A Man and A Woman

In the quiet light of dawn, the sky brightly colored like an orange grove, stands a white mansion on the outskirts of a southern town. Across a sea of freshly mowed grass and circled gardens of red roses, Thomas Bolan can see from the bedroom window, a pond with three white ducks moving gracefully upon the water. He reaches over and touches his new bride who is warm and nestled next to him in the big brass bed.

He brushes her long raven hair away from her face; he smiles at the girlish curves of her body, the smooth rise of her buttocks, the flawless milk chocolate skin; and he nuzzles and kisses the small of her back. Just hours before, he stood at the little church and waited nervously for the ceremony to begin.

He remembers the wedding: the sweaty palms of his hands, not knowing what to do with them; first, one in a pocket, then both in, then back out again; he lost the rings twice; he found them the second time... moments before the wedding march. They went down on all fours, he, the preacher, and Best man... their noses to the floor crawling, one hand extended, feeling under the pews. Then his nervousness subsided when he saw his Stephanie, like an angel, gliding down the aisle on the arm of her eldest brother.

Stephanie's movement interrupts his remembering; half asleep, she shifts her body until her buttocks rest against his thigh. He lets it stay there for a moment, and then slides down behind her with his head in the bend of her neck. He nestles there until he falls back to sleep.

Stephanie flashes open her big hazel eyes. The satin sheets make it easy for her to slide into a sitting position. She yawns and tosses her black hair to one side; it falls pass her shoulders and waist, and settles on the edge of the mattress. Beside her, Bolan snores quietly. Her eyes fix on his mahogany belly protruding from his short dumpy frame; the flab spilling onto the blue satin sheets, like a mud slide dumping into blue water. A sun stream creeps between a tiny opening of the shades and disturbs the delicate dark of the room. She watches the beam as it settles on the bald spot in the middle of his head; it highlights three wrinkles that are, like deep shoveled paths in the middle of his forehead.

Stephanie folds her arms around her dark smooth knees. She pulls them up to her chin and remembers the consummation of their marriage: her fingers tracing his spine; his tongue painting her ear; His dark body pressing against her flesh...taking her softly then roughly, bringing her close to the fire; landing and lifting. His sex...massive and silky. Her sex, like a freshly dug well-opening up to him, engulfing him as he pushed her hard against the door of ecstasy.

She smiles and gazes down at her diamond wedding ring; it occupys a large portion of her finger and shines like an icicle not melting in the sun. Bolan...partly asleep, rolls over and pulls her to him; she nests in his arms. Both yawn, their warm bodies cuddled on the blue satin sheets, resting on the edge of a new beginning and the rest of their lives.