Redmond knelt by Eutricia, burying his face in the mohair shawl she had draped over her knees against the oncoming twilight chill. Trisha had dressed for the warm of the day; a violet silk dress with an empire waist, the bustle removed for convenience. Her cane wheelchair had been parked in the middle of the parapet, silk cushions arranged decorously around her fine waist. He stared off to the nuclear orange of the setting sun, manly parti pris preventing him from shedding tears, yet he was weeping inside.
“But why,” he whispered, “why, Trisha? Why will you not assent to our engagement?”
His warm Memphis drawl trickled through his schooled diction like butter over a piece of fine sourdough toast.
Trisha sighed, tears prickling the corners of her almond-shaped eyes like fine diamonds. The lady opened her eyes to regard him, auburn eyelashes fanning out over her fine creamy skin. Her eyes were fine amethyst marbles, protruding and glistening with sorrow. Her fine fiery mane had been arranged in a waterfall over her left shoulder, it too gleamed in the light. Suddenly Redmond was in awe of how beautiful she was, how fine and delicate, her hands perched upon her knee like two fine porcelain squids.
“Redmond,” she sighed, “I am not disinclined to you, in any way, but…” she worried one ruby lip between pearly white teeth.
Redmond felt his southern blood boil and seethe.
“But what? What is left that could keep us apart?”
He stuck one calloused cowherd’s hand beneath her chin, but she turned her head and kept her violet gaze averted.
“You may be a yank,” he said, “and a Marsh at that, but you’re a woman first and foremost, and blood as red as mine could use a few drops of blue.”
Trisha snuffled into her fine linen handkerchief. Her bosom rose and fell like the eternal sea which lay below their feet, a scant thirty feet beneath the parapet. If Trisha so wished, he would hurl himself into the raging surf, let his bones co-mingle with the cry of the seabirds and the sand of the deep.
“Redmond!” she cried, “oh Redmond, I do love you! I can say that now without any reservation of my heart. But you and I…are a different kind.” Fine teardrops like purified seawater caressed their way down her cheeks.
Redmond felt the bristling that arose whenever a man caused grief to a woman, the heat that meant he was wiling to fight any man for a lady’s honor, even himself.
Redmond clenched his muscular neck and stood. He ran his hands through his raven hair, tossing it wilder than even the sea beneath them.
“My gawd,” he bellowed, “what could it be? Your family? That withered old crone of a matriarch? Passion such as ours cannot be contained by rules Trisha!”
Trisha gave a small cry. Color rose in her cheeks. The sight of her man in such a state often inflamed her into a passion, Redmond imagine he could already smell the gentle musk of her femininity.
He knelt again, bringing himself eye to eye with her. He covered her fine porcelain hand with his own.
“Trisha,” he drawled, “say the word and we shall flee this estate, right now. Let nothing restrain our love! We shall roam through the wildernesses, making passionate love like doe and buck.”
Trisha sought refuge behind her hands. “But…what about my chair? I could burden upon you to bundle it up and down stairs!”
“I’ll carry you!” he bellowed. Trisha let out a little gasp. Warmth flushed her neck, fine rose dusting her porcelain skin. “I’ll carry you slung upon my back like a bow, over endless terrain without tire. I shall worship your body every night, making you a bed of soft beaver pelts and rubbing tallow into your feet to keep them supple! I’ll make obsidian knives and hunt elk with my bare hands, all to bring you sustenance! We’ll live off the land, rutting like beasts with only the wind for company and the sky for shelter.”
“O, Redmond,” Trisha swooned.
Redmond could no longer deny the effect the lady was having on him, even in his riding breeches. His ladyfriends back in Memphis had reassured him that he was quite impressive, now he allowed his full girth to expand within the confines of his stiff cotton breeches. The lady gasped demurely, shading her blush with one hand. Redmond took her hand in his and held it emphatically.
“There must be no more secrets between our bodies,” he told her, before capturing her rosebud mouth beneath his own.
Trisha swelled and heaved beneath him like a tiny sea. Her breasts were confined within her silk corset, his calloused hands made quick work of the lacing. Redmond’s injury from riding earlier in the day wasn’t the only thing that was throbbing. He scooped Trisha up with a squeal of protest or delight, he cared not which, and brought her to the carved stone bench that anointed the parapet. He strew Trisha out like straw, delighting in her windswept beauty.
“O, Redmond!” she gasped again. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled like fine violet wine, even her flawless mane had been knocked askance. Redmond was wearing a simple white pullover shirt whose collar was bound by three shell buttons, he unbuttoned them and then ripped the rest of it open, eliciting a gasp of delight from his lady. His physique would put some of the Greek statuary in her father’ study to shame, he mused for a moment on whether she had educated herself on the finer mysteries of malehood by their marble gaze.
He took her in, ruffled and lovely, a sculpture of creamy porcelain and auburn silk, of amethyst and sparkling white pearls. The smell of her femininity was overwhelming, for a moment he mistook it for a seaborne breeze.
“What?” she gasped, “oh, what is it Redmond? Why do you stare so?”
“I’m looking at the purdiest sight a man ever did see.” Redmond told her.
“Oh Redmond,” she gasped, “you’ve made me so happy!”
Something slippery twined around one leg. He looked down.
Her bottom limbs, once concealed by the skirt, now writhed free in her passion. The lady had sixteen tentacles of finest jade green, they pulsed with rugose passion as she bit her full lips.
“Oh Redmond!” she cried, “Redmond, you make me feel like a woman!”