It’s the violet that catches my eye, crinkled paper stuck to the windshield of my car. It’s the seventh note that I’ve been left this week, a trend of rainbow colors that offer our memories. They’re unsigned, but we both know you’re sending them. Writing has always been easier between us, without the need for eye contact, avoiding the acknowledgement that something, everything has changed from our paper ring promises on the playgrounds to the heavy realness that’s exists between us now. I’ve given up on first moves, my intentions clear in lingering goodbyes, late night car drives, and the blunt question I had asked last week after dinner at your parents house.
What are we?
I think the notes are your way of giving yourself time and giving me the answer we both know is there.
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
We are 12 years old, strangers on a beach playing frisbee, and we are curious.
We are 13 years old, throwing food around a noisy lunch room table, and we are laughter.
We are 14 years old, defeating puberty, first crushes, and high school, and we are confused.
We are 15 years old, dancing in the rain after a football game, and we are happy.
We are 16 years old, whispering secrets between lines of Shakespeare in English class, and we are trust.
We are 17 years old, walking hand in hand across the stage at graduation, and we are determined.
We are 18 years old and there is a violet note that doesn’t tell me what we are or who we’ve been. It’s a date and a time, 7pm at the old dock on the lake where we met. I hope the answer is that we are love.
opened the slender silver ashtray on the back of the carseat and saw a fossilized piece of gum in there like some Doublemint scented mouse brain. “Wonder who chewed that and what year it was chewed,” I thought. The chewer was most likely dead. The car was a 1977 Lincoln Continental Town Coupe with suicide doors. The airport loomed in the horizon, late afternoon bleeding its color across the sky dotted with planes taking off and landing, adventures in the clouds for all the ticket holders. Whatever. People on business with honey roasted peanut allergies more likely. The charm of airports had waned years ago due to too many delays, overbooked flights, and infants screaming like they were being eviscerated.
I couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm of a change of scenery. Contentment is an elusive entity. I’m never content where I am and when I do go out of town I’m preoccupied by the machinations of getting back home to fully enjoy the new experiences. The brochure promised a life-changing memory but I doubted I’d be able to unplug from the hardened routine for any length of time to let it register.
I left the vintage cab, tipped generously, filed through the screening queue, and eventually boarded. My overnight bag I kept by my feet. Once in the air, two bourbons helped me doze off until the treble speak of the onboard system announced our landing. The colors of the islands were magnificent greens and teals, dotted with multicolored flowers and striped through with pristine beaches. Resorts speckled here and there and I wondered in which one I was reserved.
Out of the plane, I removed my sport coat, the temperature being at least 30 degrees hotter than where I flew from, the air smelling of sunshine and promise. In spite of myself I relaxed and smiled, slipped on some dark sunglasses. The cab ride to the resort snaked up a twisty road, from switchback to switchback climbing ever higher until the road crested and presented the large wooden lodge in all its teakwood peaked glory. Palms bowed at the entrance and eager bellhops came every few feet to smile and offer help. I waved them off and checked in, walked the orange blossom scented carpeted halls and slid the key card into my room.
Throwing my bag on the bed, I walked over to the patio window and took in the view. The edge of the island looked far off. Private aerie indeed. The phone rang, a pleasant tropical ringtone like pineapples beaten on steel drums. “Welcome Mr. Caplan, good afternoon. We have all the arrangements made for your evening and we think you will enjoy what we have planned. The questionnaire you filled out gave us some ideas and we narrowed down the three best options. Know each companion has been specially made and never used by anyone, so we want you to fully enjoy.”
“Ok,” I replied.
“What time would you like the festivities to commence?”
I thought. I wanted to shower first, of course. “An hour? Hour and a half?”
“Excellent. That time frame has been entered and noted. We are excited to present your first option. You can decide to opt out if it is not to your liking, but we are confident in our algorithm and believe the first one will be the only one.”
“How many times has someone opted out and chosen one of the other three?”
The attendant laughed. “Never. Enjoy your stay.”
