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“Miss, now over here, Miss, we have. . .I tune out the realtor’s voice as I survey what is left of what might have been. “Amazing. . .” I allow the one word to escape my lips before I realize it is even audible. Incredibly, everything is just exactly the same, down to the neat row of green mailboxes in the breezeway. Amused, I note that though the name and address of the complex has changed with ownership, the old address as I knew it, is still stamped on the water meter at the rear of the building. Guess no one thought that was important enough to change. . .”With all due respect, Miss, that is not the word most people would use to describe this place. In fact, . . .” the man’s voice prattles on as he stoops to weed half-heartedly a small flower bed near one of the apartment units. Same narrow corridor, same three steps up from the parking lot. . . “You say, you want this place for your daughter?” Now, he is getting out his business cards, no doubt getting ready to bestow one on me. “Well, yes I do. She is in, um, college here,” I say, making my attempt to think on my feet. “Well, Miss, maybe it could be an amazing place for a young person like that. Good, safe neighborhood, after all. Young woman, 23, 24 years old. . .” He gestures, and I look out toward the parking lot. . . After all this time, I can clearly see you, me, everything–how we looked, how we dressed, how we felt about it.
Yes, I do believe, there she is now. . .
I come home. I take the few steps up from the private parking lot and start up the walk to my apartment. I glance up at your apartment, but you’re not there. . . .mmmmm, I wonder. . .Oh well, I sigh, as I put my key in the lock and turn.
It is a beautiful fall day, crisp and clean. Sunshine, without a cloud in the sky, almost makes me feel it is still summer except that the air has that sweet, spicy aroma of autumn. It is also Saturday but a rather unusual day for a Saturday. I had to go in to work with my boss for a special meeting with the corporate board. My boss is an officer, the board secretary, and often relies on me to help with public relations activities and correspondence. So, no: This Saturday is nothing at all like last Saturday. Not anything like that morning, when you surprised me—pounding on my door with Mickey D’s breakfast in a paper sack! There you were with that sweet, thoughtful breakfast in bed, and then we took in a fun romp about the mall and a dollar matinee. Finally, we found ourselves at the zoo, knocking around, poking gentle fun at all the animal antics. Oh, but later, we ate hot dogs by the sunset and, over and over again, we rode the Ferris Wheel, its colorful lights all aglow, while fireworks exploded in the distant night sky. Happy, carefree, spontaneous. . . From start to finish: What a day that was!
But then again, many of our days are not too far off from that. Somehow, each deposit in our bank of memories always ends up being special in some way. We just get along so well and enjoy one another’s company anytime we are together, whatever we do. It never seems to matter what it is; we don’t have to have a plan. Things just naturally fall into place.
Inside the apartment, I cease my musings and critically scan my view. Not so bad. I’ve kept it picked up pretty well this week. My humble abode: It is very small, only one bedroom and one bath, but it’s perfect for a 23-year-old single girl living alone and working in the city.
Ok, time to change out of my work clothes. I go into the bedroom and step out of my crisp, black pencil skirt and my silky white blouse, taking care to hang them both up immediately. I remove all my jewelry—earrings, choker-style necklace, rings, bracelets. I love to wear bracelets, especially, but they seem to weigh a ton by the time I get home. I lean down and slip off the black patent, peep-toe pumps. I put them back in their box for another day. It is still very warm weather, so I wore no pantyhose. And I hate slips– they get so clingy in the heat and humidity–so I avoid them unless absolutely necessary.
As I slip off my silky, beige, spaghetti-strapped camisole, I catch a glimpse of myself in my oval, stand-alone mirror. By now, I am wearing only my bra and panties. Both items, though silky, are a plain, beige color without any lace because I needed the nude effect underneath the white blouse. I survey my body in the mirror, trying to study it in the most objective light that I can. Overall, I am pleased with what I see. And my daily gym visits have definitely been paying off. I have very dark hair and eyes but also very fair skin. In general, I have a petite figure, standing at just 5’4″. I am slim and toned, with firm, perky C-cup breasts—just the right size, not too large or too small. I cup one breast and lift it slightly, running my fingers over the nipple and the pale aureole surrounding it. It feels pleasingly smooth, with the nipple beginning to harden instantly under my touch. My stomach is flat but with a slight feminine roundness to the lower mofos porno abdomen. I smooth my hands over my outer thighs; they are firm with just the right amount of fullness. My hands cross over to my legs, which are strong and well defined. My feet are soft and well-groomed from weekly pedicures. I pivot on them, turning ballerina-like on tip-toes to examine my backside. Did I mention what a cute butt I have? Firm, upturned, and softly rounded, but with well-toned definition underneath it, at the cheeks and the upper thigh. I bring my hand around and caress the soft skin there, too, until my hand comes to rest at the small of my back. I bring both hands back and massage my lower back a bit. Ahhh, . . . yessss.
