His Awamening Fan Dance

His Awaking Fan Dance

Charlie had been sitting by the fire an hour
waiting for her to show up. The light of the
fire and warmth made this normally cold
feeling room seem so sensual and inviting
to him.
“Where is she?” “She has to come.” Maybe
she really was a figment of his imagination.”

He laughs to himself as he realizes she has him
thinking out loud. “Any one would be talking to
themselves!” A woman shows up in your room
and flits around like a plucked feather from
room to room, teasing the hell out of you, yet
questioning you as she does tease. “No, it was
a dream, I’m sure of it.”

Easing down into the chair getting more
comfortable his senses perk up. The smell of
sweet musk, a glimmer of leg and arm pass
before him. A teasing giggle on the air.

“Rose, is that you?” “Come sit here with me.”
“Please.” He sees a silken dress before him,
so thin like it could never hide any of what it
was to be covering. A budding full bosom he
could see, nipples of pink buds. Her behind a
perfect shaped heart to fill each hand, a navel
adorned with a turquoise dangle, and thighs
slim, strong, shapely calves to ankles delicate,
as the tiny feet they extended from. Her venus
he opened his eyes a little more to take it in.Was it naked? No, can’t be.
Then just as he thought he could see, she giggled
and fluffed the skirt of the delicate material, and
the material was not penetrable with his eyes.
“What to hell!”
“Rose, what are you?”
“Are you real?”
“Why have you decided to drop in on me and
harass me like this?” “Tease me, delight me,bring my brain alive with newness of the
curiosities of the questions you hounded me
with last night?”
Rose sits down between his legs on the floor
throwing her dark hair covered head back
looking up at him with a sweet teasing smile.
Her arms were wrapped and holding each leg.

You called me to you. I could not of come. You need
me now and I am here for you.
She squeezed his leg tenderly.
“Did you not have fun last night?” “Didn’t you sleep
better then you ever have in years?” “Do I feel like
an illusion, Charlie?” “Look how excited and impatient
you were waiting for me, afraid I wasn’t coming, just an
illusion in your mind.”

“Charlie, I am what you need, desire for.” “You are sowhat I needed to!” Delighted little giggles explode from
her little perfect rose bud lips.
She jumps up and starts flitting about the room as she had
done the night before. Now and then it seemed the dress
would give way to naked illusions. Titillating, exciting,
and so much more then he had felt in long time.

He couldn’t decide if she was child or woman though.
She was a handful, such pleasant one for sure.
Rose made him want to write, she made him think of poetic
prose to write. Sonnets, erotic lavish poetry was filling his head.
Rose, was making him feel alive again, not just as a man, but
his poetic side was awakening again.

Rose flung herself onto his lap and touched his lips with a very
passionate, fully sexual womanly kiss. He went with it totally.She pulled away and whispered in his ear sweetly as she hugged
his neck, and stroked it with gentle loving fingers.
“Charlie, do you know who and what I am now?”
“Yes, Rose.” His hands pull her to him as he strokes her back.
She lies her head on his shoulder with such s beguiling smile
on her lips.
“Say it Charlie,” she whispers.
“You, my Rose, are my very own personal muse.” “We will make
such poetry visions together.”
“My Rose, my muse.”

The Watcher

© 2008

She could hear the country band playing
Gliding across the floor as she slid off her coat
He was there as he had been every Saturday night
Right there at the end table by the dance floor




He tipped his grayish cowboy hat to her
She acknowledged him with a smile
Dang! Those deep green eyes could swallow her up
Then the guitar player started playing and she was off





She was lost as usual in the beat of the music
Playing, She and I, an old Alabama favorite
Line dancing by alone as green eyes watched
Just the band, green eyes, and her little self




She felt herself be taken away by the beat
In her own world, steppen, hips swaying, twirling
Her world, not aware of anything but the music
He watched her, his feet tappen to the beat, her beat





He watched as she kicked, twirled, those hips gyrated
Never saw anyone line dance like that he's thinking
The music stopped, "let's thank the little lady," she heard
The whistles, and loud applause, the hall was filling up





He watched, a gleam in his half closed eyes, a sensual grin
She danced, her long dark hair flying, wearing that sensual smile
It fit her just as her skinny jeans fit, but where did she go
Where ever she was when she danced, dam she was free
Song done, whistles, applause, and the usual women glaring







He watches as she grabs her water bottle and steps outside
"She comes here alone, and leaves alone," he's thinking
"Not tonight, time to introduce myself," he whispers





A waltz starts up as she stares up at the stars
"Dance with me" she hears
Turning she's looking into those deep green eyes




"Madam, I just got tired of watching your fire,the disappearing act you pull when the band plays."
"Take me to where you go when you dance"
"Let's see if you can go there," and slips into his arms
Holding her close they danced on the grass into the night
Sometimes when the band is playing, the misty fog fills the air around
People swear you can still see them there on the knoll dancing




Now, who's The Watcher

Quanah's Parents: A True Love Story

Quanah’s Parents: A True Native Indian Love Story© 2008


Quanah Parker was a warrior in his youth, a rancher in his maturity. The two photographs here show that he worked hard to accommodate both worlds. Some of his flexibility may have been due to his parents—and thereby hangs a love story.
His mother was Cynthia Ann Parker, the daughter of a prominent Texas family. In 1836 she was captured by Comanche during a raid and adopted with the name of Nadua. After a time she married Peta Nacona, and they had three children: Quanah, Pecos, and a daughter Topsana.
In 1860 the Texas Rangers raided their viliage and killed almost everyone. Nadua was recognized as “white,” however, and she was returned to the Parker family with her two young children. Peta Nacona and the young Quanah returned home from hunting to find most of their people killed. None of the survivors knew what had happened to Nadua and the two children.
Nadua refused to settle back into life as “Cynthia Ann.” She begged ceaselessly to be returned to her husband and the Comanche people. When her little Topsana died Nadua despaired. She starved herself to death and was buried beside her daughter in the cemetery at Fort Sill Texas.
Her husband did not fare better. Not long after the Rangers’ raid Peta Nacona was wounded in a battle with Texans. Shortly after that he was wounded again, this time fatally. Before he died he called Quanah to him and told his son what he learned about the fate of his wife and the two young children. The Comanche do not go much in for love stories, but it is obvious that the loss of Nadua had been a great loss to Peta Nacona.
That is the story. Unlike many mixed marriages it was happy, and its ending very sad. In later years Quanah, too intelligent to harbor bitterness, turned up at the Parker ranch and became acquainted with his white relatives. It was there that he learned ranching.
Though he was buried at Fort Sill beside his mother and sister, throughout his life he remained thoroughly traditional. He lived to be the senior chief of the Comanche and one of the founders of the Native American Church.