6PM. Pitch black but for the orange glow seeping out from streetlights and flashes from passing traffic. He trudges through the snow, miserable despite his best efforts.
The storefronts radiate warmth, light, and consumerism, but the displays serve only to emphasize how cold and miserable he is.
Fucking winter.
The temperature is warm but flakes of snow are landing on his face and a small amount has pooled between his scarf and the back of his neck, melting and poking his skin with its crystals. His left foot is sopping wet and has been aching with cold since he stepped in a concealed puddle. He had been enjoying a romantic walk through the snowy streets up to that point, enjoying the sight of the flakes cascading around him. Now he’s enduring a sodden, uncomfortable slog through the merciless winter night, cursing the cold and the snow.
Not that he’s dressed properly. Italian loafers? Not appropriate shoes. He let his vanity get the best of him, wanting to impress her with his sartorial elegance, and now he’s paying for it.
It’s tempting to cancel. If he isn’t going to be happy to see her when he reaches her door it will defeat the purpose of the trip in the first place. But he keeps going because of his faith in her: she’ll make it worthwhile. Five minutes alone with her and he’ll have forgotten this plod through the slush-coated streets.
He leaves the bright storefronts to turn down a side street. Much less traffic comes this way; the virgin snow is even and clean. He forces himself to take in the beauty rather than focusing on how much harder it is to slog through it. Stupid shoes will probably need to be thrown out. Worse yet, in a few hours he’ll have to put them back on. Much as he hates walking through the snow with a wet left foot, he’ll hate even more having to put that wet sock and shoe back on.
He thinks once more about texting her to cancel, but the building is just ahead and he can already feel her presence, her allure, drawing him on. He reaches the entrance and stomps off as much snow as he can before entering the buzz code. She answers promptly, gives him the room number, buzzes him up.
The elevator ride is short. Not enough time to brighten his mood.
She opens the door in a silk gown. It slides around her curves in the way only silk can, that only perfectly shaped bodies can induce. She smiles and pulls him through the door by his tie. Her smile turns to sympathetic laughter at the expression on his face. “Do you see what the weather has done to me?” his sardonic, weak smile asks. “Do you see the mess that you now have to contend with?”
She kneels down to slide his shoes from his feet, then turns him around to take his coat and scarf, which she hangs in the closet. She beckons with a slender finger to lead him to the bedroom. He follows the sway of her hips, wishing he could slide his hand under that silk.
She begins the business of lovingly removing his clothing, one item at a time. As each article is removed he feels a new measure of warmth returning to his numb extremities. Finally, when all is gone, she tugs the knot on her robe and lets it fall open to reveal herself to him. He reaches his arms under the fabric to enclose her in an embrace. Warmth turns to heat. Winter is forgotten.
The temperature is warm but flakes of snow are landing on his face and a small amount has pooled between his scarf and the back of his neck, melting and poking his skin with its crystals. His left foot is sopping wet and has been aching with cold since he stepped in a concealed puddle. He had been enjoying a romantic walk through the snowy streets up to that point, enjoying the sight of the flakes cascading around him. Now he’s enduring a sodden, uncomfortable slog through the merciless winter night, cursing the cold and the snow.
Not that he’s dressed properly. Italian loafers? Not appropriate shoes. He let his vanity get the best of him, wanting to impress her with his sartorial elegance, and now he’s paying for it.
It’s tempting to cancel. If he isn’t going to be happy to see her when he reaches her door it will defeat the purpose of the trip in the first place. But he keeps going because of his faith in her: she’ll make it worthwhile. Five minutes alone with her and he’ll have forgotten this plod through the slush-coated streets.
He leaves the bright storefronts to turn down a side street. Much less traffic comes this way; the virgin snow is even and clean. He forces himself to take in the beauty rather than focusing on how much harder it is to slog through it. Stupid shoes will probably need to be thrown out. Worse yet, in a few hours he’ll have to put them back on. Much as he hates walking through the snow with a wet left foot, he’ll hate even more having to put that wet sock and shoe back on.
He thinks once more about texting her to cancel, but the building is just ahead and he can already feel her presence, her allure, drawing him on. He reaches the entrance and stomps off as much snow as he can before entering the buzz code. She answers promptly, gives him the room number, buzzes him up.
The elevator ride is short. Not enough time to brighten his mood.
She opens the door in a silk gown. It slides around her curves in the way only silk can, that only perfectly shaped bodies can induce. She smiles and pulls him through the door by his tie. Her smile turns to sympathetic laughter at the expression on his face. “Do you see what the weather has done to me?” his sardonic, weak smile asks. “Do you see the mess that you now have to contend with?”
She kneels down to slide his shoes from his feet, then turns him around to take his coat and scarf, which she hangs in the closet. She beckons with a slender finger to lead him to the bedroom. He follows the sway of her hips, wishing he could slide his hand under that silk.
She begins the business of lovingly removing his clothing, one item at a time. As each article is removed he feels a new measure of warmth returning to his numb extremities. Finally, when all is gone, she tugs the knot on her robe and lets it fall open to reveal herself to him. He reaches his arms under the fabric to enclose her in an embrace. Warmth turns to heat. Winter is forgotten.
Even though I'm currently melting in this summer heat, your piece plunged me immediately into winter, into the chill and then just as quickly into the sensual heat of their bodies and embrace.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely beautiful piece, TIYB...
(PS I vote for more of this...)
Thanks Minx. :)
DeleteI don't know how well it fits in on a blog about porn, but I'm glad it was well received.