The Bad Back

This is a scene I wrote in 1985.   There were no mention of names. At that time I thought I might write romances.  This was a generic scene that I could put a story on and never did.  I decided to keep it dated.  Enjoy!

She is lying on her stomach on a soft, white shag rug, her head rests comfortably on a cotton pillow. A very handsome man is perched astride her, knees securely around her sides. He is gently massaging her weary back. She had pulled something that day and complained about her back all the way to the cabin.

It is dark in the log cabin and night is in full bloom outside. John Scott Mottinger plays on the high-powered stereo system. The giant speakers are so close to her ears, it feels like the artist is participating in the massage. The only light in the room is from the large fireplace crackling to the music.

The night is cool in the Northeast forest where they find themselves, in the early Fall of 1985. The small, but cozy cabin they rented for the night has a spacious living area and a bedroom loft The long sofa with the fluffy pillows sits behind them, separating them from the kitchen tucked under the loft.

When the massage is over, he helps her onto the sofa. She leans against its generous side, absorbing the support on her better, but still tender back. He stands up stretching his legs and then pours them each a glass of wine. Handing one to her, he slides behind her, allowing her back to rest against his chest. Her legs swing gingerly up onto the cushions, seating her neatly between his legs. His arm curls around her. They spend a long time there watching the fire in silence.

The cassette tape needs to be changed, disturbing their position. He carefully moves her to a sitting position, though she assures him she is feeling much better. He encourages her to stay put while he tends to the music. Returning after putting on Al Green’s He is the Light, suiting her mood perfectly, the man sits beside her. They hold hands, and sip wine while talking easily about the events of their day.

When the subject has been exhausted, he puts both glasses on the table beside the sofa and pulls her face to his. He kisses her deeply, gently laying her down on the sofa and mounts her again to make love.

Afterwards, they stay as they are, enjoying the closeness of their bodies. Her back is surprisingly calm. But soon the fire begins to die and the room takes on the night chill. She grabs her clothes and heads up the stairs to the bedroom, the wine glasses forgotten. She pulls the layers of quilts back and climbs in.

He remains to put on a Mahavishnu Orchestra cassette and soon joins her in the loft bedroom. He slides into the bed beside her, snuggling together to get warm. Nibbling on her ear, stroking each other now and again, trading kisses, they talk about the state of the country. It ends in laughter. Which leads them to lovemaking. She drifts into sleep.

Out of a sexy dream, she is aroused. When she opens her eyes, she sees the handsome man stroking her exposed inner arm. He asks how her back feels. She rolls over and says it might still be a little sore. She knows what he is thinking. He suggests they take a dip in the hot tub on the porch of the cabin. She smiles.

In minutes, they have thrown on robes, gathered towels, and dunked themselves into the hot tub. They sit and talk lightly over the Hall and Oates H2O cassette. All the while, playing footsies under the water.

A half hour later, with skin crinkling, they withdraw from the tub. Her back is humming now. Dried bodies get back in the bed, make love once more before falling asleep in each other’s arms.