Marrakech

Poolside

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’รฉchappatoire, 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 lookedย 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.

32 comments

  1. jayne

    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

    • pivoine68

      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

      • Blown

        LOL. Nos fromages ne puent pas, ils sentent fort ๐Ÿ˜‰

        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 ๐Ÿ˜‰

        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 ๐Ÿ™‚

      • pivoine68

        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. ๐Ÿ˜‰

  2. Theo Black

    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.

    • pivoine68

      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

  3. sacha1nch1

    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

    • pivoine68

      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

      • sacha1nch1

        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

      • pivoine68

        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

  4. Pingback: Jayne and her many loves | Diary Incarnate
    • pivoine68

      Jayne, you made me tear up! And then once I had pulled myself back together, I googled “pingback!”
      You are my precious friend, your words always linger in my heart. It’s a rough trip but it’s beautiful sharing the ride with you.

      Love,
      Dawn

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