Barton Springs in Summer: A Literary Love Story
We drove to the belly of the southern spring, just outside of our small city. I had been outside all morning, tending to the dry elephant ear plants in our garden, envious of the crows visiting to enjoy a bath in the fountain, splashing the water about, mocking my struggles with the sun. To my left, through the clear back porch glass door, my eyes were treated to Stella, twirling around the inside, celebrating AC, egging me on with flirtatious teasing.
She was wearing the green lace dress I got her for our one-year anniversary, five years ago. She always wears her beauty so triumphantly. I admire how sacred it has become to her, as she only ever pulls it out of the closet on days when we are both home. Drowning in my pool of sweat was better than taking my eyes away from how astonishingly Stella’s dress still holds onto her body as the stars hold onto the night sky. Very pleasing and delicate, although I am not close enough to see the details; only the form her body had was all I had available to me, but it was all I needed at the current time to beat the summer heat.
Stepping back into the shaded area of the back porch, my heart was grateful to know the macrocosm above was here with me below in the form of my lover. I took my shirt off in hopes of taking a shower and accompanying Stella, with the sounds of Billie Holiday singing lullabies as my head lay across her silk chest. That idea of acting on my lust was cut short when I saw the red-and-white plaid ribbon tied to the picnic basket next to the front door.
“I thought it would be such a waste of a day if we didn’t take advantage of the sun and go to Barton Springs.”
I swiftly moved to the restroom in hopes of cleaning the dirt from behind my ears from all the sweat that had dried. Nothing sounded better than a cold shower and clearing out the pool of sweat in my belly button.
“There is no time for a shower, throw your linens on, and let’s go, please.”
I could barely hear her faint words over the rambling of kitchen drawers being opened and closed, so I tried playing it off by turning the soothing sounds of shower water on and removing my clothes. Stella popped her head through the crevice of the restroom door with a stern red face. Rushing to appease my lover’s command, I grabbed my white linen shirt, my navy blue bottoms, and caramel flip flops to create some sense of contrast; typically, my favorite thing to sit around in.
We were both in a jolly mood after last night, my mind has refused to let up on repainting her figure participating in the various positions I laid her in, what better way to end a night? Despite Stella's intensity in trying to push me through the door so we could leave and hope to find a good, sunny spot before it got too busy, as it usually does on Saturdays, I did not let myself forget to grab my tobacco and red wine off the dining room table.
I hated driving in the States with a passion, but something about riding in a convertible through the galleries of grass, trees, and cows made it somewhat forgiving. Upon our arrival, we noticed the waters were unusually high, probably due to the influx of rain that swept through during the night. Neither of us could swim, so we found a partly tree-shaded spot next to a family of dawdling ducks. With swimming being out of the question, Stella put herself into a chrysalis of sunscreen, her body began to radiate, and as I watched her caress her chest in such a loving way, making sure no spot was missed. There was no possibility of removing my eyes from her illuminated skin. I was beginning to like the idea of beating the heat with my eyes resting upon beauty and avoiding the tickling of fish kissing my feet.
I managed to splash adequate amounts of water on my linens when we entered the spring's body, fitting in with the rest who could actually swim. I basked underneath the sun like a wet dog for the duration of our stay, thinking about last night; wearily removing Stella’s skirt, looking into the Dorian sculpture window between her inner thighs, after an intimate date night. I took her downtown to enjoy Sushi Axiom, we giggled over multiple glasses of their red house wine, and discussed travel plans to escape back to the Tuscan cobblestone.
“I miss home so much, Jean.”
“When does the dual citizenship take effect again, love?”
“I -”
“Here are the shaggy dog rolls and edamame you guys ordered. Anything else you need from me?”
“No, not right now,” Stella responded.
The server did not forget to compliment Stella before flashing his back towards us again.
“I love your pixie cut, it is soooo cute!”
After the meal, I had planned for us to go to the pool hall down the street. The quarters were jingling the entire dinner; she could not help but laugh at her walking piggy bank of a man.
“You think you could jingle any louder, Santa?”
But with the rain, forgetting our deal to settle in a little early tonight, we were forced to head home before the flooding got worse. I leaned in for a kiss before I opened her door. I felt like Tobey Maguire did in Spider-Man; Stella’s scarlet lips made the scene more dramatic than it was. But she refused to let my scarf go, so we got on the leather seats, soaking wet with the seat warmers on full blast.
We stumbled through the door, tightly gripping each other, trying to extract nectar. Stella’s moans echoed the walls of our house as I explored the taste of pink cherries. Waking up today, I put my faith in a greater creator.