Hannah

Her body was one of the most beautiful creations I had ever seen. With my ring in my pocket, her face became as easy to stare into as her name was to say. Hannah. She had soft brown hair that gently brushed her shoulders as she looked from right to left and back again. Her eyes were the color of the deepest ocean, and her lips shone as bright as licked red candy. I would do anything for her.

Slowly she moved, always focused on the task at hand. I will never forget the feeling of her fingertips gently massaging my scalp as I sank deeper and deeper into a state of harmonious bliss; a feeling previously known only to the gods. With my eyes closed I would imagine making love to her and gently kissing every part of her body. After pulling myself from this state of ecstasy I would look her in eye, and as if she knew exactly what I was thinking, she would begin to smile. Slowly.

Sometimes she talked with more grace than any woman I have ever met. Sometimes she didn’t. But no matter what she said, I grew more and more fond of her with every word. Every now and then she would say something profound, pulling my eyes open and demanding a long hard stare of amazement. Every now and then she would completely stop what she was doing, begin talking with her hands, and completely lose her place. But this didn’t happen often. Only sometimes.

Her long, deep breath was always a dead giveaway that she was finished. I would rise from my chair and walk (breathtakingly close, might I ad) with her to the checkout counter. I would pay her for her services, brush any remaining hair from my shoulders, look her in the eye and say “Thank you, Hannah, I’ll be back soon.” I would walk slowly to my hot car and slide my wedding ring back onto my left hand. Every week I left with an even deeper love for her.