no face



November 27, 2010; revised and republished. Thank You kindly to many Hubbers that made this experience even more enjoyable. I never thinking of course was possible. Last point, there will be 4 republished Hubs in the mix [picking up pace ? !] but surely would let you know.

Having said that, I am still waiting every evening.

I am going to share with you the most intense, romantic, breathtaking night of my life.

I have never told a soul this before. However, I do love to write and someone gave me some great advice. Write about what I love. Well, I loved, and will never forget, this particular evening, 3 years ago.

Damn it feels so good to remember the details, smells, tastes, sounds, sensations, fears, intrigue.

It feels good to remember the forbidden place I travelled to, without taking a single step.

Yes, it is an intimate place I went to. One I had never been before, and with a complete stranger. I must add, since then, I have not been gifted with experiencing this moment ever again.

At 40 years of age, I finally was offered a chance to feel and embrace what my womanhood truly was.

It must have been about 8 or 9 in the evening, it was foggy outside, drizzling rain and I could see the steam rising from the street grates near my home. I love the rain. Along with the fog, and flickering dim streetlights, a mood already created an intensified, suspicious, unprotected feeling.

If there was anything I could change about this particular early Sunday dark evening, looking back, would be the moon. It was draped over, in a sense, by the fog and rain, just trying to peak through, but not enough to provide more light.

As I was determined, to take a walk.

No umbrella, no raincoat or boots just my white silk nightgown, my silver bracelet, a ponytail and bound to go barefoot. I wanted to feel the rain, not shelter from it. I wanted to feel the cobblestone brick road under my feet as I splashed in the, now growing, puddles of water. I wanted my breasts to form shape and color stuck to my thin gown and I wanted to dare myself to do something I had never donebefore. I wanted to be as close to pure as I could, to taste as much rain as possible, to feel as much fog on my skin from just moving and to walk confident, alone, unashamed, acting as casual as if everyone did this.

I couldn’t even believe my own actions, just as I planned, I left the front door, not bother locking it, and slowly, arms spread open, started to walk.

The air was thick and the few parked cars were dripping with water drops. The street lights were very dim and I was only able to see maybe 2 feet around me. There was however not a sound of a person to be heard. No footsteps, talking or whispers, no laughing or lovers kissing. The only sounds were rain hitting different metals, stone and wood, the whispered howl of a soft breeze, the hissing of the water pipes as they drained up the street grates. No birds or dogs, nor cats or rodents to my knowledge.

Then there was the familiar sounds, my breathing, my splashing in the puddles and fingering the car windows, the sound of me drinking the rain and suddenly a buzzing as one of the street lights died.

stopped dead in my tracks. Pure darkness. I wasn’t afraid. I still don’t know why but I was determined to take this night, as a child would on a playground, Sunday morning.

If only the moon was a bit more exposed, brighter. Nevertheless. Tonight I was indispensable.

I lay flat on my back into the puddlewhere I was previously standing. It was almost my body length and deep enough to just barely cover the thickness of my arms. It was amazing. I was having a bath with nature and didn’t fear, any one of a million scenarios, that could occur. For that matter I also didn’t think something magical could occur either.

I hadn’t heard his footsteps or the slightest sound when he, this stranger, this man approached me.

He knelt down on one knee and as I started to speak firmly as to warn him, he softly stopped me by placing his index fingers on my lips. I, in turn, was curious.

He wore all black, a long coat, boots and had black thick hair to the length of his buttocks. He was soaking wet also, and like I, didn’t seem to mind.

The difficult part for me is he had no face.

I mean, it was smudged, is the only word I can think of. Eyes and a mouth but no lips or lashes, no nose or chin. He was faceless. I dare not ask a thing and now wonder what this deformed potential night stalker had in store for me.

He said nothing as he began to undress and drop his clothes around the puddle while using his coat to cushion my head. He seemed nervous and I wondered, knowing what was to happen, how often he did this, this form of intimacy. Had he been rejected often because of his deformity? Was he afraid of me rejecting him? Was he embarrassed?

I say definitely not, as he stood there naked with the purest white skin, hair draped over his right shoulder and black body hair to match his clothing. He was beautiful, magnificent, he was going to want me and all he whispered to me, as he ever so gently slid off my nightly, was, ‘I have never done this before’. I said nothing and kissed his chest, whispered things in his ear I was sure he had not heard before. He in turn, like a snake feeling it’s way through grass, touched every part of me. He wanted to know, and I wanted to give.

We made love twice, that night, right there in that puddle. It was more sensual and intimate than anything I could have made up. I instantly felt a love for him and in my exhaustion, closed my eyes for a few moments.

When I opened them again, he was gone. He had left his clothes and just vanished. No name I knew, no hint of his return, just his clothes which still hang now in my closet today.

Because every night, between 8 and 9, for 3 years, I have gone to that spot and waited anxiously for his return.

He never returns. Maybe it was meant to show me, it is truly possible, when 2 people who don’t judge each other, are able to share, as one.

I carry this lessen with me now still, because after the 3rd year of searching, I woke up and dreams are hard to duplicate let alone be as vivid as this one truly was.


One response to “no face

  • Squiggy.....

    There is no greater writer in the universe, never has been, never will be, than Kimberly…

    You’re the most incredible, most caring, and quite literally the greatest human being who has ever, or will ever live, not to mention the most loving, in the universe…my best friend in the universe…ILU…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s



julie chicklitasaurus

RAWResome books, stories & ideas for women

Just a tad more than Mounties, Beavers and Maple Syrup

Canada needs to stick website at a time



Steve Emmett FRSA

Humanist - Celebrant - Writer - Speaker

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

C3ns0rd's Blog

Just another weblog

Trainee Drug Boy

My thoughts and reflections of being a volunteer drug-worker and seeking employment

Press Flix

Press Flix provide updated podcast and app reviews on trending topics of technology, also opportunities to motivate and inspire a connected generation.


We have some of the best offers in the industry with very good payout in our network that will help you generate more revenue from you existing or new traffic. We work directly with the merchants and bring you with latest and high payouts. If you have questions, please feel free to contact me. I have enclosed my contact information so you can send me your comments, suggestions, and inquiries at any time. I am really very excited to bring you on board and be part of fast growing network.

Discombobulated Musings of a Scorpio Diva

Inspired Creativity Expressed Through the Art of the Written Word

The Paleo Secret

Eating well and living well, just like you were built to! It's not a secret any more..

shopping 99

A fine site

The Window In The Basement

a writer's blog, by Jeff Ambrose

The Indie Book Writers Blog | Self Publishing | Get Published

Writing, Self Publishing, Book Marketing, Bookselling

The Last Pulp Author - John Macallen Davis

%d bloggers like this: