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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Inspirational / Uplifting
- Published: 01/29/2022
Someone to Watch Over Me
Born 1969, M, from Herten, NRW, Germany.jpeg)
Someone to Watch Over Me
A Story by Charles E.J. Moulton
***
Dedicated to the magic of love and to the brilliance of Fred Astaire and the Gershwin brothers.
***
Something in her touch healed his wounded soul. Each of their encounters took him one step further into trust. It was a mutual and heavenly trust away from thoughts, deeper down into his own true feelings, away from control, way into the flow of unity.
The real unity of healing.
Two people longing to become one just like they had been and would be again, one day in heaven.
Like the bee unifying with the nectar, the love contained the seed of new life. Like the moon drawn to Mother Earth, it controlled the flow of life. Like the sun making love to the Milky Way, the love circled around itself, experiencing itself anew. Like the galaxies kissing the universe, this love experienced its own splendor through its own connection. Like the universe becoming one with other universes, love itself was a mirror of Eden, the universe of the soul making love to the other universes in other souls, those souls present even inside a rose petal in a palatial garden. It could create worlds within worlds simply through lovemaking in a universe within a universe. In a dream within a dream. Such were the words of Edgar Allan Poe. The universe constantly making love to itself. If matter indeed was an illusion, this tenderness had the potential of creating miracles. It was a portal to the next world.
Since Waylen's spiritual awakening had commenced, his awareness literally reaching into all kinds of spiritual energies, his perspectives on what touch really was had changed fundamentally. Touch was not physical in itself. The fabric and meaning of touch depended on the energy flowing through it. The spirit of love meant everything to what the energy of the touch entailed. Indeed, it was the touch of the energetic spirit that connected all that was and that truth the only true reality and content of the crude carcass of a society that claimed to have all the answers. The body, though, was but the means to an end. The answer, indeed, was the conscious energy of love acting through touch. Affection. Reverence. Respect.
Susannah caressed Waylen with the elegant and sensitive tips of her female fingers. Light caresses, barely noticable to his skin. A quantum touch, every electron in her energy giving him spiritual goosebumps. Almost as if the cosmic strings inside her particles bathed in divine light. The angels seeming to tell him through her energy not to be afraid. To trust.
Her cure of affection a symphony by Mozart.
Meeting Susannah had changed his perspective on Yin and Yang, male and female, the attraction totally spiritual. Now, he understood what unity really meant. A unity obvious at first glance. How she had spoken to him in the supermarket of all places, asking him for advice about ink for printers. He had asked her what she wanted to print out. "Flyers for my meditation seminars!"
A good conversation starter. Soon they were chatting about chakras and divine light, fate and love and the music of Led Zeppelin.
The courage to ask her out at that second seminar he attended had been the best thing he had ever done. She was the only person in the world he would walk the extra mile for. He would do anything she asked. Anything.
"What are you doing to me?" he whispered, his mouth just very slightly touching her earlobe just like her fingers barely touched his skin, the locks of her blond hair falling onto his nose, the vibrations of her spirit literally buzzing against his chest as he literally tasted her breath. Her heart beating close to his heart.
"Our energies are connecting, Waylen," Susannah spoke, almost inaudibly, the only proof of her words the warm, gentle air that came out of her mouth, reaching his eardrum as sweet vibrations like morning dew drops on succulent grass. Her warm air the breeze that turned his cold ice into lukewarm waterfalls. Her kiss an iota of God's breath.
For years, Waylen had feared almost everything, including himself. His fears a constant companion, a weird voice in his head telling him, by Jove, not to write that story, not to choose that apple in the fruit bowl, not to take the left road. How this deep neurosis had developed was hard to understand. Waylen just knew that he had been confronted with having to choose between a rock and a hard place too many times, people he dearly loved using him as bait to fish for compliments and attention. Until his brain simply short circuited into high strung OCD just to protect itself.
It was a wonder he had survived in the artistic freelance market for so long with his psychological ills.
But now, now Susannah showed him that not lovemaking could heal. She showed him that matter indeed was an illusion, just like his neurosis was. That the step between an embrace, a kiss and a sexual encounter of love was non-existent.
The need for tender love was the unity he had longed for all these years.
