Lazy Sunday Afternoon

Lazy Sunday Afternoon
 
   We arrive at a forest cathedral of pines. There a sprinkle of water from the cloud heights touches our faces with soft dreams. We cross the bridge of life into a forest world where our eyes behold bathing beauties in their birthday suits. A fairy queen surveys a steaming pool from her perch on the hill. Her Delta of Venus puffs in a magical bush of desire burn. Her aureole reflects the pink of the sinking sun over the crest of her mountains.  
      We stand beside each other next to the steaming pool where bohemian maidens gather like wood nymphs who cast their naked spell upon us. I tell Marsha, “Sweetness, let’s unclothe to feel the steamy water upon our bare bodies.”
     Marsha replies, “I am a woman of modesty.”
     I say, “There is nothing immodest about feeling nature’s touch. You did it with me at the creek in Natchez.”
     She replies, “It was only you and I there. Here there are spectators.”
     I reply, “They don’t look upon you salaciously.”
     She answers, “Why is my state of undress an issue? Maybe because if you were casual about it I might begin to think I am not the main attraction.”  
     “I want you to be the center of attention not just for me but also for the others.”
     “You should have brought your camera to take pictures. But then you’d be in more trouble than a jealous fiancé. I’ll strip to my lingerie.”
     We sink into the warm water and take our places beside the seekers of hippiedom. A man speaks of the green revolution and the peace and love it entails. We just listen to his wisdom which dances around us like the lick of sunlight. He speaks of Al Gore whom he hopes will open the gate to trees, recycling, and a freedom which only nature’s bounty can provide. He tells us not to dip our dripping hands into our eyes because we can get pink eye.
     A maiden faces me with her vanilla mounds peaked in pink. My eyes cannot help but encompass her beauty. She curtseys like a bridesmaid whose wedding gift is an invitation for us to go sightseeing her backcountry scenery which is just inches from our faces.  
     But I avert my peepers and look instead upon the young couple in a frenzied kiss session in a miniature cove of the pool. Their lips and tongue are hungry as tigers for the French style love they bestow on each other. I turn my head to the source of my love and kiss Marsha until she blushes before our sensual audience. I want them to know that she is mine. Finally, we arise from our liquid fantasy into the reality of our clothed life. But my gaze looks back at the world we are leaving behind. There a dark-haired maiden sits on the rocky edge of the pool with her feet dangling in the water. In the shadowy sunset, her pubic promise to men is a dark thatch which invites her lover who is not me. Marsha says, “Honey I’m sorry for being such a fuss earlier. You were on your best behavior. Your eyes didn’t wander too far afield.”  
     “It wasn’t hard with you there in your matching French lace bra and panties. In fact, wear them back to the car. Indecent exposure won’t be a problem with the optional clothing rules here.”
     “Keep my back just in case a park ranger comes up from behind.”
     Marsha and I leave this forest of earthly delights for the shores of a marriage which awaits across the mountains.