A Photo (exercise)


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    A Photo (exercise)

    Is the following exercise a better version of the already posted homonymous story?

    Our first encounter was a random one. I was on the one side of the bar and she was on the other. I was enjoying the look of the waviness of her brunette hair, her long fingers holding the glass of champaigne, her high heels. She looked like a goddess, and it should be common knowledge that goddesses are lonely in this mundane world.

    I approached her discretely. It took her several seconds to notice my careful approach, the way I was trying not to distract the lovers' dancings in the bar.

    ''Aren't we all lonely?'' I asked. ''Yes'' was only she said taking a good and deep look first in my green bluish eyes, than on my free ring finger. It was obvious to me that she was a woman of few words. Maybe action was her thing?

    ''Do you like me?'' she suddenly opened her heart for me.

    ''Yes, I do.'' I could not smile; the speciality of the moment had acquired hotness.

    ''Let's dance.'' she invited me. I took her by the hand and led her to the lovers' podium.

    We were sliding to the musical sound. Her hands began to slide down my back. Then up again. Yes, this lady's polished fingernails were lifting andl owering my self-esteem, going up and down, causing my spine's skin erection.

    We were dancing. The minutes were passing by like days. As the orchestra was being wrapped by the silence of the night, we went on a lookout for a shelter. We found it in a hotel. We began to write the first page of our amorous diary.

    The heat of the night was adding to the sensation. There I was, entering through the gates of forgetfulness past. She was looking at me, inhaling the air around me. I could easily give more than two cents for her lushness. She was the beauty, the keeper of the temple of love, I had to give tithe that would be passionatelly remembered for aeons to come.

    Yes, she loved me that night. The night was fruitful. We were exchanging gifts of warmth and welcomed passion. We joyfully accepted each other for who we are.

    The floor I had been striding before climbing the mounts of her bed was covered with roses. The scent coming from the floor was filling and lifting her chest. It was lifting her breasts toward me. I was the lost captain of the ship stranded on the desert shores of roses.

    I had brought several rose petals with me to the bed. She moved her hand and they floated back to the flowermat.

    'She is powerful' ran through my head.

    '''Want some more?'' no sooner had my look escorted the rose petals to the mat than she grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed my back onto her breasts.
    She slaped me on my face ... Then another slap folowed ... She likes being playful. I left her alone in that game, I did not succumb to the pressure of her sensual enjoyments. Who knows, perhaps I was a stranger to her. Stranger than before. A stranger to her emotions. Perhaps all that she wanted was exhilarating emptying of herself, a joyful manner of her days, me to stay there.

    We ordered the drink of hotel gods, champaigne. Her satisfaction was absolute; I could sense it in the way she sipped from her glass. She found her emptied champaigne glass interesting, took it, and directed it to myheart, using it as a spyglass. I took my cell phone, and recorded it for all times to come.
    Last edited by w.riter; June 5th, 2017 at 01:21 PM.

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