I hung up, showered, raided the mini fridge in my towel. After my second Maker’s Mark, a knock sounded on the door. I opened it and a crate was wheeled in by a bellhop. I tipped him and he left promptly after handing me a card. The card reade: “Key code 4196, for both container and character boot.”
The crate had a keypad and I typed the code. A hermetic seal hissed open and a dark human shaped figure slid out covered in bubble wrap and plastic. Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, I hastily tore off the packaging and there she stood: a life-size Mrs. Butterworth, looking like a dark bottle filled with syrup but with obvious articulation, squinty eyes and smile, hands clasped at her waist. She looked hotter than her original design. Less grandmother, more sexy aunt or sultry cougar. Larger hips, plunging neckline, and a shiny booty. I felt stirrings and excitement. What in my questionnaire could have possibly triggered this? Age group of desirable mate? What flavor always brings comfort? I had definitely listed maple a couple times. While I had never had this fantasy, this was definitely in my wheelhouse, but a kink I would have never thought of for myself. The algorithm was impressive.
I flipped the kneecap open and typed in the 4196 code. A whirring, a hint of ozone, and suddenly the statue before me began moving fluidly and stepped across the room. The crate folded itself up and slid on its edge via two wheels into the closet, even shut the door behind itself. Mrs. Butterworth strode across the room and her voice sounded incredibly sexy, raspy yet buttery, like Kathleen Turner just keg-standed a pound of honey.
“This room is great,” she cooed. “Looove the view. Remind me your name again?”
Her face smiled and her eyes radiated desire. I thought i saw liquid flowing inside her, unless it was an optical trick to project the bottle effect.
I must have taken too long to answer because she purred, “Cat got your tongue?”
“Simon,” I said.
“Mmmmm, Simon. Speaking of tongues, Simon, why don’t you come here so I can taste yours?”
She/it stood with a leg out and I saw her/its long skirt was slit nearly to her belt, which offered a long narrow window of leg curve and a hint of underpants. Why would a pleasure droid need underpants?
I strode over and held her and she was warm to the touch. Soft like real skin, too. She smelled great. Like being sleepy and wanting breakfast and grinning. That’s what she smelled like. Like memories. I kissed her warm soft lips, feeling a carbonation in my stomach and a nervous system branched explosion comprised of yes and more.
She moved her tongue into my mouth and I caressed it with my own tongue, sucked it, rotated my head left and right, keeping her tongue prisoner. She tasted amazing. Like real maple sugar. She pressed her body against me and I could feel her hard nipples jabbing me just under mine. Her hot breath steamed my glasses and I threw them across the room. My attention was completely on this moment. I kissed her cheeks, sucked her earlobes. Though she wasn’t damp, she tasted of maple sugar. I licked her neck, she moaned, sucked in her breath so that under her ribs ebbed. I kissed down her belly as she unbuttoned the golden brown gown, let it fall to the floor.
I kissed down her legs, purposefully avoiding her nipples and vulva so her excitement would build and thus her energy. She had on some golden brown high heels and with the toe of one, she pressed my head back, dug the heel under my chin. She looked down at me with eyebrows up. “You want me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I croaked. She dug the heel in more, almost to pain level. “Then lick the bottom of my shoe and you can have anything you want.” Her mouth turned up in a grin on one side. I dragged my tongue against the underside of the shoe. (She was just in plastic and had only walked a few steps around 6 star hotel carpeting. It was not nasty.) Tasted like maple sugar. She pulled me up from the floor, onto the bed. She eyed me for a second, then started unbuttoning everything down the front. (Her processor must have computed buttons vs zips and reconfigured the seduction technique.) I was not really into S&M, but this was I guess diet S&M, maybe due to the questionnaire where I told about a time I was accidentally choked during sex (The woman was on top and leaned her elbows on the sides of my windpipe. It made for an intense orgasm, but not something I could ever plan on doing again.)
