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LUST
Janine S
Devlin stood in a grove of trees overlooking the beach.
For a little over a month now, he had been having trouble sleeping. More often than not, he would be so plagued with insomnia that he would rise from his bed, slip on some sneakers, pull on a shirt that hideously mismatched his shorts without caring because, he reasoned, no one else was crazy enough to be out at 4am, and stroll the promenade. The ocean air usually did some good, if not for his insomnia then for his soul.
At least, that is what he told himself.
The inexorable reason, deny it as he might, was her.
As he looked through the gap in the evergreens, he glimpsed a figure walking down by the waves. It had to be her. He could almost see her - this vision - with her white nightgown billowing out behind her in the fresh sea breeze - her gloriously brazen hair cascading behind her - every facet of her presence reflecting the lucent moonlight.
She had an ethereal quality, but he was still to catch a glimpse of her face.
So many times he had looked out to the waves - in both times of calm and turbulent waters - and beheld the Great Lady; her flowing gown caught in the breeze just so, accentuating every contour, every curve; her hair flowing like a waterfall of molten copper; her stride so graceful that her very presence made him feel all at once compelled to go to her and frozen in place.
Finding his resolve, he watched her in silence as she made her way across the shoreline.
Tonight, he would go to her.
Tonight, he would see her face.
Summoning up every ounce of bravery he could muster, he headed down to the beach toward her. He quickened his pace to catch up with her as she neared the point of the alcove that would conceal her from his view. He did not want to lose her direction as she wended her way around the rocks.
He found himself running toward her as he envisioned the angelic face that undoubtedly had to match such an elegant physique. She must have gentle, almond shaped eyes that were also so intense that a man standing before her would feel that she could see to the very depths of his soul. He imagined she would possess the wider forehead that is meant to be the signpost of intelligence - slightly convex as a sign of femininity - giving her that oval, almost heart-shaped face that he found so attractive. Perfectly high cheekbones. Not the cheekbones that are so high that they make the face look gaunt or detract from the rest of the face, but high enough to accentuate her face shape. And, of course, a full set of blush lips curved into a beautiful, coy little smirk that tells a man that she knows the way of the world - she knows her own worth and that - yes - she is pretty but damnit she has a brain too.
His heart started to pound in his chest with the anticipation. Or it could have been the exertion of running after this enigmatic woman. He could not convince himself it was the former. He still wanted to deny that his insomnia had somehow been worsened by his hopes of seeing her.
Her. The elusive woman who had somehow managed to slip from his view as he rounded the alcove.
Devlin slumped to the sand and wept in frustration as the tide made its way inland for the first time that day just before dawn.
**End**
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