I'm usually more @ home @ Poets Workshop

It had been a particular exhausting day of reports and

paperwork, and O’Brien had welcomed the thought of coming

home and taking a long hot shower. He loosened his tie from

the collar that had restrained it all day and paused to rub some

of the tension out of his neck. Sequentially, the remainder of

his suit was then thrown casually into the chair next to his bed

leaving him only in the comfort of his boxers. Feeling hungrier

than he remembered being, he decided to delay the shower for

leftover pizza and made his way to the kitchen.

After retrieving the white cardboard box and the six-pack of

Killian's that he had purchased on the way home, he took

his usual place on the couch. It took only a few minutes of

quickly scanning the viewing possibilities on TV, for him to

decide on the History Channel and their documentary on

ancient Greece.

At the end of the program and his fourth beer, he proceeded to

the shower he had postponed earlier welcoming the even

further relaxation. He turned the knobs releasing the water in a

pounding force and stepped behind the curtain into the quickly

mounting blanket of steam. A sigh of release escaped him as

he stood motionless, allowing the hot water to knead his tired

muscles and his thoughts as always turned to Samantha.

He enjoyed the fantasy world he had created in which she was

his lover, his erotic fantasy. In his heart he loved

her, as he could no other, and his desire for her was painfully

hard to control when he was close to her. The intoxicating

smell of her perfume and the way she bit her bottom lip taunted

him daily at the precinct, and he had narrowly escaped surrender many times.

The heat and the steam worked their magic and eased the

transition from reality to a dream state almost fully allowing his

fantasy to take shape. He imagined her naked body joining

him, taking his wet body in her arms from behind and touching

soft kisses between his shoulders. Her small delicate fingers

gently caress his taut stomach before moving upward to play

with the hair on his chest as it rises and falls, his breath coming

in staggered gasps. Her breath is cool to his hot skin as her

tongue traces his spine sending uncontrollable shivers traveling

through his body. Her hips press up against him as her hands

travel back down, further this time, causing him to whisper her

name in a low moan that seems to excite her, causing her hands

to become faster and stronger. Unable to control the fire

ignited now low in his belly, he takes her in his arms and kisses

her transferring the passion in his own body to her.

O’Brien snapped himself back to reality with a shake of his

head as he cooled the temperature of the water pelting his

excited flesh. He struggled to regain control over his pounding

heart, his breath in shallow pants in the rapture of his fantasy.

He refused to ever let his mind take over beyond those initial

touches not wishing to cheapen her, or his love for her with the

same lustful thoughts provoked by pornographic material that

he reveled in at times. She was so far above that, and his desire

for her was only an extension of the deep-rooted love that he

had for her. His thoughts were meant to be an enhancement of

what he hoped would be his future, not a cheapening of his

longing for her.

After a few moments, he re-adjusted the water to a more

humane temperature, and quickly followed his mundane

showering ritual. He turned the knobs for the final time and

slid the curtain back to reveal the envelopment of steam

concealing the doorway and other details of the small room.

He stood for a moment, the water dripping from his hair and

his wet skin, racing down each curve of his body as he again

sighed, trying to complete the exorcism of her vision from his

mind.

He dried himself off, the towel now as warm as the air around

him, and wiped his reflection into the clouded mirror. He

wrapped the blue towel around his waist, remarking silently

that it matched the blue of her eyes, and removed his

toothbrush from the usual spot on the wall.

After brushing his teeth, he returned once again to his bedroom,

pulled on his boxers, and climbed under the covers of his still

unmade bed. He turned out the light and arranged the extra

pillow snugly next to him, wishing that it

would some day be Sam in his arms instead of the cold,

lifeless form he held every night.