Her Christmas Story.

*ahem* This is my first attempt at writing romantic prose, and I wouldn’t have tried if my friend didn’t suggest that I should (thanks Dare!). So here goes:

Dear Jethro,

I remember your strength – August 23, 1990.

The day we met, in the midst of all that chaos – people in their hundreds, thundering into the foamy littoral of the sea, in a bid to defy the heat – your unfamiliar eyes met mine, then everything went dark. They said I tripped over a neighbour’s beach ball, but all I know is that I awoke in the strength of your arms, and in the heat of your gaze. Dark brown eyes, a gorgeous aquiline nose, full lips bordered by a day’s old stubble, all squarely bounded on tanned skin by your soft, full black hair. I took it all in at that first blink, and I felt forever begin. You looked at me, your eyes uncertain, and gave that nervous boyish smile as your hands picked a leaf out of my hair. I saw you swallow, and your eyebrows crease as your fingers touched my wrist – my naked wrist – then our eyes met once more, and this time, you, felt forever begin.

I remember your voice – November 2, 1990.

The day you sang, for the first time, for me. Well, not for me, to me. You were in your study, seated cross-legged on the floor by the pedals of your mother’s grand piano; furiously outlining scribbles on a worn piece of paper, that was in fact, my birthday present. You were humming the musical score that you had sketched when I crept up to your side, and touched your face. You jolted up in surprise and then your body calmed as your eyes darkened in recognition. You leaned into my palm, sighing and kissing as you slowly, breathlessly murmured my name. Then I saw them again – your superficial temporal veins pulsating, your teeth clenched, your nostrils flared, your muscles tense, and your eyes shadowed, dark – all the signs that I had come to associate with your body’s response to my presence; the struggle for control over your passionate desire for me. You tensely smiled and joked about me being too light-footed, and then proceeded to teach me the song you had written for me, for my birthday. You sang to me, and your voice became my drug.

I remember your fear – April 13, 1991.

The day I cried, when my tears matched the crystal you had laid by my side. It was early evening when you called at my house, and sought my father’s counsel on matters I was nescient of. A short while later, you asked that I escort you on a stroll by the beach and I gleefully obliged. We talked and laughed for what seemed liked minutes, but were in fact, hours, for we soon saw the stars winking at us as we lay on the sand. I admit it took me some time – a few seconds – to notice we were seated at the very spot we met, 8 months ago. This realization hit me as I was drawing your face in the sand, but when I looked up to inform you of this astonishing coincidence, you were on one knee, holding out the most magnificent ring I had ever seen, and looking steadily into my eyes. You opened your mouth to speak but no words came. You reached out, still looking into my eyes, and held my hand but with feverish fingers. You tried again to speak but couldn’t, so you bowed your head as if in defeat, and let go of my hand. At this point, my voice too had failed me, so I used my fingers to gently raise your head and I saw in your eyes, genuine fear – fear that I would reject you, fear that you were not worthy of my heart, fear that I did not love you. I smiled and touched your cheek, and that gave you confidence. With renewed resolve, you asked that I tie myself to you for then and always. You asked me to marry you and I said yes. I wore the ring, and cried out of overwhelming happiness, as our lips met, over the crystal you had laid by my side.

I remember our vows – December 24, 1991.

The day the earth bore witness to our union. On the 9th hour, you were waiting at the altar as my father led me towards you. I was dressed plainly in white, for though it was not without difficulty, you had loved me completely for 17 months, and not once corrupted my purity. Then I stood virgin before you; and before the Creator, man, and beast, we promised that our love would never die. Your now familiar eyes darkened as you took my little hands in yours, and you led us into forever.

I remember last night – December 25, 1991.

I watch as you lay spent, and sound asleep beside me. The rumpled sheets and torn pillows, evidence of the extraordinarily exquisite night before. Even now, my body shudders as I remember how you passionately consumed me. Every pore on my skin is wildly aware of how your fingers imprinted on my very soul. My opening is still bathed in your sticky essence. Silently, I’m still throbbing from the sensuous kisses you laid on my lady-parts, and as I watch you, it’s taking inhuman restraint to not disrupt your slumber with feral kisses. You may not know how I know, but I do. I know that he breathes, that he lives. I know because last night I felt your seed, and I felt it multiply and grow into him. Our son, conceived on Christmas day.

I love you.

Your loving wife,
Merry Christmas.


19 thoughts on “Her Christmas Story.

  1. Wow. The words wont come. They wont. Because I’m lost. Lost in this perfect place your words have put me. If only I can stay there forever.
    Thank you.

  2. Oh my, I almost cried and I’m usually anti-lovey dovey. This is simply beautiful. Sigh, now I’ll spend the rest of the night thinking about true love and when it’ll be my turn 😐

  3. In the 1st paragraph, u talk about a chaos and I expected a deformed situation but order I saw afterwards. Wot a suspense! When u said in dat paragraph, “everything went dark”, did u speak of a gloomy day? Do you depict sadness? Or you still speak chaos? Amidst this uncertainty, I still see sense in your story. Bravo!


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