Looking for Love in Lyrica

I throw open the shutters of my second-floor bedroom and look out over Lyrica. The morning sky is pure blue, and sunlight glitters from many-colored rooftops all the way down to shore. I can hear the cries of the merchants down at the bazaar, and the rattling of carts in the streets. I can smell fresh bread from the bakery downstairs, and a hint of a salt breeze from the harbor. And where the faraway waves disappear into the horizon, I can see a sea dragon lift her head above water to trumpet a message to her aerial kin.

This will be a fine day to get laid.

I’ve put on my walk-about-town dress and my best boots. I considered my fuck-me dress--the one cut astonishingly low in front--but I’m not trolling for strangers today. Sure, there are days when I feel like rolling the dice on a one-night lover whose name I haven’t bothered to learn, but I don’t care to be disappointed today. No, today I want to fall into bed with a friend, someone who makes me smile and gets my jokes and will be inclined to listen when I explain what I want.

At the same time, I want to pick someone I haven’t had the chance to be intimate with yet. I want that first touch and that first kiss, and most of all, I want that look of surprise when I first suggest to my prospective partner that I would like it very much if we went off someplace private and took off our clothes.

I close the shutters and take a moment to decide which of my acquaintances I’d like to be gasping and panting with today.