Marrakech
The insistence of his gaze unsettled her, stirred something within her. The dark stranger in the almond-green polo shirt two aisles away on the crowded plane that transported her weary body towards healing sun and meditation in Morocco, his eyes filled with golden speckles. Yet this was not a singles’ vacation. Her husband was omnipresent beside her, reminding her to hold on to her wine glass in sudden turbulence (it would be quite unfortunate if her alcoholism stained his impeccably cut and pressed pants…) She obstinately read her book, the words slipping before her eyes and sliding away without ever being able to take hold in her mind. She tried as she always did to ignore l’échappatoire, the emergency exit that the handsome stranger seemed to be offering her in his eyes. In silent musing, she toyed with the idea that, far more than her mind, it was the eyes that carried her sexual energy. Not in what she saw through her own but in the way a man looked at her.
At the luggage carousel in Marrakech, she idly contemplated the odds of her bags ever coming out of the little trap, down the slide towards her. She imagined hundreds of toddlers wearing Persol sunglasses, safely secured in car seats bouncing along waiting to be claimed. She laughed to herself at the idea of a misplaced charter voyage of miniature goats coming down the slide, each one with long bangs and short little horns. A larger, matronly goat wearing comfortable shoes would lead them along, easily recognizable because of her big orange parasol, her head like the fist of an angry child and her school teacher tone of voice.
He was on the other side of the luggage carousel, directly in front of her. His heavy gaze on her felt like a confident hand thrust up under her skirt and forced into her panties. The idea of his hand touching her there procured in her the sweetest sensation. She wanted to be alone, to think of his beautiful lips grazing her entrejambe, lightly at first like a swimmer testing the water before diving in. She wanted to offer herself the luxury of imagining his hardness penetrating her gingerly at first, a gesture of infinite kindness. She knew that she would not be able to stop herself from groping his ass. There would be such urgency as she pulled him farther into the core of her. Right there in the airport she suddenly felt acutely aware of her own empty spaces. Her body seemed to clench involuntarily…she felt as if she was somehow testing her own emptiness, her need to be filled.
“That’s your suitcase, non?” her husband’s familiar voice pulled her back to where she had come from.
Wow!! What a steamy post to wake to! You have me fantasizing about airplane rides in my near future.
Good Morning Sunshine!
Oh! A steamy love affair in the airport. Yummy. This was nice to wake up to, Dawn.
Thanks C.C! I’ve been missing you guys. I’m going to get back with the program!
Bises,
Dawn
Goodness Dawn your skills! Wow! In the midst of all these sexy thoughts I’m thinking of a group of goats and their bangs and little horns. Hehe.
Bisous to you!
Dawn
Impeccably stirring both future and present of a woman’s mind. I love this thought process of yours. I missed you but I always love when you return. Jayne
I miss you too! I’ll bet you have written so much that I have been missing. Sorry. My head has been so jammed up my ass that any reading has been impossible. I’m trying to pull out…
Big Bisous,
Dawn
Why is your head there?? Don’t worry about my words – it’s been a bunch of remnants of my own ass. Maybe we should switch asses!
Yours is probably way cuter!!!
Mine is growing, spreading like an ugly rash. Or malaria.
mine is breaking off into different continents , as if it’s Pangea!!
HA!!! I had to look that up…a super continent! I love it!
Lovely
Thank you my friend!
Bises,
Dawn
Great post Dawn. Any follow-up?
Thanks! That’s the stupid thing…the picture is really poolside Marrakech but I have this thing about never going past 500 words. I read that the chances of anyone reading what you have written go down dramatically if you do. So yeah, there is more coming! Inchallah!
Bises du pays des fromages qui puent,
Dawn
LOL. Nos fromages ne puent pas, ils sentent fort
Well, if I cared about people not reading me because my posts are too long, I would simply not write. I don’t write for illiterate people anyway
And also, you should worry more about getting out what’s heavy on your heart than about what people will think of it or if they will read it and understand it… The internet (and blogging) is exactly like going to your shrink: when you leave his office, he’s just going to his next patient and doesn’t give a shit about you… But still you feel released
Good point…but I yearn for fame! I hope that when I have become famous I will no longer have a heavy heart. That was a joke.
Beautiful look inside a woman’s head. This lady would be interesting to read more about — will she ever get what she dreams of? Also, “her head like the fist of an angry child” is really nice.
That head like a fist has been floating around in mine forever. (my sister-in-law…shhhhh!)
I suppose that that lady has most everything she needs to get what she wants. She has organizational problems. Plus she is always drunk or trying to be!
Je t’aime,
Dawn
goats on carousels with the faces of fists; i would laugh to myself too
i have been ill, i am glad i haven’t missed too much – and what has happened to jean? was the ice cream too tempting that he ate it before getting the chance to photograph it?
express bisous
Are you alright My Sweet Sacha? I guess Jean does not feel like eating ice cream…it’s really cold here.
I’m thinking of you. You make me link profusely.
Bisous in the hospital, (I hope not!)
Dawn
I’m better than I was, not a hundred percent, but every day, in every way….we’ve had snow today; i went to sleep this morning and there wwere literally three flakes in the air, i got up four hours later and there’s tonnes of the stuff! it has of course gone now….
has ‘link’ become a euphemism yet?
x
Sometimes I think I know what a word means but then again I am not so sure…yes, “link” is now our euphemism!
Stay warm and drink vin chaud!
xoxox
i must confess that i felt so ill that i was even put off wine…….i felt dirty
hihihihi!
I love your writing.
Thank you Sandee! I love yours as well. Does that mean that we are lovers?
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Yes!