Jason sat opposite her and reached for his glass. He studied her face as if to burn the image into his memory as he sipped the warm spirit and felt it...course downhis throat, his taste buds telling him that it was strong liquor before his stomach accepted the warming nectar.He savoured the delicious thrill as he heated up internally, the bourbon working on him like an internal radiator. Jason swilled the remaining liquor around in his glass, marvelling at the almost oily way it clung momentarily. “Like what you see?” she giggled “Here…” and she put her arms over her head like a diver, inviting me to take her faded tie-dye T off as well. I certainly did. As her shirt came over her head, I gazed upon her gold tinted sepia skin in the late afternoon sun. Her skin looked almost too soft to touch; her bra was a lacy light pink that contrasted her complexion. Her stomach smooth and on her ribs emblazoned a tattoo of a large moth. Her hair fell around her face and shoulders, framing her face. From that day forward, he refused to go riding again. His brothers and sisters loved to ride, but for JJ, the only horse he ever wanted to ride was manufactured by Harley Davidson. Aside from beasts with four legs, there were very few things that frightened JJ. From his late teens until today, he had lived a life of adventure. He had been white water rafting, gone to the Antarctic on an expedition, climbed most of the way up Mount Everest and was an accomplished sky diver. The only two things. And I was his Lady of the Lake, the stone in which his Excalibur would plunge, and only he knew how to thrust his sword into and out of my stone in such a way as to surround Excalibur with a protective lake of moisture, keeping all others from “coming” between Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake. That Friday, after breakfast together and window shopping at an antiques mall, hand-holding and flirting and kissing all morning, we checked into a motel for the rest of the day, as early as they would.
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