I saw her first as the sum
of her beautiful parts, with a look of sexual expectation written in the lines
of her grimaced features. She was at that moment of crisis where amazement
collides with physical desire and need sweeps through the body with a purging
release.
I dissected her individual parts only after that first stunned
glimpse of her. She was in her third-floor window, as I was in mine; although
she stood directly before the window glass and I hid in the shadows to avoid
being seen. I was so glad that modesty didn't dictate her choice of locations
for this erotic moment.
Her lovely features
revealed beauty in every aspect. Her hair was short, a tender reddish brown
color, perfectly combed, skimming the edges of her round and innocent face. Her
lips were painted red that day, colored as dark as blood. I imagined them that
way perpetually, never pale, but painted perfectly, except, perhaps, when
smudged from use, as in kissing someone she knew well. Her lips would linger,
teasing the arousal from a man's loins with little effort.
Her skin was young, tawny and smooth as butter. I imagined its
fragrance, the scent of something delicate, like lilacs or roses or a blooming
peony. For just an instant I saw her smile, something clever and beguiling,
with a hint of sweetness to catch the unsuspecting man off guard, a man who
might mistake her sweetness for real, thinking she was naïve. Her eyes were
wide and round, hazel or blue, perhaps, though it was hard to tell from a
distance of twenty feet.
I knew from those first minutes of adoration that I wanted to
have her, to caress her, softly stroke her belly, run my hand between her
sweaty thighs where I'd find her wet. Some weeks later, I soon would learn, my
feelings for her would change. She'd dig so deeply into my soul that she'd send
a frenzy of dark emotions through the tattered shreds of my psyche. I'd want to
tear away her tits, slap her face so hard that it bore the imprint of my hand,
spank her bottom crimson, throttle her, maul her, maim her, love her hard
enough to make her lies disappear. My emotions would fly through me like a
flock of birds, wild, savage, wings fanning the flames of my discontent and anticipation.
Yes, weeks later, I'd have a different experience of that
woman. But as I met her that lonesome night, touched her anonymously through an
unclear portal, what more could I anticipate from her in that secret meeting
than a creature of virginal innocence? Her expression was almost angelic, while
her eroticism seemed to radiate with every subtle move she made. She stood
before that window and I, unbeknownst to her, was there with her in spirit, my
eyes from just twenty feet away where I sat perched as if in wait.
She never knew I was there watching the expressions of lust,
wonder, satisfaction and pain play across her face, revealing far more than she
wished to show a stranger. I watched how her hand moved down between her thighs
as she licked her ruby lips and closed her eyes, dreamily. Oh! I longed to know
what she was thinking at that moment. I imagined that her sexual need had made
her hot; that a layer of perspiration made her skin glossy, though this was
only speculation. Answering that physical heat, she pulled her dress up over her
hips. Then in one sweeping gesture, it seemed to fly like a dove over her torso
and head. She let it go and the white dress sailed to the floor, leaving her in
panties and nothing else.
More smooth, perfect skin greeted my eye, along with her
breasts, an ample bounty and nipples, round like pink quarters against the
tawny surface of flesh.
Her hips undulated; her thighs rubbed hotly together. I drank
in every move, every nuance. Belly shining in the glow of an overhead light,
her fingers snaked down her flat tummy and under the waistband of her panties,
into the secret of her sex - wet perhaps, with a fragrance so abundant I could almost
catch the scent from where I sat watching, even at this distance, even with the
windows closed, as if her essence were potent enough to breech the barriers
between us. Ah! For just one whiff, one sample taste
of that loveliness. She caressed the private spaces of her body that I could
not see, until her belly shook and her body tensed and she had to catch herself
against the window glass, lest she lose her balance.
Her mouth opened to scream, perhaps to moan or make some silent cry-nothing I
could hear.
Then I could see her inhale deeply, the light dimmed, and I
watched as she turned around with one hand still touching the window. Only then
did I see a shadow moving across the room behind her. Was someone other than me
watching her performance?
