It was the fourth time I saw her that I nearly got up the courage to approach her, but she got to me first. “Hello, finally.” I felt as if sinking into warm isolation as her eyes drank me in.

“Hello,” I responded lamely, then rallied gamely, “At last I have the pleasure of your company.”

A smile spread across her face like the sun breaking through clouds, “Come here often?”

“Never before.”

“A shame that.”

“Oh?”

“Best coffee in town. You’ve really missed out.”

Looking steadily into her eyes, I said, “Yes, I have. I can see that now.” I smiled at the thought of the flier I had found on my office door and thanked my stars I had decided to try it out.

She chuckled, “Some things do become clear with time.” She turned to pour herself a cup of coffee; I inspected her figure, plump yet taut, full-breasted, and round-hipped, within a tight butterscotch spaghetti-strap top and knee-length brown plaid pleated skirt. As coffee rose in her cup, my gaze rose with it. I briefly scanned her legs and up to her waist, then settled on her chest. Knowing I could never get my fill of them, I looked up from the intoxicating curve of her breasts inside lace, a black strap next to each butterscotch strap, to her strong neck and rounded face, her wide smile making me notice the little mirror on the wall through which she good-humoredly watched my examination. Suddenly she turned to face me, leaning against the counter and delighting me with the curves this set off.

I held out my hand, “Roy.”

She smiled and quickly shook, “Laura.”

She soon walked before me to her booth, where we chatted easily, her brown skin entrancing me when her brown eyes left mine, her brown eyes fixed on me whenever I turned back to her from an interruption. It was as if we had known each other quite well already even though the answers were new, a flow and surge to the unflagging conversation that left me feeling both breathless and fully alive. All through our talk of the city and nearby sites, my work and travels as a translator and her coyness sweetly turning aside any questions she wished to ignore, burning desire pulsed under the surface of my thoughts and words, fed by her attentive eyes and rich voice.

“You watched me nicely,” she finally said. Letting me flounder in my thoughts for many seconds, smiling at my blush as I thought back on ogling her as she drew her coffee, she then added, “At the store, inspecting me the same way I inspected the melons. Those were good cantaloupes.” She laughed, “You seemed equally pleased. And then at the museum. All those beautiful paintings, and yet me. And then at the mall, as I window-shopped.”

She tilted her head, a slight smile as I remembered the last two weeks, seeing her amid the fruits and watching her walk away, gone when I went to other aisles; at the museum, my chest suddenly tight as she smiled, acknowledged my viewing for a full minute, and ducked into another gallery, gone when I searched for her; and at the mall, watching me unblinkingly for a minute in the store window as I stood reflected in it, uncertain whether to approach her, before turning to quickly duck down the hallway next to the store to the parking garage, and I remembered standing at the mouth of the hallway for a few seconds, unwilling to frighten her by following her from a public space. In simple acknowledgment I replied, “You did attract my notice.”

“So I noticed,” she said with repressed laughter. “Respectfully watching, or scared?”

“In awe.”

She smiled widely, leaning in a little as I stared into her eyes. “Which scene inspired the most awe?”

Having read my share of fairy tales, I chose the least commercial and least physical option. “The museum.”

“The space is good for display, and for studying the displays. Excellent lighting and such quiet, with guards to make sure no one touches the displays.”

“I admired your palette.”

“My favorite scarf. Goes well with my skin.”

“Perfect blue for a perfect brown.”

“An impeccable color sense. Good observers are so rare, who’ll simply stand and see what’s before them. Watch and learn, look and know.”

I looked back into her eyes. “It’s rare to find something worth observing.”

“Shall I show you something?”

I smiled, “I’m all eyes.”

We stood and I noted that she stood no nearer to me than before, two hands-lengths beyond the range of my hand, as if a perfect stranger, perhaps from formality or safety, perhaps to afford me the best view. She moved gracefully ahead of me, looking over her shoulder at times, and small purse in hand led me from the coffee shop along the street to a small park; we passed through abreast, no closer than strangers, to a gate in a brick wall that opened when she pushed. Through the alcove, we passed through a metal door to a drab hallway, and she opened a door on the right and ushered me into a small office. She indicated the desk opposite the door as she leaned against the one next to it.

