Perfect Shade

The following is a submission for Aisling Weaver's #FuckMeFriday prompt for May 20, 2011. To read more submissions, click [here]

"Do you know what color you want?" asked the sales lady as I stood, mesmerized, fingering the fine silk wedding gown that hung before me.

I smiled, "Yes. I want cream. But, not just any cream, no, I want the perfect shade." I closed my eyes, fingers rubbing and caressing the fabric, "I want the cream of her skin in the moonlight, when I pull her down into the grass by the lake. It offsets so well with the dark shadows and deep greens. I want the cream of her juices dried on my lips, a sweet tasting color bright against my cherry gloss. It looks as delicious then as when it is fresh, gushing across my tongue and dripping down my chin." I sighed, a ghost of the music she sings when we are alone. "I want the cream of her. I want it wrapping me as we say our vows, clinging to me when we kiss, and shed from me by her hands. It has to be that shade, the perfect shade, of cream."