A Dangerous Woman

She feels like lara croft and I see it in her when she's getting comfy with the gas as we go a little fast for comfort in the parking lot. But dammit she's getting good, and that confidence building is a beautiful thing to see. She is fiercely independent, but I'm a good teacher as I feed her blueberries [chur-nikas], melinas, vinegrats. She doesn't want me to stop touching her and I will likely acquiesce, because the way she makes me feel is, well she says things that light my mind up, like oh, me too I never thought I'd hear someone say that out loud. I want devour her like a fire eats the forest.

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She has only just begun to speak the language and already I'm speaking hers. And maybe it's because I'm a new husband, the feeling is high, a rush it's called, yet I'm at pace and in control, not afraid of loss because I get it now - zero expectations - I arrived with nothing in my hands and will go the same way if I must, only hoping my heart will follow too. But I think not of later, only now. And it's quite incredible our relationship, friendship,  survived IKEA and the curse of the place to send you in circles lost, and for most, bothered - in that going around, circling, I eased her nerves doing only what I always do, make sense of the chaos and draw up a solution. Let's try out some beds. And that moment was quite the nicety--a few minutes playfully touching her crush, me, a little, and I holding her amidst all the couples serious and looking for furnishings. This is how I want to furnish my life.

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When we came to a snag in the plan, I traced back and knew what she needed. We returned to a shelf where not long before in my musing I touched a book which laid upon it, 2 hours later it was her choice. What peculiar foreshadowing. Then I headed us true north and the most endearing of happenings that inched her closer to my heart - I pulled a cart and this little lady, the trouble maker that she is, sat herself on it and requested I push. In defiance of posted signs and what any might think, I obliged. What man wouldn't want to push his wife of 72 hours and counting down to zero for a ride through the aisles before he ceremoniously identified and acquired the proper boxes [only to discover later I was so distracted we got the wrong box]. Something about it all makes you feel right at home, all that once happened, but you somehow still made it here, home. A final request that I take video of her zooming down the aisle standing figure skater-esque on the cart, dangerous but after all I do make her feel like a dangerous woman. And she is. Lethal. Punctuated by the fact that she hands me a wad of cash to pay with my card. She'll pay me the rest even though she doesn't have to. I'm not stealing the glimas, they are 3.49 for 100 votif candles brother I didn't realize how much I've been drawn in, and she's doing the coloring. I tell her to get on the cart and I kick us off into the parking lot nearly crashing into a curb. We scathe by and zip through the danger of the cold windswept lot. I open the door to get her inside, and pack it up. I start the car and only one thing is on my mind. A kiss, a touch. And we do. We do. I kiss her and have no hesitations about it. I touch her wherever I want because I know she wants. And now we're flying down the highway a bit intrepidly, snagging kisses as I change lanes and she says something I can't fully make out of the noise of the moment but I understand that she believes according to everyone I'm passing that I drive fast. And I do. Speeding to get her home even though if I slow I can have more moments like this, but I stay steady. Then I do slow because who wouldn't want just a few extended moments when any could be the last. With my hand holding her face and the other on the wheel, I tell her give me another kiss from over there and pull her. So passionate she calls out, because I am - you're either passionate or dead I say, and I intend to only be the latter when my time has come. And that time is not now.

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Pulled up a little bit down from her house I park the car, and look at her in the faint glow of the street. She says she wants just a little bit more, and so more we get. Now kissing, she says she wants to touch me more and of course she has 72 hours permission; next I know I'm inside her shirt, my mouth in frenzy, my hand in prayer with her panties, but I don't need any gods to find what I'm seeking. It's trust and comfort. And I do trust. As I close out my prayer she grabs me and I know I'm not finished, but I'm also in no rush as I hit 65 or so hours left on the clock. Yet the river runs and I pull her near to me, I want a taste of the rapids I've riled up dragging my fingers to my mouth and hers. She says something I can't discern but I know she'll be practicing her dj skills tonight in pursuit of her dream to make electronic music