Nice Couples Do
Page 17
Neil’s eyes met Bonnie’s.
“Shall we start with kissing?” the voices said.
ISOLATION
As the icy rain dribbled down the back of her neck, Trisha wondered why she had picked this afternoon to end up so far away from home.
Earlier that day, she and her aunt had quarreled—she didn’t even remember what about—and she had stormed out of the house. She had walked for hours, getting farther and farther away from the farm. As the first cold drops fell from the leaden sky, she looked around and realized that she had no idea where she was.
“Damn,” she said aloud as the rain got heavier. Her long hair lay in a flat, wet sheet down her back. Her soaked shirt and light jacket did little to protect her from the frigid drops.
Her teeth started to chatter and her fingers felt like icicles as she jammed them into her pockets. She spotted a huge tree and ran toward it, hoping to find some shelter from the deluge. The bolt of lightning that split the sky eliminated the tree as shelter.
She shivered violently, and tears started to form in her eyes. Not thunder, please, she prayed. Then she realized that she had to get out of the rain. I won’t panic, she thought. There has to be somewhere I can go. There just has to be.
She looked across a small stream and, through the sheets of rain, she saw a tiny cabin nestled at the foot of a small hill. “Thank God,” she whispered.
She ran across the little wooden bridge that led to the cabin and pounded on the door.
“Oh, please let me in!” she cried. “Please.”
As she was almost ready to drop from exhaustion, she heard the bolt being pulled and then the door opened.
“Come in, come in. You’re soaked.” The man who opened the door was very tall, with sandy hair and large dark brown eyes.
“My name is Rick. I don’t often get visitors,” he said kindly. “I’m kind of a hermit out here, and I like it that way, but you’re more than welcome.”
Trisha walked in, introduced herself, and briefly explained how she happened to be there.
Rick looked at the puddle she was leaving on the floor. “You have to get out of those wet clothes.” He rummaged through a small trunk that held his possessions. Trisha looked around the one-room cabin: a bed, a chair, a fireplace, and the trunk.
Rick held a pair of slacks and a man’s shirt out to her. “These will have to do until we can dry your clothes.”
He handed her a towel and showed her to the tiny bathroom. “We’re not equipped for anyone but me, I’m afraid.”
Ten minutes later, Trisha emerged from the bathroom. The shirt was tremendous and she had rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. She held the pants up with one hand and held her wet clothes in the other.
Rick took her clothes from her and grinned. “You don’t look as much like a drowned rat, now,” he said. “Come sit over here.” He motioned to a spot on the rug in front of the fire and draped her clothes over the back of his only chair to dry.
Trisha settled on the soft rug and ran her fingers through her tangled long hair. “Do you have a comb?” she asked.
Rich pulled his comb out of his pocket with a flourish and handed it to her. “At your service,” he said.
After a few frustrating moments pulling at the knots, she sighed.
“Can I help?” he asked. “I don’t have a lot of experience combing a woman’s hair, but it doesn’t look too hard. And I’ll bet it is easier for me than for you.”
He meticulously started to work the knots out of her hair. As the fire dried it, it began to feel like a satin waterfall, long and straight and reaching almost to her waist.
There was a flash of lightning and a thunderous crash outside. Trisha jumped and a tiny sound escaped her lips.
“It’s all right. The lightning can’t hurt you.” Under his fingers, Rick could feel Trisha shake.
“I’ve been afraid of lightning and thunder all my life,” she whimpered. “I guess while I was trying to get dry, I shut out the storm. Now that I’m dry and comfortable, the lightning and thunder terrify me.”
Gently, Rick took her in his arms. “I won’t let anything hurt you. Just rest here with me and I’ll take care of everything.”
It felt so safe in his arms that Trisha cuddled deeper and looked up. She saw his lips descending on hers and she smiled. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to feel safe and protected in his arms.
The kiss was long and deep. When he pulled away, she knew that she didn’t want him to stop.
She reached up and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. She pulled his mouth down to hers. They both knew what they were saying. They knew that they wouldn’t stop.
CONCLUSION
Variety is the spice of sexuality. Once you’ve found a game or a fantasy that you enjoy, don’t think that you can use it every night for months. It will become stale. Anything becomes tiresome when overused. There is nothing inherently wrong with missionary position; it’s just that it becomes routine.
Keep varying your sexual experiences. Try something new anytime it occurs to you. Reread the material in this book and mark a new story, one you’ve never played with before. Read more erotica, rent a videotape, try a new game.
A delicious warning. My partner has had a lot to do with this book. He’s not only the inspiration, he’s my primary editor. As you can imagine, we’ve read and reread this many times. Yesterday, he reread and edited this text and last night we tried something new, something again inspired by what he had read. There is no end to the variations. There are only the limits you place on yourself.
Have fun.
Dear Reader:
It would please me to know that you and your partner shared a wonderful experience that was in part due to my book. I’d love to hear from you, so please write to me care of Warner Books,
1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Or visit my web site at www.JoanELloyd.com
or e-mail me at JoanELloyd@aol.com