Slipping out the back door of the house, I pause as I gaze out into my favorite place in the whole world. I look out over the pastel rainbow of blossoms dotting the sculpted lines of shrubs and bushes and flower beads. Their gleeful faces ebb and sway in the gentle breeze as I step from the porch. A green ocean gently pokes at the bottoms of my bare feet with each step that pulls me closer to my dearest friend.

I pause between the colored blooms and set myself down beside the rocky path. I lay down on the plush springy grass of my grandmother's garden. A twined perfume of roses and zinnias, even hyacinth fill my nostrils. How much I love the scents of her garden I always forget. The warm summer sunshine beams down from a cloudless sky to heat my lily-white skin. Closing my eyes against the glaring light, I stretch my arms out over my head pulling the tired muscles of my shoulders and back.

Reaching farther, pushing harder, I run my hands from soft grass to coarse gravel. Circling my arms over the ground to bring my hands back to my sides, my fingertips brush over his toes. I keep my arms from moving any farther and take a moment to revel in the sensations his body brings. Always so soft to the touch, his skin never changes. Always perfectly smooth.

A smile curls at my lips to know he is still here. I open my eyes to gaze up at his sculpted form. He has waited for me here in the garden, still unclothed, against grandmother's wishes. It excites me to know she has not sent him away as she threatened last time I came to visit.

"You are still here, my love," I say to him as I shield my eyes from the sun so I may gaze up at him.

"Of course I am still here, my beauty," he replies stretching his hand down to me.

He is well aware of my fantasies. I have often imagined us lying on the grass completely naked soaking up the summer sunshine. He kisses my lips so tenderly, so carefully, as if I might break were he rough. My muscles tense in my stomach, pressure building between my legs as I silently pray for his touch. I crave a touch so tender from a man. Maybe this time, it can be so.

"You affect me deeply, my darling," he says in a sultry tone as he gazes down at my relaxed body. "I have missed your presence."

"I have missed you as well," I respond softly as my heart takes a leap toward my throat.

"Touch me, my love," he begs ever so sweetly knowing I will not deny him. "I yearn for the warmth of your touch."

I roll over onto my stomach, blades of grass tickling my nose as my chin rests of the ground. The chalky fresh smell of dirt fills my nose in the thirty seconds I hesitate before placing my hands at my sides and pushing upward. My eyes grace over his perfect feet and glorious calves. The succulent muscles cause a subtle stirring in my tummy.

Hesitantly, now sitting on my knees, my fingertips barely touch his cool white skin. So taught over each muscle, dimples forming in line with the intense definition. My hand rests full against the curves of his strong muscular thigh. Electricity jumps through my fingers with every desiring touch. Heartbeats skip and flop inside my chest as my fingers caress each ripple of his rock-hard stomach.

"You are perfection, my love," I whisper softly as I place my other hand in his. "You are the image of Eros himself." A giggle slips passed my lips as I tighten my grip on his firm hand. Using the strength of his grasp, I pull myself slowly to my feet, never taking my eyes from his.

"The god of lust, princess?" he questions my choice of comparison with a steamy glance in my direction. The lusty look in his glimmering gray eyes cause the heat of passion to flush my cheeks an aroused pinkish red.

Desire build as my heart does another tumble and I shiver at what his glance means. He often undresses me with his eyes when I come to visit my grandmother. She considers the way he looks at all women as sinful and adulterous, especially when I return his looks and she catches me. I care not what she thinks of my torrid affair with such a sexual being. He makes me feel wanted and loved, beautiful.

"Kiss me, my angel," he beckons to me with another erotic glance.

"Not just yet, my darling," I whisper again, this time able to control the girlish giggling in my throat.

My fingertips trail down his back and come to rest just above the gentle curve of his buttocks. I lean in to get closer to his pouting luscious lips, drawing him in with deep caressing breaths. He always loves my teasing even though he never speaks about it aloud. I can tell by the silent signals he sends each time, electric surges from his smooth skin. His desiring glances always bring my own arousal to a new level each time his lips are within kissing distance. My strength to keep this distance between us is waivering.

"I love your teasing, my ambrosia," he whispers into my ear. "You heat my blood with desire I can never quench."

"As do you, my loving god," I whisper gently into his ear grabbing hold of his shoulder to steady myself.

