A Refuge in Episodes Ep. 01

For Cinner

Most couples, when they consider vacations, envision the tropics and palm trees, time lazed away smelling of coconut and sunscreen, or travelling to wine country, tasting virgin vintages before their time, or bundling up in flashy gear to hit the slopes during the day and then hitting the clubs and hot tubs during the night. But this couple was different. Their vacations were not vacations but times of refuge, time to recharge, replenish, rekindle, recreate, and dream. Their refuge was not a posh hotel with valet service and concierge waiting to cater to their every whim. Their refuge was a simple, old, cottage, barely equipped with modern amenities, just the right place for them to rediscover each other.

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The sky hung low and gray above their heads while a biting breeze cut through the deserted streets of the quaint sea-side village. Summer had long gone by and the cottages that bustled with guests just months before sat cold, dark, lonely, and forgotten until that time when the Earth once again turned it's face towards the sun's warming rays. The air was on the brink of being cold, dry despite the proximity of the sea, and for both of these factors the sounds of rushing waves upon the beach and the moments when the breeze exhaled into howling gusts along the deserted streets came clearly, crisply to their ears. They knew for dozens of cottages in any direction that they were alone, that they alone would venture to this place at this time of year. The cold, the wind, the gray, the solitude, the hidden populace that still lived amongst this winter-time ghost town, was what drew them to this place.

This was their yearly ritual. For one month out of each year they escaped from the rest of the world, dropping completely off the radar, to spend the time that lovers around the world so desperately cherish. This was the most special of times for them because it was the harshness of the environment and solitude that allowed them to exist as if they were truly the last two lovers on Earth. They took other vacations where they basked in the sun or sipped on wine, but this was the vacation they both truly looked forward to each year. Not a vacation. Their refuge.

They stood on the front deck of the little cottage that would be their home for the next month. It was a simple, one story building with weather-faded shingles and brown paint along the deck railings and floorboards. The windows, of which there were many, stood out against the weathered shingles in white frames of wood. There were many windows, far more than one would expect for a cottage of this size but it was these windows that, on days when the sun shone feebly through the cool clean air, lit the rooms of the cottage in a way no artificial light ever could. Curtains were drawn in all these windows now, sealing the interior from the world outside. Months before families had rented this cottage for weeks at a time throughout the summer and into the early autumn before the last of the tourists headed home. A caretaker had prepared the cottage for its short sojourn into winter before the couple would arrive for their refuge, the couple that would leave the building better than they had found it when they left so that when the sun once again came around, new waves of guests would be able to enjoy the quaint beauty of this little place.

As was tradition, the man turned to his woman and gathered her into his arms, his face lowering to hers to commit the first of their many passionate kisses that would flood the days and weeks to come. They stood there, embraced and luxuriating in the shared heat and taste of the other's kisses. As he had each time before, the man swept his arms down the woman's body, one behind her legs and the other across her back, scooping her up into his arms to carry her into the little cottage. A gust of wind caught her long blonde hair and made it flutter like a thousand tiny golden ribbons, haloing her face as he brought her from the gray cold outside into the gray dark inside.

The first time they had come here the woman had been uncertain about the time or the place for a vacation but, as with all things, she learned to trust his judgment, directions, and decisions implicitly. Perhaps those first tinges of uncertainty were linked with that first time being the very moment when they first met each other in person. They had spent months corresponding, talking through words and cards, gifts and pictures, until the time came when they both knew that all that remained for them was to take the leap of faith that would bring them into one another's arms or send them drifting apart into different seas and worlds and times. They had both been afraid that the spark and passion they shared across all those times of untouched caresses and unfelt kisses would not manifest when they stood eye-to-eye, afraid that the fairytale they shared in each other's mind could not exist in the reality of their worlds. But on that first occasion, as she stared into his deep brown eyes, felt the strength of his arms as he gathered her against his broad, strong chest, she had surrendered to him, knowing that all she had felt and thought and dreamed and imagined for them alone in her home was now real in his arms, that the passions she had for him in her mind were passions she held for him for real in her body and that he bore the same longings for her. Her blue eyes sparkled, glistening with hot tears of joy and relief at his first touches, the strength of his kisses, the taste of him lips, and the ease with which he lifted her from her feet and ferried her into this little cottage.

As he had on the first day so long ago, today he carried her into the small master bedroom and laid her upon their bed and kissed her mouth with savagely gentle passion, a panther restrained but still capable of lettings its power and strength be known through the feeble walls of its prison. He covered her quickly with several heavy quilts that had been laid out special for their arrival, arranging her comfortably on the bed to warm against the cold of the unheated building while he set about bringing in their bags and turning on what modern conveniences there were available to them. She luxuriated beneath the heavy quilts and, despite still wearing her warm shoes, jeaned, sweater, and jacket, she did not feel suffocated by the blankets, rather comforted as a bird nestled down in its nest.

Occasionally she would see him move past the doorway of the small bedroom as he brought the cottage to life for them, turning on lights here, lighting candles there, whisking open curtains, and firing up the propane gas water heater. The soft tinkle of jazz lit upon the air as the old radio was turned into one of the few stations that continued to broadcast in this sea-side community during it's off season. The low beats and smooth sound of saxophones, the warming embrace of the blankets, the heady anticipation of the days ahead, and the utter sense of comfort and security helped her eyelids to slowly flutter so that by the time he had finished bringing their refuge to life she lay sleeping quietly. A ghost of a smile hung on her face as he looked down at her with emotions that no words could properly convey. She was his angel, he was her satyr, she was his plaything and he was hers as well, she was the only one that could match him passion for passion, fire for fire, depravity for depravity and he the only one that could match her in each as well. In all the worlds and in all the times, they had almost never found one another – that one that so perfectly fit the other that they sometimes felt that they had been broken from the same whole.

With her quietly, if unexpectedly, sleeping, he was able to begin the real preparations for their time alone in this old, cold, cottage by the sea. By the time she woke, everything was in place to begin their month of refuge in earnest. And it began with her waking to the sight of dozens of flowers surrounding her cuddled down form on their bed...