That Afternoon

It was their afternoon and they embraced it greedily. In the genially rambling crevices of her house they shut the rest of the world…their children, grandchildren, parents, friends, and acquaintances…out and luxuriated in each other’s company.

They had never had an afternoon like it before. And they would never have an afternoon like it again. But that afternoon…that languid, sensuous, sensual afternoon…was one that would linger in their hearts long after their passions had cooled and their paths had diverged.

That afternoon…that sweet, silly, amazing, wondrous afternoon…was filled with music (rock and roll to save their amorous souls) echoing through the soft shadows of the charmingly gothic corners of her house and with whispered, romantic, affectionately smutty whispers as they kissed and danced the dance of love in her bed, their energies so intimately entwined that they slipped casually, easily into positions that would have made Sting green with envy and which belied the number of years that they had each spent on the mother planet.

The house was filled with the savory aromas of food…seafood and sauces and pastas and salad greens…prepared in graceful tandem wearing only undergarments and secret smiles…and the steamy musk of enormously indulgent and gratifying sex lingered in passionately and with no care or need for time limits.

It was their afternoon…unplanned and unstructured and all the more magical for that…and they basked in it even as the evening crept over the horizon, through the windows, and all through the expansive comfort of her grand old house.

That afternoon…their afternoon…they had never had one like it before…they would never have one like it again…but it was, in the perfect measure of time, as magical an afternoon as the lovers could have dared to have imagined.