I faced her as she looked me up and down, a goddess deciding my fate. She said, “I appreciate a man who listens to my words as well as sees me. Every syllable and every unspoken meaning.” She watched as I grasped her words and then smiled. “You watch so sweetly, yet with so much need. It deserves to be requited.”

She stood straight and raised her top over her head, watching my eyes the whole time. I watched the belly and shoulders that she showed me, and as her fingers paused at the clasp between her breasts, she smiled. “I watched you closely. I know what you like best. You stared at these so much…” She undid the top hook and stopped. “I also appreciate a fine display.”

I reached up to my top shirt button and she shook her head. “Don’t put off to later what we both want now.” She glanced down at my crotch and then smiled as I blinked in surprise and reached down to undo my belt. “Yes, good,” she said, and watched avidly as I dropped my trousers and then my boxers to my ankles. “Yes, like that.” I stood there hard and throbbing as she grinned and said, “Oh yes. Such enthusiasm must be rewarded.” She undid the rest of the hooks and let her breasts swing free for me.

She puffed out her chest and stood akimbo as I stared my fill. The apotheosis of roundness, her breasts sagged upon release to the side, their coal-black nipples coming erect in the centers of the deep brown aureolae I yearned to squeeze and kiss. I stood still as directed and smiled as I remembered the hundreds of times I had stared at breasts less beautiful in magazines.

“Is the composition of the scene to your liking?”

“Perfection.”

“Surely it’s old hat to you?”

“Never.”

She lowered her right hand to her waist and reached inside, staring at my crotch as I stared at her breasts. In response, I reached down to fondle myself and she nodded briefly as I began stroking. Soon her hand was moving vigorously inside her skirt, her breath quickening in pace with my own stroke. I stared at her breasts jiggling for me as the squishing of her fingers inside her became louder. My gaze passed from her breasts to her lust-filled eyes and down to the rapid motions under her skirt, then back to her breasts. At times her eyes would rise from my cock to my face, drinking in the sight of me as we inspired each other.

After about seven minutes, our hands worked faster and in unison. Her hips thrust hard against her hand, working out a lust as deep and dirty as my own. When her first squeal was torn out of her, my hips locked and the first stream shot out of me to land a few inches from her shoes. She squealed with each spurt as they landed further and further from her, and when I collapsed against the desk she closed her eyes and thrust her mount against her hand for another fifteen seconds.

She stood up suddenly and slid her top back on; picking up her bra, she opened her purse and took out an envelope that she placed on her desk. She stepped to the door and said, “Towels are in the cabinet over there. Mop up well so the cleaners don’t have to deal with our fun. You’re a beautiful sight!” She blew me a kiss and slipped through the door before I even thought to lift my pants, and by the time I was publicly presentable, I had already heard another door close further away and knew she was gone.

I cleaned up carefully with the cleaning fluid and hand towels, and once the scene was sanitary, I picked up the envelope. The letter read:

That went well! As well as I had dreamed. I do hope you’re not the sort to feel cheapened by being watched as women so often are. You received a letter, so you’ll see me again; had you pushed, you’d not be reading this. You needn’t look for me—you wouldn’t find me, but I will find you, soon enough. Turn out the light when you leave, and please don’t bother the poor saps who have to work here; they know nothing about this and you’ll just embarrass yourself. Now keep your eyes open and stay sweet.  —L

I chuckled, reread it twice, and quietly slipped out of the building, silent as a crypt that Saturday, and went back to the coffee shop, where she was, as promised, nowhere in evidence.

Four days later I found a note slid under my office door. My heartbeat quickened as I recognized her writing in the “R” on the envelope. I looked up and down the hallway, but none of the other small offices of freelance drudges were open at 7 AM and no beautiful flash of brown was visible. I opened the envelope to find a ticket and a quick note, “I do admire a man who will only watch. An observant man learns so much that way.” After flustered speculations and happy thoughts of being somehow chosen, I buckled down and somehow forced myself to work.

