It Was a Beautiful Thing


It has been 15 years since I strolled through that field of dandelions, her hand in mine. Moonlight, our only illumination, enhanced the mood on the north side of the oak grove that separated us from our sleeping hometown. It was the perfect ending for that night.

I haven’t seen her since, but I can’t deny the fondness with which I recall the five months that her beauty grew to consume my every thought. The idle chitchat that filled our time together granted me precious extra moments to watch her mid-length auburn hair sweep across her shoulders with every animated expression. Her bright hazel eyes would light up, and her full lip balm-coated grin would grow each time I placed my latest selection of books on the circulation desk in front of her. In time, our casual conversations began to stretch out, similar to the front of her polo shirt when she arched back in her seat to relieve the stiffness from sitting still.

With my selection of two true crime novels and one old botany guide, I made the brisk walk to my truck. She would be leaving within the hour, and the cool November air kept me comfortable as I watched the exit through my lowered driver side window waiting for the opportunity to take our relationship to the next level.

An hour passed, she had not left, and my impatience began to grow.  After an hour and 12 minutes of waiting, I saw her exit alongside one of her middle-aged co-workers who rarely failed to annoy me as I browsed the non-fiction titles. To my relief, they quickly parted ways. This was the first time that I got to view her entire figure, and I was far from disappointed. Her jeans contoured the curvature of her wide hips and round buttocks naturally as she walked toward her dark blue sedan. It didn’t take long before she was leading me to her house.

I watched as she unlocked the door and placed her purse on the entry table. Through the partially open curtain of the front window, I could see her walk from her living room into a doorway at the front of the hall. While she showered, I gave myself a tour of her unremarkable two-bedroom home.

Her geek side was on full display in the living room as my eyes shifted from the replica vintage Star Wars posters on either side of her flat screen to the bookshelf of cliché iconic bobbleheads and disheveled best sellers. I stifled a snort when I noticed a smiling poop emoji pillow watching me from her worn faux leather sofa. From where I stood, it was easy to see the half-filled sink of dirty dishes and old pizza box that nearly covered the only counter in the tiny kitchen.

I heard music muffled by the sound of flowing water as I strolled down the hall to peek into the two doors at the end. To the left was a room cluttered with boxes, bags, and holiday decorations piled on and around an unmatched collection of office furniture. Through the door on the right were the usual bedroom goods spread in what I would come to know was her typical tousled manner. The long, pink vibrator on the nightstand, however, caught my attention. The water stopped, and I speedily retraced my steps.

I watched her exit the bathroom wearing a long Pearl Jam t-shirt and a faded purple towel wrapped around her hair. The leftover meal that she decided on was paired with a cheap bottle of white wine, no glass required. With a new episode of the latest hit sitcom playing, she finished eating, and curled up with her plushie poop.

As days blurred into weeks, I lived for my nightly ritual. Only my fading doubts restrained me from living out the fantasies that I embraced in my own bedroom.

It was a warm Friday in April. As was now habit, I swapped books I had no intention of reading and greeted her with a smile. Unexciting plans for the weekend filled our conversation. She showed no signs of expecting the surprise that I had planned for her.


She took her time with the nightly routine. I watched. I waited. Finally, drowsy from the wine, she went to bed. I took my time retrieving the key from under her doormat. I knew it would take time for her to be sleeping soundly.

I made my way past the garbage can full of frozen food boxes and wine bottles. Her soft, steady breathing broke the silence. My heart raced as I slowly stepped in, and my gaze settled on her shape under the blanket as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

I lowered myself to my knee next to her bed and pulled a small box from my pocket. I took a moment to watch her sleep. My hands trembled while I prepared to finally make my intentions known.

“Wake up, my love”

Her eyes flew open as I covered her face with the chloroform-soaked panties that I had taken from her dirty clothes hamper the week before. She was strong. I couldn’t deny that after the fight she put up before falling limp as her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed. I held tighter. Her chest rose one final time. I grinned.

I took the place of the blanket in her bed and traced every curve with my fingertips. I slowly removed her nightshirt to reveal the small patch of satin covering her mound, the smooth transition of her hips to her stomach, and her unmoving bulging breasts. I combed my hand through her hair. I kissed her lips. I felt her body under mine. I tore the cloth away from her cunt.

I stripped off my clothes and exposed a sight that she would never see. I gripped her throat with my left hand and plunged her depths with my right. I straddled her chest and maneuvered her hair to put her slack jaw to proper use on my shaft. I was rough. I was violent. I was taking what I had worked so hard to get. My three-day load erupted deep in her throat and I only regretted that she wasn’t able to gag.

With no more use for her head, I flipped her over and pulled her waist up to mine. My dowsing rod cock had no problem finding her well when I plunged forward. This time, I would not rush. The night was young – and she was willing. I stroked steadily as my hands explored from her soft shoulders, down her back, to the fleshy mounds of her ass. I slowed my pace when release approached and fucked her like a cheap blow up doll when it waned. Boredom began to set before I flooded her again.

Completely spent, with my clothes under my left arm, and a flaccid dick, I hauled her naked body into the bed of my truck for the 20-minute drive north. Nostalgia set in as I took one last look at the window that I had become so acquainted with.

The dandelions had grown tall enough to easily conceal her corpse and the trail created from dragging her would be mistaken for the random wanderings of the neighborhood children who would discover the surprise I left for them.

For the first time since, I will be returning to the field where I left that beloved. I have a date planned and books due back tomorrow.