Music Box Dreamer

Ann Foster giggled, blushed and curtsied, “It will be my pleasure sir.”   Once again two young, full of life, full of heat bodies pressed tight against each other.   Annie broke the long silence, “Do you honestly think my bottom is nice?’ What about the rest of me?”   The young soldier took several deep breaths before speaking, “Your bottom is perfect and you’re beautiful enough to be an angel. If the eyes are the window of your soul/ Then your soul is filled with passion and delight/ Your eyes are the blue of summer skies/ Not the blue of deep midnight. How beautiful your rosy blush/ that spreads down snowy neck/ To rising, heaving breasts/ No matter how long I look/ I could not find a more perfect place/ For my weary head to rest/ I would give all that I posses/ To spend a few enchanting hours/ To laugh and play with you/ As all lovers do/ In a field of wild flowers.   Annie stopped dancing and tears poured out of her eyes and down her face, washing off the rest of her carefully applied make up.   Tommy pressed her tear stained face against his broad chest, against his rapid beating heart. He murmured, “I’m sorry for making you cry’ my darling, my delicious Annie but I thought you’d like it.”   She sobbed, “I do, it’s so beautiful,” and clung to his strong frame like there would be no tomorrow. “I’m crying happy tears, my love, my sweetheart, my life, my darling.”   When at last her crying ended, he took one step backwards, tilted her sweet angel face upwards and kissed each and every drying tear away.   She waited until the last one was gone before speaking, “Was that beautiful poem from a book because it reminds me of John Rice, the world famous poet.”   Tommy O’Quinn smiled down at his new found love, “I just made that up. I spent two years at York University studying journalism and English literature.”   “Why didn’t you finish?’   The young man tightened his arms around his angel, “My uncle hurt his back so I had to quit and help him on the farm. When this crazy war is over I intend to go back and finish my studies. Don’t get me wrong, I love farming but I also want to do more. Perhaps I’ll become a farmer poet and maybe one day I’ll be as famous as your Mr. Rice.” Tommy paused his long speech and took several deep breaths, “How would you like to be a farmer’s wife?”   Silver wind chime laughter tinkled in the night, “My goodness sir you do work fast.”   Young O’Quinn joined in, “I didn’t mean right now, I meant after this silly war is over and we know each other better.”   “I was just teasing,” but the thought of being his wife sent wave after wave of ecstasy and delight surging through her heart and mind.   Heavy footsteps creaked over the porch boards and a shrill, shrewish blast split the night air open. “Ann, Ann Foster are you out here? Now where could that gad about, flight girl have gotten too. She’s going to get a good talking too when I get her home. I have half a mind to call the police on her.”   Annie whispered, “We better get out of here or we’ll both be in for a long lecture. If she finds out your Irish, she will call the police on you. Do you like jazz?”   Tommy kept his voice low, “Love it, why?”


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