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Last night as I was rereading a book (books are always better the second time around, IMO) on the way home from work. About halfway through the final leg of the trip I looked up, directly into the eyes of a very tall, thin and attractive brunette. She was wearing a baby blue halter-top that showed a flat midriff. Her jeans were dark blue, low on her hips, and very, very 70s tight. Her legs seemed to go on forever; they could have been six feet long by themselves. Her hair looked like Julia Roberts' from Full Frontal. She had high cheekbones set in a round face. This woman's (Who am I kidding? Girl. Pitoune.) eyes were very dark and lovely. She was definitely Caucasian, maybe Eastern-European, but her eyes had a hint of an Oriental shape to them; maybe her great-grandfather was Korean. (That song that begins with "God damn those half-Japanese girls, they do it to me every time" comes to mind.) Those eyes locked with mine the second I looked up. We looked at each other for a moment, and then I looked away. Was she looking directly at me? She didn't flinch. During that second I burned her image in my mind, then went back to my book. A few minutes later I looked up again. She was staring at me. Do I look good? Or did I spill food on myself earlier today? Damn, those jeans are tight! There was hardly anyone on this bus, which is surprising since it is usually a busy one. She was able to relax into a more comfortable position. Her left hand was on the seat next to her and she leaned over slightly to the left. I got a good look at her more-exposed hip. I followed her legs miles down to her feet. She was wearing open-toed sandals. I am NOT into feet in any way. I haven't even as much as given a foot massage in years; no one has been into it. But her feet were simply perfect. They were smooth, with long, very feminine toes. I really wanted to take off her shoes, touch the skin of her foot, rub them slowly, then gradually massage the day's weariness away. I took each beautiful toe in both hands, squeezed gently, yet firmly enough to cause pleasure and relieve tension (I could feel it dissipating!). Just a little massage between the joints, the phalanges of the foot. Then I moved on to her instep, feeling and caressing the muscles there. Finally, I massaged the sole of the foot by first sliding my hand from the heel to the toes, then embracing the foot, much like lovers do with their hands. Running a finger from the toes to the middle of the foot (carefully so as not to trigger tickling), I applied pressure to the arch. I moved to either side gradually using both hands. One quick, final all-foot caress before I moved on to the other foot. Um...but anyway. She had incredible feet. They would definitely be a part of the foreplay in any fantasies I would have. I went back to my book for about five minutes or so. By this time she had taken out her own little book (it actually looked like a tiny little Bible. She shifted in her seat a little, and that caught my eye. She adjusted herself sit with legs immodestly spread, facing me. Somehow, she managed to have a camel-toe in those jeans. Here's the good part: she then thrusts her hips out a little to put her butt closer to the edge of the seat, while her upper back is against the seat back, touches herself (it wasn't my imagination!) in a more than casual way, then puts that hand back on the pole. All while reading that book. It wasn’t exactly a Sharon Stone leg-crossing scene, but it was pretty hot. What the hell is she reading?? Is she ever wearing underwear? She looks at home with a pole. Am I getting a show? *sigh* I went back to reading. When women (sorry, I should say girls. Real women rarely dress and act that way) dress like they're going to a club (or to a john's) when they're really just going to the store, my skank alert goes off, and they are either dismissed, or acknowledged for little more than the body parts they want to show off. More on that some other time. This time, I have to admit that she really got to me. I managed to stay cool, but I was pretty distracted. The Van Horne Bridge is the indicator for me to get ready to disembark. I did so. When I looked up from what I was doing there she was in my face. Up close, about 2 feet away. "Exzcuse me, but do you af de time?" I think she was a Croatian stripper. "Yes, I do. One moment..." I had to dig out my cell phone. "It's 7:18." She smiled, and thanked me. I smiled back. It was time to get off the bus. I got off first and looked back at her to see where she was going. She was going into the metro, opposite to me. I wished her a good night. I walked to the light, waiting for it to turn, waiting for her to turn around. And she did. And then I left. I had fun with her on the bus, but like Shania Twat said, in the end she didn't impress me much. I forgot about her the moment I got home. I never thought about inviting her home and having her on the table until now, as I write this. I will not get into all the things I imagine doing with her, that would take too long and I might not have both hands available for typing. Suffice it to say, she is definitely one to think about when you're alone. 0 scrawls at the end of this hallThe look: The feel: The taste: ________________________ |
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