I remember she was always a little feisty and quick witted when we worked together. I liked that. We’d friended each other online and I looked through her photos. Most of them were of her and her work-mates out “on the town” and having a good time. Husband missing. He must have stayed home. I suspect that her normal life had gotten dull, and compared to my good-natured, work-place crazy antics; I probably looked like a roller coaster of fun spewing pheromonal forget-the-normal-world-fodder. I also have long hair and usually wear tight chino pants, and have been told I have a very sexy voice. Let’s face it Mr. Wicke, you can be pretty fucking alluring on occasion. (Despite my best dorky behavior that involves a breakfast food fetish, holing myself up in bed to write stories, and spending way too much quality time in the shower/tub with shaving cream and alcohol)
I could tell by her personality that deep inside a fire burned, a flame that would need stoking to blaze intense again. A spark that she kept hidden. The type that would need oxygen and some creative curating to swell and dance. The type of fire I like. It’s the healthy burning flame of new sexual romance and a hundred little intimate surprises. The type of fire that burns the moment you lock eyes then cools down later in the evening for coco and marshmallow roasting.
Burn me with that fire, burn me good. A heated secret tryst. Forbidden, clandestine and waiting to play-out at a nearby ocean retreat. I would be that man.
But I wasn’t.
When something like that happens, it does lead your imagination down the garden path. It’s not like I wasn’t attracted to her. I was. I knew she liked me, I didn’t know how much. Decisions. Sometimes suck. I’m always up for a sexy chat, but running away to a big body of water for an untold period of time is a major life change. (and in-turn leading to other entanglements) That, and I do not mix personal life with work life.
But… but… isn’t it always about, “What might have been?” or “What might have happened?” or “Maybe, we would have played naughty parlor games all night long before succumbing to heated sexual passion; as the waves outside beat against the dark shoreline?”
Parlor games. Parlor games are sexy. Indoor adult games involving role play, white lace, furry handcuffs, edible body powder… anyone up for Strip Yahtzee?” Sigh. The grass always looks so green over on the “what if” side.
Naughty parlor games on an opulent carpet, oriental style, Persian, antique, in a room of eclectic Boho design, next to a fire place. Yes, I’ve been working out decor choices for the new castle. Damn, the perfect rug. I need it. It’s not an easy decision. It pulls your living room together or pulls it apart. It’s all about the colors, it’s all about the pile, the design, how many knots per square inch, and what you personally groove to. (Can you lay naked on it comfortably? Does it make my thighs too big?) and… (hard swallow) the price.
You alone may rescue this post.
Back to decorating now. I was surfing, looking for design ideas. This is the direction I would love to go in. A collage, a guide. Just call me a Boho/hippie type at heart. To me this looks like home. A warm comfortable place to explore and enjoy once you’ve said goodbye to the real world, the 9-5, the bullshit. We’ll see how close I can get to this when I’m done.
Right now we are still moving in. I have probably maxed-out my body over the course of the last 8 weeks between packing, moving, stress, lifting, carrying, the job, arranging, re-arranging, making design choices, making decisions, watching the budget, etc. My muscles are hard and firm but they ache. The rest of me seems to be in order. Brain… lol not sure. But at some point this strange new house will be home.
Home, a place for wicked parlor games, long bathes, erotic dreams and yummy breakfasts.
Until next time. Peace love… and what ifs?