HotFlashFiction

Romantic Vignettes and Titillating Tales

Silhouetted in the rose mist of sunset, the couple stood in waist deep water, braced against the waves. Holding one another's faces, they kissed with youthful passion. Only, they weren't young, and had thought their passion spent.

Finding one another had been the surprise of a lifetime. Well, that's not quite right. It's not like there had been any searching going on, nothing that had been lost that needed relocating, nor anything long buried that required unearthing. No, they had always known one another. Always been right there in plain sight, each living within the other's periphery.

People say love happens in its own time, but they weren't sure timing had much to do with their romance. People say it's best to be friends first, and though that they certainly had been amicable, for decades even, they couldn't attribute their bonding to that either. Sadly, it had been trauma that brought these two together. Trauma, and an unexpected wedding.

Marie had been on her own for seven years, having lost her husband early to cancer. Bill had divorced his wife thirty years ago and never remarried. His last girlfriend had been when his kids were still in high school, and they were all married with families of their own now. Both were independent, with a strong circle of friends and ample privacy embedded into their daily routines. And, both had elderly parents who lived nearby.

Then, his mother had married her father. Married him when she was 75. That wasn't the traumatic part, though. At 50-whatever, one doesn't judge as much as one used to, and one is pleased to have one's parent walk with a bounce in their step and a smile on their face. So, Marie had worn her floral pink suit with a yellow hat and heels, and Bill had worn a tie and trimmed his beard. Together, they stood just inches apart, hands folded in front of them, witnessing their parents' geriatric matrimonial. They had leaned in for toasts and had danced the night away along with the other revelers. It had all been very nice.

Since becoming step sister and brother, they began to see more of each other. He'd show up with a bottle on Christmas eve, cheeks glowing from the chilled evening air, hair tousled by the icy wind. She'd come for a few nights at the beach house while he was there, too. He'd watch her from the widow's walk above his room, shaking his head as she ran down the beach at dawn to dive into the water and swim her morning laps. He'd stand in awe, cupping his morning tea, as the dolphins and seals leaped in the water all around her.

Slowly, over time, Bill became as enchanted with his step sister as the marine mammals seemed to be. Slowly, over the course of many chance meetings at family events, he had opened himself up to her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she grew to appreciate him with keen alertness, until she knew she had fallen in love with him. And, at last, they dared a kiss one evening out in the water at sunset.

At first, it was a small, shy peck. But, it--quite unexpectedly--grew into a lingering, longer, deeper kiss. The kind of kiss that brings two bodies together as one, where heat surges through the veins, and breaths quiver with a barely suppressed sense of urgency. The kind of kiss that demands more.

They had dared to kiss, despite their technically now being related by marriage, because they were both devastated by the news that their parents--his mother and her father--had both died while on a cruise in Tunisia.

Their parents had been married for five years and had gone on a cruise somewhere exotic every year. They had been on a day excursion to Tunis's Bardo National Museum when terrorists opened fire on the tour bus. More than 50 people were shot that day. Bill's mother had been shot through the heart and had fallen back into her husband's arms. Together they fell to the ground as a bullet pierced his brain, his arms wrapped protectively around her in a loving embrace.

Bill and Marie, having buried their parents, had come to the beach house for respite. They hadn't known the other was coming and neither was inclined to ask the other to leave. So, they had just moved around the place, lost in their own thoughts, sleeping long hours, taking long walks, avoiding the need to speak and interact until one day, at some point, their paths crossed and their eyes met and it couldn't be helped. It was in that moment that all barriers and pretenses had shifted enough to allow the need for love and companionship and comfort out.

They had both known they wanted just that, but neither could bring themselves to reach for it. The death of a parent is a hard thing to bear, especially when it doesn't come naturally, but rather through unfathomable violence. Their blossoming interest in one another had seemed somehow dwarfed by the intensity of the duel murder.

It had been shortly after ten in the morning when it happened. She had gone swimming, then a long walk on the beach. He had stood watching her, as he had done before, drinking his tea. Then, he went in to retrieve and read the paper. While out front, he was stopped by Mrs. Winters who, having heard about the shootings, came across the street to offer condolences. Of course, he hadn't wanted to chat, but wouldn't have been rude either. So, he had stood and listened to the old gal share her fondest memories of her lost friend, and had endured her incessant, but intentionally sympathetic, maternal arm patting.

When he came back into the house he had been distracted and had bumped right into Marie. Literally. He had to scoop her off the floor because when he smacked into her she had fallen, flat on her back, heaving her freshly poured coffee over head in a perfect arch. Of course, he had apologized profusely and had stood in front of her, his arms holding hers, making certain she was unharmed. He didn't let go, however, instead pulling her into his strong embrace.

They had stood there like that on the landing, Marie buried in Bill's shirt sleeves, for a long time. When they pulled back, he used a finger to brush a loose hair off her face. She had smiled at him, and that was the beginning. The beginning when they knew where they'd be going with this, with each other.

They had spent the day in each other's company. It was a gentle day, a lazy, quiet day. A warm and intimate day and they were comfortably easy together. There was none of the awkwardness that they had felt with other lovers when they were young. There was a confident knowing between them that was cloaked in a stillness for which they both seemed grateful.

Neither of them, not him nor her, thought a simple kiss would ignite dead desires. But, it had. Marie lost all awareness of the waves and the water and the sunset. All consciousness that she was standing ankle deep in sand, shifting with the pull of the tide. All she knew was him. The solid feel of him, the arousing smell of him, the delicious, addicting taste of him. All he knew was the precious glowing wonder he held so gently in his hands, willing her, wishing her, breathing her into the depths of his being.

Night came, then morning. Days passed and still they were cognitive of only the pulsing love spearing through the shards of their shells, beaming like a beacon, blinding them.

Night came, then morning. Days passed, then weeks. And, still, they were so in love they saw nothing but their joy reflected in everything and every one. Where ever they went from there on in, they left a trail of rubber-neckers in their wake for they, indeed, were beauty personified.