Sunday Morning . . . & . . . Morning Shave ~ by Sweet Sugar of Harbinger*33

SUNDAY MORNING

~ By Sugar – Wendy

She let out a contented sigh as she awakened wrapped in his sleep-warmed body under rumpled sheets and felt his chest swell and return as he slept unaware of her. Extinguished candles, crushed rose petals, and heady red wine lingered in the air from their first night together. She allowed the sensuous scents to fill her with arousing memories of the deliberate touch of his fingers and the need of his mouth on her. Awareness of a slight change in his regular breathing brought her smoky green eyes to meet his knowing gaze. Her awareness of his intrusion into her thoughts brought a rose flush across her neck and chest. His slow shrewd smile provoked a shameless shrug from her as she slid beneath the covers to find him.

 

MORNING SHAVE 

~ By Sugar – Wendy

 It was usually on a Saturday morning when she watched her father shave in the aqua-tiled bathroom of her childhood home. She recalled the smell of Burma-Shave mingled with steam from hot water running in the sink. He would squeeze shaving cream in the palm of her hand and use that tickly bristly brush to lather it to white mountains of whipped cream and then lean down to have her spread the frothy mess on his cheeks. She had wondered what it felt like to move a razor over tender skin and asked questions about what it felt like and why he had to shave his face and why God had put hair there. Her mind-ride back in time was interrupted by her lover’s strong hand layed inquisitively on her arm. Content to be in the present, she stroked his stubbly face that had left a pink blush on her neck just minutes before, smoothed the spicy woods shaving gel over his well-loved cheek, and as his smiling brown eyes gazed at her, finally knew the feel of a razor over tender skin.

 (c) Sugar - Wendy 2009 ~ of Harbinger*33

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Sweet Sugar-Wendy is a well-loved woman in this world, by all whose lives she graces. It could be the beat, beat, beat of her huge heart, or that she channels Mae West through every fibre of her being. You figure. She's class, she's action, she's moxie, she's minx . . . and damn . . . she knows how to use it . . . with a soft tender turn of the words . . . which just grrrrrrrrrowl . . . and then . . . purrrrr.

Aboard the mighty ship Harbinger*33, she shakes enchanting libations at The Sugar Shack Lounge (where MusicMike Whitney croons most evenings, and nautical know-how is chugged down again and again) . . . but more, much more than this, she's a First Mate of topsail know*how checkin' with the Captaine that all lines are runnin' ship'shape. Always takes spoonfulls of Sugar to make the editing go down.

Everyone needs more Sugar, and you can find the tender twist of the phrase that speaks emotion in motion at MORE SUGAR < right there! (Watch your heavy breathing and breathy sighs)

Topsail thanks to you valued Sugar-Wendy . . . The world needs more Moxie and that's why e'er we need You! Honoured we all are that your sweet caring attention to professional details are so lively aboard Harbinger*33, sailing to its publishing journey of manifesting destinies.

~ Moxie shared and shimmied; FairWinds, Favourable Seas
~ Absolutely*Kate + readers discovering Sugar sweetness all the more