Gender: Male Age: 63 Location: Canada's Wet Coast
|Introduction: Ships that pass in the night?|
The timeframe of this story covers about four of the most intense mintes in my memory. That intensity compelled me to try and put the experience into words. Hopefully, I've succeeded.
A Brief Encounter
I’m out of coffee cream for the morning. I hate black coffee. If it was a desperate situation, I could always use two-percent milk, except that it takes almost half a cup of the stuff to kill that acid taste. Cream just seems to smooth the flavour out so much better.
A quick glance at the clock on the wall above shows that it’s nearly 9:00 PM. The local convenience store will be open for almost another hour. I decide to make a trip down there, knowing that if I don’t, I’ll hate myself for being too lazy when the morning finally arrives.
Struggling into my van, I pop my cane into the back seat, then crawl behind the wheel. Lord, but that cane can be a real pain sometimes. With my left leg suffering from arthritis, though, it’s become a necessity to maintain any independent mobility. That doesn’t mean that I like it. Some days, that stupid stick just advertises my advancing years, and the fact that my physical capabilities have been severely diminished.
The van fires up almost immediately. For an eleven-year old machine, it’s still in excellent shape. I remember buying it new, and thinking at the time that it was a little more extravagant than I needed. Now I’m beginning to understand the wisdom of my ways. This vehicle has never left me standing at the side of the road. There’s nothing uglier, in my mind, than a car hooked to the back of a tow truck.
The trip to the convenience store is uneventful. Even all the traffic lights are green, which is an unprecedented occurrence in my little world. Traffic is light, which permits me the opportunity to shift my attention to the sights and sounds beyond the sidewalks. Not something that a careful and conscientious driver would engage in, unless murder and mayhem were at the top of the ‘To Do’ list of the day. For me, having the necessary ingredients for a relaxed morning tomorrow are the only items on my list. Why else would I be out here?
As I pull into the paring lot, there isn’t another soul around except for the figure of a woman walking into the lot from the opposite end. For some reason, her presence holds my attention longer than usual. She’s about 5' 7", probably in her mid- to late-thirties, and appears to be of mixed racial origins. She’s wearing her hair short, cut just below the ears. Not a style that would normally get my interest, but on her, it looks perfect for her facial features.
She’s wearing a tight-fitting top, dark in colour, covered in small, bright geometrical shapes. Around her waist sits one of those small pouches that I’ve always known as a “fanny pack”. I remember back to days gone by when I served with a volunteer first-aid corps. We had similar pouches to carry our necessary supplies while patrolling the ski slopes of the local mountains. Hers brings back the memories.
Slim? Svelte? Not even close. She passed that point about eighty pounds ago, yet there’s something about her body that intrigues my senses. Maybe it’s the way her hips roll. Maybe it’s the mass of her slowly bouncing breasts. I have no idea, really. I just know that she has my rivetted and undivided attention. Unashamedly, I almost stare at her as she approaches.
For some unknown reason, she smiles at me as she becomes aware of my gaze. That smile. It’s soft, warm, and genuine. Perhaps she enjoys being ogled. Maybe it’s her defence mechanism for situations like this. Or maybe she’s just genuinely friendly. Who knows? Whatever the reason, I smile back as I retrieve my cane from the back seat of the van. By the time I stand up again, she’s almost at the front door.
Watching her make the last few steps to that door, I can’t help but look at her in a different light than I would usually see such a woman. In my eyes, she’s definitely not fat. Substantial, maybe, but fat? No, not to me. I suddenly realize that if she didn’t have that extra weight, she’d have very little visual impact for me. I question myself as to why that would be, but the answer is irrelevant at the moment. For now, I feel hypnotized by that roll to her hips, the quick vertical shifting of her ass cheeks as she walks, the slow gyrations of her breasts. Everything about her screams to me of her femininity.
As she makes the single step from the parking lot’s pavement onto the sidewalk curb, my gaze is temporarily broken. I begin to understand that I’m staring, and start to chide myself for my unseemly behaviour. Still, this woman is so interesting to me that I don’t feel guilty. I’m enjoying every minute, relishing the sight before me. Under other circumstances, I could be happy just watching her fluid movements for as long as she was within eyesight.
By the same token, under other circumstances, I probably wouldn’t have noticed her. And that would be a shame, really. I would have missed the sensual delight of seeing this woman’s charm and grace. Are those the words I want? No, but they’re the ones that first enter my mind. They seem inadequate somehow. There are no words to properly describe what my senses are experiencing.
There may never be another sight like this. Not one that I can appreciate in a like fashion. It is unique, of the moment.
I begin to make my way to the front door, and this vision of loveliness is kind enough to hold it open for me.
