"This is a whole new direction which I certainly have A*K's challenge to thank for. When I was younger I thought brains got set in concrete at about the age of 40 - I've been SO relieved to find that it definitely isn't so, but feel obliged to keep testing just in case.
Kate - the challenge was daunting - thank you."
~ Sandra
ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY
By ~ Sandra Davies
Sheer stockings and immaculate nails, his choice of ‘totally inappropriate anniversary card’ (an occasional, unspoken challenge) had, with instinctive rapport, perfectly complemented her dinner-jacketed smoothie with knitting pattern expression of plastic perfection, despite the fact that they’d been bought separately and secretly some weeks before and hidden in luggage.
They’d planned a full day’s drive, exhilarated by the breadth and beauty of the Flinders countryside: far purple hills, innumerable shades of orange zested with the lime of new leaves, overheated and fly-ridden whenever they set foot out of the car, disproportionate excitement at the unexpectedness of a steam train, amusement at the smugness of a couple named Norm and Norma, awed by 500 million year old geology, impressively labelled.
Inbetweentimes she watched his hands on the wheel, familiar and knowing whenever he briefly stroked her denimed thigh, his eyes meeting hers with love and shared anticipation, although they could not have anticipated the solitary splendour of the Cradock Hotel whose highly fanciable landlord catered for a resident population of just five, with efficiency, pride and food to die for.
Their evening began with conversation, a couple of beers and a sunset, continued with good red wine and ended sitting outside listening to multiple conversations of a dozen or so locals who had assembled for a birthday celebration, looking at the stars and thinking of the room where they would – eventually – sleep that night.
The day’s slow burn – another unspoken challenge – had been one of mutual, muted celebration but they could never have hoped that the finale would take place in such a room: opening off an inner brick-floored courtyard, its high-ceiling, scuffed primrose walls and slat shaded window personified a simplicity not undone by furniture which totalled one wooden chair and an iron bedstead whose white sheets and heavy textured cover promised well-matched, well-worn comfort.
And indeed, after forty years of marriage, still hungry, still that ripple, that surge of clenching anticipation at first touch, ability replacing agility, sensitivity superseding inventiveness, well-matched, well-worn, well warm and tender, skin familiar, smell, taste, touch long known, long loved, each once again fulfilled their long ago promise to the other.
They’d planned a full day’s drive, exhilarated by the breadth and beauty of the Flinders countryside: far purple hills, innumerable shades of orange zested with the lime of new leaves, overheated and fly-ridden whenever they set foot out of the car, disproportionate excitement at the unexpectedness of a steam train, amusement at the smugness of a couple named Norm and Norma, awed by 500 million year old geology, impressively labelled.
Inbetweentimes she watched his hands on the wheel, familiar and knowing whenever he briefly stroked her denimed thigh, his eyes meeting hers with love and shared anticipation, although they could not have anticipated the solitary splendour of the Cradock Hotel whose highly fanciable landlord catered for a resident population of just five, with efficiency, pride and food to die for.
Their evening began with conversation, a couple of beers and a sunset, continued with good red wine and ended sitting outside listening to multiple conversations of a dozen or so locals who had assembled for a birthday celebration, looking at the stars and thinking of the room where they would – eventually – sleep that night.
The day’s slow burn – another unspoken challenge – had been one of mutual, muted celebration but they could never have hoped that the finale would take place in such a room: opening off an inner brick-floored courtyard, its high-ceiling, scuffed primrose walls and slat shaded window personified a simplicity not undone by furniture which totalled one wooden chair and an iron bedstead whose white sheets and heavy textured cover promised well-matched, well-worn comfort.
And indeed, after forty years of marriage, still hungry, still that ripple, that surge of clenching anticipation at first touch, ability replacing agility, sensitivity superseding inventiveness, well-matched, well-worn, well warm and tender, skin familiar, smell, taste, touch long known, long loved, each once again fulfilled their long ago promise to the other.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Sandra Davies
"Gosh and golly - this is the first piece of total fiction I've ever written, the first time ever that characters got into my head and said what they wanted to say ..." ~ Sandra
LIGHT RELIEF
By ~ Sandra Davies
It had started as a bit of fun, a bit of light relief at the end of what had been an exceptionally drab day, and once the conversation paused she really hadn’t expected him to do any more than pick up the packet of cigarettes he’d bought, along with his change, and leave. But he’d caught her glancing at the clock, had realised that it was a couple of minutes after closing time (it was he that had delayed her) and noting her tiredness he offered to run her home (although where exactly ‘home’ was he didn’t bother to ascertain).
