Friends of Mine
Friends of mine have a place high up in the Santa Cruz Mountains. It can get quite warm up there in the Fall, away from the ocean breezes and the fog, surrounded by tall redwoods reaching skyward, and a wide clearing filled with row upon row if Cabernet Sauvignon wines. I often stay here while they are on vacation, acting as a house sitter. Keeping an eye on the vines, the winery (which is actually under their house), and the home, but otherwise having very little actual chores or responsibility.
They have a beautiful home, made from all redwood, both inside and out, situated at the top of the steep, half-mile driveway, which opens at the higher end of a clearing. The house has decks on three sides, and 360 degrees of spectacular views. It is quite secluded; you can see no other homes from their property.
You are visiting your family in San Francisco, and I've invited you to join me here for the weekend. You arrived late last night, after sundown. It was pitch black, save for the billions and billions of stars in the sky. I had to guide you up the driveway and showed you where to park. We embrace, kiss, and then I take you by the hand and we move a little closer to the vineyard. We stood there watching the stars in all their magnificent glory. The view of the sky truly is spectacular, and then -- with a flashlight -- I guided you into the house. I had made dinner for you, a boeuf bourguignon paired with one of their Syrahs, and paired with rice, vegetables, and a salad from their garden. It was all pretty delicious, if I say so myself, and then, for dessert I took you upstairs to bed and we made love until we couldn't any longer as we fell asleep in each other's arms.
We sleep until just past 8:00. It is already warm, in the low 80s, sunny and beautifully clear. It's going to be a hot one. I pull on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then slip into a pair of running shoes. I head down to the kitchen to make us coffee. I hear you walk past me and head outside, and I call out that I'll bring the coffee outside.
I prepare the press pot, get two cups, pour some cream into a pitcher, and get the sugar bowl-- all onto a tray. I walk out the front door, expecting to see you at the table. You are not there.
I look out, past my parked car, and see you -- or rather, I see the top of your head and know you are in the flower garden.
As I get closer, I see you are lying on the lounge chair, enjoying the sun's warmth on your skin. You are naked, a pair of sandals sit next to the lounge chair. A soft breeze moves the branches on the redwoods, gently sways some of the flowers, and I see that it has hardened your nipples. I set the tray down on the small table next to your chair and sit on the edge of the second chair on the far side of the table. You're even more beautiful, Kori, than the view. You shade your eyes with your arm and, looking at me, you smile.
It is a dazzling smile, and I feel those familiar butterflies within my belly take flight. I pull off my t-shirt, pour us two cups of coffee, and I lay down on the other recliner -- staring straight ahead towards the tree-covered mountains ahead of us, yet (and you know this all too well) I cannot help but steal glances to my right -- savoring the sight of your beautiful body baking in the sun...