Anyhow, Mrs. Butterworth and I were nude and on the bed. (I can only assume Mr. Butterworth wasn’t watching from the corner or CCTV.) I finally gave her nipples release. Then I swirled my tongue on her clit while she hummed her moans over the tongue depressor of my cock. Everywhere, she tasted like maple sugar. I slid inside her with her below me. I went inside and hit her walls. She moaned and grinned. In and out I stroked with each stroke producing a moan from below.
I flipped her over and tongued her ass, buried my face there and licked away. Maple goddamned sugar. I mounted her from behind, stroked fast then slow. “Pull my hair,” she grunted as I felt her vulva clamp with excitement. I wrapped some strands around my fist and tugged. Her head went back and her mouth broadened in pleasure. She pressed herself back against me, to the hilt and deeper. Her toes curled and her mouth sounded like a first time rev on a motocross bike. I slid my thumb in her ass, increased my speed going in her. Light and pleasure braided into one, my body seemed to move on its own tempo, extremities tingled and convulsed. My hands shook as I gripped her sides, her moans such sweet music, the vibration, the tempo, until…………..cascading sparks from the best fireworks on the 4th of July. A release, a return to the senses, an exhale of happiness before all the shitty floods back into the world like a thunderclap. To orgasm is to produce lightning.
A sheen of sweat had beaded down her back. I didn’t lick it but I know what it probably tasted like. I had selected the post-coital cuddle option which was fine, except if you moved too abruptly she would offer to get you a glass of water.
The next morning I checked out still grinning, ran my credit card. I decided to upgrade to take home. The thought of destroying her was too much, but like they said, you are the only one to use it, so if you don’t buy it after, they will incinerate it. After I signed, I asked the guy what my other two options would have been if I hadn’t kept the maple queen. “We can’t tell you that. But on next visit, we can show you.”
Ah, so that’s how they keep you coming back. Since Mrs. Butterworth was coming home with me, I wouldn’t be back.
Giselle sat at the small table in the Parisian café where she was waiting for her date to arrive. Paris was such a busy city, as was Jacques, and it was quite possible he had been held up by unforeseen events at the bookstore where they both worked. At any rate, she was sure that he would be arriving shortly. He had promised her, after all, that tonight would be a very special first date for the two of them. They had been working together for a year now, but they had never been on an actual date before this evening.
She was sipping a glass of Merlau, or Merlot, a new wine in Paris harvested from succulent grapes in the Bordeaux region, but it did not help to quell the butterflies of anticipation that flitted about in her stomach as she waited. The wine was rich and velvety, while also fruity and spicy, and had become a favorite. The rich Merlau was a lovely accompaniment to the ambience of the dimly lit café and its' small crowd of patrons.
As Giselle sipped the Merlau, she looked about the café. She was immediately intrigued when she spied two men sitting in the corner as they drank their forbidden drinks of absinthe while they talked with one another. Whatever it was they were discussing, it was obvious that their conversation was somewhat heated. One was a handsome, tall, blonde-haired man, and the other was a bit shorter and stockier, with dark hair and a mustache. Eventually, after apparently becoming angry and frustrated, the stockier man rose hastily from his seat and abruptly left.
Surprised by their public disagreement, Giselle quickly looked away and toward the door in hopes of finding Jacques, but such was not the case. When she turned back to look at the remaining man, he gave her a delightfully handsome smile and shrugged his shoulders. As she smiled somewhat timidly back at him, he picked up his drink and leisurely walked toward her.
“Mademoiselle,” he greeted her. “Might I sit with you for a bit? I fear my friend has suddenly left me all alone, and I find myself in need of companionship.” Not waiting for a response, he smiled charmingly as he slid into the empty seat at the small table.
Startled by the man’s boldness but not wanting to be rude, Giselle nodded. “Oui,” she said. “But, monsieur, please know that my date will be arriving shortly.”
“Lucky man,” the tall, slender man commented as he settled himself comfortably in the seat across from her. “I’m Scott,” he said with a beautiful smile that had obviously impressed many women.
