THE TRYST
by Margaret B. Davidson
They rendezvoused out behind the old K-Mart on Route 51: their passionate coupling hidden by two overflowing dumpsters.
She was lost in the pleasurable warmth of his husky frame crushing her own slim body, the sensuality of his thick silver hair rubbing against her dark skin. She was unable to resist the hot fire in his ice-blue eyes. She shivered in anticipation as he pulled the pink bow from her short, stylishly arranged black curls. For a while the two forgot the risk they ran. The danger they faced if caught.
Passion spent for the moment, reality reasserted itself.
“I must away,” she whispered. “I pray they have not noticed my absence. Shall we meet tomorrow, my love?”
His countenance took on a sad cast. “If only we could, my sweet. They’re sending me away...”
“Away! Where do you go? When will you return?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Suspicion passed as a cloud across her sweet, sharp little face. “This is the end for us is it not?”
“Yes, my pet, they are sending me out to stud. Such is my burden.” He sighed. Then, his ears falling in sadness, he said. “We’ll not meet again. It is too dangerous. Both our destinies lie in producing offspring of undisputed heritage. We must each mate with our own breed or risk disgrace and banishment.”
“Au revoir, Mon Cherie,” she whispered. Her nose was wet and quivering in grief as she plodded doggedly home and back through the open basement door.
Margaret B. Davidson was born and raised in England. She now lives in upstate New York with her husband and cat. Margaret's husband provides moral support for her writing endeavors, while the cat helps with the typing. Contact Margaret.
