image: © cap juluca

Sunset Beach, Calif.–12:16 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:

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My Angel,

I haven’t made love in days. Nights, twilights, and sunsets on end.
I might as well be a nuptialed man.

What am I implying?

I won’t take no as an answer. Especially on Pamper-Her-Friday, woman.

The package is due to arrive early this afternoon. Yes, I took the liberty of selecting a seaside dress: white sand tone, ankle-length with shawl accessory. The perfect complement to the cloud-white khakis you chose for me.

You’re on for a pampering at Nadine’s World at Sola Salon. Once Nadine has performed her wondrous hair magic on you and you’re ready to leave the chair (to come to me), she won’t dare accept a payment, tip neither.

Why?

Because it’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love. And you’re the ‘designated pamperee.’

I finished writing chapter 14 last night and, afterwards, became engrossed in a wee-hours movie entitled “Bella and the Beast,” a romantic tale about a middle-class, college-enrolled, girl-next-door sweetheart who finds herself falling for the town ogre–a self-made multimillionaire with a granite exterior masking a heart of stone masking a buried need to love again.

We’re a needy, emotional people–all of us. Most of us just don’t want to give way.

I haven’t made love in days, what seems like weeks . . . eternities.
I may as well be a married man.

So busy revenue chasing and living-making. Just haven’t made time for my “Bella.”

Let’s talk about it at sunset. You’re the only one I’m willing to have the conversation with.

Yes, you, woman.

Why you? I think we know that.

Why tonight?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

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Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®