Présentation de l'éditeur
I had on previous evenings spent some time examining the windows across the street , seeing the windows across the alley as the Hitchcock Rear Window plot, imaging Jimmy Stewart watching me ( I watch TCM - I was aware of Jimmy Stewart). Then I saw them as TV Channels, maybe more YouTube Channels, when I watched as a cat licked herself ( or himself) among its own evening flat shadow of fur and paw. Cat – YouTube – obvious connection.
On another channel a woman sat on a chair in a kitchen and cried. It seemed to be her whole evening occupation.
On another channel just within my vision if I stretched a young girl danced to unheard music, and always at the end of the performance, if you waited long enough, she would flip up her top to expose her braless breasts to the sightless night.
From her young face, I am sure she heard applause, or gasps. How did she dream I wondered? Did she leave the sight of her young breasts, as a sort of path, two beacons to bring some lover to her young bed?
On the highest floor, the VIP channels played out behind expensive window coverings blinds, shadows criss-crossing behind the window coverings expensive people indulging in expensive parties for ten or fifty.
And then he entered my channel viewing....
The truth was, yes I was bored, and yes perhaps a little lonely - so ok more than a hobby, a diversion for my, mind, my feelings. Get out of the kitchen as it were.
And I had dreams.
I don't know what he thought about the situation, but he was asking if he could kiss me, on the neck and lips. I let him. He was much younger than I thought, his skin so smooth and warm, and soft. He had on a white shirt and a tie undone around his neck. A school tie ?- Jesus, how young was he?
He asked if he could kiss my breasts and I said yes, but had to help him with my bra he fumbled too long - how young was he, he had done this before surely?
But his kiss was sure and warm, hot in fact, but he wasn't using his tongue, I would have to show him later, the art of the tongue.
He asked to kiss my bush - he said ‘your bush’ - how quaint. He had on only his jockey briefs, white with the bulge pushing at the Y front, I let my hand drift over him.
I allowed him to kneel before me and kiss my panties. I let him kiss until his breath and saliva made them wet and hot.
I told him to pull them down, take them off.
He looked at them and then me, unsure. So I stepped out of them and stood legs open above him.
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