As Waylen became one with Susannah, his skin on hers, both of them on her soft, sweet and rose-scented sheets, he felt what she felt, thought what she thought, sensed what she sensed. Her aura surrounding his, snip-bits of her thoughts popping up in his mind, her thoughts of staying forever in his embrace reached him, her wanting to become him. Thoughts of marriage and children and houses and boats and barbecues and family outings during lovely summer vacations appearing inside him as female warmth. As he sank deeper into her, his brave animus encircled her Jungian anima. He realized, then and there, that her feminine energy was an individual expression of an eternal energy that had inspired Mozart to compose "The Marriage of Figaro". It had breathed life into Chicago's "You're the Inspiration" and turned Vermeer's thought of "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" into reality. The steady rhythm of Susannah's body responding to his thrust had him thinking of the quick turns of a Tango Argentino on a South American dance floor. Their allegro resembled the smooth step-touch-step-tip of a Caribbean Bachata. It was the portamento of an elegant Viennese waltz, a play gradually transforming into a new combined energy. Man becoming woman. Woman becoming man. To Waylen, Susannah looked better than the Blue Danube had ever looked, even bathing in sunshine on a brilliant summer day.
Her Rubenesque forms gave in to his presto, making her body wave like the Pacific during a mild storm, responding to his jive in the red and orange colors of her radiance. It transformed their dance into a luscious meal of emotions, as rich as Rioja wine and Aphrodite's dark chocolate, as tasty as Cathedral City Cheddar cheese and Peruvian grapes.
At the closest moment of this grace, Fred Astaire's hit "Cheek to Cheek" from Irving Berlin's glorious 1935 score for "Swing Time" came to his mind.
"Dance with me! I want my arms about you. The charms about you will carry me through to heaven! I'm in heaven."
Indeed, making love to Susannah felt like taking a Tantra trip to angelic realms.
The marathon road to their pinnacle felt like the climax of Franz von Suppé's "Light Cavalry" with trombones and trumpets blaring. Their vibrations literally swung exactly in tune, two spirits becoming one, bathing in divine light with an end fanfare as glorious as Europe's climactic keyboard theme in "The Final Countdown". They both agreed, telepathically, that they felt as if they were dancing on hot coals, their paso double a flamenco of sorts founded on deep reverence and respect for each other. Their lovemaking could be compared to singing in the opera chorus. The word one singer forgot in Verdi's "Va pensiero" from the opera "Nabucco" quickly filled in by another singer. Voices mingling with other voices eventually turning into one single voice of different harmonies. Waylen had during his years of study sung with pianists that so eloquently felt where his musical intention was going, his vocal improvisations answered by similar piano lines. Here, Waylen kissing Susannah's nose was responded by her kissing his. Susannah caressing his cheek became Waylen caressing hers. They were dancing.
Waylen and Susannah, in short, gave each other energy, their spirits acting as electric chargers for each other's spiritual smartphones.
With the explosion, their spirits had recharged, billions of white stars erupting from one body to the next.
Mutually dwindling down from the seventh level of paradise, they fell into each other's arms. Susannah lay her head on Waylen's heaving heart, playing with his chest hair as the crickets chirped through the open window, a feeling of mutual connection growing deeper by the second. There was not much to say other than a silent "I love you!"
In her, he saw himself.
She saw herself in him.
As the crystal clear night sky glittered through their open window above the Malibu skyline, Susannah's very dainty snore, as she fell asleep on his breast, reverberated into his ear. It felt like home. The full moon cast its light on the bedroom wall opposite Susannah's waterbed, giving that favorite Francois Boucher reproduction of hers a new air of lunar sanctity. Lady Moon shining on painted lovers. She had repeatedly told him about how the painting had accompanied her from early childhood to college dorm room to her first flat and now here to Malibu where she worked. Her father had given it to her, hung it down from his wall, asking her to take care of it. How fitting the beauty was. Their garden of love decorated by a lovely garden.
"Lovers in a Park" had been painted back in 1758, the original now hanging in the French Timken Museum. A young man embracing his girlfriend, putting flowers in her hair. How gloriously Rococo that was. A pastoral scene as romantic as their own love, filled with beauty and amorous magic. Waylen looked around the room at scattered clothing, a thrown about bra under that blue dress she had planned to wear at the party over at "Luigi's Osteria" tomorrow. He had planned for her favorite local salsa band to appear, dishing up spicy salsa dishes for her to eat. She only knew about the party. Not the occasion.
And when Susannah woke up again, her gaze deeply into his visual ocean, both of them sunk into the deepest kiss any couple could imagine, sparks again flying all the way up to Andromeda.
Then and there, both of them knew what the truth was. Lovemaking was probably the most wonderful way to experience the divinity of the amorous universe.
"Susannah?" he asked her between kisses, his lips numb with bliss.
"Yes, my dear sweet darling," she crooned, sounding like Dinah Washington in "What a Difference a Day Makes".
"Would you be my wife?"
