First Kiss

Palmer House Hilton Chicago MainMy heels click smartly on the highly polished floor as I wander the lobby while waiting for you to check us in.

"You really are nervous," a touch of amazement tinges your voice as you take my hand in the elevator and find it’s shaking. No one else is in the elevator, but you don’t kiss me.

"I always tell people that nervousness is a sign you care. That if you didn’t give a rip, you’d never be nervous…" Even my voice is shaking and the words tumble out–too fast.

"Shhhh." You put a finger on my lips. "Enough talking, Princess. Let’s–"

Your words are cut off by the chime of the elevator. As we exit, I feel your hand on my waist as you lead me down the hall to the room.

The bellman will be up with the luggage soon, so I sit on the sofa that faces the TV. Curiosity wins out and I ask, "You started to say something?"

"Oh. Yes. Let’s just go right to the art museum. We have several hours before dinner."

I nod and then the luggage comes and you’re occupied and I rummage in my purse for more lipstick, realizing even as I apply it that it was never intended as a force field and maybe we shouldn’t have come and maybe you’ll think I’m too fat and I sure said some ridiculous things in the car like I tend to do and you’re going to be sorry you brought me here and then there’s dinner and after that we’ll come back here and you’ll want to "unwrap me like a wonderful gift" which sounded so romantic it almost made me cry and gave me butterflies for the entire trip but I think they’ve all flown away because

"Earth to Ginevra…" You snap your fingers in front of me and I startle. "Those heels are very, very sexy, but I think you’ll want flats for the museum." I start to get up, but you put your hands on my shoulders. "No. Stay here. What bag are they in? I’ll bring them."

You find the shoes, bring them, and move the coffee table. "This is the only pair we have in your size ma’am."

I laugh because you really do look like a shoe salesman kneeling there. But you don’t act like one since I’m pretty sure they’re not ever allowed to tickle the client’s ankles. When your hand moves up to my calf the butterflies wake up and it feels like they’ve invited some bumblebees. But then you’re standing and you offer your hand. I stand and you draw me over to the window.

The midday sun filters through the sheer drapes and the sounds of some street musicians drift up; barely audible through the closed windows.

I open my mouth to say something and you stop me. "Age before beauty. Ah! There’s a smile! No; let me finish. I know you’re nervous. It’s very alluring. No; wait. I’m not done. I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want. That’s just wrong. I’ll lead you, but I won’t force you. Ginevra, princess, hush. Listen to me. We can go very, very, very slow. Scratch that. We *will* go very, very slowly. Exquisitely slowly. If we end up doing nothing but kissing, all night long–that blush makes you even more desirable, you know–I’m fine with that. Whatever the Lady wants. You know that, and you have known that. Now, if I have to, just this once, I’ll go down on one knee and beg. I have been dreaming and fantasizing about your beautiful, kissable lips for weeks. May I, please, kiss you? Even just once?"

Because we’re standing about a foot apart, I shift my weight to step towards you. You stop me again, saying, "I want this to be perfect." I feel your fingers under my chin; tilting my head, and then your lips are on mine and it’s gentle and soft and almost holy. And you kiss me again, and then a third time.

I open my eyes and see your smile. Your eyes are laughing as you whisper, "Would the Lady like some more?"

And all I can say is, "Yes."

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Five Minute Friday: Comfort

Comfort: Not a One-Way Street.It’s not something I talk about regularly, but I believe in the devil.

I believe in temptation and that there is an enemy that attacks. One of his most effective techniques (especially when I’m depressed) is trying to make me believe that I’m all alone, and that no one cares. It’s patently a lie, and since Jesus said the devil was the father of lies, I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.

It’s times like those when I need comfort.

Maybe it’s just because I’m a woman and this is how I was raised, but I have no problem comforting others. On the other hand, I’m often reluctant to ask for and receive comfort. I don’t want to be a whiner, don’t want to appear too needy, don’t want to admit I’m not self-sufficient.

That’s crap.

Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. (2Corinthians 1:3-4, KJV)

Giving and receiving comfort are both part of the equation. If I say that I’m too big to receive comfort, then I’m also saying something about those whom I comfort. Something that’s not nice. It doesn’t work that way.

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What’s Five Minute Friday?

A blog-prompt project dreamt up by LisaJo Baker, which you can read about here. The basic idea is that you spend five minutes of writing, generally unedited (I correct typos, WAY too OCD not to do that), on a prompt that she provides just after midnight via a tweet, then spread the word, and link up. Interested? Join up. Enjoy a delightful assortment by clicking on the picture to the right.

Today’s Five Minute Friday selection is also here!

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Ultimately, Distracted

Sample entry for the Readers' GuideCan’t write with it. Can’t write without it.

Naturally, I’m talking about the Internet. (I could’ve been talking about computers in general, but I’d rather be specific.) It’s sad, really, that I think I can’t write without the internet, because obviously, I could. I’m just not sure that I can.

For millennia, authors have been penning the great works of literature, and even the great works of science, mathematics, medicine, art, and every other branch of knowledge, without access to the Internet. I’ve written plenty of things without benefit of Google, or any other search engine. I think back to scanning volumes of The Readers’ Guide to Periodical Literature that was the mainstay of every paper I wrote in high school and my early years of college. My arms ache in remembrance of hauling stacks of ponderous books to wooden library tables. I made enough 3×5 cards to fill the drawers of my school’s card catalogue many times over.

When it comes to sheer creativity, I don’t need the Internet. But when it comes to verifying information, it’s a must. I am all about verification, and citing my sources.

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X, Y, Z

Didn’t that used to be what we said to someone if his or her fly was open? Enquiring minds want to know.

That’s it, officially, for the 2013 Blogging from A to Z April Challenge. We now return you to your irregularly scheduled blogging shenanigans.

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A to Z April Challenge 2013I’m participating in the Blogging from A-to-Z April Challenge! Read about it here.

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