Plushness

Resting on an engraved wooden rail, he stood next to her, as close to her as he presumed would not interrupt her comfort. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He saw everything, he saw the depth of her eyes, he smelt the freshness of her mane, he saw the meanings in her rounded lips as she spoke. They did not say much, but they were communicating as they admired their surroundings. As the wind picked up, her tassels blew on to her face, and he watched with adoration wanting to be part of this movement. Gently, as he touched her rounded cheeks, he brushed back the strands of hair to return to their frame. She looked into his eyes for the first time, but not long enough.

Aware of the time they spent alone away from the rest, they headed back to the foyer where his company were waiting for lunch to be served. During the meal, he could not stay away from her, in spite of his date’s agitation. He wished he hadn’t kissed his date last night, for it is far easier to call of a date before any contact. Even if Nada had not reappeared, he knew his girlfriend was not right for him, and it was merely her persistence that swayed him to her.

Again the wind blew and he did not want the wind to touch her, he did not want her cold, he wanted her to know he was there, stronger than the wind. Involuntarily, he put his arm around her and pressed her to him. Her muscles did not tense and although she did not look up to see his face, she acted as if it was a mundane gesture, she was not embarrassed, but he knew that if he did not let go, the reaction of those around them and his girl friend’s especially, would no longer be subtle. Reluctantly he let go, and tried to mingle with his guests, but found himself constantly looking for Nada, trying to overhear her sweet voice as she spoke.

He did not know what her acceptance meant. Was she simply a warm person? Would she want to be with me? Now he was the one frustrated. Torn between his feelings and what may or may not be within her for him. He tried to get himself busy being a good host and there he found her beside him, giving him a hand. Accidentally, their fingers touched, and then silence. He was not sure if he should hold her hands now, the shock was still going through him. He wished she would allow his fingers to caress hers. Still unable to think or act, he wished for once that she, the woman, would take charge. Her fingers fell upon his again, voluntarily this time, and again he felt the bolt of warmth go through him. It left him breathless, and he could not notice if she was breathing or moving. Both statued, wishing for this touch to last longer. Still avoiding his eyes, it was her this time who broke the silence and moved away, perhaps afraid of their secret touch to be noticed, perhaps just simply afraid.