I am thinking that I have gotten accustomed to my regular two-hour workout routine. I especially enjoy the rewards of experiencing the steamy sauna afterward. It always makes me feel as if all the day’s tension is melting and oozing out of me through every naked pore. . .I smile, remembering when we first met, you thought I worked three jobs. I had my regular job downtown and a part-time job on some evenings at a local café. But then, because I also went to the gym so much, you thought I was also an aerobics instructor. You are so sweet. Too bad you are not my boyfriend. I am a couple of years older than you, so we jokingly refer to me as ‘The Older Woman’ or sometimes, laughingly, your ‘Cougar,’ but we both know there will never be anything like that between us. We both realize that we will always just be very good friends. However, I do have a confession: Sometimes I think we don’t admit a few stronger feelings than that . . . And today? Well, today, I just can’t help it. I miss you. . . I really do.
Having concluded my nude mirror reverie, a certain sense of vulnerability begins to steal upon me. I realize that I am now standing with my arms crossed in front of me, my hands smoothly caressing and lightly squeezing my shoulders. Having adjusted now from the outside heat to the coolness of air-conditioned apartment, I began to feel a slight chill. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my grandmother’s pink and rose-colored afghan lying on the chair by the bed. Its warmth and softness are always so comforting and so familiar, so without hesitation, I pull it around me. I wander thus, wrapped up in the afghan over my basic underwear, out of the bedroom, returning to the front of the apartment. I try to peek out the window, but I cannot get a good view of your apartment. Luckily, I have a privacy fence around the front door. If I step out on the patio, no one will see me like this. So I do. But no, still no signs of life up there on Level 2! Would you have come by here first, I wonder? I am not sure. Maybe. Are you thinking of me, too? Ok, this is getting ridiculous. I just have to stop this.
I go back inside the apartment. Even though it is only 12:30, I am very tired. I got up so early this morning, and we had a working lunch about 11. Besides, I recognized that tense feeling in the muscles when I massaged my back a few minutes ago. Apparently, the achiness has been lingering there all morning, while I was busy and unaware. I think I’ll go ahead and take a little nap. It would really feel great to just stretch out for awhile.
Going back into the bedroom again now, I decide to remove all other bindings—my remaining clothing items, the bra and the panties. It would just feel so much better—so much more free—to be completely nude. And I am alone. Completely alone. So I strip down and cover myself with the familiar, rosy afghan. Ahh, now this feels excellent! The comforter on the bed is so soft and feels so cool against my bare skin. The light, airy feel of the afghan is just enough to make me feel covered, but the loose structure of the fabric is light enough to feel free and bare. It is a very safe yet sensuous feeling. . . I make a decision not to allow myself to think of you; I’ll just let my mind drift. . .Nevertheless, I keep seeing your face, smiling as always, brilliant then fading, then. . .Very soon, I am off in la-la land. . .
The next thing I realize is the brilliant but soft afternoon glow of sunlight coming through the bedroom window—and then I recognize the gentle, but steady pounding on the door. Thud. . .thud. . .thud. . .It seems to me as if the pounding has been going on for a long time, but logically I know that it has only just begun. I realize that I am not quite mentally alert yet, but somehow I also know it is you. There is no question in my mind, no room for other possibilities. I jump up quickly, but then just as quickly, I look down. Oh, no! I look around for something to cover myself—a robe, some clothing item, anything. Why can’t I just see something to grab here! Where is it? The apartment I found so tidy earlier suddenly seems like a disorganized mess. I can find absolutely nothing to lay my hands on quickly! Scrambling, I panic; I don’t want you to think I am not here and then leave. Oh well, no time! And, after all, it is only naughty america porno you. . . So I grab up the afghan and wrap it around myself, the same way one uses a towel upon just leaving the shower.
