Topic: a perfect evening?
May. 23rd, 2004 12:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mute_clayI had lots of perfect evenings in the forest.
Sitting on the porch smoking, drinking bottled beer and looking at the stars through the holes in the canopy. Callie coming out to join me, drink my beer and smoke my cigarette and kiss me.
Feeling pleasantly tired from working all day. Full from having just had dinner. Slightly buzzed from the beer. A little horny from looking at Callie in her cotton dress, soft fabric clinging to the swell of her breasts when she leaned over to take the cigarette from my hands.
Or sitting in the kitchen in the soft glow of the lamp, listening to songs on the radio and later dancing with Callie, both of us with bare feet. And then carrying her upstairs.
Or going early to bed in winter to save wood, snuggling up under the blankets and quilts and having Callie tell long rambling stories with no point to them whatsoever – stories don’t need points Clay, they just exist, and they love being told – and me making shadow creatures on the wall to illustrate the stories. And tickling her to keep her warm.
Okay, maybe they weren’t perfect. Maybe they even seem a little dull. It does look – small – when I write it down. But when they happened, they were bigger than anything you know?
When they happened I remember thinking: This is perfect. This is all there needs to be.
In truth the only thing I needed then was her being there with me.
Now –
I don’t know.
I don’t really believe in perfect anymore I guess.
Muse: Clay
Count: 264
Fandom: Passion of Darkly Noon (Misc. Movies)
Sitting on the porch smoking, drinking bottled beer and looking at the stars through the holes in the canopy. Callie coming out to join me, drink my beer and smoke my cigarette and kiss me.
Feeling pleasantly tired from working all day. Full from having just had dinner. Slightly buzzed from the beer. A little horny from looking at Callie in her cotton dress, soft fabric clinging to the swell of her breasts when she leaned over to take the cigarette from my hands.
Or sitting in the kitchen in the soft glow of the lamp, listening to songs on the radio and later dancing with Callie, both of us with bare feet. And then carrying her upstairs.
Or going early to bed in winter to save wood, snuggling up under the blankets and quilts and having Callie tell long rambling stories with no point to them whatsoever – stories don’t need points Clay, they just exist, and they love being told – and me making shadow creatures on the wall to illustrate the stories. And tickling her to keep her warm.
Okay, maybe they weren’t perfect. Maybe they even seem a little dull. It does look – small – when I write it down. But when they happened, they were bigger than anything you know?
When they happened I remember thinking: This is perfect. This is all there needs to be.
In truth the only thing I needed then was her being there with me.
Now –
I don’t know.
I don’t really believe in perfect anymore I guess.
Muse: Clay
Count: 264
Fandom: Passion of Darkly Noon (Misc. Movies)