I arrived at the gallery opening at 7:00 that Saturday. Most of the photographs were spectacular landscapes; the others were scenes of surrealism in daily life—a ginger bush in a flower bed resolving somehow into a cat on a floral pillow, a limousine burning in an RV campsite, a child dressed as a monster on a porch holding out a bag into which a green hand was dropping a grenade…

In the final wall of the exhibition, I passed a short hallway and stopped. I took one step back and turned to see her standing at the end of the hall. Her hair was elegantly coiffed, her breasts barely restrained by a strapless silk blue dress tight on her figure, and her eyes pierced mine as she clasped her hands before her. We looked at each other for half a minute, and after I felt someone pass behind me she turned, opened a door at the end of the hallway, and passed through; a crooked finger poked out, beckoning me onward, and I looked around to see no one watching and slid to the back and through the door. I saw her at the end of another hallway and followed as she slipped through another door. I descended the stairs and found myself in a small office. She stood in the corner to the right of the door and motioned to the far wall.

“Your tie matches my favorite beret. You chose well,” she smiled.

“Your dress suits you perfectly.”

“Like the show?”

“Love it.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit incomplete?”

“Not now.”

She smiled. “Flattery will get you, well, some places.”

“I hope the truth just now gets me further.”

“In the fullness of time, perhaps.”

After a brief pause, I said, “I looked for you.”

“Just now?”

“During the week.”

“You missed me.” Pondering how to interpret that, I nodded, as it was true in any case.

“I had to prepare my part of the exhibition,” she said, reaching around behind her. She unzipped, freeing her breasts, even more beautiful than before, and lifted her dress enough to reach underneath it. She looked down to my belt and nodded, and over the next ten minutes, we satisfied ourselves as we satiated our eyes. My seed launched into space just as her thighs clinched and her hips twisted, and when we finished we stared at each other for a few seconds. By the time I had started buckling up, she was already fully dressed and at the door, wiping her hand on a wet wipe and smiling. “Cleaning supplies are in the corner.” She smiled and pulled an envelope from her purse; placing it on the table, she slipped out. I cleaned my mess in two minutes and rushed up the stairs and through the hallways.

As I re-entered the gallery, I saw her near the entrance. Just then, an older woman stepped in front of me. “I’m told you are a translator?”

Damning her mentally, I nodded politely, and she said, “Please, can you help us?” For the next five minutes, I translated a load of largely nonsensical art talk from Russian for one of the photographers, and then for another five minutes more normal human content from Russian by another photographer. I noticed a blue dress from the corner of my eye lurking around the edges of the small coterie of art fans listening intently, but by the time I had freed myself, she stood at the door again, nodded, and disappeared. That woman is silent and swift, I thought, and chuckled to myself as the gallery manager handed me a free glass of wine in thanks for my contribution to art and nonsense.

When I was able to pull myself away, I walked to a nearby coffee shop and pulled the envelope from my breast pocket.

I do hope you are honored by my attentions; I feel honored by yours. When you devour me with your eyes, anything we do is the height of elegance, where so easily it could be seedy and seamy and gross. I hope you enjoyed meeting the artists; one at least has talent other than verbal. You’ll see me when you see, so please don’t waste away on me.  —L

I laughed and shook my head.

Three days later I found a large manila envelope slid under my office door, with her handwriting on the front, “Private—delivered with great care; open with great care.” I opened it at my desk, finding a letter and three pictures of her bare to the waist, posed to perfectly suit my tastes and stir my memories. Astonished, I stared at them for many minutes, then pushed them aside to read the letter.

Since you loved the exhibition so much, a special keepsake made just for you, and only for you, to tide you over until you have the good fortune to meet me again. Enjoy them fully, but be sure to leave some tribute for my delectation later. —L

I laughed, then I locked the door and started work half an hour late.

By that time I missed her like an addict. I remembered my last couple of years of high school, holding a magazine and masturbating three times a day to beautiful women I would never touch, never see in person, but who let me see the beauties of the female form, so many ideal figures and faces so different from each other yet so perfect. The fused despair and desire, the joined senses of fulfillment and waste, that accompanied my adolescent self-pleasuring flooded back into me when I thought of our meetings.