I open the door. And there you stand with that cute, familiar smile and that adorable little glint in your eye. Your clear blue eyes always seem to just fairly dance as they quickly dart about, surveying my face. Your dark hair and mustache frame your features perfectly. I am always struck by how handsome you really are, though you don’t seem to realize it yourself. Today, you are wearing a plain white T-shirt under an open shirt and jeans. Mmmmm. . .very nice. You come in, and we stand facing one another just inside the apartment door.
“Well, well, My Dear, what have we here?” you say. You are laughing and gently making fun of my scanty, makeshift garment. I realize that, no matter how comforting it had been earlier, my afghan “dress,” in the harsh light of day, leaves a lot to be desired as a fashion statement. Standing there, I become painfully aware of the thin, loose weave of the knit gathered and draped over my body. Inevitably, my pale pink nipples keep peeking through the holes in the pattern at every turn, and the light texture of the fabric is not dark enough or heavy enough to conceal the dark triangular shadow over my mound. Do you see what I see—what I think you can see? Am I–all parts of me– that visible to you? I would be totally horrified if it were someone else, but now I find that, thanks to you, I am also becoming a bit amused. We have always trusted one another; I know you are my friend and will always accept me regardless of how I present myself. . .
We talk for a few minutes in our normal fashion, as if nothing is amiss. Suddenly though, you take the earlier teasing a drastic step further. . .You know how unexpected I would find such an action on your part, so you are able to catch me entirely off-guard. With one deft movement, you snatch the afghan off me! In an instant, my only covering is gone—completely gone! I am at a total loss. Holding it up horizontally between us, you say, “What are you going to do now, huh? Huh?” I am solely taken aback. Standing there on the other side of that afghan wall, naked–completely nude and totally vulnerable–I hesitate. I cannot answer. What can I do? You lock your beautiful, steel-blue eyes with my big brown ones. I am utterly, completely spellbound. Taunting me, you nevertheless maintain steady eye contact—and a mischievous grin. That glint in your eye, not so adorable now, no longer familiar. . . Who are you? Are you surveying my curves? Are you seeing all– every minute detail–of my body? Yes? No? I cannot tell! I am trying to wrap my mind around what is happening.
Then slowly, your evil little grin begins to widen into a lovely smile while your eyes retain their mischief and their mystery. You ever so slowly began to drop the afghan until it is lying on the floor, between us, at our feet. You draw in a breath, slowly but audibly. At first, I am appalled–even more horrified by this last act than the other. But then–I realize that you are still maintaining that same steady eye contact. Your steel-blue gaze has not shifted. You seem to pay no attention to the smallest amount of peripheral vision whatsoever. You make no attempt to adjust your view. We stand there, smiling, our eyes still locked. Our breathing, heavier. Our hearts, pounding.
I am so utterly amazed by you that I almost forget to be embarrassed. I am used to your romantic spontaneity, your fun-loving spirit, and your good-natured pranks. So many times in the past, you quipped about how you would love to see ‘more of me.’ Without a doubt, you have consistently demonstrated a healthy, red-blooded, All-American curiosity about the female anatomy well known to the male species. Yet–knowing that–I am just feeling quite impressed overall, and, I must admit, even a bit in awe of the way you are handling the situation. In my nervousness, I bite my lower lip and hold it there. Clearly, you see the consternation on my face as I try to comprehend, realizing I can think of no sensible course of action whatsoever. This is a new version of Cat and Mouse for me. . .What are the rules?
Just then, you lean forward, and we kiss. It is not our first kiss, however, for once before, we made an attempt resulting in a fun little experimental kiss, kissing lightly and affectionately. But this kiss: Oh my! It is very different. It is glorious—a longingly, passionate kiss that has been building since we met. Your lips, your tongue are just as soft and as wonderful as I could have ever imagined. Your mustache feels good against my soft skin as you travel down to my neck. You put one arm gently around my shoulders and the other arm around my waist. Still looking intently into my eyes, you say, “Put your arm around my neck.”