“Bonjour, Scott. I am Giselle,” she smiled back at him.
“So, you are waiting for your sweetheart? Your petit ami? He is your intended?” the man asked. It was obvious that he was American from his accent.
“Oh, no!” Giselle quickly answered and shyly smiled. “It’s our first date. We work together, you see, at the bookstore.”
The man smiled ruefully and with exerted concentration said, “Ah, but l'amour is so very splendid and beautiful when it’s fresh and young. And yet, as time transcends, it so often becomes a damning element in our lives.” His glorious smile slowly faded to a demure frown as he spoke. “I should know,” he added and held up his left hand for her to see his ring, indicating he was married. “At best, you can’t live with it, and you can’t live without it.” The handsome smile returned, albeit a bit ruefully, with the last commentary.
Giselle was uncertain how to respond. Who was this American and why did he have such a dismal view of l'amour? Moreover, why was he inclined to share it with her? It was obvious that he had had too much to drink. Perhaps this is why he and his friend had argued. Were they arguing about l'amour?
“Monsieur,” she began, but he immediately held up his hand to interrupt her.
“Please, I must insist that you call me Scott,” he said, his blue eyes gentle as he appealed to her.
“Scott,” she said hesitantly. “Perhaps you’ve had enough to drink for this evening. I thought that this drink - this absinthe - was forbidden anyway. C'est tres mauvais, no?,” Giselle whispered as she pointed at the milky, green drink in front of him, alluding to its' purported danger. She was aware that absinthe had been illegal in Paris since 1915, and yet, here this man was drinking it a full ten years later in full view as if it was not.
Scott looked down into his glass and smiled with assuredness. With the utmost air of confidence, he said, “Ma jeune fille, only the most intense of pleasures are derived from the depths of the forbidden.”
Giselle blushed at his words and attempted to change the subject. “Where is your wife tonight, monsieur…I mean, Scott?” she quickly corrected.
The man gave her a wry smile. “I fear she finds her pleasures in the forbidden as well,” he said and then sighed. “Alas, she has taken off with her friends for more exciting times than intense, heated discussions betwixt my friend and me, as you have just unfortunately witnessed.”
“I see,” said Giselle, genuinely sorry for this man’s current misfortune in life, friendship, and l'amour.
“Do you? Do you really see?” Scott asked, intently watching her and awaiting her reply.
Unsure how to respond, Giselle once again attempted to deter the conversation from the question with which he had just presented her. “Why are you in our lovely city of Paris, Scott? Are you working here?” she asked.
“Paris is such an enchanting and fulfilling city, and so full of opportunities. I am here at preset, mon chéri, in an attempt to finish my latest novel - at least on good days. However, on bad days, like today, I drink and tend to argue with my closest friend. And I suppose one could say that I drink and argue much too frequently,” he said as he took another large swallow of his drink.
“Oh! You are a writer! Comme c'est intéressant! What are your books about?” Giselle was genuinely interested.
Scott smiled his charming, attractive smile and nonchalantly leaned back in his chair. “Well, let’s see, Giselle. I mostly write about l'amour. Do you not find it ironic in consideration of the sad view of love I’ve just painted for you?”
Indeed, Giselle did indeed find it ironic. It was exceedingly odd that a man with such a dismal, disappointed view of l’amour would choose to write about it. Then again, love was a wonderful subject for a book. Moreover, l’amour was truly a wondrous thing, at least in her experience.
“Please allow me to explain my pretty, petite French flower,” Scott said as he leaned on his elbow across the table to look intently into her green eyes. “I write about l'amour, mon chéri, because I am a hopeless romantic and have not yet given up on achieving it to the fullest capacity in my life.” He relaxed and leaned back in his chair again as took a sip of his drink before continuing. “I have a need to know and understand love; to have it fill me to the depths of my being. In fact, I crave love with an intensity that extends beyond a need for sustenance of any kind and reiterates the words I have just spoken.” He picked up his nearly empty glass and waved it in the air. “And believe it or not, I crave love more than I crave even this poison.”
