Don't Think, Just Write

A Man's Journey

Storm Clouds (Part 2)

The subtle clicks of her keyboard woke me, but I didn’t move. Storm clouds raged in my head from the wine and whiskey the night before. Like an invading army, they moved  from the back to the front of my head before commencing battle.

Click, click, click. The keystrokes came in rapid succession with little pause. She was in a groove. I opened one eye and let some of the sun soaked room seep through, into my head. There she sat, on a wooden chair at the table I moved into the bedroom the day before for this purpose. There were two picture frames and her sketch pad next to her. I closed my eye and let the storm clouds pass for another hour. Click, click, click.

This would be a vacation like none we’d been on before. She had a deadline, I didn’t. We rented near the beach more for my entertainment than for her inspiration. She could have made headway on her project in the middle of the woods, or almost anywhere to be honest. But it was August, and August can be counted as one of the few months one can enjoy the sun and sand in the Midwest. So I ran, and paddle boarded, and enjoyed the sights from my chair on the beach. She’d find me there and we’d walk on the sand for an hour, usually saying little, then she’d retreat back to the bungalow for more writing while I’d reach onto my cooler for another cold import.

Click, click, click. I was awake again. The storm clouds in my head were still present but no longer raging.  The cool morning air had been replaced and warm, late morning air now filled the room.

“How do you feel?” She said. I opened my eyes to see her turned in her chair smiling at me. Her trendy glasses sat perfectly on her young face. She got up and walked to the bed and sat down next to me. I reached around her waist and pulled her down on top of me. She kissed my crusty lips then buried her head in my shoulder. “I feel bad.” She said.

“Why?” My voice was gravel as I forced the word through my dry throat.

“Because you spent the whole day by yourself.” Her words were muffled from her head being buried between my shoulder and the pillow.

“You know I don’t give a shit. You need to write.” I rubbed her back and let my hands glide over the taunt muscle of her ass. I could feel her panties through the thin material of her shorts. Her leg was draped over me now and I gripped her thigh and pulled it higher, closer. I pulled up her shirt and let my fingertips trace across her warm back. Her skin was flawless.

“I missed you last night.” She whispered. After dinner she set her computer up in the screened porch. I poured two inches of whiskey over some ice and listened to the baseball game in the back yard. When the mosquitoes got the best of me, I wandered down to a pub near the beach. When I got home, a little after midnight, she was asleep.

Her shirt was off now and her small breasts pressed against me. I could feel her nipples. We kissed but I didn’t dare open my lips. A family walked by outside along with the familiar sound of wagon wheels on the sidewalk. No doubt heading toward the beach for a day in the sand. My hands rubbed her back and then slid inside her shorts and panties and felt the smooth skin beneath. I pushed them down as my hands went down her legs. Those great legs that I desired.

I felt her lips grow into a smile against mine.

The storm clouds that once raged were gone.

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