441: Want



I want five days of peace and quiet, a good night’s restorative sleep, my significant other, a ceiling fan, Egyptian sateen cotton sheets and a good supply of dark, bitter-sweet chocolate.

Then, I want about six uninterrupted hours of mind-blowing games that have absolutely nothing to do with a computer. Give and receive. Rode hard and put up wet. I want to be so tired after, that it will be all I can do to sleep. So tired there are no dreams. And no snoring, either.

I want at least two hours in a 104 degree scented, jetted hot tub, with wine coolers, or hot brandy toddies – either way. Cuddle buddy and some more chocolate. And no swimsuits, either. Terry cotton robes and slippers, massage oil and warmed hands.

I want a sparkling blue day by the pool, with a thick, thirsty towel on the lounger, and deliciously silky water with that thick hot layer on top and the cooler layer underneath.  Strong arms towing me around and sleek limbs intertwining in that perfect, bathtub water. And sun tanning oil. Lots of coconut-scented tanning oil, even if we are not tanning.

I want fresh-cut and ground pesto with whole wheat crackers, jalapeno jack cheese cubes and sliced Granny Smith apples, honey for dipping and whipped cream in the can for fun. Maraschino cherries with the stems.  Jack Daniels whiskey and Amaretto, sangria with orange slices.  No ice.  Honey-baked Virginia ham, spiral-sliced.  Hot chocolate a la Simone Evans, with Benedictine and cinnamon. Fresh, unsalted almonds.

I want hot beach sand, cool ocean waves and a cooler full of iced beer with lime. An ocean-pearled sunset and a campfire, with marshmallow S’mores and both red and yellow-meat watermelon slices. Ten pounds of sweet black cherries, fresh and crisp, tart and juicy. The salt taste of man on my tongue, and the dark scent of musky, warm man all over me. Slow, nibbling kisses that taste of me. That mustache.

I want gentle fingers that tickle and tease, and have no concept of time passing, merely cognizant of pleasure given. I want to bury my nose in the scented places and breathe in that glorious, signature scent that no one else has, and that cannot be bought in a bottle. I want a shower of warm water and thick ropes of soap, slippery hands and steamy mirrors. The shock of ice and the gentle heat of second-hand hot sauce.



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