Dave Burns adored Gillian Foster because she is beautiful.
He remembered the first time he had seen her. He can't remember what she wore but the image of her face is forever branded in his mind. He remembers every word she said to him. Her professionalism and sincerity. She had brushed her hair behind her ears absentmindedly and smiled at him.
He remembered the first time they went out to dinner. He had been nervous but her easy and engaging conversation calmed him. She was alert and intelligent. Her crystal blue eyes alight with youthful enthusiasm while they debated travel destinations, recent psychology articles and reality TV shows.
He remembered the first time he had undressed her. It was painstakingly slow: savouring every moment with her, every inch of her. He kissed her soft, sweet lips and brushed the rogue strands of hair from her forehead. He gently pulled her dress over her head and slipped her bra straps down her arms. They lay together afterwards for the longest time, breathing in each other's scent. There was quiet conversation punctuated by light kisses, tracing the contours of unfamiliar skin: basking in the glow of new love.
He remembered the first time she felt comfortable enough to sit in his apartment in track pants when she had the flu. He had leant over and kissed her, stroked her hair despite vehement warnings of contagion. "Not now, Dave. I feel terrible". You didn't look terrible darling. You are beautiful.