Scott finished his drink. “Hope for such things springs eternal, does it not?” he asked as he lifted his empty glass as if to pay homage to l'amour and to emphasize the truth of the words he spoke.
As Giselle pondered a response, Scott rose, declaring it was time for another drink and headed to the bar. She watched as he ordered himself another drink of absinthe. While he lingered for a bit at the bar, she turned to find Jacques entering through the café's entrance. She lifted her hand to wave to him. He immediately spotted her and made his way to the small table. Giselle rose and kissed him warmly on the cheek in greeting. The smile she gave him was all the assurance he needed to let him know she was very happy to see him.
“I am so sorry I am late, mon tendre,” he said. “I was unfortunately detained at work.”
Giselle smiled sweetly. “It is not a problem, Jacques. I am just so happy to see you now.”
Just then, the stranger meandered by their table, pausing to introduce himself to Giselle’s guest, a fresh drink firmly in his hand.
“I see your ami has arrived,” Scott said, and smiled at Jacques, extending his hand in greeting. Giselle made the introductions, a bit wary of what Scott might say to Jacques.
“I fear, monsieur, that I was a bit lonely and kept this sweet, jeune fille entertained for a short while as she awaited your arrival,” Scott said. “We had a very thorough discussion on the subject of l’amour, and I gave her my most earnest opinion on the subject matter.”
Jacques’ brow rose in surprise and Giselle blushed, but Scott was oblivious to either of their responses as he rambled on. “I informed your sweet Giselle that I am a hopeless romantic. Moreover, I do think l’amour will eventually win the day for all of us. Do you not agree, Jacques?" Scott smiled and nodded, not waiting for Jacques' reply. "Yes, I see that you do understand, mon ami, because of the way you look at this delicate, beautiful French damsel. that l'amour may very well be a real thing.” Suddenly Scott turned serious and gave a gracious bow before he added, “I pray that l’amour will be a very real thing for you two sweethearts and fill your hearts. I can easily see that it is already a flower nearing a full bloom for each of you.”
With those words, he turned on his heel as suddenly as he had appeared and headed back to his former table where the man with whom he had been arguing earlier in the evening joined him again. The two friends hugged, laughed, and patted each other on the back as they took a seat and began a new, intense conversation, all former arguments seemingly forgotten.
Giselle nervously turned to Jacques, who was watching her with wide-eyed amazement.
“Jacques,” she began. “I did not know what to say when he approached and began to discuss such serious things like l’amour. I found him to be a very sad man, always hoping to find love, but never seeming to find it.”
Jacques continued to stare at her in disbelief. “Giselle,” he said. “Do you not know who that gentleman is?” he asked.
“No, I don’t have clue who he is other than he said his name is Scott. And I know he’s American, but that is all.”
“Mon chéri, that is none other than F. Scott Fitzgerald, the famous American novelist. Moreover, he is sitting with Ernest Hemingway, another very famous American writer. These two writers frequent the bars of Paris, and all know them for their carousing, rowdy ways. They drink nothing but absinthe and champagne – or so the story goes,” Jacques said as he eyed the two men and their drinks.
Giselle dubiously looked at her date. “F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway? I am not sure that I have heard of them,” she said. “However, Scott did tell me that he is a writer.” She turned to watch the two men as they conversed, a new view of Scott taking root in her mind. She would have to buy one of his books just to see how he wrote about that wonderful subject called l’amour for which he continuously searched and longed.
Giselle turned back to her date. “Famous American writer or no, I would much rather be sitting here with you, Jacques, enjoying this night.”
Jacques picked up her slender hand and kissed it. “And I, with you, my sweet Giselle. Still, not many can say that they met someone as famous as F. Scott Fitzgerald on their date. Perhaps you should consider picking up the trade and penning a story about such an incredulous encounter this beautiful Parisian night!”
