin Hood Kiss Scene

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