Then again, after three days draining myself obsessively, brown having transformed from just one beguiling color to the essence of beauty, the despair faded. She watched me, she showed herself to me, and she rubbed off while watching me. I wondered what she ultimately wanted, but knew it was her place to tell me, not mine to find out. She seemed to have eyes everywhere and knew exactly where her chosen spaces were. Her mastery of the situation convinced me that she would know if I searched for her, followed her when she didn’t wish, or hired a detective, and without hiring a detective, I had no leads to go on; even the pictures were unmarked, anonymous, nothing in them to let her be tracked down.

Chuckling to myself that my balls were in her court, I realized I didn’t care. It was all her choice; I would follow her implicitly or else, quite likely, make her vanish forever, and fell into the pattern of masturbating more often than my seventeen-year-old self had to thoughts exclusively of her for the three or four days until new orders appeared in my office, then living chastely as a monk until our next meeting.

Of course, life was dead outside of work then. Work was booming, clients were multiplying, friends had moved away over the past couple of years; life was a cycle of working and reading to prepare myself for other work. Her letters opened a door to fun and mystery that left the rest of my life feeling like it finally had a point I’d missed before. And so I enjoyed the fun as it came, not wishing to spoil it, and smiled giddily whenever I found her messages.

She slipped notes under my door three more times in the next three weeks, our meetings alternating between chatty dates and cultural events prohibiting conversation, but always with a rushed finish and an envelope: At a park, where we chatted for two hours and then watched each other in a hidden maintenance shed; at a chamber music concert, where she sat on the other side of the room from me, as if to inspect my reactions to the music, and then led me to a quiet room in the back afterwards; and at a museum, where she chatted with me about history and science as we saw all the exhibits, then led me to a restaurant for a late lunch and then strolled off without looking back as if daring me to follow. She waited for me in a hidden hollow in a park penned in by bushes where we sat facing each other on benches; my dream came true when she raised the hem of her skirt and then spread her thighs to let me see her fully, thick black hair above purple-brown lips and pink center, and as we climaxed together, I stared obsessively at her fingers inside her as her palm cupped her mount. Finally, her body collapsed, and as I stared down at my seed, she smiled, “Leave it this time; no one will care.”

Although I could perhaps have caught up with her as she left, I simply watched her walk off after we settled our clothes and she left her envelope. She looked back, smiled at me staying seated, and disappeared.

You do manage to hold my attention constantly, my sweet! Your passion ignites my own each time I see you, leaving me boiling even after I put out my fire. You have such a light touch around me—a thought I find too intriguing to bear much longer. I thought I was teasing you; now I wonder. But as always, you’ll see me when you see me. —L

I smiled in anticipation and waited, and waited. As if afraid of taking a further step, or in an effective bid to tease me to distraction, she left me lonely for two weeks. Finally, a cloudy Wednesday morning brightened: “I do hope you haven’t withered away to nothing without my care. I’m sure with a little handiwork in the garden, the petals and stalk will be full to overflowing with sap.” I memorized the day, time, and location.

She left the coffee shop with me three hours later and steered me to a belt of trees. We passed through to yet another of the many maintenance sheds hidden away in public green spaces, and she pointed to a bench and said, “Please show me all of you; I need to see you.” She watched eagerly as I stripped for her and sat down on the bench. She slipped off her top, leaving her bare to the waist, and slowly walked to stand beside me, for the first time letting me through the boundary of her personal space.

“Such patience is a rare virtue. You have fine control of your urges! None of that tramping through the garden willy-nilly and sticking noses and fingers in just anywhere—taking familiarities and liberties before they’re earned.” I nodded slightly at that and she smiled. She stood beside me, her right foot on the floor and her left knee on the bench beside me. Gingerly, without touching me, she leaned over and slowly moved in, watching me as her lips approached mine.

The kiss was a wonder, burning through my mouth like a blue flame or too much wasabi, and she prolonged it for ten minutes from a light osculation on my lips to end with her tongue fully inside. She pulled away and stared into my eyes. “Perfection. Now this.” She raised up until her right breast was level with my eyes and leaned forward slowly until her nipple brushed my lips. I opened and began kissing, and she reached down and ran her fingers along my cock.

