Magical Weekends

magical weekends

Shared by Nathan Lindsay.

I wish I could admit that tonight is good. I have my son with me for the next few days and it should be fantastic and calming, but it’s not. I miss her…and the pain rips through my chest like an open wound.

The next morning we awoke, stopped for needed coffee, and followed that up with a tour of West Cliff. My last years in college I lived on the West end of Santa Cruz, wasting away early mornings and late evenings with walks to the coastline with my then girlfriend. I’d bike, rather than drive, the mile to the grocery store and quickly became accustomed to the breeze of daily life in that neighborhood.

Tawny and I dreamt wildly of unobtainable futures as we drove past the parade of ocean view homes that hugged the coastal drive. Earlier we decided to spend that night in Cambria, so by midday we began the drive down the Pacific Coast, stopping in Monterey to visit an old friend of mine her husband.

My friend is one I knew from Barstow. She and her husband were newly married the year before. Their demeanor was welcomed by us both. I think Tawny was impressed by the quality of hospitality they exuded, coupled with their cozy humor.

“What! We got married!? Ewww…” they jokingly exclaimed when I congratulated them.

We had lunch at a small Mexican diner near Cannery Row, said our goodbyes, and continued on through Pacific Grove. After finding the main highway once again we made another stop in Big Sur at the Henry Miller Library.

“My dad loved places like this” she mentioned staring skyward toward the impossible Redwoods. She and her father were years estranged due to his alcohol and drug abuse, but her memories before his downward turn were still bittersweet.

We arrived in Cambria late evening, long after the sun had set. The drive down the coast was filled with music and conversation, none of which I remember. I can only recall the backdrop of a setting sun, her outlines shining with the romantic tide of the dimming light as we drove.


We checked into Moonstone Landing. Located beachside, we were afforded a partial view of the Pacific from the perch of our room. It wasn’t as spacious as our stay in Scott’s Valley, but the room was handsomely decorated, featuring a heated fireplace and a fresh ocean breeze.

We were famished from our drive. I asked the woman at the front counter about a restaurant I’d heard of in Morro Bay, but she quickly dissuaded this idea, reminding me of the distance South. Instead she booked a reservation for us in town at Madeline’s. The meal was beyond exquisite. Tawny was wide-eyed through dinner, like a woman suddenly finding herself the princess of the palace for one starry night. I couldn’t believe that no one had treated her to the pleasure of such extravagance at least once. She deserved so much more.

The short drive back to the Landing was brief and erotic. She wore a black, printed dress that evening, along with high black boots. She was not only exceedingly beautiful, but sultry and sexy to the core. My hand slid from hers, tenderly drawn to her knee…a mellow stride toward her middle. As I drove, she shut her eyes, soothed and moved by the act between her thighs. Her body quivered with expressed approval, as resounded passion echoed throughout the car. Finally – pointedly – she told me: “You need to get me back to the hotel…right now!”

I complied and our hungered lust took over the moment we entered the confined space of the hotel. Throughout my histories there have been times when partners have necessitated direction and instruction while in the throes of foreplay or fucking. Tawny never found the guidance necessary. It was a natural scene with her. I never wanted to “fuck”…I wanted to make love to her…to worship and pay homage to the emotions stirred within me through her. I wanted to give to her – to show her just how much she meant through the center stage of pleasure. I always wanted to satisfy her every carnal desire.

The boots were an excellent choice.

I loved her. I love her still. That’s her…

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