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Wildflowers
Angela grabs Nate’s
hand as they jog down the Lake
Michigan shoreline.
“Let’s make a detour,” she says. Nate
follows Angela into the dunes. “I love spring,” she coos. “Look at
all these buds. Everything’s coming to life.”
Nate smiles
and mutters a breathless “yeah” in agreement. Angela never seems out of
breath. He envies that about her. She’s like a Zen master with her
breathing.
Without warning, Angela tightens her
grip on Nate’s hand, stops, and gives him a deep long
kiss. Nate feels dizzy from the lack of oxygen.
“I didn’t expect that,” he says.
“Me either,” she admits before kissing
him again. “It’s just so beautiful out here.”
Nate has
thought about kissing Angela, many times, but so far they’ve been strictly
running partners, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that by upsetting her with
any sexual gestures.
“I feel so sensuous in the woods.
And running gets me excited,” Angela giggles.
“Sometimes I run behind you because it
makes me horny,” Nate confesses.
“I’m faster,” she says, wrapping her
legs around him.
“That too.”
Angela’s passion is overwhelming.
“You are so damn hot,” Nate whispers.
“Please. That sounds like a cliché, so
crass like horny,” she lectures.
“Sorry, but it’s true.” He thinks
about saying something about how this is great exercise, but decides it’s safer
to remain silent.
Angela breathes heavily, way more
heavily than he’s ever heard her breathe running. She pushes Nate off her to slow him down. “Look at that
vine. Isn’t it beautiful?” Breathless, she pants, but continues to
say more. “That yellow vine has wrapped itself around the entire tree,
from bottom to top.”
“Think it’s a wisteria.”
‘Shhhhh.
I hate giving plants names. Reminds me of biology and
having to memorize everything. Takes the joy
away if everything has a name.”
Nate laughs.
“It’d make my job interesting if we just described the things we needed in the
lab, no names.”
“You scientists are too analytical.”
“I like analyzing your beautiful body,”
he says licking her neck, then rolling her over to lick her back.
“Ohhhhhh, look
over there. Could it be a Lady Slipper this early?”
He continues licking her back.
Angela yanks his head forward, forcing him to look.
“Shouldn’t be.
It’s really too early. Thought you didn’t know the
names of plants.”
“That one I know,” she says. She
doesn’t explain how another running partner had told her all about Lady
Slippers while making love during one of their runs. He went on and on
about where to find them, how development was making them more
rare, and how his own grandmother had first pointed the flower out to
him when he was a young boy. Running back
to town, Nate catches up with Angela and says, “Looks
like we’ve just moved our friendship up a notch. Think we should get together
for dinner Friday, do a movie, you know, play
with the dating routine?”
“This Friday?” she questions, then runs a little faster. “Let’s just continue running and
see what happens.”
"How about I pick you at your house
instead of just meeting somewhere?”
“That sounds reasonable,” she agrees.
And promising, Nate
hopes.
Three days a week, they follow their
routine and go jogging at the beach, always
making a detour to the woods. “Angela, you’re the most incredible
lover. Don’t you ever make love in a bed?”
“Rarely.”
“Not even in the winter?”
“I may hibernate. Can’t remember that far back.”
“It’s only May. Surely you
remember.”
“Nate, let’s
not talk about those things. Look at all the wildflowers,” she says while
driving him crazy nibbling his ear. “And those ferns,” she adds while
massaging his neck.
When they finish making love, Angela
runs toward the lake. “Isn’t it great out here?” she yells before running
into the water. “It’s freezing!”
Jogging back to the car, Nate invites Angela to his house. “Not tonight. I
have to work early in the morning,” she says.
“Aren’t we ever going to sleep
together?”
“We could sleep at the beach some
night.”
“True,” he smiles, seeing some hope in
this idea. He wonders if she’d quit talking about plants if it was
dark. “How about
tomorrow night?”
“If it doesn’t rain.”
That night Nate
wakes up dreaming about ferns growing over Angela’s body, flowers sprouting
from her ears, moss on her knees, and he feels aroused. If only he were
covered with ferns. For once, it’d be him that drives Angela crazy, not the
flowers. Seeing Angela covered with wildflowers is like being in a
greenhouse, hearing Angela pointing to all the plants, oblivious to the vines
and crocuses growing from her orifices, her wildflower hair, ferny ass.
He punches the pillow next to him. “This is too crazy. Too real.”
Frustrated, he puts on his running shoes
and runs through the city, calmed by the quiet, the darkness; saddened by the
thought of flowers in vases on bedroom dressers near all the lovers sleeping in
each other’s arms in bed.
Previously published in ESC Magazine May 2006
Email: Diane Payne
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