lunch
9:05 p.m.<>2002-01-25

______________

i had a fleeting fantasy at lunch this afternoon. i was sitting by myself, reading the newspaper in a coffee shop across the street from my office, when my attention was drawn by an abrupt motion.

a couple of tables away from me sat an attractive african-american woman in her twenties, talking to a stylishly dressed young man with sideburns. she was obviously really into the story she was telling him, judging from the animated way she kept gesturing with her hands. it was their movement that i had glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. the elegance of those hands fascinated me. the fingers were long and slender, with their nails cut short. they seemed to move independently of each other as the woman spoke. up they fluttered, then down again, like birds. pianist's fingers, i thought, as i watched them glide quickly yet gracefully across the contours of her story.

her hair was a mane of jet black curls. it was drawn back into a rather severe bun, which highlighted the wide, smooth expanse of her brow. for the briefest of instants, i imagined that kinky mass unbound, cascading down her neck and into her face. i wondered how it would feel sliding between my fingers. i wondered what it smelled like.

her eyes were large, alert and dark like roasted coffee beans. her oval face was expressive. she had very fine lips. lawyer, i thought, glancing down at her pricy bag, her glossy shoes. lobbyist. or maybe a congressional aide. it didn't matter. it was highly unlikely that we would ever meet, that we would ever exchange words, and that was fine. i sipped my tea and crossed my legs and rustled my paper and let my eyes return to her eyebrows, thin and dark and active like the rest of her. silently, uselessly, i asked her to forgive me for imagining my tongue skimming into the shadow at the hollow of her throat.

she was wearing a pale yellow sweater of some thin, clingy material that molded itself to the curves of her torso, her large breasts. the v-neck just reached the top of her deep decolletage. her nipples were distinctly erect, and i toyed briefly with the idea that this might be due to intense physical arousal, that she was in complete lust with her lunch companion, that she had to restrain herself from ripping off his expensive pea coat and ravishing right there, that she was warm and wet underneath her man's-style pinstriped slacks. i played with this fantasy for a few seconds, tossed it back and forth in my mind until my ears were red and i was hard as her nipples, then i allowed logic to tell me that it was cold inside the cafe, and that was probably the only reason.

i wanted to take her in my mouth and hold her there until she melted like chocolate all over my tongue.

______________

Know when I update: