I love writing this one! Well before I am fully awake I feel that delectable electric charge singing along my brain and every single nerve. I had dreamed about a time when the colors were outrageously bright and lush, when the air smelled spicy and delectable it smelled of a time before I understood the meaning of sorrow, it smelled of freedom. I felt a wild buildup in my chest as if a mad giggle was struggling to be free. Yesterday, was bright and beautiful, the breeze was warm from the west, a mild and pleasant day. A walk in the garden, watch the leaves falling kind of day, there was something about that simple, beautiful, innocent feeling that left me feeling absolutely lovely. It was autumn and the world exploded in color and delicious ambiguity. Many think that fall is the ebb of the year, to me it began a tumultuous wonderful and hideous time, but yesterday the hint of succulent promise was hung exquisitely on the air. A day like that always put me in mind for a long and lovely bath, with a large cup of cocoa, extra marshmallows, oh so like the one I indulged in last night. All scrubbed and polished, lotion from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, I felt utterly delighted, girly, and most of all romantic. Those feelings, lord only knows where the romance came from, prompted me to pass over my usual t-shirt, panties and long socks, for something special that I held in reserve. The lovely dark purple satin nightie, empire waist, with ribbons for straps and sash, lighter purple flounced tulle for edging, the perfect color against my ridiculously pale skin to make me not look as sickly. Though, today, today I feel different, vastly different, making me rejoice in the change of sleep attire. Today, oh today, I felt the warmth in a caress of that loving sun on the bare skin of my back through the window. As sensual, as the warm fingers of the sun felt, it was the wind that caused my heart to gallop. I listened to the howl as The North Wind, himself, blew in. Oh, but he has a divinely wolfish bite to him, the chill making the thin satin of my nightie incredibly insufficient despite the suns caress. I shiver not solely from the chill but with the amazing power coursing through my veins. That chill he brought with him merely a catalyst to this beautiful libidinous feeling suffusing my very soul. Apparently, as Hamlet, I am but mad North, North-West: when the wind is easterly I know a hawk from a handsaw. Oh, but I love that divine, sweet madness that seizes me when I hear that North Wind howl. I feel him whipping through the trees, his sweet howl calling my name. Oh Gods, I live for these moments. I missed him, as I would air, desperately. I spring from my bed the electricity dancing from my toes to the crown of my head, taunting every nerve. I saunter over to my closet fishing out my most well-kept treasure, a beautiful wool sweater. Slipping it softly over my head, I take a deep breath wafting his fresh scent into my lungs. The sweaters course caress slid sensuously against the satin and my bare skin the contrasting sensations bring a deliciously tawdry smile to my face. I suppose many would think it just way too large, but to my estimation it’s just right, just big enough for two. This one beautifully knitted sweater, my one scrap of proof that I am not mad, bonkers and out of my mind. Proof to just myself he had visited, that Life, himself, had left me, a loving favour of his presence. His heady lavender and sandalwood scent still clung freshly to the weave of wool, a scent that made my mouth water. After it slides into place I hug the tenuous piece of proof of sanity to me. Without a moment’s hesitation, I open the door and walk out into the back yard. The short green grass prickling, tickling my feet the feeling setting my soul free, my heart hammering in my chest. I greet the North Wind, Life himself, with open arms; his sweet fingers caress my face with the edge of his breeze. The first kisses of raindrops touch my face; I close my eyes and get lost in the feeling. Consuming me slowly with feather soft rain drop kisses, he drizzles liberally from the heavens. Leaning in I feel his body cool and large, taken by his tender motion, small sweet little kisses. His cool damp lips plant them on my cheeks, pressing them tenderly to my forehead. A million butterflies flutter from my stomach flowing through my veins, bringing with them the electric zing of titillation. He kisses the corners of my mouth and hovers delectably near to kissing my lips. I feel his breath. I lick the icy tingle he leaves on my lips. He stops. His light fingers slowly tracing up my face. His soft touch running down my arms and kisses my fingertips. He circled me blowing a hurricane. The North Wind was the face of life himself when he was in a riotous mood, when his sweet gentility was forgotten and his voracious, rapacious, ravenous side was on display. Not that there was ever anything wrong with his exquisitely polite face. His thin lips always pulled in a bright smile his eyes dancing with merriment, his long luscious frame always playful and moving, bright short cropped curls bouncing along. His sweet caresses and words poured generously from him. Oh, but when his wild face was on display he was always electric and magnetic; these visits filled me with titillation and devotion. His smile mischievous bared teeth, hinted with a touch of treachery, as it grew wider and wider. His eyes, shaded as his chin tilted down, his brow casting a shadow setting them deep. In their sea glass depths there was always a taunting light that belied the hunger that flooded them. His locks somehow dark slick curls. His motions swifter and more demanding as if he was dying of thirst after an eon in the desert and I was the only thing to quench that need. His sweet tantalizing attentions dazzle my senses. Making him not so much a fallen angel, but one who saw what he wanted and sauntered, ambled even at times sashayed vaguely down toward earth. My toes curl in sensual anticipation of what he brought with him this visit. Romance the glamour which turns the dust of everyday life into a golden haze. That faery glamour wrapped The North wind and I in a tight cocoon. I hear his sussurus whisper in my ear speaking in an ancient voice, an ancient language that I didn’t know its words but I understood every syllable. “I crave your mouth, your voice, your mocking laugh, your hands; I hunger for the scent of you. Starving, I prowl through the world searching for you. Bread sits like ash in my mouth, water does nothing to quench my thirst, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your breath.” I could get lost in his words, soft and lush, the honeyed tones of fate. He spun around me taking me in. I knew he saw my dark sunk in eyes and pale sullen cheeks, the cherubic shine missing, he saw my bent shoulders and labored breath, “Oh what is it my love?” Instead of answering what I knew he was asking, not wanting to talk on the fact that my body was failing me and those things that I fear, I just closed my eyes and just felt his presence. Whispering all of my curiosities, “Who are you?” To each he whispered his own answer. “I am yours.” Drizzling even more kisses on my face. “Where are you, where is it you come from and where is it you go? Are you from a close by towne or a distant star?” “I am here.” Drenching my senses in everything he was, his wind, his wet sweet kisses his loving warmth. “Are you quiet when you need to be loved, silent and sullen? Or do you raise your voice into a lion’s roar reminding the world that you are there for the loving? Will you bite my shoulder and ask sadly ‘I need you to love me today’? What is the color that makes your eyes dance, is it a deep red or that sweetest aquamarine? Are you softer in the mornings when you are still rumpled and full of sleep? Which side of the bed do you like to take, are you a left or a right? Must your head point north for you to rest? Do you sprawl yourself out arms and legs wide, stealing the covers as you roll? Do you take your coffee black and strong or do you sweeten it with crème and sugar? In the summer are you like me needing to flip the pillow, sighing in contentment when your cheek touches the cold side? Aren’t you scared of monsters, not the under the bed kind but the real ones that walk amongst us? Did you ever guess that I am scared, so much sometimes that I get so nervous I forget how to move my feet? Can you be patient, can you be kind, perhaps gentle? Is there a quiet war raging inside of you too?” “Yes.” There was a sad tone to his voice. He pulled me to him tighter, burying his face in my damp hair. “When you see me fighting alone, do you curl your fists, raise your chin, are you donning your armour trying to get to me? Do you watch as I walk through that wrath and ruin after battling all of those demons and dragons? I won’t shy away from them, I can’t; I trust you’d never ask that of me? Do you know that I don’t flinch when you, and only you, cup my face? Even though I can feel the power of you, the power that if you so much as twitched too hard you could break me? Am I always skin and emotions for you?” The tears evident on my voice, but not yet flowing from my eyes, as was the last unspoken question, Can you let me love you? “Always” he lights the sky with a bolt of lightning and thunder that shook the ground. “I know you have no idea that it is your strength that brings me to you, not some whim of the universe, it is you who call me. You shine like a lighthouse always calling me to your shore. It is your fortitude that keeps us colliding in this universe. I know that it is often a question whether or not the sun will rise again for you or if that next breath will be your last, but I do know this. That sun does rise again, and if that next breath is your last it will be a well fought breath. I know that tomorrow when the sun rises you will feel that strength come back to you because this universe still has so much in store for you. If you but risk the chance and take it.” He kissed the tears from my eyes and the ones from my cheeks as he spoke. His voice taking on a rather coy tone, “You always question whether you are even alive. Watch, my love, how alive you are.” His hands roamed pulling at me pressing me to his body hard, his lips dance along my skin bringing a light smile to my lips and rending a soft hum from my throat. “Oh, Darling I know that you respond to my every touch and palpation,” he punctuated every word with a new sensation. “Every kiss and admiration, the little cajoling tickles and caresses,“ His voice lowered almost to a husky sigh as he taunted me out of my doldrums, and Oh, how it worked, I forgot about every one of my pains. “I know without a doubt darling that you adore my soft, sensual, needy, touch, but it is my voice that holds that special sway over you.” His kisses slowly ambled down the sensitive column of my throat eliciting sighs of pleasure. “With the sound of it you let loose that beautiful little wild side of your own.” It was all true. I find his confidence ever so irresistible; his words to me are what a sirens song was to those who traveled the ancient seas. Like those seafaring travelers I hold no fear of the siren of the north wind, his song the cry of a lost lover, a love to be found and the sensual feeling of the renewal to follow. Not just the promise that comes with