"a girl whose hair is yellower than torchlight should wear no headdress but fresh flowers” Sappho
My evening with C and ‘the girls’ was two weeks ago now, yet it felt like yesterday. In fact, in many respects it felt more like a dream, and there were times when I wasn’t even really sure if it happened at all. But every time C came home in the evening, or lounged about on the sofa on weekends, my eyes lingered along her length. It was this: almost every single time I saw her she was in a dress. Her favorites were always loose fitting, flowing, or flowery sun dresses which were perfect for the hot summer days we were getting. The fabrics were light, bright, flouncy, short or long, but always dresses and she - in my dream evening anyway - had shared with me her little secret: that she never wears panties. So each time she stood before me chatting about her afternoon class, or when we were having our morning coffee, or watching TV, I could not get out of my mind the image of her standing before me naked (because I could SEE that she was also not wearing a bra) but for the light little dress that hung about her shoulders and fell down to her thighs or knees. And I could see, feel, taste that little pussy before me from my imagination, and I could feel my heart begin to race every time.
It was becoming like an overwhelming obsession, this distant thought always resting in the corner of my mind, filling my thoughts. When I seated myself in the living room, I would carry a mental map of the entire room, strategically setting myself down in positions providing the best potential chance of peeking at C. Knowing that when C typically comes home she normally sits there, which would be opposite from me here. And perhaps, just perhaps, I would be gifted once more with a surreptitious peek up those long beautiful legs, and once more see even just a few hairs growing at her center, her bush, of C exposed once more before me as I remembered.
There was a problem with this plan however, namely that no matter where I sat, when she saw me, would come and sit right next to ME. Her movements were loose, confident, catlike, childlike. She would frequently let herself drop right next to me on the sofa, legs akimbo, open, one leg settled beneath her, and I could work the angles knowing that if I were sitting now in the chair across the room - over there - I would be seeing right up her dress perfectly. But I was not there, I was next to her here, seated at an angle above and beyond any ‘peek.’ Leaving only imagination, which was somehow so much more detailed. I swear I was probably always flushed in her presence - always muddled, what was she thinking?
As the weeks wore on and my obsessions continued, I spied upon one opportunity. Her bedroom, or line of rooms which she had use of, were all on the third floor. The third floor was enormous, all three rooms ran along the entire length of the house, with a hallway to one side. The one entrance was a steep stairway up to that level. On those days she was wearing her shortest skirts, I carefully calculated that a walk up the stairs right behind C would expose her fully to my view. I had even practiced on several occasions during the day. So I waited.
On a lovely summer afternoon she arrived home after signing up for summer classes, wearing a very light loose, and SHORT skirt. I was watching her make a sandwich in the kitchen. This was the one, it’s my opportunity, I thought. I knew she would go upstairs shortly, the trick was to be invited up with her.
I asked, “How was school, did you get your classes?”
“Yeah, everyone is so nice. I really like this school, its size perfect, like I literally went in to my advisor today and he totally took my care of everything. He even walked with me to all the right advisors, got my various paperwork signed, and I got everything I wanted. I took two classes, I thought three, but that would be too much. I even had time to buy the books,” and she pointed at her backpack.
“How many books did you get? It looks huge. . . Is it heavy?”
“That WAS the hard part. I had to carry it all the way back to my car, but it was fine. I just didn’t want to have to go back there again. It’s so hot and the parking like totally sucks.”
I said again, “It’s heavy. Uh, I could carry it up to your room for you. I mean after you’ve been schleping it all around.”
“No, that’s ok. I think I’ll just keep them in the study. It’s not the kind of reading I do in my room. If that’s ok with you?”
I answered her, “Yeah, there’s plenty of room in the study. Fine.”
“What have you been doing?” She asked me now.
“Not a lot. Work gets pretty quiet in summer.”
“What do you do anyway?” She seemed interested.
“It’s hard to explain. I sort of organize unique, exotic, investments for some of the richer folk in town. More like designer investments. The kind wealthy people like to talk about in parties.” She was pretty interested, I continued. “Things like working out investments in movies, or music, or even race horses. I package it up so that lots of folks can put in a bit and then basically pretend like they’re the owner, producer. Like that. They don’t even care if they lose their money. It’s for the story. I enjoy it. It really is fun.”
“Like what, movies?”
“I’ve gotten it so people can say they’ve invested in ‘Caddyshack,’ ‘Matrix.’”
“Too cool! No way! Matrix. Can you watch them make the movies.”
“Sometimes,” I was just lost in the conversation now, not thinking of anything but the two of us in the kitchen on this beautiful summer day.
“What music?” She continued the line of questioning.
“I can never remember them. Everything has these names which are like random words from a dictionary now - Toad Sprocket”
She corrected me, “Toad the Wet Sprocket. If I showed you some CD’s could you tell me, would you remember then?”
I sprung to attention, “God Yeah, that would work.”
She repeated, “This is too cool! I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get my CD’s and show you the titles so you can tell me which ones you helped produce. That would be so cool to tell my friends. It makes you like very cool Jack.” Here eyes were alive, she had this wonderful smile as she swung her hair back out of her face.
I said as casually as I could manage now, “Why don’t I just come up there with you and we can go through them up there?”
