Follow the Sun

I watch the westerly path of the sun; waiting to see what spectacular colors it will display this eve. As I watch the retiring star, my mind races ahead of it with determination. Wanting to share its last rays with that special person who has come into my life. The surf of the vast ocean licking over our bare feet while the sun presents yet another breathtaking setting before moving on to foreign lands.

It is then that you take my hand, leading me further into our original birthright of the sea. Soon, the icy waves are crashing into my thighs and you steady me, but both of us feel the exhilaration and the power possessed by the ocean. I turn to look past you to the beach where we had shed the confines of our clothing, certain that we wouldn't be returning to them soon.

A few more steps forward and waves are crashing into me just below my breasts. The salty spray attempting to complete the job when it sprinkles my face like a baptismal. The force of these all consuming waves slamming me into you sets my heart to trip-hammer in my chest and I feel your need pressing between our bodies. Not even the breath stealing cold can squelch your heated passion or the lust in your eyes.

I shiver, not from the cold, but from the raw animalistic desires I have for you to fulfill your cravings with my body as your receptacle. My nipples erect against your chest, a sign of my readiness.

With ease and the buoyancy of salt water, you lift me up; in turn, I wrap my legs around your waist and we now have the chance to lock our lips in a long impassioned kiss. Tongues darting, exploring and tasting like hungry hummingbirds in a floral paradise. But that isn’t the only thing exploring. I feel your right hand and questing fingers gliding up my thigh, following the curve to cup my buttock. You announce its presence with a squeeze before gliding back down my thigh, making a detour to come between our bodies and dip towards the true center of who I am. That sustaining epicenter of nectar and warmth, the place you long to fill with your phallic pleasures. But not yet...your middle digit teases the sensitive bud amid velvet folds. The only thing that guards the pleasurable cavern to my soul.

With a suddenness that steals my breath away, a satanically vicious wave engulfs us, tearing us away from each other. My scream for you cut off by a mouthful of briny water, setting me to coughing and sputtering. I flounder, unable to determine the way back to the surface, fearful that there will be no escape from this watery sarcophagus. My thoughts return to you with a dread colder than the sea. Have I lost you? Have the spirits of the sea stolen you and your love away from me? NO! That can’t happen!

With a thrust of arms and the kick of legs, I propel myself to the two immediate things I need most in life, oxygen and you. I break out to the surface, my lungs screaming, drawing in deep burning gulps of air. Panic racing through me, I call out your name repeatedly as I tread water and turn in all directions, but I can’t continue. Where the ocean had lost at drowning me, it was winning with its frigidness. The dull ache of hypothermia slowly gripping my fatigued body. I begin my swim back to the shore, I will do my lover no good if I were to succumb.

It seems like hours when it is only minutes for me to reach the beach and drag my exhausted body up to where my discarded clothing lay. The surf still trying to pull me back into the hungry clutches of the sea. I drop prone on cold wet sand to rest, regain my breath, and think of him. The moonlight washing over my naked form as if it could redeem me from the cruelties of the sea.

As I become renewed, I pull my clothes to me, then I notice there are only one set of delicate clothing, only one set of feminine footprints leading down to the beach. I open my mouth to scream with shocked realization when I feel myself ripping apart, disassembling, and scattering back, back to whence I belong.

I jerk upright, grasping the thin damp sheet that clings to my nudity, the scream forgotten on my lips. The beads of seawater are actually beads of perspiration. The sheet my clothing. Moonlight pouring through my boudoir with its same redemption, but with less clarity.

As sleep and the dream slide away from me, I realize its prophetic meaning. I’m never going to see him again. I didn’t know how or why I wasn’t going to see my lover again, but the dream proved it. My dreams always portended to the truth and I couldn’t discount them. It was best to never follow up on them, for it would do more harm than good.

I lay back down, drawing up on my side to look at the pale moon as it laughs at me. My pillow tastes my familiar tears.