John Saward – February 28, 2015 at 11:53AM

She sat there giving no answer. I sat there not asking again. I looked into her eyes again and that sensation of time being a cosmic joke took me away and I knew the depth of her soul. She was naked in there. More naked than I had ever experienced the soul of a woman before. No wonder she keeps such a long face. She is so vulnerable, so she protects her naked eternal self the best she can.

I smile to encourage her. Her expression does not change. But her fingers are again playing with the hem of her skirt and even as I watch she slowly but deliberately raises that hem a few centimetres up her leg.

She does not avert my gaze. And I do not relent. I can feel the heat in my groin and I can see the light in her soul. One plays on the other and I no longer care which. I caress her energy boundary with my own and she agrees on another level of consciousness to proceed.

I silently offer my energetic manhood into her receptive womanhood if she is inclined to agree. Again she nods her head a fraction, and I have no doubt what she means.

I like this girl. “Marian”, I whisper, under my breath and she purrs like a kitten and I see a vision of romance and the deep blue sea.

“Marian”, I repeat, under my breath and I realise this is the quickest I have fallen in love for at least the last year.

Except from Chapter 3 of “Protectors of the Illumination Stream”: The Trout of the Bardo and the Tennis Trophy of Freedom.

(c) J.D.Saward 2015

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John Saward – February 28, 2015 at 10:22AM

Been writing a short story. It is almost done. Here’s the beginning:

The Lace Handkerchief

I had been in Sydney only a few days having travelled down from Tamworth. I had sold the family farm after Natalie left me and decided to take a long holiday in Western Australia. The Indian Pacific Train would leave from Sydney central station the next evening for its 3 night journey across the width of the continent. I had bought myself a one way ticket in a First Class double bunk cabin, with sole occupancy rights. It had cost me quite a bit but I just did not care about money right now. I intended to stay in Perth a couple of weeks and then get a long distance bus all the way up the west coast and onto Darwin where I would catch a plane back to Sydney before taking possession of my new tiny apartment at Middle Bay. A journey of 6 or 7 weeks in all. A breathing space between my old life that was forever over, and the new one to come. The pain in my heart seemed to be loosening its grip on me but I really had no idea what I needed to keep on living for.

Then Susan came into my life. Rather suddenly. We met at the head of the ferry terminals at Circular Quay. She was tapping her feet to the beat of a drummer busking in the sun. I stood beside her and we struck up a conversation about the weather and the busy-ness of the place and the fact that the drummer’s hair could do with some trimming. She did not seem to mind me staying standing next to her, and she kept up her side of the chatting, and it felt to me she was doing more than politely returning my offerings. So as the drummer came to the end of his act I threw a gold coin in his hat and suggested to her that we might have a cool drink together. She smiled and just said, “That would be very nice”.


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