She explored me playfully, fingering me and hefting me, stroking me and fingering me again, taking a full measure of me as I nursed happily at her breasts, sucking at whichever she pushed against my lips. After five minutes her scent filled the air and I sensed her hips circling. She reached over to my right hand and lifted it between her thighs. “I showed you how I like it; I do hope you’re a good learner in this as well.”

She returned to stroking me as I sucked on her nipples and explored her. She clearly enjoyed exploring me, and we both enjoyed my explorations of her. She was wet and receptive from the moment my fingers touched her lips, and she quickly pushed forward against my fingers as they sank inside her. After another five minutes, she was riding my hand, three fingers inside her as she ground her clit onto the palm of my hand, and she groaned and spasmed as my cock jerked in her hand, spewing two yards or more in front of me. Despite her own climax, she lost no pace in draining me expertly.

When she felt me going soft, she stood and leaned over to kiss me gently again; she whispered, “Yes, you do have a light touch, at first.” I watched as she slid her top on and left my envelope; she smiled and sniffed her hand at the door, blew me a kiss, and disappeared. I dressed and cleaned up before opening the envelope.

My sweet, you were well worth the wait! I was so pleased to see you hadn’t dried up and blown away, either you or your desire for me. See you soon. —L

Tuesday I found the next envelope at work, with a movie ticket for Thursday afternoon; the note read, “I always loved cowboy movies because of all the beautiful horses. You mustn’t pen one in; it will pine away or buck you off. Give it free rein, no one guiding its head, for you don’t want it champing at the bit.” Rejoicing I needn’t wait until Saturday, I made sure my afternoon was free on Thursday and met her at the popcorn stand at the appointed time.

We took our seats in a deserted theater. “They say the movie is utterly worthless. A complete bomb. The studio nearly bankrupted itself, I hear. The reviews are scalding,” she said, and no one else entered before the screening started.

After ten minutes she whispered, “This movie is atrocious. I don’t think I want to see it.” She unzipped me and leaned over. “There’s so much more productive things to do with my time.” I breathed in heavily as she took the head into her mouth, and realizing fully what her note meant, I held the backs of the seats next to mine as she enjoyed her afternoon treat, my head and two inches of shaft inside her as her tongue worked magic. Too excited to last long, I thrust up after three minutes and flooded her mouth as she swallowed.

She sat up after sucking out my last drops. After two minutes she whispered, “Damn, it didn’t get any better while I was away. I’d say you need a break from this nonsense.” She raised her skirt and put her feet up on the backs of the seats in front of her and slid them wide apart; chuckling, I leaned over and in as she titled her hips to give me better access. My face fit perfectly between her inner thighs as she danced against my tongue, circling and thrusting. In only a few minutes she exploded in a frenzy under my lips, leaving my face drenched as she whispered, “Yes, yes, that’s it.”

I wished to stay in position, but she pushed her thighs together firmly and twisted her hips away, so I sat up and she sat upright in her seat, leaning away from me, and said quietly, “God, this movie is such a waste of time. You missed nothing. I need another break.” She leaned over and spent the next fifteen minutes working me all the way inside her. When I whispered, “I can’t hold back,” she bobbed up and down and drained me. When she sat back up, she said, “God, is this crap still on? You need a break from this nonsense.” Spreading her thighs again, she whispered “Yes” as my lips explored her again, and I stayed in place as she built through three smaller orgasms to a massive one that washed away her calm demeanor. She squeezed my head between her thighs as she held my head in place with her hands and squealed twice as the waves started washing through her.

She let me go the instant her spasms stopped and smiled at me, her sweaty face beautiful in the light of the movie. She whispered, “I can’t take any more of this movie. It’s even worse than I feared.” She leaned over to kiss me chastely, stood up, and walked out, and I saw the envelope in her seat. Chuckling, I zipped up and watched the screen to give her time to retreat, but in fact, the movie was so dreadful that I only lasted three minutes before I thought, “The hell with this shit.” When I left the room, an attendant down the hall turned to another and said, “See? That movie is such shit no one stays to the end. Only two people bought tickets for it today, and they both left after an hour.” I laughed and left; I laughed again when I read her note.

