waiting for me when I got home last night, spread out on my car, eyeing me as a friend dropped me off.  "Looks like you are in for some fun!" my friend said as I got out of her car and walked up to the one eyeing me.  "It would appear so," I said.

I approached her, reached out and stroked her long, gray hair, felt her head push against my hand, saw her eyes close, her lips curl into a smile.  My hand continued down her body, caressed her shoulder, slipped down her back.  She opened her eyes and looked deep into mine, a look that said "don't stop, don't ever stop."

I now had both hands on her; in her hair, fondled her ears, touched her cheeks.  I leaned close and asked, "Have you eaten?"  She looked up and I knew she hadn't.  "Wait here," I said, "I'll be back in a sec."

I went inside, found something, cut it up, placed it on a plate and brought it out.  She was where I had left her, eyes fixed on mine, waiting.  I held out the plate, asked, "How about this?"  She didn't speak, just looked hungrily at the food on the plate.

I talked while she ate, told her of my night, of my bird, of how this could be the only way we could meet.  She glanced up occasionally, acknowledged my presence, finished her meal.

She stood and stretched; I reached out, stroked her hair again and I swear she purred.

We said our goodbyes, her's silent, mine spoken, separated, went our ways, knew we would see each other tomorrow evening.

-- Modified on 8/31/2005 7:32:35 AM