Angel’s Harp: String, the 7th


Her lithe, naked body was stretched out along the length of the chaise in the dim lit study. Propping her toweled head up on her hand, her loaded elbow creased the burgundy brocade pillow below. She appeared to be perusing some very heavy, leather-bound reading material–heavy in that it would hurt if she hurled at him, so he was sure to keep his head clear of the potential missile’s trajectory, yet his eyes on her every move.

He had caught sight of her by mistake as he walked by her ground level apartment on his way home from work. Always scanning the interior of the brick townhouses he passed by, he was never emoted to come to a halt by anything he saw. This included things as salacious as a pair helplessly pumping away at one another, the hastily drawn shades not quite fully drawn. Old hat in this end of town…

But today, today he found himself immediately mesmerized by a Hellenic silhouette framed in the distant yellow-gold glow of the bathroom light. For a moment, he’d seriously considered that he was peering in on some newly installed mid-city shrine for an Amazonian divinity. He came to his senses when the icon traipsed into the golden light of the rest of the apartment. Mortality notwithstanding, she was truly divine.

Perfectly proportioned, amber-hued, and dark-haired–he swore that he had never seen such an elegant creature in all his life. He was overwhelmed with the happy thought that he had so luckily skipped busing it home and passed by this particular building on this particular day at this particular time. What divine providence!

He wanted nothing more than to look at her the whole night long, wanted to look into her assuredly magnetic eyes–were they deep brown mountain ridges, green Scottish moors, slate grey slabs of stone, or hazel discs of myriad earthly tones? What kind of woman was he falling in love with here? He had to know, had to see those eyes!

He approached the windowsill without hesitation and lightly but purposefully tapped the pane of glass. As he withdrew his hand she quickly turned her toweled head over her shoulder and looked at the window. He worried for a moment that she would scream, but some part of him knew that would not be her style, not this one. Book flinging perhaps, but not a scream.

Unabashed by her nakedness, she let the towel fall from her dark brown hair and fell back on both elbows, one perfect B-cup breast following the other and then resting levelly on her chest. She gazed unflinchingly at the window. She must have known he was there–had to know! And her knowing made her all the more brazen a beauty to behold. Through the pale chiffon curtain he could see her eyes were just as he’d imagined: sensual, glinting, black almonds, peering from dark depths into the darker depths outside. He held them for just a moment and before her eyes would adjust, he was off again into the night.

His black goddess, his Kali-Ma…

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