Waiting with Snowdrops

By on March 18, 2015.

A little story for you today for no other reason than I have been missing writing fiction of late. It is not the most explicit thing I have ever written but, well the image just seemed to inspire something a little more ‘lost’ and delicate.

***

I came back to our place and waited for you but you never turned up. I know in my heart that if you could come and be with me you would but war has no regard for one man’s promise. I know this means you are not coming back but I still come here and wait just in case.

The snowdrops are just like they were when we first found this place, bobbing their pretty white heads in the spring breeze. Nothing has changed in this corner of the world and yet everything is different without you. The grass feels damper, the flowers don’t look quite as perfect, the sun doesn’t feel as warm as it did when I last sat here with you.

This little sanctuary hidden behind the old church wall was always our favourite place. In the Summer there would be rabbits hopping around in the field and birds singing in the hedgerow, in the Autumn the leaves would rustle beneath us as you took me into your arms and in the Winter the wall would provide just enough protection from the biting north wind to stop us both freezing to death but it is always the spring that I will remember this place for, because it was Spring the very first time you led me here.

It was a day exactly like today, in the shade winter still lingered, but in the sun, out of the wind, you could feel the promise of summer caressing your skin. It was perfect, as were you with your dark brown eyes that twinkled with life when you smiled at me, you thick dark hair that despite your attempts to tame always seemed to end up being a tussled windswept mess that would flop down into your eyes. You were strong and had all the beauty of youth, not that you knew it, not that any of us really know it at the time. Hindsight gifts us that knowledge when it is too late to act upon it anymore.

It here at this spot that I first saw you naked. You’d strip off for me and cavorted nude amongst the flowers, making me giggle with a mixture of joy and embarrassment at what you were doing. I had a pretty good idea of what men looked like, living in a farming community involved procreation going on all around and it doesn’t take much to work out how humans must mate in similar ways. It was not the seeing that really shocked me but the hot wet feeling I got between my thighs when I did that really came as a surprise to me

You never expected me to take my clothes of though, when I started to explain that I didn’t think I could, you silenced me with one your kisses, the type that left me breathless and almost dizzy with feelings I still didn’t understand. Then reassured me that you didn’t expect me to, but that one day, when I was ready, I would want to. You were right.

I miss you so much. I miss your laugh and your smile and the way my hand felt so small in yours. I miss the way that you towered over me and when you kissed me you would cradle the back of my head in your hand as if you were worried I would topple over backwards. I miss the feel of your rough farmers hands on my soft tender flesh, the noise you would make when I touched your dick and the way you looked into my eyes when we laid together like man and wife but most of all I miss your smell. I don’t have the words to describe it apart from, Joe’s smell. I never smelt anything like it before you and I have never smelt anything like it since. You were, in that regard, utterly unique.

I take off my dress and stockings and sit in amongst the flowers. I keep my little white slip on just in case, I am not brave enough to sit here naked without you. The morning dew quickly seeps through the material causing it to stick to my skin but I don’t really care as I lean back against the wall, close my eyes and remember. My hand trails up my thigh and into the folds of my womanhood. I know most people would be shocked but Joe would have approved and that is all that matters.

Every Spring the snowdrops come and bob their mournful little heads, reminding me that another has year has passed, I am another year older. Every year I come back to this place and wait for you but you never turn up. The only question now is after 20 years how many more times will I return here and do this…

Woman sitting waiting for lover in snowdropsWicked Wednesday blog badge

About: 

Molly Moore - Author, Blogger, Photographer, Speaker
Find me in my corner of the internet at Molly's Daily Kiss
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