When the Trees Bend to a Different Wind

Look, I’m a fucking male through and through. There is a tenderness, a romantic in me. I did my best, that’s all.

After seventeen years married to Simon, she staggered back as if a hand had violently pushed her in a direction she had never sought to go before. Her heart jolted in its cavity, and she couldn’t determine if it was pain or pleasure.

She could not fall in love because she was already in love. She was in love with Simon. Yes, in love with Simon. I’m in love with Simon. All along she had not known anything different but his love. What a dilemma.

What an embarrassing position to be in. And a threatening one too.

Her happiness, so suddenly and exhilaratingly discovered, must be over.

They could not become lovers. Simon would not accept. Their friends would not accept. Their parents would be horrified.

Love was not blind.

She couldn’t accept that she’d been unhappy, or angry, or bad-tempered married to Simon. This was not true. She loved Simon and did not want to withdraw from his love.

Try hard as she did, she felt helpless.

She could not manage without the acceptance and nature of her love for Simon. That was when a calm descended and she was, strangely, happy again. Content. Enjoying life.

The most difficult part was still ahead, the pain, the anguish but she was not afraid. In some difficult way, she looked forward to it greedily. If Simon was half the man, she knew him to be, he would listen.

Love was a shield.

Simon was not aware, and they were close to each other and maybe when he was talking, she would cautiously, thief-like delicately, lean towards him, and without his knowing, intoxicate herself with his hard, musky, male scent in long, slow breathing takes.

These were the moments she loved him intensely, moments when the whole of him came from him to her, moments when, without his knowing, they became one.

There were still thoughts of the future in these moments, the idea there was a desire never satisfied, not a horrible thought, of a time when they might no longer be together. When they would no longer love each other.

That another desire had to be explored if she was to feel whole and happy.

And when she thought of the times to come, of what will come of these moments. She knew without a doubt he would not know how.

Simon left.

Tonight, in the darkening gloom of evening, by a shut glass window, in her room, her hazel eyes, gleaming with sharp silver glints of longing, her lips back in a smile, she looked down at her lover on the bed, blankets and bed sheets thrown back, looking with the kind of appreciation a connoisseur gives to an obsession.

It was right, it was the unknown becoming known on how it felt to be a woman seducing a woman.

Outside the windows, trees were bending in the wind.

Karen Schwartz, Nancy Oglesby, Katie Michaelson, Bernie Pullen, Michelle Jimerson Morris, Amy, Julia A. Keirns, Pamela Oglesby, Tina, Pat Romito LaPointe, Brandon Ellrich, Misty Rae, Karen Hoffman, Susie Winfield, Vincent Pisano, Marlene Samuels, Ray Day, Randy Pulley, Michael Rhodes, Lu Skerdoo, Pluto Wolnosci 🟣, Paula Shablo, Bruce Coulter, Ellen Baker, Kelley Murphy, Leigh-Anne Dennison, Patricia Timmermans, Keeley Schroder, James Michael Wilkinson, Whye Waite, John Hansen, Trudy Van Buskirk, | Dixie Dodd | Joanie Adams — Sightseer; Conjurer Of Words | Adda Maria | Dennett | [email protected] | Nancy Santos | Jenny Blue | Jack Herlocker | Love | Barbara J. Martin | Audrey Clifford | Maria Rattray | Jerry Dwyer | Denise Shelton | Trisha Faye | StorySculptress | Katherine Myrestad | Deborah Joyce Goodwin (Red:The-Lady In Blue) | Kelly Corinne Elliott Emma Vincent

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