Young And Impetuous

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Young And Impetuous

St. Petersburg Beach

I met Gavin at John’s Pass. It was kismet, really. We both ducked into a little bar, The Green Iguana, to wait out the usual afternoon rain. We were seated one stool apart.

At first, we both did our best to hide behind our menus, holding them in front of our faces and pretending not to stare. While waiting for service, we peeked at each other through sideways glances and lowered eyelids.

He was all hard-body with a hint of mischievous, teddy bear, in his alarmingly green eyes. I’d never seen eyes that so honestly reflect a man’s thoughts.

Just before dinner was served, he turned to me and asked,

“Drowning your sorrows or waiting out the downpour?”

Cautiously, I replied, “Downpour. You?”

“The same,” he said, “and I hate to drink alone. Join me at a booth?”

I extended my hand, and we happily moved to a quiet, corner table.

I perused the dessert menu, busying myself, even though I wasn’t hungry at all. When I looked up again, he was smiling at me. It was completely unexpected and disarming. His eyes crinkled and I forgot to be self-  conscious in that moment.

We talked amicably, and intimately, as though we had known each other forever. We lost all track of time, getting lost in each other instead.

“I’m not ready for the evening to end yet, are you,” he inquired, obviously unafraid of rejection.

I replied, “Me neither,” with an impish grin.

“St. Pete Beach is just down the road. How about a walk in the surf?”

I readily agreed. Gavin drove, and held my hand the entire time. The only time he let go was to open the car door for me.

I don’t know how many miles we walked before we paused, in a somewhat abandoned area, to watch the huge, red-gold, orb sink into the Gulf of Mexico.

I turned to him just as he turned to face me. With both of us ready to say something, he politely deferred and said,

“Go ahead.”

I told him that every time I witnessed a sunset, as amazing as this; I expected to see and hear steam, rising from the gulf, as though extinguishing the sun.”

He laughed and pulled me into his arms, full body-length, with little space between us. Then he loosened his hold and I smiled up at him, saying,

“You know what we have to do. It’s customary.”

A slow smile spread over his face as the custom dawned on him. In a moment, we were both watching the last, burnt-orange and red, sliver slip into the Gulf. Then we jumped up and down, clapping like a couple of lunatics, laughing, and yelling,

“Yay! Go God! Whoo hoo!”

Gavin pulled me into his embrace, kissing me long and hard, and then pushed me back a step. After what felt like an eternity, his face grew serious as he watched my eyes, studying my face. Without as much as blinking, and said,

“I think He did good this time.”

I crushed Gavin to me and whispered in his ear,

“Me too.”

He held and kissed me, over and over, until night fell, and the moon rose into the star-speckled skyline. With soft, slow movements, he brushed the spaghetti strap on my shirt down to my forearm and offered,

“There’s another custom for young lovers who find themselves on a deserted beach,” then he stopped, waiting for my reaction.

Without need of further words, we helped each other strip. Then we ran into the warm, gulf waters, and made love in the depths, with moonlight sparkling off our bodies. It felt so right, so comfortable, and thrilling, all at once.

We stayed in the circle of our embrace all night long; rolling, pushing, and pulling, as powerfully as the sea. Then he locked his arms behind me, and with both hands firmly clasped, he said softly,

“Marry me, McKella.”

I bit my lip as he pulled me more tightly to him. He held me, like a drowning man gripping a life raft, while I thought of a million reasons not to marry… yet.

I began my reply, whispering softly, “Gavin, this is so sudden. We just met and…”

He pressed his index finger to my lips and whispered, “I know, but hear me out.”

I fell silent as he walked me to the shoreline and placed me on one of two, long- forgotten, deck chairs.

He grabbed his shirt and dried me tenderly, leaving no part of me untouched or unattended to. Then he spoke, looking in my eyes, and straight down into my soul, he explained,

“We’re only young once. We will never have back, the opportunity to be young, in love, and impetuous. Though I may ask a million more times, I want it to be now… this moment. I think, when you know, you really know. I know. Do you?”

I sat up on the deck chair and pulled him into a ferocious hug. I kissed him, lovingly, deeply, passionately, and then gave my reply,

“Yes Gavin. I know, and my answer is yes.”

By Wildfire8470

© copyright 2013-04-21 17:31:31 UTC – All Rights Reserved

 

Wrath Of An Irish Maiden

Wrath Of An Irish Maiden

 

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Storm - Blackhead - Sea - cliff - Ireland - county Clare

Kathleen waited in her modest home, with the parish Priest and her family, listening to storm reports. The breaking news announced the flash flood that brought down a bridge. Kathleen knew he was on it, crossing that bridge to get to her, even in this horrid storm.

Digesting the news she’d just heard, Kathleen sat stock-still for a moment, letting the enormity of it hit her. Then she bolted, still in her wedding gown, running into the wind of a storm that County Clare had not seen the likes of for twenty five years.

The Nor’easter blew its fury, dashing waves and spray over the tops of nearby cliffs. With storm clouds surrounding her, blacker than night, she screamed her frenzied grief into side-slanting rain that blew her long, red hair straight back, You took him from me! You godforsaken bitch! You took him from meeee,” she wailed and sobbed, screaming at Mother Nature and any god who would listen.

With gale-force winds whipping her slight frame to and fro, she edged dangerously close to the slippery, black shale, cliffs. She was barely discernible in the driving rain and the cold splashing of the Atlantic. Only bolts and flashes of lightning that split the sky gave enough illumination to make out the shape of a mad woman, with her entire body twisting, cursing, and fighting an unseen enemy as she pummeled her own demons.

Kathleen was far beyond fear of storms that once terrified her. Tonight, she feared nothing, including death. She shook her tiny fists at the gods, at all of the legends and lore about hearty, Irish, men and women who had survived worse.

She could not imagine worse than a life without her love, and continued her raving madness, There is no worse,” she shrieked, “This is worst,” she screamed, releasing her unrelenting pain into the raging tempest that spat it back in her face with its howling winds.

Bolts of lightning dodged her small frame as though fearful but the deluge answered her, splattering her soaked body with a vengeance. Her pearl-white gown clung to her, filthy, tattered, and shredded, with her beautiful face now contorted in utter insanity. Outrage and agony tore through her, as nothing ever had.

She was mad with grief, incensed ire, and beyond the ability to return from her own hell, but the storm pitched everything it had at her.Kathleen fought, swore, and cursed, as though boxing the merciless onslaught.

Finally, she leaned into the wild winds, screaming her wrath that matched the raging, furious cyclone and then charged the jagged cliffs, swearing to join her love in death. Out of nowhere, strong arms encompassed her waist, hauling her back to safety. Exhaustion claimed her as she fainted into merciful blackness, not even realizing she had fainted into the arms of her fiancé.
 
 
By Wildfire8470

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Tags:  Cliffs of MoherFictionGriefInsanityIrelandIrish Legend, Loss,

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