I hope you loved our midweek snack as much as I did. It more than made up for that train wreck on the screen. Now wash your face and get back to work! —L.

Even though I had worked late the night before to make sure my slate was clean for the rest of the day, I took the hint and stopped by the office to find a ticket to a play the next evening and a quick note that made me laugh aloud a third time, “Your Russian didn’t lie—with your skill and quickness of tongue, you chose the right profession.”

I was at the theater right at opening, a performance of Ibsen’s The Lady from the Sea, a choice that I suspected she’d not made randomly. The seats on both sides of me were empty. After it ended, I slowly gathered my stuff, and turned sharply when I heard a familiar chuckle. At the end of the row behind me stood Laura, and once I caught sight of her she turned and glided swiftly out of the hall.

I made my way out, obstructed by people from the two rows ahead of me, and finally popped out into the lobby. A door to the side was ajar, and as I looked at it a shadowy figure behind it made a sudden motion and slid away. I slid over to it unobtrusively, looked around to see no one was looking, and ducked in. I heard a door off to the right open and I headed that way, finding one ajar halfway down the hall. It led backstage and I stood listening in the echoing semidarkness. To the left I heard a light scuff of a shoe and turned that way, hesitating before the inky blackness facing me. The familiar chuckle came again and I plunged fearlessly into the unknown, wires and stays surrounding me as I banged my shin against something. A giggle rewarded me and I turned to follow it to the left, no light around me now. Soon a whisper said, “No further. You’ll hit something.” I turned after it, a light rustling of cotton passing me, and was soon disoriented, following the invisible will o’ the wisp teasing me in the darkness, little whisks of fabric as she wove this way and that.

Finally, she whispered, “You have far too little skill in the dark.” I chuckled with her. “You mustn’t keep me waiting—for all you know, I might lose interest easily. Though I’d not.”

Speaking in her direction somewhere in the darkness, I replied, “It’s hard to take direction here.”

“How was the play?”

“One of my favorites. I’m glad it wasn’t Hedda Gabler.”

She chuckled, “Or A Doll’s House?” I heard her come up to me, a spot of less dark in the pitch black. A foot or so from me, she said, “It was more appropriate to the occasion, happy ending and all.”

“Yet without abandoning the meaning.”

“Yes, glad you see that.”

Suddenly she stepped closer and stroked me lightly through my slacks. “I’m pleased with your tongue, both of the ways you use it to pleasure me, both of the languages we communicate in. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” She led my hand between her thighs as I explored her lightly, tentatively, delicately, and finally deftly, her labia swelling and moistening as I rubbed the pearl at their join. Her breath was ragged when she said, “Now kneel.”

She touched the top of my head lightly for position and advanced to me, balancing without touching me as I leaned in and kissed. She held her position as her passion built, and suddenly the calm was gone, wave after wave pounding against my face as she writhed with the bodily control of a champion gymnast. She finally relaxed and whispered, “At least twice more, just like that.” Her second climax came quickly, her third much delayed and violent, and she retreated silently in the dark.

After half a minute she said, “Now stand. Remember the play. Free rein.” Soon I felt her unzip me, and after a few seconds I felt her lips touch the tip, the rest of her somewhere below me in the dark. She explored me with her lips and tongue, nothing else, and soon took me inside and worked me until I came, thrusting forward with my hands clasped behind me. She took me easily and pulled back as she swallowed the last spurts. After feeling her breath on my shaft, I felt the air and heard the slight whish as she faded away into the silent dark yet again.

After two minutes I heard a rustle of cotton far off to my right and fading into the distance until it stopped, probably from closing a door. I zipped up, emptied in both body and mind, and found my way to the door after ten minutes of stumbling into a wall and following it to the door. It opened silently, blinding my night-adjusted eyes with the slight light of the almost impenetrable dark of the hall I had come down. I slowly wandered out, looking everywhere for an envelope, but saw nothing. I turned the corner and finally found my way back to the lobby, where some of the audience stood chatting with the director and the lead actress over wine.

