warm evening air hung thickly in the small lounge. Combined with the heavy
beats pounding from a nearby speaker, my head swam around in a dizzy cocktail
of its own. My eyes were transfixed on this woman whose playful eyes wouldn't
release me. I tried to look away, but she held my face firmly in her grip
without even touching me.
Long, thick lashes framed onyx eyes which peered into mine as if communicating through a telepathic language only known to our kind. Her gaze quickened my pulse; I found myself breathing a little faster, then deeper.
Like a tall, graceful bird, she rose to reveal more of herself. She slid off her stool and stood facing me full-on from across the candle-lit room. It felt like a tease. I immediately noticed her long, sloping neck where it met her shoulders. Her white skin was not that of a pale, unhealthy complexion, but reminiscent of elegant bone-china.
She wore a black string halter-top, tied behind her neck. I pictured untying that knot and letting the cloth fall to her hourglass waist, divulging pleasing, pale breasts. A matching black skirt sat on her wide hips while exposing most of her slender, milk-white legs. Her hips made her look disproportionate, the way those funny circus mirrors seem to do, which only made her look cuter to me.
She stood there for a while with her back against the bar, a smirk forming on her full pair of rose-pink lips. I wondered if her other lips matched them in color. I'd never looked at another woman this way before-- at least not for the last ten years. I'd always accredited my teenage lust for women to raging teenage hormones. But then, I'd never seen anyone quite like this before.
"Who's round is it?"
I was shaken from my reverie by my friends who were growing restless.
"Where's that damn barmaid?"
Losing all interest in alcohol, I looked back to the spot where the mysterious woman had been. Darting my eyes around far corners, I cursed under my breath for having let her escape my sight. I had to blink twice when I found her sitting by my side, her hand resting inches from mine. I drew in a sharp breath and squirmed a little in my seat. She cocked her head slightly, her large eyes reflected the flickering flame from the candle on the table by my knees. I smiled cautiously at her.
Reaching up, she shut her eyes and leaned her head back. One flick of her fingers sent hair tumbling down, bouncing slightly against her shoulders on its descent, a midnight forest of black curls, glossy and thick. I dared to imagine the sensation of stroking my fingers through that forbidden mane. If I had previously dismissed her actions to be flirtation, I could do so no longer.
My heartbeat quickened as I caught a whiff of her. The scent of jasmine and something oak danced along with her pheromones. The mix exuded from her body, mingling in a light sweat. My senses were alive, on overload. I felt as if I were breathing in my first breath in this strange new world.
I'd barely noticed the tray she held in her other hand. "What would you like?" she asked me in a hushed voice, as if it were a private question. I just stared back at her, rolling the words around in my head like marbles.
What would I like, I asked myself. Would I like her to grab my hand and rush me back to her place? Would I like to walk out of the bar and remember her just as she is by my side?
I knew I wanted a good beer; something foreign and expensive. "Do you serve Leffe?" I asked her.
To that, she smiled broadly. "No, but will a Stella do?"
Ah, a lady who knows her beers. "Yes, please."
She uncrossed her legs and returned to the bar. I watched her sway her hips as she walked, wondering if it was all for show. As she retreated, I caught sight of a tribal tattoo snaking up her spine. Its thorny pattern locked my eyes onto her flesh once again. I found it provocative and daring; it called out to me.
I was suddenly lost in a daydream, longing to touch and hold her close. I'd smell her hair as I slowly stripped off the few clothes she wore. In sliding off her panties, I'd fall to my knees and kiss her belly over and over until she surrendered to me completely.
"Hey, what the hell?" Michelle snapped at me. Hazily I turned to my friends who were looking at me with discontent.
"Are you still with us, Chantal? You've been staring off into nothing for the last half hour!"
If they only knew.
© 2002 Sam Tyler. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or post.
About The Author:
Sam Tyler is an aspiring freelance writer who has split her life between London, England and the U.S.A. She holds a degree in Music Industry Management and currently lives in New York City. Here, she finds much inspiration for both her writing and artwork. Concentrating on short stories and non-fiction, Sam enjoys writing Erotica for the challenge and pure fun. This is her first published Erotica work.
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