You pick me up, while at the same, being careful to rescue the afghan from its place on the floor. Respectfully, public agent porno you recover me lightly, taking my hand and directing me to hold the afghan in place. You then carry me into the bedroom and lay me down on the bed. Unhurried, you very slowly and deliberately begin to peel back the edges of the afghan. . . I feel the cool breeze in the air all around us. It lends a feeling of lightness to the room; the cool air settles over my body and, involuntarily, I shudder. Finally, then—while sitting there at the edge of the bed–you lean back and allow yourself to look. You take in my nude body lying there on the bed. Still, you show you are in no hurry. Your gaze is slowly traveling the length of me up and down—longingly examining everything, back and forth over my body. You have not touched me. . .not at all, except to carry me. But I feel your touch in your longing look. And it is blazing. . .
After a few minutes, you take your index finger and gently start to lightly trace out the pathway of your earlier gaze. Even so, you keep the pathway decidedly away from all erogenous zones. I arch my back. I am getting so hot, so aroused under your steady gaze, your growing interest. But that is a fact to which you seem oblivious. You really do not seem to be fully aware of the effect you are having on me. My body now eagerly anticipates every gaze, every touch, and is now beginning to long for more. . . I want you so much. I never realized until now just how much. . .
You are still fully clothed. You are so handsome in your T-shirt and your open, light blue oxford shirt, cuffs rolled back so that I see your strong, shapely, tanned arms. You are wearing blue jeans, and for all your control, I can see your hardness taking shape under them. You move toward me and lie diagonally across me, as you begin to kiss my neck and nibble on my earlobe. “You are so beautiful,” you whisper adoringly in my ear. Your lips are so soft; your mustache brushes airily against my neck, while I also feel a tiny bit of stubble from your face. The combination is one of clean softness and masculine roughness, all at once . . . I shudder, involuntarily, thrilling with delight. I become aware of your growing erection, resting against my thigh. Even through the thick denim fabric, I can feel it rubbing against me, straining. . .
You take my face in both your hands and look directly, deliberately, intensely into my eyes. This time, your beautiful deep-blue pools are right up next to my wide-open soft doe-brown eyes. You continue to hold my face with your hands and my eyes with your eyes. You smile. Your smile broadens. I see that old familiarity returning. . . You reach for the afghan again and gently pull it back up over me. You lean down and kiss my lips ever so gently. You touch my cheek with the back of your hand and kiss me again, lightly, on my forehead. I look up at you, once again questioning, wondering. . .
“Not now, not this way. The timing is all wrong, My Dear,” you say. “When it is right, we will know it.”
Caressing a strand of hair away from my face, you say, “Just rest now, ok? Please don’t worry, Hon. I will be back to check on you. . . I will always be back to check on you.” As you are leaving, disappearing through the apartment door, I sigh. . . It is not a sigh of disappointment or sadness or relief or gladness. It is merely a sigh . . . The universe has a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign; it has been neither rejuvenated nor upended. All is as it should be.
Standing there once again, in front of my old apartment and looking up at yours, all the memories flood back to me. Snippets of everyday jaunts and laughter, whispers and tears in strictest confidence, promises kept and promises broken. . .
And such fragile hearts. . .
I am thinking about that Saturday again and the ride on the Ferris Wheel after dark. How the wind was in your hair and how your blue eyes sparkled! How we laughed and laughed! Tilting in our seat together, rocking it back and forth, stalled at the very top for the longest. We did not care. It was so perfect. We were suspended there—swinging and happy, lost in time. . .I can still hear the steady pulsations of the nearby, exploding fireworks. . .It was my perfect memory. . .until THAT day. Was the Ferris Wheel day actually meant to lead up to the nude day? It seems it was then that I started falling for you—that I began to realize we really were more than friends. I can’t help but wonder what could have happened between us . . . if only. . .
On that one special nude day. . .Didn’t something almost happen? Or was it all just a dream day. . .
“Miss? Miss? Can I help you, Miss?” the young man is asking me. I realize I am biting my lip again; what must he think? “What? Oh no, that is quite all right. I think I have seen enough,” I say. I turn to take another last look up on Level 2. As I turn toward the breezeway, I feel the crisp, cool beginnings of the fall air, a welcome contrast to the usual oppressive heat of late summer which only feels it will go on forever. “Yes, well, here is our card. If you have any more questions, please feel free to give me a call.” I take the realtor’s card and absently put it into a pocket inside my purse. The ruse was enough to buy my ticket back. A round trip ticket back in time. . .
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