It was at sunset when she meant the most to him.

They sat, always the same, on the porch outside her room. He brushed her
hair and pinned it back, careful to keep the curls lying flat against the
nape of her neck. She had always kept it like this when she had been
able to care for it herself. Now, like so many other things, he did it
for her.

She had a beautiful neck; it was one of the first things that attracted
him to her. He could still remember the first time he saw her. It was
her neck that he saw. More precisely it was her throat, rising gracefully
from the high lace collar of her fitted blouse. She was selling kisses at
a booth. Fund raising for something or other. That was the second thing
that attracted him. She was always trying to help. Great causes, small
causes, famine in Africa, kittens in the pound. It didn’t matter.
Downtrodden, bedridden, cold, hungry. She wasn’t picky about her causes.

$1.00 a kiss. He went broke that night.

Oh, how he wanted her that night. She kissed him, the $1.00 kiss, a
chaste, demure kiss. Then she kissed him again. And again. And again.

He ran out of dollars before she ran out of kisses.

So, with a light in her eyes, she kissed him for free. The free kiss
wasn’t the chaste, demure kiss. The chaste one was reserved for the paying
customers. The free kiss was one with fire and passion and the promise
of things to come.

And those things, they did come. Not quickly, like today’s young couples.
They didn’t jump into bed after exchanging first names. They dated, really
dated. Movies, dinner, dancing. They danced the night away under strings
of lights hung from ballroom ceilings. They danced beside candlelit
tables in smoke-filled rooms. They danced beneath the stars with sand
under their feet and the waves crashing at their backs. They danced in
all that they did, their bodies moving together to a rhythm they shared
with the universe. Their souls met in the heavens and segued into a samba
with the seraphim.

Then, when those passions came, they danced again.

It was on the beach at dusk. The sun dipping into the horizon, burning
orange and purple behind the gray clouds of impending night. She pulled
him close, lifting up onto her toes and wrapping her delicate arms around
his neck. He was taller than she was, taller by far, and she had kicked
off her shoes as the two of them had floated across the beach.

He bent down to her ear, letting her whisper softly to him. “Please, make
it tonight.”

It was her first, and although it wasn’t his first, he was far from
expert. So afraid of hurting her, he was tentative, reserved, gentle. He
entered her slowly, pressing against her tightness. He could feel the
resistance of her virginal opening, and he stopped to let her muscles
adjust to the new sensation of being filled. His cock throbbed inside
her–impatient despite his best intentions. He held himself over her,
waiting for her to feel the same pleasures he was feeling. Gazing down at
her he was suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that he was staring at
the most beautiful creature in the universe. He was held captive by her
eyes.

Not until he heard the sharp hissing of her breath between her teeth and
her soft moan of pleasure was he able to let go of his desire to protect
her. One word escaped her clenched teeth. “More.” It was all the
encouragement he needed. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels
digging into the backs of his thighs. Driving him faster and harder.

That first time was forever, indelibly burned into his soul. As the sun
melted into the horizon and the waves continued their steady crawl onto
the sand they became one. No prose, no songs, no poetry could contain the
wonder of them. Only the music of the stars rivaled the wonder that was
their coupling.

Now, years later, lifetimes later, she was still as perfect, as beautiful,
and as wondrous as that first night. Although she could no longer wrap
her legs around his waist, she could no longer hold him in her arms, and
she could no longer stroke her delicate fingers along his chest, he loved
her.

They sat this way every night. Her meal finished, her thin legs wrapped
in a blanket, her eyes seeing something all her own, they sat on the
porch. He lifted her gently and sat her lovingly in the padded rocker
facing the ocean. He sat beside her in his wicker chair, and rested his
hand ever-so-lightly on her fragile arm. And together they watched the
sun melt into the water over the sand, and always he remembered that
night.

It was at sunset when she meant the most to him.