“When will you marry me, Mags?”

William-Adolphe Bouguereau They’d made it way south. Francis invented a story about traveling to visit a family member and Mags made up a story about visiting a cousin in Tucson. They wanted to find the warmth of the mid-autumn Arizona sun. They wandered and camped in the beautiful red rocks, not far from Jerome, but far enough south to be pleasant and warm. They found a clear stream and a big blue pool and stripped naked. They spent the day there, bathing in the water and the sun, reveling in their youth. They gloried in their passion for each other and Francis knew he would never be able to surpass this moment of ultimate happiness.

“When will you marry me, Mags?”

She rested, her cheek pressed to his. She felt him inside her and squeezed with all her might. “Soon. We’ve got to marry soon, Francis, or we’re going to have troubles.” She smiled at her own naughty thoughts. She never imagined she’d not be a virgin on her wedding day. Now, all she could think about was being this way with Francis. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in her life.

Getting up, Francis wrapped his love in a blanket. He built up a fire and they lay together. They ate and caressed and loved again. He was fairly exhausted by now and wanted to sleep but could not waste this time in slumber. He’d never had a woman in his life and now he had and she was the most perfect being he could imagine.

“Mags, when we get back, I’m going to ask your folks if we can be married. We’ll marry and then we’ll move up to Flagstaff. I’ll get work. We’ll have a proper home. I’ll take you out of the camp towns and buy you a proper house, Mags. We’ll have a decent life.  You’ll never have to live in a dump like Canyon Diablo again, I swear.” Allingham