Fantasy Fiction

Forbidden Passion

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I loved the way he gazed at me from every angle, an ardent smile in his eyes as he cupped my face, surrounding it with a golden filigreed halo.  How much better I looked now, no longer trapped within that old chipped wooden one.  Amidst this gold, I felt like a bejewelled queen, his queen.   How amazingly quickly our romance emerged.   He had barely found me  hidden under a pile of clothes on the sidewalk.  Now I was instantly in his life, glowing in his drawing room beside a bouquet of fragrant roses.  Undoubtedly he placed them there to please me, his new love.

“Her eyes are lowered so mysteriously!” he mumbled as he stared at me entranced. “There’s an intriguing melancholic air about her.  She touches my imagination.  I almost wish I could draw this dainty beauty out into my arms and embrace her.”

  Surely this handsome man felt my heart pounding at his whispered musings.  I had no doubt that our attraction was mutual, blossoming every second.  “I love you too,” my silent voice said to him.  “But alas!  Ours is a forbidden passion and we’re tempting fate.”

   How well I understood his suffering as he slouched miserably from the continual nagging of his belligerent wife.  She screamed at him all day for the slightest reason, her face in a perpetual scowl.  My heart reached out to him.  “My darling, you know I’m not like her at all.  That’s why you sought me. Love me silently. I’ll make up for all your years of emptiness.”  

   I knew my passion reached him telepathically for I could see that glitter in his intimate smile as he caressed my face, wiping my cheeks tenderly with a soft velvetty towel.   At night, I dreamt of our tryst under that  inviting, radiant full moon waiting outside, wafting a silver light over my dreams of him.  When would our secret passion allow us our intimate haven together?

  Then abruptly things changed when his wife noticed him beside me. 

 “What’s wrong with you? Why on earth would you bother to keep that tattered painting here?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  I guess I found it charming and for the right price, free my love!”

“My love?”  What?   Of all the nerve to ‘that’ woman? Granted, she was his wife by marriage, but didn’t I, his lover have far more to claim?

“Sweetheart, I’ve just spent good money on a copy of that famous Monet water lily painting.  ‘That’s’ what needs to be in our drawing room,”  that wife argued.

“Absolutely, I prefer a Monet any day!” he answered beaming.

   Thus, before I knew it, together they brought that new painting into ‘my’ room, fawning over it.  Then, removing my halo without even a glance at me, he flung me into the dumpster outside, our secret promises unfulfilled as I finally lay cast off amidst putrid filth, jilted.


A Ballad of Blue Balls


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