I call this, "An Anticipated Dalliance"--which is really just me daydreaming in text.  :)

The arrival of the cooler weather has finally prompted me to venture outdoors.  It's evening, the sun has set and I have dressed for the occasion:  A black, heavy cotton fleece pullover hides a white t-shirt tucked into a comfortable set of dark blue denim jeans, which sit astride a pair of well worn leather hiking boots.  An old ball cap with the "Miller High Life" logo barely readable, sits tightly on my head, hiding my military style hair cut above the ears.  A Gerber multi-tool sits holstered in its pouch on my belt, accompanied by metal d-clips dangling my "climbing" equipment--rope, head lamp, flashlight, water bottle, unbroken glow sticks, metal spikes.  A small machete completes the belted inventory as I place my sling canvas bag over my head and shoulders and position it for easy access on my back.  Its contents are varied, with normal items such as a few food packs, a first aid kit, compass.  The zip-ties and duct tape amongst them are not "normal", but I would consider them to be certainly versatile.  Hidden is the unexpected map I received to guide me to my ultimate destination--safely rolled and zip-locked in a secret pouch within the bag.   I pull from my back pocket the webbed, fingerless gloves that I like to wear when I go on such adventures and place them on my hands before grabbing the familiar hardwood staff that will be used as a walking stick until I reach my goal.  The directions in the letter accompanying the map were quite explicit:  "Go to the cottage, find the hidden box."  "Wait for the woman to be delivered."  "Secure her and open the box in her presence."  "Await further instructions."  Simple enough.  I have been to the cottage many times, but the years since my last trip there had certainly seen to it that the mountainous path I meant to take was practically no path at all.  Machete pulled from its sheath, I start the arduous task of blazing a trail.  Hacking at the obscuring plant growth, the sweat starts to creep onto my lower back, and I feel the familiar burn of muscle ache and anticipation as I journey forward.  Grinning to myself, I begin the internal dialogue that is even more familiar to me:  "I wonder what color her hair is going to be...?"  

My perfect Romantic evening: A cool, clean, salty-aired breeze bringing the sound of the ocean waves across an empty beach where a bright moon sits anchored opposite a setting sun...slow swinging hammock between two outstretched palm trees leaning in and down as if studying the two lovers entwined below them...chilled champagne, smoked oysters, assorted cheeses, breads and fruit are the teasing compliments to this romantic prelude that will undoubtedly continue with soft music and moonlit dancing amid scented candles...a private dinner punctuated with laughter, captivating conversation and sultry looks with gentle caresses of the hands and feet... culminating in a luxurious, steamy bath-- swimming in the heady aroma of soapy lavender bubbles before moving on... to the soft down of quilted silk bedding layered on an oversized canopied bed, the moonlight now streaming through french doors opened to the balcony and the night air...surf pounding in the distance as the night eventually turns to day