Susannah's gaze widened, her smile beaming widely, so wide that he was able to gaze onto her gorgeous larynx. Waylen had planned it all so well, hiding the ring under his pillow. When she saw the ring, a small diamond 24 carat stone, she took it into her hands, looking at it as if it were a holy relic, the promise of a mutual future together a golden opportunity of victorious faith. It entailed picking out furniture for a mutual house, Sunday meals and dance classes, Disney movies with the little ones, afternoon home work assistance and Monopoly evenings with salty pop-corn on the side. That and, of course, Santa Claus coming to town.
"That's what the party is about tomorrow?" she giggled, her immaculate bosom jiggling along as she laughed.
He nodded, a sacred accompanied slightly shy shrug. "I'd be honored."
"An engagement party," she crooned, holding on to the little blue box as if it were the crown jewel of a future queen, "for me."
"With a salsa theme."
"Whoa, cool," she spat, sounding a bit like Beavis in the old MTV series.
It took her awhile to take her eyes off the ring, like that little kid that had just received her favorite gift for Christmas.
Her luscious frame sitting there on the bed, her mouth producing the idiom of hot rods and rowdy rock and roll, it was a mix for the Gods. That and the fact that here was a person open enough to sit naked next to him holding his engagement ring, it brought on a deep reverence inside. Beyond the sexy body, she trusted him, gave him the sanctity of affection.
"The greatest gift on Earth is the love you give me."
"Yes," she whispered to herself, still feasting her eyes on the ring. "I thought you would never ask."
The embrace seemed to last for eons, her breasts pressing against his chest, her fingers touching his back, her hair tickling his nose, her aura warming up his.
"Sharing, that's the ticket."
Charles Durning's words in Waylen's favorite movie "Tootsie" rang true in his inner ear. Sharing and caring for Susannah, what a one-way-ticket to heaven that would be.
He would have "Someone to Watch Over Me". The woman in the song by the Gershwin brothers had been longing for love, deeply yearning for affection. Waylen had cried during the film "Mr. Holland's Opus", describing so accurately what the song was about.
"What do we say when they ask us where you proposed to me?" Susannah mused, still locked inside his embrace.
Waylen waited for one moment, one amorous moment, time seemingly stopping. Intuitively, he responded, his words guided by angels: "Tell them I proposed to you in heaven. They will know what we're talking about."
And somehow, they both knew he was right.
Their true love had just taken them up to the angelic realms.
A Story by Charles E.J. Moulton
***
Dedicated to the magic of love and to the brilliance of Fred Astaire and the Gershwin brothers.
***
Something in her touch healed his wounded soul. Each of their encounters took him one step further into trust. It was a mutual and heavenly trust away from thoughts, deeper down into his own true feelings, away from control, way into the flow of unity.
The real unity of healing.
Two people longing to become one just like they had been and would be again, one day in heaven.
Like the bee unifying with the nectar, the love contained the seed of new life. Like the moon drawn to Mother Earth, it controlled the flow of life. Like the sun making love to the Milky Way, the love circled around itself, experiencing itself anew. Like the galaxies kissing the universe, this love experienced its own splendor through its own connection. Like the universe becoming one with other universes, love itself was a mirror of Eden, the universe of the soul making love to the other universes in other souls, those souls present even inside a rose petal in a palatial garden. It could create worlds within worlds simply through lovemaking in a universe within a universe. In a dream within a dream. Such were the words of Edgar Allan Poe. The universe constantly making love to itself. If matter indeed was an illusion, this tenderness had the potential of creating miracles. It was a portal to the next world.
Since Waylen's spiritual awakening had commenced, his awareness literally reaching into all kinds of spiritual energies, his perspectives on what touch really was had changed fundamentally. Touch was not physical in itself. The fabric and meaning of touch depended on the energy flowing through it. The spirit of love meant everything to what the energy of the touch entailed. Indeed, it was the touch of the energetic spirit that connected all that was and that truth the only true reality and content of the crude carcass of a society that claimed to have all the answers. The body, though, was but the means to an end. The answer, indeed, was the conscious energy of love acting through touch. Affection. Reverence. Respect.
Susannah caressed Waylen with the elegant and sensitive tips of her female fingers. Light caresses, barely noticable to his skin. A quantum touch, every electron in her energy giving him spiritual goosebumps. Almost as if the cosmic strings inside her particles bathed in divine light. The angels seeming to tell him through her energy not to be afraid. To trust.
Her cure of affection a symphony by Mozart.
