Jan 182015
 

Harold at our getawayThe power is out and we have no way to make coffee. This is close to epic tragedy, or national disaster. We are cut off from the rest of the world. I can’t even get a text message out. I am drinking leftover champagne in lieu of coffee. It washes last night’s excesses from my mouth, but it’s not the same.

This is our get-away. We try to go away like this as often as we can. The stresses of everyday life wear us down. With four kids still at home, we barely get a minute for ourselves. We spent all day yesterday talking through some relationship problems that have been plaguing us for a while and then wild, riotous, kinky sex. The kind of sex that we could never have at home because someone could walk in any minute. The kind of sex where we just let go.

This storm is glorious. At 2:00 in the morning, the wind was fierce, driving the rain hard against the windows. The nearby rattle and screech of trains going by seemed to be one with the weather. We are staying in a flat up in the mountains, the peaks obscured by clouds now, but white with snow yesterday. The gusts howl as they travel down into the valley. The trees still dance and sway outside the window. I am entertained.

I tried to sleep as long as possible this morning to stay warm. I didn’t want to wake up Harold. Finally I woke and he was gone. This place we are renting for the weekend is small. I called for him and he came immediately, naked, to snuggle with me. I rubbed up against him to warm his cold body.

I may have given more attention to some areas than others, because we ended up making love again. Not the wild drawn out sex of last night, just simple love making – kissing, fingers in hair, quickly trying to find the battery powered vibrator in the dark, my legs high over his shoulders… Fucking just because we love each other and it feels good, not even to orgasm.

Of course I’m on my period. It happens every time we get a chance to go away for a few days. I don’t mind, but it makes for such a mess. I’d rather not make a mess in someone else’s space. And now we don’t have hot water to wash in because the power is out, but I have an idea.

There’s a hot tub outside, in the storm, that may have retained enough heat for us to soak in. Harold ventures out to check and reports that it is still as warm as a bath. We run naked through the garden, mud squishing through our toes, and submerge ourselves in the warm water while the rain comes down and the snowy mountains hide behind mist and the trees wave wildly. We laugh and look into each other’s eyes. We kiss.

A loud crack from the trees on the hill above us startles us out of our love haze. I scan the surrounding trees but I don’t see any imminent danger. The thrill of it all makes my head buzz. I take a deep breath of cold air and laugh. It feels good to be alive, but maybe it’s time to go in all the same.

I can’t see the mountains at all now through the haze of the storm. Lack of coffee is making me feel dull and slow. I need to eat something to ground out my champagne buzz. I think maybe I’ve gone from Mary Poppins to Hunter S. Thompson in the space of a single lost weekend. As much as I hate to leave, I think it may be time to pack up and head back to reality coffee.