Monday, December 19, 2011

WHAT BLISS LOOKS LIKE

They had the corner seat all to themselves, and there was almost no one else in the compartment. Which was to be expected, as a cable car going up California Street late on a December night does not attract any tourists.

The woman was freezing, and clutched on to her companion for warmth. She was neatly dressed, very ladylike. But not entirely appropriate for the weather. Her skirt was pleated wool of good quality, but when it's this cold far more effective covering is required.
By Stockton Street he had his arms around her and she was within his coat, nestled up against him. By the top of the hill it almost looked like one person with two heads sitting there. The flap of his coat almost completely enfolded her small frame, and her legs were pressed tightly against his. No, it didn't look in any way immodest, there was clearly nothing else than heat-sharing going on.
Her head stuck up out of the top of the wrapped bundle that the two of them had become, and while she looked happier, she also looked pre-occupied. She was probably thinking that he needed to generate a lot more heat. Dammit, so cold!
There was a constant sense of motion from the two of them. He was rocking her gently, she was wriggling against him trying to expose as much of herself to his warmth as possible while limiting any and all exposure to the rest of the world.
"Why", she was probably wondering, "why do men tolerate cold so well?"

The answer to that question is simple. The idea of a lovely woman gluing herself tightly to us is infinitely motivational.
I observed the couple out of the corner of my eyes, pretending that I was not drinking in every detail.
They seemed very sweet together, like a perfect fit.
That may have been because there was no discernable space between them.

"When we finally get home, I'm getting into bed with ALL my clothes on!"

This announcement at Jones Street, sounding like it came from a wounded little girl, was startling in the silent cabin.
Her man made a querulous sound, and she responded that yes, the coat and the shoes were coming into bed too. So there!
I looked at her feet and saw that she was wearing sensible flats, flexible thin material.
Good. Spike heels rip the sheets.
Don't ask me how I know.

They got off the cable car together at California and Hyde Street. He held her tightly as she trembled up the slope, his coat around her again.
He looked very happy indeed.
For his sake I hope there are many more cold nights.


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