Giselle shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, Jacques. I will leave the writing to the two of them instead,” she said and the couple laughed as they began the first night of many to follow for them.
Indeed, a lifetime of love and many happy years spent together would be forthcoming for Giselle and Jacques. Who can say? Perhaps that fateful meeting with F. Scott Fitzgerald, a hopeless romantic, and the ardent words he spoke that night, propelled their love to a beautiful and ultimate end. Regardless, there is little doubt Fitzgerald would have been immensely pleased, and perhaps a wee bit envious, of the love the two shared over the course of their lives together.
An Ill-fated Love
It was an ill-fated love from the start. One that should never have been.
Anna, the daughter of King Mathius, fell in love with Prince Louis, from a kingdom her father detested. Their King, Edmund and King Mathius have been feuding for twenty years, and once he found out his daughter had been seeing Louis, he not only forbade her seeing him, but he also had her locked away to be put on trial for treason.
When the trial came before the tribunal, King Mathius pleaded his case with deliberate speed, claiming his daughter was consorting with his greatest enemy.
When it came time for Anna to defend herself, she spoke of independence, love, and freedom from a kingdom where she could not be herself, but with Louis, she could express herself freely without fear of recrimination.
But the tribunal, fearing the wrath of King Mathius came to a verdict—death by the guillotine.
As Anna sat on a bed of straw, she relived every moment she had with Louis. She even fantasized he would somehow rescue her before her death would happen, but she knew deep down that would not be.
If he were found within the kingdom's walls, he surely would die the same fate awaiting her.
They would always meet in the glen down by a riverbed when she went on her daily horseback ride and they would spend their hour together, holding hands, kissing, and talking about the future they would one day live out.
Even then, she suspected that that may never happen, although his father wasn’t against his son loving a woman but feared his falling—being in love with her would still cause a problem.
Still, all the hope, all the dreams were soon to end.
At daybreak, two hours from now, her life would be forfeited.
She wanted to cry herself to sleep but tears no longer came as they first did.
Instead, she stood and walked to her window and looked down over the kingdom grounds.
No movement, no people. Quiet. The sky, nearly pitch black with a few stars twinkling about and a slice of a smiley moon, grinning at her with an almost sinister look.
She closed her eyes and steeled herself to meet her fate. She knew death would be quick, and she vowed she would die with as much dignity as she could muster.
At least she knows when she dies, she was loved.
The Afternoon Hustle
His plush lips moved from behind my ear and down my neck. His scent, sawdust and oil from his shop lingered in his beard. I closed my eyes, leaned back on his chest and breathed him in. His rough hands sliding around my waist while he stole a quick squeeze of my breast. I threw my head back and let out a laugh.
"What's for dinner?" he asked as gulped down water like it was the last bottle on Earth. Two kids ran through the kitchen with the dog on their heels & one more yelled a manic plea for more toilet paper from the hall bathroom.
"Skip-its" I replied with a smirk.
I gave that a moment to sink in, that the family may need to fend for themselves one day before I announced it was taco night & was met with a loud cheer from all 5 of the kids.
Matt settled himself in his recliner and took off his shirt. His body had changed over the years, as had mine. He was thicker now, still tan, tattooed up his strong forearms and chest, but not overweight. His luscious curls that I once loved running my fingers through had been replaced by a BIC smooth scalp & his once smooth face was now wearing a full, thick beard. I had him as a boy & I was lucky enough to have him as a man.
His Bible by the bed was a reminder of who he feared and where we would be together after this life.
I let my mind slip into thankfulness while I cooked. I am a kept woman. We had worked hard to get here. Night shifts, babysitters, bartending, you name it. But now life was settling. He is a 9-5 electrician with federal benefits, & I am a stay-at home mom. It's hard to explain to new couples, but the sex really does get better with age. The guessing game is over. Now we just get to enjoy perfecting. I was already lost in looking forward to the evening; imagining his warm mouth between my thighs and his calloused hands gripping, caressing up my body.
