Frank

~ Frank ~

Frank made his way through the trees as quietly and quickly as possible. Late Fall was a hard time to be out in the bush. Everything crackled, snapped and rustled. One had to know how to move with ease and fluidity in order to make little sound. Tonight he had not been light footed. He was sure Frannie had heard him. 

Frank let out a heavy sigh as he walked into his cabin. Before he closed the door, he glanced over at Frannie’s place. Her candle was still lit. It was usually another half hour or so before the wick was snuffed out. About the same time it usually took him to get ready for bed. At one time, ten minutes was all it took, but since Frannie arrived, the time had gotten longer and longer, until it matched hers almost to the minute. She must wonder why he is close by whenever she goes to the stream. He assumed she didn’t think he was a perv, otherwise she would have reported him to his superiors by now. 

While he was attracted to her, it wasn’t the reason why Frank watched over her. Frannie had a way about her that men found particularly charming. She was open, honest, cheerful, and spoke her mind. She had a ‘mothering’ way about her that was appealing to most people who met her. And she had no clue how sexy she was. She seemed oblivious to the kind of affect she had on those living in Camp 7. 

Within days of arriving, she became a popular fixture in the camp. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to have a conversation with Frannie. She had grown up in the bush where both her grandfathers had worked the highway and run lumber camps. She was used to the ways of camp men, and her quick wit and humor matched them word for word. In their eyes, her sparring was equal to hers. While the men respected her lack of interest in them (Most had a wife and kids back home or learned the hard way that Frannie made her own choices), there was the odd newbie who tried to butter her up. Sometimes a little to vigorously. Either the bush crew set them straight, or Frannie did in her own sweet and firm way. 

It is important to note that Frannie wasn’t the only woman at Camp 7. There was Rosie the cook (she made it well-known that she was a lesbian), three kitchen help, Lily, Berta, and Helen, the two younger laundresses, Ginny and Marie, and the cleaning crew Gertie, Linda and Sandi. There were no lumber ‘jills’ - as he had heard Frannie call them - at Camp 7, but she had heard there were a few at Camps 2, 5, and 10. Six in total. Lily and Berta’s husbands both worked at Camp 8. The rest of the staff were single. Frank wasn’t sure how often it happened, but from time to time, lines were crossed at the camp. Romance bloomed quickly and then shriveled away liked an old stump.. 

It hadn’t happened to him. At least not until Frannie came along. Then everything changed. He became enamored with her. Thought about her all the time. Always kept an eye on her to make sure she was safe. That was why he waited in the woods on those nights that Frannie bathed in the stream. She was about three months into camp life when a newbie went for a walk and discovered Frannie swimming. He made a bit of nuisance of himself that ended up with his abrupt departure to another ‘location.’ Since then, Frank had made a habit of standing just inside the treeline where he could see someone coming from any direction. He didn’t mind. When the wind was his way, he could make out the smell of fresh strawberries. Sometimes, the scents of cedar and citrus floated just behind it. Tonight it had been coconut and honey. “OhmyFrank,” as he was so fond of saying, “what that woman does to me!” 

Frank had inhaled the scented air deep into his lungs. He had imagined soaping her body in circular motions. Slowly teasing out the tangles from her wet hair. Smelling her sweet scents. The thought of his hands caressing her breasts had stirred his manhood. He was certain her skin had a sweet salty taste to it, like taffy without the stickiness. Just smooth and delicious. He had felt his cock hardening at the thought of running his tongue through Frannie’s deep cleavage. Frank had stayed lost in throes of Frannie thought for a little bit longer until he heard her going up the path to her cabin. He let out a long sigh, shook off the delicious memory and closed the door against the night. Time to get ready for bed. ~ End ~

Frannie and Frank

~ FRANNIE AND FRANK ~

~ Frannie ~

Frannie shook out her long golden hair and worked her fingers through to loosen out the tangles. It had been a hot day. The high humidity meant a storm was coming and the last of the sheets needed to be off the line before rain fell. Frannie liked to leave them hanging overnight. The ‘fresh morning’ smell was popular among the men. She giggled to herself thinking about the rough and rowdy fellows in the camp rolling around in their bedding. “Mmmm” she giggled again, “time to get ready to roll in my own sheets.” 

Frannie lit two large candles and began taking her clothes off. Her movements created tiny whirlwinds of air that caused the flames to dance and writhe in anticipation of her unveiling. She glanced over at the window as she slid off her panties. “I wonder if he is out there, in the woods, waiting for me.” She ignored the tingling in between her legs that came with that thought.

