A Taste For Ginger
She smelled like ginger. It was sharp and sweet at the same time. Her willowy limbs snaked about me; a single leg went from the trunk of my body, down the side of my thigh with her toes cupped in the hollow of my knee. Her arm reached across my chest, nails brushing my skin as I breathed. I idly stroked her leg, my fingers slowing to trace the burst of scar tissue that riddled such soft skin. It was so hard to let her go, even now. Her family protected her like a pack of wolves, silent in the way they snarled at others who came near. It was much the same for me when I met her, but they saw that they had little choice and instead took to sullenly pacing about. I was a threat to their lives and hers though I never was the cause of any pain. Ah, but how could I ignore that beautiful face? She called to me. Without a word spoken, I followed like a lost pup. Sighing softly, I could feel her growing stiff from being in the same position for so long. I shifted her off my bare body and laid her back, brushing her silky hair aside. Oh, she wasn't my first, and before long I would have to let her go as well. But, I would never forget such a splendor. So I rose and dressed with a type of slowness that only avoidance of the inevitable can create. I lifted her still form, cradling her carefully as I carried her back upstairs. Her family would be along for her soon and if I wanted to keep my life the way I enjoyed it, she best be proper. So I settled the time I had with her into my memories and went back to work with the faint taste of ginger pervading my senses.