Four Voices Vying for Veracity

Ahem...

Isn't she so fair, so fine?

And what about her mind!

Lover, overleap the wall separating her in ignorance of your glory.

To whom do you speak? I spy no accomplished scholar, no brave knight, no wealthy merchant, nor bard with wondrous story.

Put me down!

But unhearing ears aided unheeding hands, and slung him above elegant masonry, tumbling upon rough arrival into the beloved's yard.

Who calls from the bushes as an errant bluebird?

The lady sings like a nightingale from her bedchamber's balcony. I spring from my berth, and maneuver out of the shade of a rosebush.

Sighing, she shades her eyes, but I spy her gaze left and right, and shush...

A sound, a jealous cousin, a watchful maid, a wrathful father?

She beckons? And I clutch a handful of ivy, another caressing a stone in the wall, as I mount, in all appearances like a robber.

With thorny blush held between pearly orbs I lean towards her...

Is this how the tale begins?

Sir, this is how their relationship began.

I do not believe it is as you say.

No?

Let me recommence this epic at its origin.

Ahem...

In the dawn of the Golden Age, she danced on the dewy ground and serenity was her only attire. From above, the Majestic spied her on the virescent vegetation. Though unconstrained by ocular inhibitions, He maneuvered through celestial substance and stratospheric sky to obtain a superior view.

Should I come to her in Majesty, myself unclad, or transmuted into less threatening form, a shower of silver, a colossal bison, or a docile dove?

It matters not, for my matter remains me, and she shall know my substance on sight. I shall approach, crossing this hedge within which she frolics.

Hark, who is there?

She hears my approach, I perceive her cry, and as I observe, tranquility fades from her face, replaced by a terrible mixture of new knowledge, unfelt anxiety, and a wonder at the glory to be born of our union.

For a moment she stands as still as the doe, but then she flees, and her playfulness, urges me onward, with mounting ecstasy.

A steep slope, she stumbles, I hear her shout, and I exclaim in response.

Reaching the climax, I see her wade a river, and enter a glade of trees...

Hey, Hey, hold up.

Why do you dare disturb my narration?

Because it's totally not the truth.

It is how I knew her.

Give me a shot to tell my version

If you must.

Ahem...

Standing in the sole street light, on a lonely cul-de-sac, he thought he could see her moving behind the curtain of her bedroom window. Exiting his circle of light, he stole across the asphalt street and up the low stone wall which accentuated the manicured lawn, while also delineating the boundary between one property and another.

Her room is on the second floor, above the two car garage, and he wonders, how will I reach her?

Tiptoeing over the accommodating grass, he spies the gutter drain glinting, illuminated by a waxing gibbous moon. Though flecked with rust, he grips it tightly, and mounts the garage's crumbling asphalt tiles.

A flicker of the curtain paralyzes him with apprehension, endearment, and wonder. In such a state, he overhears a phone call.

Hey Kendra, yeah, I know, she's been acting so strange, and personally, I'm not sure she's ...
My angel speaks, and her voice is sweet and sexy simultaneously.

With the sash of the window level with his navel, he places his hands upon its smooth exterior, and leans inward, nose pushed up against the cool glass, within holds his delight.

Oh... you know... he's coming over to study chemistry tonight for Ms. Jackson's Calculus exam … Just don't tell my parents.

I gently rap upon the outward entryway to her bedroom, and she turns...

How can you stand to tell this story?

What do you mean?

It drips of pretension and insincerity. Why pretend it was anything other than it was?

And what would you say about their relationship?

When I tell it, I conceal nothing.

Ahem...

There is an eagerness which crescendos as one waits for the approaching indulgence. I sway gently in my chair, barely listening to the hushed music, which sets them at their ease better than silence does. Across the lot, packed with cars of those residing at the hotel, there's the bustle of the city, which doesn't cease even as midnight approaches. With the shades open and only a table lamp lit, I let the lights of the city's opulence run across my body, caressing every unclothed fold.

I like it better when they come to me, and there's the notification, a knock at the unlocked door, the insubstantial barrier which she must cross to enter her humiliation, and once inside, becomes as solid as a cage, trapping her here with me.

I don't answer immediately, imagining I can hear her labored breathing, and salivating at the thought of her conundrum. Should she leave and pretend she was never there, or enter and entertain? There is no true choice, and the hinge creaks ever so slightly, the tread on the threadbare carpet like a mouse, imperceptible.

I sigh deeply, and the footfall pauses, but I do not intend to usher her inside. At last, down that short corridor, I see timid toes, and then a single shamed eye...

Gross...

Undignified...

Brute....

All our stories exhibited difference without a distinction, after all who said, I unclad myself? I'm just unrobing.

My adventure contains a sacred element a swine can't appreciate.

Ha, what a blowhard.

A proper education, and a proper examination illuminate for the amorous mind, the disparity between romance and subjugation.

That's your interpretation...

Young love, reciprocal and respectful, is the seed of hope, joy, a stable modern society, and....

...Unwanted pregnancy.

I know you can see as clearly as I. Your pitiful plots are as devoid of truth as any pointless play, idiots all. A cloak to aid modesty here, an embroidery of innocence there, and it all amounts to a the last breath of an old man.

Yet it's unclear whether you are a bull in a bawdy house, a slithering snake, the King without clothes, or some combination of all three.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Perhaps you'd like to hear my version.

Ahem...

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