Shivers curl down my spine, shaking me to my very core. The muscles of my stomach quiver as my heart flips again. He has never said that to me before today. I close my eyes lazily and press my cheek to his hoping he will profess a love equal to the love I have for him. My breaths grow shallow with need to feel his hands on my body. I draw my fingernails up the line of his spine pressing my breasts against the muscles of his chest. I silently urge him to return my advances. Heat is coursing through my veins, anticipating a kiss I have so craved.

"I wish I could undress for you," I say coyly, fluttering my long black lashes as seductively as I can. "I wish you could undress me."

"As do I, my goddess," he replies in a breathy stammer.

Those gorgeous gray eyes never leave me as I press myself into his hard body, front to front, one hand cupping the back of his neck, toying with the tails of his hair; the other is flat against the cool skin of his chest. I only visit him in the summer, but his dreamy beauty haunts my dreams the rest of the year. Closing my eyes gently, I pucker my lips. My imagination runs wild with all of the sultry and unspeakable things this man could do to my body, and my senses. Taunts and teases overflow and caress my body as they mix with the warmth of the sun to blush my skin.

A gentle breeze twists at the few stray strands of my hair that have worked themselves loose from the messy bun on my head. They tickle my skin bringing goose bumps of pleasure as I imagine they are the trailing fingertips of his wondrous hands. How long I have dreamed for such a moment. I barely notice as the strap of my think top slips over the smooth curve of my shoulder. I can feel his eyes follow the movement of the thin ribbon wishing to remove more coverings from my body.

"You are so beautiful, my angel," he whispers softly into my ear.

"Promise me you will always be my love," I ask innocently and hope he will for once answer my question. "I wish to know no other touch than yours."

"Kiss me, my love," he begs me in another breathy, aroused whisper.

A deep breath pulls the strong scent of summer blossoms into my lungs, revitalizing my body, heightening my senses. This time I will listen to his plea. I myself can no longer bear being so close to his lips, yet so far away. I lean in close, puckering again, closing the space between us. I yearn to feel the warmth of his delicious lips, and feel the heat they will send to me. I long to know, if only for a short while, that he loves me as I pray he will every night. He is the only love in my life.

The cravings build deep within me, and I can hold myself back no longer. I move in closer, my breath surrounding the space between us. Our lips finally touch; but I feel nothing. There is no warmth like I had hoped there would be, like I wish for each time I come into grandmother's garden. A cold chill greets my lips from the stony stillness of his lips. He does not return my kiss. My prayers have not been answered. My dreams of a loving embrace are once again shattered and thrown to the passing breeze. They always are.

"You never kiss me back," I say taking a step back from our embrace.

I gaze at his sinfully perfect body, toned muscles. He could be an underwear model, if they hired the chalky white, silent kind. Perhaps I am not good enough for this man as I believe I should be. My hands slip shamefully into my pockets, and I shake my head at the lustful eyes gazing back at me. How could a woman as plain as I earn the love of such a man? I do not have the same chiseled thighs, the same sculpted abs, the same flawless hair. I have flab and cellulite, a few pounds over the waist of my shorts due to all the ice cream cookies, and nothing more than a shaggy mop of dirty brown.

"You will never love me," I whisper softly reaching my hand out to touch him once again.

The feelings of love and desire have diminished as quickly as they rose within me. I have done this so many times before, always wishing for some show of emotion from him. He never responds to my crushing pain, the tears welling in my eyes. I sigh to myself dropping my hand just short of his smooth skin and turn away from his stony gaze. His marble arms have never really touched me, never really held me as close as I had dreamed. His frozen lips have never really kissed me, never given back the same love I have poured into him.

With saddened feelings and an emptying heart, I take steady unwanting steps away from where he stands. I can still feel his gaze on me as I move farther from him, still beckoning me to embrace him and kiss his lips. Taking every inch of emotion I can give, yet never giving anything in return. He is always cold. He never moves. Perhaps grandmother is right it wishing to get rid of him. His perfection is merely an ornament of her garden, no more than a friend to the blooming flowers.

How this angel of a man came to find my grandmother's garden, I do not know, and she will not tell me. I just know that he has always been here since she bought the property a few short weeks after I turned fifteen. Five glorious years I have been spending my summer afternoons in his company, dreaming of things which can never be. Ours is a special love that grows with each passing year, yet is always tarnished with the knowledge that he will never be mine. My heart aches as I cross the remaining yard before the large old Victorian.

He will never love me, I think to myself as I sluggishly walk up the steps to the porch of my grandmother's house. A statue cannot love.

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