Pete had been in France for months – far longer than some of his mates, who’d looked a bit evasive when she met them on leave, on their way to the pub a couple of weeks ago, after Pete had written to say it’d be impossible to get away. She wasn’t a fool – he’d been really odd about fucking her while she was pregnant, even admitted one drunken, shrunken unsuccessful night (the drink her fault- she’d hoped it’d help) that he was scared the baby would bite him – so she’d’ve put money on him looking elsewhere.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Sandra Davies
SANDRA ~ I don't want her to just have a quickie, end of story, one night stand - not for any moral reason but because I'm hoping that I can take this further and maybe with more complexity (though I don't know where at the moment). This is very much virgin territory (fiction I mean).
ABSOLUTELY*KATE: Sandra DID continue way past the remnants of any one night stand . . . to a remarkable relationship in a new choice of voice her genre challenged her to take. READ ON at one more in this series below, then take a linger and a stroll through some of those postings in her prolific collections in the land of 6 Sentences.
SNUFFED
By ~ Sandra Davies
Just after seven – she’d managed a couple of hours sleep then, and yes, got a better sense of proportion than she’d had at four, when tears in her ears and the wet pillowcase had pretty well drowned all attempts at recovery. OK so Plan A had failed ... well perhaps not exactly failed, and it wasn’t really fair to call it a plan at all, because she’d hardly thought it out, it had been no more than a glimmer of an idea that she was holding onto until she had a bit of time to consider it. But what she did know now was that under no circumstances whatsoever could she go with just anyone – last night had shown her that he’d have to be at least ... at least a lot of things, and since she couldn’t see how she could list all her requirements, her ‘musts’ and her ‘must nots’ on one card (she giggled, imagining the size of card necessary) noticeboards were definitely out.
And also, she recognised that she’d have to put some effort in – keep the place tidy, a LOT tidier and Bridget’s baby stuff out of the way – oh god the nappies last night, clean ones on the table (at least they smelt sweet) but the one on the floor definitely hadn’t, and though she’d grabbed it as she went into the scullery to put the kettle on she doubted it’d gone unnoticed ... and offering a cup of tea! ... not that there was anything else except the scrapings of a bottle of Camp, but surely something better ought to be offered – sherry? (don’t be daft, that was for vicars!)
It’d been so much simpler before she married, when where didn’t matter, didn’t have be part of the setting, when was as soon as possible and who was the one you fancied at the time (and you fancied him because you knew him a bit, i.e. the fancying came first, mostly, not like last night).
A complete stranger, no knowledge of who he was, nothing to say to each other once she’d given directions and they’d done the awfulness of the weather; a man who somehow became a good deal smaller once he’d taken his overcoat off, and who looked very much a stranger sat on her sofa, a bit unhealthy looking, and older than Pete by a good six years she’d guess ... well, what was done was done, no good thinking about it, she’d better get up ... and the first thing she’d got to do was clear up the pieces of the shattered cup that she’d thrown.
(c) 2010 ~ Author Sandra Davies
"In truth this started as a response to a challenge, fell by the wayside and was then revived with the "doesn't matter if I cock it up" attitude which I find works well with printmaking and painting ... interesting to find that writing might just do that too." ~ Sandra
SANDRA DAVIES ~ I'm an artist, printmaker and writer with an interest in family, social and cultural history. I have fledgling blogs for prints, drawings, paintings and for writing.
"Inspired both by landscape and history, I like the fact that the impact of past actions on the present – man’s mark on the landscape and its subsequent erosion – is replicated in the printmaking process."
ABSOLUTELY*KATE: The writing process so distinctively expressed as history through perceptions has its own subsequent impact on readers, dear Sandra.
THANK*YOU for the range you poured forth
from the intrigue of a simple sexy*touch challenge
which you claimed at first stumped you.
from the intrigue of a simple sexy*touch challenge
which you claimed at first stumped you.
Oh Lady! Do you rise to challenges!
~ Absolutely*Kate
*AT THE BIJOU*