the warmth of spring but the vivid hope that this endless winter is near done. My heart slams in my chest, my senses are soaked, my hair wet, plastered to my head. My soul trends to its more lascivious, deeper, vivid red parts. Thoughts and sensations bubbling up inside of me like captured giggles. I feel him, the North Wind, Life himself, with his wolfish growl, his lightening flashing across the sky. I feel him press up against my back, holding me tightly to his long, lean frame. He lightly pulls at my sweater as if to climb inside with me. He softly kisses behind my ear the slowly down to my jawline. He left tiny pecking kisses all the way down to the tip of my chin then back up on the underside of my jaw. “Come here and let me take your worries and with them every single fear you have carried. My finger tips on your back will be the very last thing you will feel before slipping off to sleep and the sound of my smile will be the alarm clock to your morning ears. Oh darling, come here and let me take your sorrows and with them the weight of every day that snuck upon your shoulders and declared themselves a home. My whispers will be the sound of your secret dreams and my hand the anchor to this life.” I hummed with the electric feel of his lips on my soft tender skin. I adored the feeling of the warm chill of his lips. I melt in appreciation, then nearly exploded when I felt the sharp nip of his teeth to the column of my throat. He left tiny little bites all the way down; he worked his teeth along the area of my neck that makes my knees grow weak and my stomach a riot of butterflies that spin out of control running mad laps through my entire body. Unable to resist I lean heavily into his gale force, he felt solid, so very real pressed to me. I feel him, the north wind, himself, with his wolfish fingers pressed hard against my back, holding me to him as he pulls at my sweater, climbing inside with me. I feel him tracing those fingers along my ticklish sides. No longer even trying to resist I let him steady my weight. His arms capture me pulling me safely between his long, long legs, wrapped tightly in his strong, strong arms. His touch danced along the edges of every tender spot in my body, running his hands and deliciously long fingers along my soul, delighting my every whim, making me shiver in delight. “Oh, sweet merciful lord, kiss me. I missed you with every subatomic particle that comprises my very being. Do you, darling; think of me as often as I think of you? I know in reality I must be mad, as crazy as anyone has ever been. Oh, how the vibration between every atom in the universe mellows to a sensual low hum when you are near… You always take your sweet time, as if there was no place you’d rather be. Ah, when you kiss me you make the clocks stop ticking and the sand stop shifting. Kiss me, oh please, kiss me like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss me until I forget my name, how to count, and all of my sorrow. Kiss me stupid. Kiss me silent, every sentence and argument forgotten. Kiss me so deeply that when you pull away, slowly, reluctantly, you ask me 2+2 is and listen to me say your name in answer.” I sigh. He turned me in his bracing arms, his face beautiful and windswept, bright flashes of lightning were in his eyes. His hand caressed my cheek with the very tips of his fingers running them slowly down to cup my chin, tilting my head back. His eyes trapped mine in a gaze that fell like a spell over me. The look spoke all the words he was afraid to say, the hope, broken hearts and needs that rested in these stolen moments when the universe was feeling benevolent. I saw that he was as afraid that I was a figment of his insanity as I was. He lightly rubbed his fingers down my neck and pressed his forehead to mine, never losing that truly static eye contact. My heart echoed his thunder and our shared breath summoned a hurricane as our lips met in a truly passionate kiss. I wrap myself around him never wanting to let him go. I wanted to crawl inside his kiss and live forever happily in my little shell. His lips warm with the biting cold behind it. The north wind kissed me breathless, his lazy movements soaking my senses in pure ecstatic bliss. Excitement spooling in both of us, passion and desperation taking over, the hurricane between us gaining more and more strength, we kissed as if our lives depended on it. He devoured me sweetly, and then slowly blew away in the easterly breeze. That breeze brought me his last words, “My love won’t stop with my leaving. It won’t fade in one hour or one year, even many years down the road will come an evening when you step out of your door and hear the wind blowing, even if you have not heard from me in all that time, you will hear me calling your name through the red woods. I will ruffle your hair and caress your cheek and you will again feel my love for you, I will whisper your name, kiss your soft lips and love you.” I open my eyes gasping, drenched, bereft and alone my senses too awake to convince myself it was all in my imagination, but in the distance I hear him howl. The minute I heard my first love story I began searching for him, not knowing how blind I really was, he was there all along. I never knew until that moment that lovers don’t finally meet somewhere they are in each other all along. I want you lying down next to me caressing the soft curve of my cheek, running your fingers down my back. Alas that is meant for another time another place. Now he knows I am not just a girl but a storm with skin and we two were made from the same storm. ~Indomitably Meg Haney
Posted on: Wed, 15 Oct 2014 08:02:08 +0000
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