“Thank you” I tell her, and mean it from the bottom of my heart. Not for the courtesy, although that does enter into it. No, it’s more for the chance to savour her presence for another few seconds.
“My pleasure” she answers. Her voice is soft and melodic. She smiles, and her deep brown eyes hold me, caress me, take me into a part of her soul that a man would not normally be privy to. I feel privileged to be allowed the opportunity.
I absent-mindedly reach to hold the door open, and brush against the skin of her hand. She has the softest, smoothest skin, warm and inviting. I’m on the verge of apologizing, fully expecting her to wince and withdraw from the contact.
There’s a sensation akin to a small electrical charge that travels between her skin and my nerve endings, and for that fleeting second of physical contact, it’s almost as though we are one with each other. But in another two steps, the moment is over, lost, never to exist again. I sense a void in a part of me, and mourn it’s passage.
“Gorgeous evening, isn’t it?” she inquires. Is she trying as desperately as I feel to prolong that second of intimacy? It might be pure speculation on my part. And then, again . . .
“Yeah, it is. Almost a good enough excuse for a party, isn’t it?” I reply. The light in her eyes dances and flickers, calling me further and further into the caverns of her warm charms. She giggles lightly in response.
I step through the door and make my way to the cooler. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, she’s picking out some snack foods and looking towards the magazine rack. Losing my concentration, I try to think of anything else that I might need. My thoughts come back to this woman that has become so central to my immediate thoughts.
Now she’s heading towards the counter. Not remembering anything that I might have a need of, I head in the same direction. With my mind in a blur, I laugh at myself, both for the fantasies racing through my head, and for the realization that I had almost forgotten the reason for my initial trip here. This woman has become more of a fixation than I had thought possible.
We arrive at the same instant. I defer to her, both out of courtesy and as an attempt to be allowed to experience this divine woman further. She exudes a fragrance that is so captivating to my senses. There’s something about her, unnameable, that draws my fullest attention. Is it the sight of her wonderful body? Or could it be something about her warm and inviting manner? Maybe it has to do with that enticing aroma that I find so stimulating, so feminine.
I ponder those questions, not finding an answer that I can put into words. All I can decide is that her appeal in total is greater than the sum of its parts. The search for an answer detracts from my enjoyment, and I abandon my quest.
Now she has completed her transaction and turns to yield the cashier’s station to me. She smiles openly and honestly. I feel helplessly compelled to return my own smile, finding a warmth in my breast that I hadn’t realized was there before. She steps away as I place my item on the counter. My concentration veers to completing the transaction, her memory and influence temporarily set aside as I do so. Yet her presence still remains in the peripheral of my existence; it becomes a welcomed distraction to my senses.
I pay for my purchase, again devoting myself to the completion of the transaction. This woman that has become a focal point for my inner confusion is almost forgotten for the moment. Almost; not quite.
Leaving the counter, I see her heading for the door at a speed that might allow me to get closer to her one more time. The thought of savouring her delicate scents, the visual joy of her, that fragile connection for one more moment spurs me on. I walk at a pace that is not fast, but quicker than would be normally comfortable.
We arrive at the door at almost the same time, with her just ahead of me. I reach out to open the door, holding it for her, and feel swept up once again by the close proximity of her. She looks back at me and smiles, those eyes once again beckoning me with a warm greeting that only I seem to be peripherally aware might exist. Her hand reaches out to steady the door, and in the process, lightly grazes mine. Again that undefinable sensation is elicited between her skin and my own, its recurrence lifting my spirit to a heady height within me.
“Thank you” she remarks, a warm and cheerful softness to her voice.
“My pleasure” I respond. Almost willing to add something more, I think to myself that it has indeed been a pleasure to share this short time with her. She doesn’t indicate that there is anything similar in her mind, and I don’t pursue that question that burns in my brain.
“You have a nice evening” she offers, then turns to begin her journey back to where she came from.
“Thank you, “ I reply, “and you, too.” I shuffle to my van, watching and savouring the sight of those swaying hips, those sensuously undulating buttocks, that perceived grace as she slowly floats across the parking lot and into the night.
And then it’s over. She has her life and has returned to it, just as I have to mine. A part of me feels a sadness at her leaving. My conscious self continues to dismiss the incident as unimportant as I begin my own journey back to where I started.
It’s over, this short time. And yet, a part of it will always remain for me. For in that short time-span, my senses were a little sharper, my sight a little brighter, my heart a little more joyous, and my burdens a little lighter. Do I remember her face? Not really. Do I remember the effects of our touch? Indelibly, for all time. For the rest of my days, there will always be a warm memory of that short time in my life when this unknown woman became the focus of my world.
For that one brief encounter, I will always hold a special place in my heart for the time we shared together.
Read 9621 times | Rated 82.5 (120 votes)
Please rate this text: