Afternoons in the Crescent City

I've already forgotten, but your story intrigued me so.

You see, I feel like I've known this man. Yes, long ago, when I was young and eager for mischief - of the innocent, girlish sort, you know. Yes, I knew this man. He wore his slacks and shirt well-pressed as well, most of the time, when he wasn't celebrating his own youth and the spring budding of the magnolias in the nude as the sea breezes played across the deep green, glossy leaves. Yes, stark naked he was when our eyes first met. I knew then I had to have him. 

He had the gentle manner and bearing of a southern baron, which, as you've remarked, he was, heart and soul. He reminded me much of an old well-bred mare, fed many seasons on the golden hay of an excellence found only in the south. And he possessed the rhythm of the heavy laden cornstalks in the summer storms.

I remember our final meeting that summer, before I went away for the season. He strained his pinky toe as he held the screen door open for my three kittens, as his other appendages were otherwise occupied. We lay there on the polished oaken floors for what seemed like a few moments, passing our last day in ecstasy.

How did you two meet again? I do so love to hear that particular story.

The End

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