Meeting Susannah had changed his perspective on Yin and Yang, male and female, the attraction totally spiritual. Now, he understood what unity really meant. A unity obvious at first glance. How she had spoken to him in the supermarket of all places, asking him for advice about ink for printers. He had asked her what she wanted to print out. "Flyers for my meditation seminars!"
A good conversation starter. Soon they were chatting about chakras and divine light, fate and love and the music of Led Zeppelin.
The courage to ask her out at that second seminar he attended had been the best thing he had ever done. She was the only person in the world he would walk the extra mile for. He would do anything she asked. Anything.
"What are you doing to me?" he whispered, his mouth just very slightly touching her earlobe just like her fingers barely touched his skin, the locks of her blond hair falling onto his nose, the vibrations of her spirit literally buzzing against his chest as he literally tasted her breath. Her heart beating close to his heart.
"Our energies are connecting, Waylen," Susannah spoke, almost inaudibly, the only proof of her words the warm, gentle air that came out of her mouth, reaching his eardrum as sweet vibrations like morning dew drops on succulent grass. Her warm air the breeze that turned his cold ice into lukewarm waterfalls. Her kiss an iota of God's breath.
For years, Waylen had feared almost everything, including himself. His fears a constant companion, a weird voice in his head telling him, by Jove, not to write that story, not to choose that apple in the fruit bowl, not to take the left road. How this deep neurosis had developed was hard to understand. Waylen just knew that he had been confronted with having to choose between a rock and a hard place too many times, people he dearly loved using him as bait to fish for compliments and attention. Until his brain simply short circuited into high strung OCD just to protect itself.
It was a wonder he had survived in the artistic freelance market for so long with his psychological ills.
But now, now Susannah showed him that not lovemaking could heal. She showed him that matter indeed was an illusion, just like his neurosis was. That the step between an embrace, a kiss and a sexual encounter of love was non-existent.
The need for tender love was the unity he had longed for all these years.
As Waylen became one with Susannah, his skin on hers, both of them on her soft, sweet and rose-scented sheets, he felt what she felt, thought what she thought, sensed what she sensed. Her aura surrounding his, snip-bits of her thoughts popping up in his mind, her thoughts of staying forever in his embrace reached him, her wanting to become him. Thoughts of marriage and children and houses and boats and barbecues and family outings during lovely summer vacations appearing inside him as female warmth. As he sank deeper into her, his brave animus encircled her Jungian anima. He realized, then and there, that her feminine energy was an individual expression of an eternal energy that had inspired Mozart to compose "The Marriage of Figaro". It had breathed life into Chicago's "You're the Inspiration" and turned Vermeer's thought of "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" into reality. The steady rhythm of Susannah's body responding to his thrust had him thinking of the quick turns of a Tango Argentino on a South American dance floor. Their allegro resembled the smooth step-touch-step-tip of a Caribbean Bachata. It was the portamento of an elegant Viennese waltz, a play gradually transforming into a new combined energy. Man becoming woman. Woman becoming man. To Waylen, Susannah looked better than the Blue Danube had ever looked, even bathing in sunshine on a brilliant summer day.
Her Rubenesque forms gave in to his presto, making her body wave like the Pacific during a mild storm, responding to his jive in the red and orange colors of her radiance. It transformed their dance into a luscious meal of emotions, as rich as Rioja wine and Aphrodite's dark chocolate, as tasty as Cathedral City Cheddar cheese and Peruvian grapes.
At the closest moment of this grace, Fred Astaire's hit "Cheek to Cheek" from Irving Berlin's glorious 1935 score for "Swing Time" came to his mind.
"Dance with me! I want my arms about you. The charms about you will carry me through to heaven! I'm in heaven."
Indeed, making love to Susannah felt like taking a Tantra trip to angelic realms.
The marathon road to their pinnacle felt like the climax of Franz von Suppé's "Light Cavalry" with trombones and trumpets blaring. Their vibrations literally swung exactly in tune, two spirits becoming one, bathing in divine light with an end fanfare as glorious as Europe's climactic keyboard theme in "The Final Countdown". They both agreed, telepathically, that they felt as if they were dancing on hot coals, their paso double a flamenco of sorts founded on deep reverence and respect for each other. Their lovemaking could be compared to singing in the opera chorus. The word one singer forgot in Verdi's "Va pensiero" from the opera "Nabucco" quickly filled in by another singer. Voices mingling with other voices eventually turning into one single voice of different harmonies. Waylen had during his years of study sung with pianists that so eloquently felt where his musical intention was going, his vocal improvisations answered by similar piano lines. Here, Waylen kissing Susannah's nose was responded by her kissing his. Susannah caressing his cheek became Waylen caressing hers. They were dancing.
