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Excerpt from Volume Three of The Offbeat Rhythms.
“Come in,” he said, moving aside.
Maggie walked in and took her coat off, and now it was Ben’s turn to be rendered speechless…
The supple profusions of Maggie’s feminine contours were in no way unknown to Ben. He was indeed well aware of them, down to the tiniest detail. How could he not be, when his nights were spent in bed fantasizing about them? But he had never seen them like this. Oh no. Maggie was wearing low-cut bell-bottom jeans, tight-fitting, and so thin Ben wondered if she wasn’t actually naked with her legs only painted to appear denim. Her curvaceous butt, which Ben could scarcely look at without wanting to weep, seemed like it was just begging to burst out. And despite the chilly temperature, Maggie had selected a skin-tight, faded yellow T-shirt with “The Who” inscribed over the ample bulge of her chest. The shirt’s low-cut afforded a never before seen view of her cleavage, and Ben, not failing to notice, momentarily forgot what planet he was on, to say nothing of his own name.
Her Pompeian red hair, usually left to curl in locks about the crown of her head, was braided in a late 1960s fashion, with two plaits running from front to back on the sides; the rest falling long and straight beneath it. The entire effect—hair and outfit—made Ben think she belonged in a photograph of Woodstock.
It was suddenly way too hot for the cravat. He quickly undid it and threw it off.
Maggie sat down on the sofa with a curious, pleased smile on her face. Bevo, hitherto deep in slumber, jumped up and cuddled in next to her.
“Thirsty?” Ben asked.
“I’m good.”
Ben wasn’t. His mouth was ridiculously dry, and he knew why. He poured himself a snifter of port and sat on the sofa next to her, with Bevo between them.
A moment of silence passed, but it wasn’t awkward. Ben was lost in Maggie’s beauty and allure, and she was lost in the newness of his beardless face.
Maggie’s penetrating blue eyes, so hauntingly personified in his erstwhile dreams of the redbird, were dancing with what Ben would have sworn was love.
At length, Ben reached over and felt her arm. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and noted the inquisitive expression on her face.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Just making sure you’re real.”
“What? Why?”
“You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”
She smiled. “Stop.”
“It’s true.”
Maggie stroked Bevo’s head. “Why did you shave your beard?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I just woke up this morning and wanted to. I feel like a new ‘me’ these days, and I suppose I just wanted to show it.”
“I like it.”
“Does that mean you hated my beard?”
“Oh no! Not at all. But, to be honest, I like this much better.”
Ben felt his chin, as he had done so many times that day. “You know, I think I do too.”
He noticed a slight shiver in her. At once he realized that she was freezing.
She wore that tight shirt for my benefit, he thought, all while knowing she’d be cold.
He set his snifter on the coffee table and leaned over the side of his sofa where a small wicker basket of woolen blankets sat on the floor. He took one and then leaned over Bevo to cover Maggie with it.
Before he could stop himself, he said, “It absolutely breaks my heart to cover up that view, but I’d rather you be warm.”
He suddenly realized what he’d just said, but his embarrassment, registering on his shocked face, was quickly disarmed by the pleased, playful look on hers.
Maggie walked in and took her coat off, and now it was Ben’s turn to be rendered speechless…
The supple profusions of Maggie’s feminine contours were in no way unknown to Ben. He was indeed well aware of them, down to the tiniest detail. How could he not be, when his nights were spent in bed fantasizing about them? But he had never seen them like this. Oh no. Maggie was wearing low-cut bell-bottom jeans, tight-fitting, and so thin Ben wondered if she wasn’t actually naked with her legs only painted to appear denim. Her curvaceous butt, which Ben could scarcely look at without wanting to weep, seemed like it was just begging to burst out. And despite the chilly temperature, Maggie had selected a skin-tight, faded yellow T-shirt with “The Who” inscribed over the ample bulge of her chest. The shirt’s low-cut afforded a never before seen view of her cleavage, and Ben, not failing to notice, momentarily forgot what planet he was on, to say nothing of his own name.
Her Pompeian red hair, usually left to curl in locks about the crown of her head, was braided in a late 1960s fashion, with two plaits running from front to back on the sides; the rest falling long and straight beneath it. The entire effect—hair and outfit—made Ben think she belonged in a photograph of Woodstock.
It was suddenly way too hot for the cravat. He quickly undid it and threw it off.
Maggie sat down on the sofa with a curious, pleased smile on her face. Bevo, hitherto deep in slumber, jumped up and cuddled in next to her.
“Thirsty?” Ben asked.
“I’m good.”
Ben wasn’t. His mouth was ridiculously dry, and he knew why. He poured himself a snifter of port and sat on the sofa next to her, with Bevo between them.
A moment of silence passed, but it wasn’t awkward. Ben was lost in Maggie’s beauty and allure, and she was lost in the newness of his beardless face.
Maggie’s penetrating blue eyes, so hauntingly personified in his erstwhile dreams of the redbird, were dancing with what Ben would have sworn was love.
At length, Ben reached over and felt her arm. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and noted the inquisitive expression on her face.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Just making sure you’re real.”
“What? Why?”
“You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”
She smiled. “Stop.”
“It’s true.”
Maggie stroked Bevo’s head. “Why did you shave your beard?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I just woke up this morning and wanted to. I feel like a new ‘me’ these days, and I suppose I just wanted to show it.”
“I like it.”
“Does that mean you hated my beard?”
“Oh no! Not at all. But, to be honest, I like this much better.”
Ben felt his chin, as he had done so many times that day. “You know, I think I do too.”
He noticed a slight shiver in her. At once he realized that she was freezing.
She wore that tight shirt for my benefit, he thought, all while knowing she’d be cold.
He set his snifter on the coffee table and leaned over the side of his sofa where a small wicker basket of woolen blankets sat on the floor. He took one and then leaned over Bevo to cover Maggie with it.
Before he could stop himself, he said, “It absolutely breaks my heart to cover up that view, but I’d rather you be warm.”
He suddenly realized what he’d just said, but his embarrassment, registering on his shocked face, was quickly disarmed by the pleased, playful look on hers.