Leaving her clothing in a soft pile at her feet, Frannie picked up her sponge bag and headed outside. She paused for a moment and let her eyes adjust to the dark before walking down to the stream. She couldn’t wait to wash off the day’s sweat. 

During the warm months, Frannie bathed outdoors later in the evening after the men went to bed. If the weather was bad, she hauled in rainwater from the barrel sitting outside her cabin door. When it was too cold, she used a small tub in the cabin; filling it with water she hand pumped at her sink. 

Washing her hair took the most time and water. It hung down to the end of her back in thick, heavy waves. When she worked, her hair was kept braided. At night, she always let it hang loose. There was so much of it that it cloaked her body almost as well as a robe. The long tendrils embraced and caressed her curves as she made her way down to the stream.

The water was cool against Frannie’s skin. With a sense of relief, she felt her internal temperature slowly drop. “Ohhh, that feels sooo good,” she groaned. Once she was completely wet, Frannie stretched her body out and floated on top of the water for a bit. It was a clear night and the celestial sky was at its best. Among the stars, her eyes found the two Dippers, the brightest planets, and the moon at her fullest. She was pretty sure she caught a glimpse of a shooting star or two. 

Frannie sighed in pleasure. She loved her bathing spot. Roughly egg shaped, it was about nine feet at its deepest and partially encircled by a natural rock formation that dipped in and out of the stream at different points. Where Frannie swam, it served as a sporadic barrier. Part of the rock took on a raised flatness that sat just above the water providing a ledge one could sit or stand on. In a couple of other places, it rose up from the water in a smooth arc before it plunged back in, partially covering the stream bed. The rest of the bottom was made up of sand, time polished pebbles and small stones. The stream itself was wide and while its flow was quite quick, it’s temperament was benign in nature. The water that ran through Frannie’s swimming area was fast enough to keep it clean but slow enough to safely bathe. Perfect for Summer and Fall wash ups. 

Frannie flipped around and pushed herself under the water. She came up by the flat rock where she had left her sponge bag. She stood up and began washing, her soapy hands following the curves and crevices of her shapely body. They moved to her hair, massaging it with a strawberry fragrant shampoo she made for herself. A few ‘soft’ dives into the water and all the suds were rinsed out. Frannie swam over to the bank where she wrapped herself in a towel from her bag, and then twisted her hair into rope-like braids to squeeze out the water. “There,” she said to herself. “Done.” 

As she hurried back up the path to her cabin, Frannie heard the faint crunch of dried leaves. She paused for a moment slowly searching her surroundings. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a dark shape moving away from her towards the cabin a few trees from her own. Frannie smiled to herself. “When will that man work up the nerve to come visit my boudoir, “ she wondered. She had come to Camp 7 in early Spring and it was late Fall now, yet not one improper word or move towards her from him. Fifty men in the camp she wasn’t interested in, and the fifty-first man she was interested in hadn’t given her the time of day beyond a polite remark when circumstances required it. Yet, there he was. Every time she bathed, he was somewhere near her. Never close enough to really see her, but enough to make his presence felt. Frannie wanted him badly. But wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. It wasn’t in her nature to be demanding in matters of intimacy. Maybe that is what was needed in this particular situation. Perhaps a plan was needed. Yes! That was it. She was always good at planning things out. And once her mind was made up about that, nothing could deter her! 

Satisfied with her thinking, Frannie cheerifully continued on her way, humming a little tune as she went. “This man, he tries to avoid me. But I don’t think he is quite true. I think he really likes me. He just doesn’t know what to do. So I will take both his hands in mine. And show him life can be a real good time. Promise myself to treat him fine. Be happy, sexy, and always kind.” On that final note, Frannie stepped out of the trees into the clearing. From there, her doorstep was only a few yards away. And on it was a most unexpected and unwelcome visitor. ~ End ~ 

THIS IS MY LOVE STORY

THIS IS MY LOVE STORY

It happened. The universe slightly shifted and a doorway opened. After eight years of secretly yearning for a certain man, he stepped through that newly created space, and the greatest love story I have ever experienced, began. 

My interest in this man took hold at a conference. I was walking towards an escalator, when I heard a voice floating over a noisy crowd. A beautiful voice that caused me to pause and catch my breath. “Who is that!” I thought. I waited. And I heard that voice again. It sounded closer. I stood still, my eyes scanning people’s faces to see who it might be. And then I spotted him. Black jeans, short sleeved black polo shirt, white runners, and a cap on his head. He was speaking to someone. His voice had a musical twang to it; sexy, steady, expressive. My whole being tingled. He laughed. My heart took a pause. And I thought, “I want this man. He is for me.”

