A Reason to go Camping
by jsenn

"I wish you loved this as much as I do."

Wondering where he was going with that statement, I smiled, and said, "I love it here too. Tell me why 'you' love it so much, Babe."

He looked away for a second. "I just like the idea of living in the RV out here in the woods." (He is a man of few words. I have learned that those few words, when allowed rumination within me, can be full of meaning.) Of course, there have been times when we both laughed at my deductions.

I'd watched him happily and quietly set up camp for an hour, feeling breezes against my skin, listening to birds, and fat squirrels twitter at one another. We are camped under a canopy of trees sporting brand new, sun glistened leaves, born for Spring. We couldn't get a site on the lake this time. We are back from the water, but looking at the horizon through the tree trunks, the water meets the sky, the two became one and I imagine we are living inside a water bubble... I suppose it is rare that anyone can deduce the way I think, except when...

I watched a trickle of sweat roll down his neck and soak into his collar, followed by another. I want to lick the drops off his skin with my tongue. I asked, "do you want to know what I like out here?" He looks at me, grinning, and asks, "what?"

(Smiling back at him, I think to myself, Joy, you are so transparent.)

I said, "it's wild and primal out here. If there were no other campers, I would spread a blanket right there on the ground. I would ask you to lie down, and I would peel you like a grape. I would drink you like fine wine, and you would be so delicious." He laughed, wiped the sweat from his neck and continued his chores. I did notice a slight, which I thought might be anticipatory, grin on his face several times, this afternoon.

Alone at the edge, I watch the water ripple across my bubble, and I lose myself in you. My god you attract me like no other. The way you move my love, the way you breathe my love, the way you whisper my name across my skin with your fingers, smooth, tender; you touch me as if I were delicate, finely woven silk. I waited so long for you. My song was guttural, a moan of longing. I said your name once, though I didn't know. I said it and it stung my tongue honeybee-d. When I saw you, young and full of juicy-thigh touched secrets I soared with you and became one of them. I was cradled by you as you pinned yourself inside me, and nothing else mattered.

Joy Senn
4/11/2002