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Yet complexity forces me into the realization that fault lies somewhere deep within mine own self. “I love you Tessa.” I spake as I caressed her cream colored shoulder and drank in her breath. Her eyes closed briefly. This very action instilled upon me the truth that I have known all along. Her head dropped partially in shame, partially in a loss for words. Her rose colored cheeks faded and then her eyes opened. Upon the edge of the woodlands we gathered imagining shaped clouds of colorless folds- unbounded in riches and unfettered by ideas. Tessa looked at me and then quickly looked away. I could hear her breathe, I could see her heartbeat. “We believe what we want to believe.” She whispered softly before she blanketed herself. “I think you have always known that.” Seven years collected in memory- where delusions rise to the surface and hold me condemned to die by my own thoughts, my own feelings, my love. I still remember those words as if they were being spoken at this very. ‘Please don’t ever let go!’ which is precisely what I did. I gently squeezed each breast again trying unsuccessfully to contain one in each hand. I then let my hands slip under the surface of the steaming water and again started spreading it over her body as I let my hands go where they may over her sides and stomach. With each pass I moved a little closer to her abdomen. After several minutes of what I call ‘sweet torture’ where my touches were ‘there’ but not quite…I stopped moving my hands and simply marveled at the feel of her warmth. This is what I call ‘sweeter torture’. Our mutual goal, the destination of where we each want my hands to be, met but not quite. When I felt I couldn’t take it any longer I waited still. Her body seemed to be in constant motion as she tried to move under my hands pressing herself against them. The next time I sensed her hips rising my right hand parted her lips and I slipped a finger deep inside as my left rose to pinch her nipple once again..
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I learned all the facts about it from our chat time with the Mom's while waiting for the turkey to cook.I learned that this thumb of land that we were on was a thousand acre parcel that at one time belong to Charlie Summers. Rumor had it that he was involved with bootleg whiskey in the twenty's and that was where he made his money. He owned a publishing company that printed papers, magazines and the like. The delivery trucks had false floors. They would pick up moonshine in the south along with blank paper from the pulp wood mills and deliver it to his warehouses in the area. The blank paper was replaced with printed stock and delivered with the booze to the buyers in the cities of the north using the publishing business as a cover.As Charlie needed money after the moonshine business dried up he began selling parcels of land to keep the printing business going. I knew he had a big plant in Easton that was wiped out by a unsolved massive explosion when I was a kid in school. The rolls.

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