The man I had no name for, began walking in my direction. I watched how he moved. Confident. Purposeful. A man comfortable with himself. Sure of his footing in life. He came nearer to me, pausing along the way to talk with people. My palms started to sweat. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Here he comes! Here he comes!” I told myself. “Okay, say something! Anything! Trip him, if you have too! Nope. He walked right by me, and I did nothing. I wanted to take his hand. I wanted to say, “hey, you. Stop. It is me. I am here now. It is our time. Pay attention.” Instead, I just stood in awe and watched his cute little ass keep on moving through the crowd. The moment passed. But the impact of his presence stayed with me. 

I looked for him during the remaining days of the conference. Went to each of his workshops. Plotted how I would approach him. Asked around casually about who he was, where he came from. Everyone seemed to know him. He came off as a good guy. But was he single? “Never married,” I heard. “Has a woman,” or “might have a woman.” I didn’t see him with any one person in particular. But I wasn’t sure. I mentioned my interest to a colleague who replied with enthusiasm, “chat him up!” Too shy. The conference ended and I went back home.

I thought about him from time to time over the years. Wondered how he was doing. I would see him at different events and my heart still raced a bit. I travelled with people he knew and he would stop to visit. I became tongue tied in his presence, and all I could manage was to smile, laugh at his little jokes. Listened intently to what he had to say. Hoped he was telepathic and could read my thoughts. 

I finally got brave enough to send him a friend request. I thought that maybe I could weasel myself into his presence somehow. He accepted. But we didn’t talk. I followed his posts. Never commented. Just wanted to read what he had to say. 

The last time I saw him, I entered the flow of conversation and talked with him a bit. Nothing significant. I can’t even remember what I said. He had come and sat with our little group for awhile. I joined his workshop and discreetly took pictures of him with my phone. I felt a bit foolish, but it seemed I could not help myself. My heart still pitter pattered in interesting ways whenever I saw him, and whenever he spoke. I still got that tingly feeling. I talked about my passion for him to my best friend for the umpteenth time. “Just talk to him!” she said. Okay. I would. The next morning, I would ask him to go for coffee or tea. The next day came and I couldn’t find him. He was gone. Poof! I went back home deflated. 

A few months went by and I got to thinking, there is always next summer. I could wait. I knew he would be at this place again. No more stalling! I would take the plunge and approach him with an invitation for a walk. I had a plan. And then COVID came along and everything was cancelled. Now what? 

Well, I still had those pictures I took. I could send him one and just casually say I thought maybe he would like to have it. I played around with the idea for weeks before I finally decided it was time to take a chance. I spent days planning it out in my head. Updated my profile pic, as if it would make a difference. And then just as I was going to announce my intentions to him, he sent me a message! And I panicked. I raced around the house like a goose with its head chopped off. I told my friend several times that he had messaged me. Asked her what I should say. She laughed and said “I don’t know! Just talk to him.” So I did. And a few months later, here I am. Here we are, him and I. Us.

He is like no one I have ever met before. His voice is beautiful. He is sexy and handsome.  Kind and funny. He has an interesting mind. I love how he thinks. How he talks. He has integrity and doesn’t waver from his core beliefs. He walks his own path and doesn’t judge others for walking their own. He is full of beans like me but knows when to be serious. He does not impose his will on me. Balance is the bottom line. He cares about how I feel and what I think. He tells me that I am cute and funny. Loves my voice. He believes I am beautiful inside and out and tells me so all the time. A day doesn’t go by that we haven’t spoken several times through messenger. We video chat frequently. Send voice clips back and forth. Keep our connection consistent and lively. 

My heart overflows with love for him. I love him with a depth I could not have fathomed. Affection, anticipation, desire, enthusiasm, passion, respect, tenderness, trust...the list is infinite. He drives me crazy with lust. He constantly fills my thoughts. I lay awake in my bed for hours thinking of the many ways we will enjoy each other’s company. He is my last thought as I fall asleep and my first when I awake. My dreams are filled with our future. 

  COVID prevents us from closing the geographical distance between us that currently exists. I am not worried. Our love will outlast the virus. We have time and patience to plan for the day we can hold each other and never let go. In the meantime, technology continues to keep us connected. 

I never thought I would embrace cyberspace with such fervor. We get to know each other in ways that takes us to different depths, than if we were dating in person. Messages are constructed with deliberate thought and care. Words are carefully considered; vetted and chosen for the most optimum impact. Long pauses between conversations allow for contemplations of their meanings. Voice clips captures tones and nuances that are harder to express in written word. Video chats explore thoughts and add substance. We are creating our love story. One heartbeat at a time. And we are having great fun! I love you babe, see you soon.