REUNION                                                                            (C) Susan Mason
She sat tentatively on the edge of the sofa, ready to spring to her feet at the sound of the
door-buzzer.  Her heart was pounding like a bass drum.  Her right foot provided an unsolicited
tapping rhythm, and before long she was clucking her tongue.  She was a one-woman
percussion band!
As she lost herself to the beat of anticipation, her mind began to wander.  It had been too long
since she’d seen him...since she’d touched his face, or felt her hand swallowed in his strong,
warm grasp.  She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the feel of his lips on hers...the smell of
his skin and the memory of his chest where she lay her head after they made love.  She could
almost feel his left arm crook around her neck and shoulders, and she shuddered as she
remembered the sensation of his fingers tracing a path up and down her arm with his other
hand.  She would lay extremely still, so not to miss a single beat of his heart.
After the loving, when the air was heavy with spent passion, he would speak to her, stroking
her with words and his fingertips.  Their conversation flowed in soft, even tones.  He spoke of
things, she spoke of feelings:  fear, pain, disappointment...and hope.  The irony was in the way
he listened to and seemed to understand her feelings.  Especially the fears.  But he rarely
exposed himself.  It was the way he listened though, that gave her hope.  Hope that someday
he might speak his heart openly, without feigned indifference or bravado.
Lost in the memory of time spent pressed against his flesh, and longing for his heart to
envelop the rest of her, she didn’t hear the sharp, shrill sound of the door-buzzer.  It rang
again impatiently.  Propelled to her feet, she spoke into the intercom:  “Come in.....please.”
The words came out in an uncharacteristically small voice.  She pressed the button, listening
for the click of the door lock, then for the sound of his footsteps in the tiled hallway.  Leaning
heavily against the door, she waited for him to reach her door.  He did not knock, but she felt
his presence on the other side.  Slowly, she opened the door.
There he stood, left arm raised and leaning against the doorjamb.  His left leg was bent and
crossed over his foot.  He wore a crisp, white v-necked tee shirt tucked into his seductively
snug black jeans.  A lock of his dark, wavy hair hung over one eye, accentuating their deep,
sparkling brown color.  Always full of fire, his eyes seemed to burn even more brightly as they
drank her in.  She returned his gaze, her grey-green eyes luminous at the sight of him.  In
nervous anticipation, she moistened her lips.
The corners of his sweet, moist mouth curled ever so slightly as he surveyed her countenance.
Her hair was brilliant with shine as it framed her full, round face.  She wasn’t ugly--not a “10,”
but definitely not a 2!  She wore a white v-necked tee shirt with the words “All of me, why not
take ALL of me?” emblazoned across her chest.  The tee shirt was tight.  Very tight.  His eyes
traveled down her body, resting on the shiny spandex leggings which left no curve or fold
undefined.  Every line of her abundant figure was clearly visible.  She was just as he
remembered.  Images of her had filled his thoughts since they’d last been together.  His senses
were flooded in her presence.  When her perfume reached his nostrils, he closed his eyes and
shook his head.  She could swear he was purring.
They stood like that, in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity.  Her knees were weak,
and seeing him again took her breath away.  When she closed her eyes for a moment (in an
effort to catch her breath,) he leaned into her and began to devour her mouth with his.  His
kisses were deep and hungry.  She felt herself succumbing to a passion she’d only imagined
before this moment.  Her knees began to buckle.  Sensing her faltering posture, he moved
closer and pressed against her soft body, slipping his knee between hers.  One of his hands
cupped her face as their kissing grew more fevered.  With his other hand, he reached behind
him and pushed door closed.

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