Sitting on the reed couch on his veranda, outside his farmhouse, he stared at her for minutes as she stood on the edge of a cliff looking down on the world beneath. He marveled at her sight. As the Nyanga wind blew her floral dress sideways, it left her features traced in a manner that was satisfying. As she looked at the thick jungle below, she felt like letting go. It was the first time in her life that she had felt this much freedom. The rays of the sun tickled their way down from her shoulders to her soft bottom and as the breeze caressed her, she felt emotions tiptoeing around her rigid bosom.
She was awakened from her reverie by a warm touch on her shoulder. His hand was moving rhythmically on her petal soft skin. She turned instinctively towards him and their eyes met. They both stared in each other’s eyes without saying a word. There was something endlessly arousing in her silent acquiescence and her blushing cheeks. He was afraid she would leave, but her eyes revealed no regret. She had chosen him, He was her choice.
As his arms closed in on hers, she imagined this was exactly how it would have looked like in her dream, where the Manicaland sunset would glow upon her back and a man, gentle, would hold her in his arms like a cask with golden Bourbon on a cliff with nothing but a hollow jungle below. With her beauty, the crinkle in her eyes, the upturn of the corners of the mouth, she could be anywhere. But the most important thing was that she was anywhere but there, in his arms on Christmas eve.
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