No one noticed me, and I went to the restroom to wash my face; I then went to the bar and paid a dollar for a glass of boxed wine as I looked around unobtrusively seeking a sign of her, a message from her, an acquaintance to pass on a word, and saw nothing. She had written no note and said no farewell when she left me in the silence and the dark. So that was that then. I listened to the director talking intelligently about the play, speaking sense about his staging, and when he said, “He had no choice, of course,” I nodded and swallowed the rest of my wine before strolling out.

I turned toward home. After half a block, she slipped in beside me from a doorway and put her arm through mine. “Mean of you making me wait so long—for all you knew, I might lose interest easily. Though I’d not.”

I looked down at her smiling up at me and simply said, “I had trouble finding my way free.”

“So where is your house again?”

“You don’t know?”

She smiled, “What do you think I am, some sort of stalker?”

I laughed and she hugged my arm tightly to her before slipping her own arm around my waist.

After a half-hour of little talk, a few kisses, and her newfound closeness, I opened my door and ushered her in. “This is the living room,” I said dully.

“So I see. Where’s the bedroom?”

“This way.”

She pulled me to the bed, stripped me bare, and pushed me onto it, then showed herself to me and covered me with her soft brown body. She allowed me to explore her at my leisure as she watched me closely. I was greedy to touch her, soft and warm, and positioned her to let me caress her belly, then her back, kissing down her spine to her kidneys and around to her belly and up to her breasts and shoulders as she trembled. After twenty minutes I focused on her breasts, then turned her over to cup her breasts from behind as I sucked the back of her neck and kissed down her neck to her shoulder blades. I rubbed my cock leisurely against her ass and thighs, not seeking entry, simply enjoying being allowed to explore her.

As I continued sucking on her neck, my hands stroked down her front, feeling her shoulders and chest and breast and belly, delighting in how well all of her fit together. When my fingers reached her hairy mount, she rolled over and pulled me above her. “I expect you to last a long time,” she said. “I didn’t just blow you for the taste.”

I laughed as I thrust inside her, and she reached up to caress my body, exploring me at her leisure as I buried myself in her belly and her thighs. I smiled as I looked down at her, and she watched me greedily. I thrust back and forth inside her as she experimented with different positions of her hips as our passion built. She watched me closely when I sat up on my ankles to look down at my cock entering her, her lips sheathing me as I caressed the belly enveloping me. She asked, “Do you like the sight?”

“It’s the last two months’ dreams come true.”

“The color is appealing? There and elsewhere?”

“It’s the only one I want now.”

She smiled. “Good.”

After ten minutes, she gasped and moaned as she tightened around me, but I rode it out and continued riding her. She smiled as I continued and said, “Let me see you come inside me.” I nodded and thrust faster, biting my lip as she thrust her hips up against me, and as I built to my peak she whispered sweet words, until suddenly she squealed loudly and lost control underneath me. I thrust deep and lost myself inside her, screaming with joy as my spurts spewed into her instead of onto the ground. She continued thrusting against me for half a minute after my climax ended, and then she pulled me to lie beside her as we dozed off.

A few minutes later I caressed her all over as she reveled in my touch. Finally, I asked, “Why did you choose me?”

“Why not you?”

“I’m just some schlub.”

She smiled for a long time and finally asked, “Don’t you remember me? I remember you very well even after so long.”

“No…”

“You never did notice me. I followed you around for a year. I was so taken with you. You were my first crush. So blind, you missed so much. My junior year I mooned over you like a sick puppy.” She whimpered sweetly and I laughed. “I decided over the summer that I would declare myself the first day school started again and take you somewhere private and make both of us happy. But you moved.”

I blinked and quietly said, “Yes, we did. Dad got a new job.”

“I would sit behind you in class, get in line behind you in the lunchroom, and watch you in the library. I wrote so much bad poetry about you, and thought so many good thoughts about you, but you were off in your own little world. And I never saw you again and never quite forgot you. Mostly I did, but not quite.”

We laughed and I said, “I was probably mooning after someone who never saw me, or thinking about some science fiction novel or something where people weren’t stuck in my pitiful world. And it was just a bad time. The big boys were shit, my family life was pretty stressful then…I saw almost nothing around me.”

