Simply Decadent and Sinful

She was 25, he was 31. She was the essential girl next door from Georgia. He was...well he was romantic, successful, and from Venezuela. He approached her at a party, tried to give her his business card, and asked her to call. She politely returned the card, indicating her interest in him, but her lack of interest in her pursuing him, and offered him her number instead. Right on schedule, she heard from him 3 days later, and they made plans for a date.

He picked her up that August Friday night and had a rose waiting on the grey leather passenger seat of his silver Jeep Cherokee as he opened the door for her to get in. She was impressed at his thoughtfulness and manners, and couldn't help but notice the rush of butterflies in her stomach. A slight smile turned the corners of her lips upward towards her eyes with the anticipation of what was to come. They had a fabulous dinner, with equally fabulous dinner conversation. He spoke to her in Spanish, with phrases such as, "my beautiful," falling off of his tongue like sweet cream. He had deep, rich brown eyes and jet black hair. He definitely qualified as the cliche: tall, dark, and handsome. Nothing like any other boy she had dated before, he was a man - exciting and new (come aboard, we're expecting you...). How could she help but be smitten?

They dated for the better part of 4 months. The relationship was somewhere just beyond casual, yet not quite developed into serious. She enjoyed the small but sweet "just because" gifts he'd pick up for her when he was thinking of her. He enjoyed her sincere interest in his culture. They both enjoyed learning about each other. And the attraction was undeniable.

As the relationship grew more intimate one night after coming back to his upscale condo from a few drinks out with his friends, a romantic conversation while sitting on the black leather sofa in the soft candle light in the living room quickly turned from a verbal conversation into a more passionate physical conversation. The location of this conversation between two bodies moved from the living room and into his bedroom. The two became lost in the intensity of the moment. Everything was perfect, euphoric if you will allow, up until the point where she opened her eyes with some clarity and saw something similar to this:

Apparently there is nothing that can kill a romantic, intimate moment as quickly as that of a crucifix hanging from a chain and swinging towards your face.