Waylen and Susannah, in short, gave each other energy, their spirits acting as electric chargers for each other's spiritual smartphones.
With the explosion, their spirits had recharged, billions of white stars erupting from one body to the next.
Mutually dwindling down from the seventh level of paradise, they fell into each other's arms. Susannah lay her head on Waylen's heaving heart, playing with his chest hair as the crickets chirped through the open window, a feeling of mutual connection growing deeper by the second. There was not much to say other than a silent "I love you!"
In her, he saw himself.
She saw herself in him.
As the crystal clear night sky glittered through their open window above the Malibu skyline, Susannah's very dainty snore, as she fell asleep on his breast, reverberated into his ear. It felt like home. The full moon cast its light on the bedroom wall opposite Susannah's waterbed, giving that favorite Francois Boucher reproduction of hers a new air of lunar sanctity. Lady Moon shining on painted lovers. She had repeatedly told him about how the painting had accompanied her from early childhood to college dorm room to her first flat and now here to Malibu where she worked. Her father had given it to her, hung it down from his wall, asking her to take care of it. How fitting the beauty was. Their garden of love decorated by a lovely garden.
"Lovers in a Park" had been painted back in 1758, the original now hanging in the French Timken Museum. A young man embracing his girlfriend, putting flowers in her hair. How gloriously Rococo that was. A pastoral scene as romantic as their own love, filled with beauty and amorous magic. Waylen looked around the room at scattered clothing, a thrown about bra under that blue dress she had planned to wear at the party over at "Luigi's Osteria" tomorrow. He had planned for her favorite local salsa band to appear, dishing up spicy salsa dishes for her to eat. She only knew about the party. Not the occasion.
And when Susannah woke up again, her gaze deeply into his visual ocean, both of them sunk into the deepest kiss any couple could imagine, sparks again flying all the way up to Andromeda.
Then and there, both of them knew what the truth was. Lovemaking was probably the most wonderful way to experience the divinity of the amorous universe.
"Susannah?" he asked her between kisses, his lips numb with bliss.
"Yes, my dear sweet darling," she crooned, sounding like Dinah Washington in "What a Difference a Day Makes".
"Would you be my wife?"
Susannah's gaze widened, her smile beaming widely, so wide that he was able to gaze onto her gorgeous larynx. Waylen had planned it all so well, hiding the ring under his pillow. When she saw the ring, a small diamond 24 carat stone, she took it into her hands, looking at it as if it were a holy relic, the promise of a mutual future together a golden opportunity of victorious faith. It entailed picking out furniture for a mutual house, Sunday meals and dance classes, Disney movies with the little ones, afternoon home work assistance and Monopoly evenings with salty pop-corn on the side. That and, of course, Santa Claus coming to town.
"That's what the party is about tomorrow?" she giggled, her immaculate bosom jiggling along as she laughed.
He nodded, a sacred accompanied slightly shy shrug. "I'd be honored."
"An engagement party," she crooned, holding on to the little blue box as if it were the crown jewel of a future queen, "for me."
"With a salsa theme."
"Whoa, cool," she spat, sounding a bit like Beavis in the old MTV series.
It took her awhile to take her eyes off the ring, like that little kid that had just received her favorite gift for Christmas.
Her luscious frame sitting there on the bed, her mouth producing the idiom of hot rods and rowdy rock and roll, it was a mix for the Gods. That and the fact that here was a person open enough to sit naked next to him holding his engagement ring, it brought on a deep reverence inside. Beyond the sexy body, she trusted him, gave him the sanctity of affection.
"The greatest gift on Earth is the love you give me."
"Yes," she whispered to herself, still feasting her eyes on the ring. "I thought you would never ask."
The embrace seemed to last for eons, her breasts pressing against his chest, her fingers touching his back, her hair tickling his nose, her aura warming up his.
"Sharing, that's the ticket."
Charles Durning's words in Waylen's favorite movie "Tootsie" rang true in his inner ear. Sharing and caring for Susannah, what a one-way-ticket to heaven that would be.
He would have "Someone to Watch Over Me". The woman in the song by the Gershwin brothers had been longing for love, deeply yearning for affection. Waylen had cried during the film "Mr. Holland's Opus", describing so accurately what the song was about.
"What do we say when they ask us where you proposed to me?" Susannah mused, still locked inside his embrace.
Waylen waited for one moment, one amorous moment, time seemingly stopping. Intuitively, he responded, his words guided by angels: "Tell them I proposed to you in heaven. They will know what we're talking about."
And somehow, they both knew he was right.
Their true love had just taken them up to the angelic realms.
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