She smiled at me and tousled my hair. “Then…” [counting on her fingers] “four months and eight days ago I saw you again. I can’t believe I recognized you! I didn’t at first. But you looked really familiar. I watched you as you were reading, some restaurant while you waited for your food, sat so you couldn’t see me and watched you. Then it hit me—it was you! That boy I wasted a year of my life on.” We laughed, and she continued, “Followed you to find your office and learned a bit about you from your webpage. Nothing too sleuthy, of course; I’d pined enough for you as a girl. I hated that, and I’d obsessed more than enough for a lifetime over you. And I thought what to do while I was on vacation, and how to find out more about you. But that part was easy, given my job…”

“What the hell is your job? You seem to know everywhere.”

“I do. Most of those buildings, anyway. I’m the chief safety inspector for their property management company. Easy enough to learn everything I need doing inspections.”

I laughed loudly and happily and said, “Thank goodness. I was afraid you were a detective…or someone supernatural.”

“No, sweet, I’m all-natural.”

“And you finally decided to meet me? Why?”

“You looked sweet. You looked lonely. You reminded me of when we were in school, only grown up, accomplished, worth knowing. Like it would be worth knowing you again, or for the first time, actually.” We chuckled.

“So…I did notice you now. Sorry about before.”

She laughed happily, “Apology accepted. Kids are dumb sometimes.” After she kissed me she said, “Let me order some food, then we can make ourselves comfortable for the weekend.”

The Chinese place delivered quickly, and as we ate she said, “I like your place. Light, quiet, not too orderly…”

“I’m curious…” She tilted her head. “Who took your pictures?”

“Olga. You know, one of the artists you interpreted for, the one who speaks English quite well, the one who checked you out for me while making sure your Russian was up to her own standards. And who then agreed to photograph me for you once she’d met you and made sure of you.”

I laughed, “And you met her as a building inspector?”

She smiled, “No, as a hanger-on of art circles. That was my minor in college, art history. But I hate poverty, so I work protecting the health and well-being of my artistic friends.”

“And I’m also curious…” She tilted her head the other way. “Did you really fear I’d…be possessive? Obsessive? Dangerous?”

She smiled.  “Of course not, not after watching you and meeting you the first time. I was having fun. It was so much fun that way. Memorable and intriguing too. I knew I could capture you for sure if you had any romance in your bones, so there was that bit of a test, I guess. No, the sense of play, pure and simple. All my teenage crush fantasies distilled to their essence and elevated to true romance without all that sappy shit I thought was profound when I was 17.”

She thought for a second, “To be honest though, I guess I did enjoy playing with your mind a little like you tortured me…like I tortured myself over you when we were seventeen. Make you jerk-off to me like I rubbed off every night thinking about you. But no, mostly it was fun.” We laughed and she continued, “The homo ludens, man at play, play as how we learn the world, play as the root of all culture. My stupid thesis in art history made into something sweet and happy. Play as the root of romance.”

“So you weren’t just… punishing me or getting back at other guys by making me watch you for once, look but not touch? You weren’t afraid of getting traumatized, or of revisiting old trauma, or of me…seeing you as not an ideal partner because…?” I looked at her skin next to mine.

“The fears come tumbling out! Any more? Add them to the pile!!!” We laughed and she said, “Oh, certainly not! I mean, I did enjoy seeing you watching me, and I liked how you followed my rules. I did like the sense of control. It was a bit like being a queen for once to a fine man, and who doesn’t love that? I did love how you fell in step like a game. Or a dance. But no, I wasn’t punishing you because you used to be blind—it’s vile to mock someone just for being the stupidest, blindest kid in school.”

“Ouch.” We laughed.

“And no, I never had some sort of traumatic experience that made me skittish of men. And no, I wasn’t afraid you’d be some sort of flaming racist asshole either. You weren’t in high school, and you weren’t the past few months. Oblivious, yes, you certainly were that.”

We laughed and I said, “And I’m curious…” She tilted her head the first way. “Were you the one who put the flier on my office door for the coffee shop?”

“Of course. I play a long game.”