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