When the blaring fire alarm started sounding, the dog running through with a loud bark and smoke coming out of the oven. I had forgotten the pizza box from the night before.
A cute love story.
For the 1st time we met in the canteen of our university. No other desk was free so you sat across me. I saw you and your smile for the 1st time.
When i was about to leave you asked me if you could take a picture of me with the cafe inside the canteen because you thought that i am pretty and suitable for the visual of cafe . ofcourse i refused . How could i let a stranger take my picture?
I refused you and about to leave when you again stopped me by coming infront of me. I was really angry at that time but you suddenly knelt and started tying shoelaces and said that i would have fall if i will let these laces untied. I was embarrassed and run away and didn't even said thank you.
We met again after 1 month in the playground . That day i had my period so i was tired of those activities. In the middle of running i fainted. You carried me to hospital immediately . I didn't realise but i liked you for a long time. you can say love at 1st sight. Because from that day you were in my every thought.
After i woke up the first face i saw was you. You were their the whole time. I said sorry for my previous mistakes and thank you. I proposed a friendship and We became friends.
I asked you to go to that previous cafe and it will be my treat as a thank you gift and After few days we went to to the cafe as our plan.
We enjoyed their and became even closer. Before leaving i asked you to take the selfie with the cafe because you are handsome with a killer smile. We took our 1st photo together.
We became partner in studies. As you were my senior you helped me a lot in my studies and as you were too weak in mathematics i helped you too. Spending time with you became an addiction for me.
We became best friends. Close enough to put hands on soldier and interfere in personal matters. And some time we also used hand and legs in our fight. We fought with eachother for many times.
After the fight when we would realise our mistakes we exchanged gifts as an apologize . It was becoming difficult for me to live a day without seeing your face. I decided to confess.
Finally i said it. I said directly like a very bold girl
"You idiot ,i love you" . At that time your reaction was worth seeing. From your reaction i was clear that it was a success.
When you said that you also loved me too from our 1 st meet i got a heartattack with happiness. I was really happy at that time.
Our relationship became better with time. We got mature and responsible . Above all we loved eachother even more. That was my 1st kiss in your appartment. That day i stayed at your home for the revision of my final exam.
When we became intimate we didn't know. Under the blanket in the winter season we enjoyed each other's warmth and crossed the final line.
I don't know when we slept but when i woke up i found myself beside you. At first i was anxious but soon i saw you slept very cutely. Not like a 28 yers old boy at all insted just like a 8 years old. All my anxiety went in to air. That day i wished that may all our life will be end with the peace like this moment. I promised i will make our life like a amusement park, where we can be happy like always.
After five years we got married and our life was as fun as we thought with eachother with love and respect.
Today we are sitting here thinking about the moment we met eachother. I think the god above their specially wrote this script for us.
Thank you God for giving me this stupid and adorable person in my life.
A dark haired man with a chiseled jaw, he wore a jacket to the beach that day. He walked with his girlfriend past the crowds until they were alone on an enclave of the beach.
Alone on the beach together, he ran his fingers through the ends of her dyed blond hair and gazed into her blue eyes. "I love you," he said in a low, gentle voice.
She smiled softly at him as the blue waves crashed into the white sand. "I love you, too," she promised proudly as she leaned forward to kiss him on the lips.
He pulled her close to him and pecked her lips quickly, but soon he had crumpled unevenly to the ground. She looked down at him for a moment in confusion. He had fallen dramatically to one knee. Clumsily as he knelt in the gritty sand, he pulled the a small jewelry box out of his jacket pocket.
"It was my mother's diamond," he explained, pushing the box toward the end of her extended fingers. "Will you marry me?" he asked, gazing at her pretty face as it began to understand the situation.
"Of course I will!" she exclaimed in delight, popping the box open with her manicured fingers to see an antique diamond sitting on a pillow. "We will have to get this set," she said with great decision in her voice. Overwhelmed with joy, she started running back toward the car. "Where's my phone? I can't wait to tell my family!"