He traced the outline with his finger. It had been the perfect day. She'd looked so beautiful, and his body had clenched when she smiled at him. Love shone from her eyes, and it'd taken everything he knew not to throw her over his shoulder and find somewhere private.
Somewhere he could strip the frothy white dress off her and fill her.
Instead he'd contented himself with an almost chaste kiss and a whispered promise.
"I'm going to take you somewhere as soon as I can and fuck you until you scream for completion. Then I'm going to do it again and again."
She'd colored and giggled. "Promises, promises. I hope you always make good on them?"
So why now was he left looking at the photo; misty with time, and memory? Why did he struggle with how and why and where?
The noise of the door opening, made him turn.
Hello, love, you spoil me."
"Ha, love's a two-way street you know. Like you I keep my promises." She wrapped his arthritic fingers around his mug of tea.
She looked at the picture. "Ah now, seventy years eh? Seems like yesterday."
He lifted his cup. "Happy anniversary."
check the other flashes out here...