I can't take my eyes off of her...
She does nothing flashy, nor does she wear anything particularly enticing and she is nowhere near the youngest or "hottest" woman in the room. But she has a style and ease of movement that make your eyes follow her every gesture. I try not to stare, however I want desperately to catch her eye. Though I know, if those sparkling green orbs shine in my direction I will freeze in my chair. I'm not good at these encounters.
My name is Chris and hers I just learned, is Alexandra. We are both guests at a wedding reception for a couple that neither of us knows very well. I'm sitting at a table with employees or their spouses of the firm that the bride manages. The bride, a stuck-up bitch, is my boss and Alexandra is married to a senior member of my department. The plan around our table is that we peons stay until they cut the cake then we cut out to the hotel bar.
I came stag and the three other couples at the table are anxiously checking watches and plotting their escapes. The consensus is to return to our rooms, change clothes and meet at the bar in the lobby.
Alexandra's husband Tim must be ten years older than her which would make him about twenty-five years older than the rest of us. It's obvious from his demeanor and remarks that he does not want to be with us now and has no intention of joining us later.
His wife does her best to cover his rudeness and tries to meet and engage everyone in conversation. For myself, I'm just fascinated by her graceful, lady-like charms. Though it's my belief there is a hidden, devilish vixen inside of her. I watch her mouth as she listens to our work stories. Her smile is only half-hearted with the hint of laugh lines bracketing her full lips, and the gleam of straight, white teeth against her soft, warm tan. I am struggling to come up with something clever to say so that I can witness the full ninety-watt shine.
She is probably near forty years old, but her skin is firm and her cheeks are full. There are subtle creases at the rims of her almond eyes, and her mass of light-brown hair with golden highlights, is worn in a swirl atop her head. But now silky tendrils are beginning to loosen and lay gently on her slightly freckled shoulders.
She is sheathed in a forest-green dress that compliments her eyes, with sparkles on the bodice and a shimmering gold necklace that drops into her deep cleavage. The dress is not overly tight and is appropriately styled; it just seems to cling invitingly to her curves and tempts you to discover her secrets. She has an obvious elan that I'm guessing only serves to conceal a darkly-checkered past.
I was crestfallen when her husband took her hand and they made their excuses to leave. She mouthed some goodbyes and I watched as they disappeared through the crowded dance floor. Her shapely rear-end rolled seductively with each step in her four-inch pumps. I had the uneasy feeling that I would be thinking about Alexandra long after I crawled into the lonely double-bed tonight.
About two hours later I was still at the bar, the last of the people I knew had left. I was nursing a chilled whiskey and sipping an import, when I caught those green eyes in the mirror. "I was hoping someone I recognized would still be here, you're Chris right, I'm Alex." She extended a hand and I was captivated.
The thick mane of hair now cascaded down her back. At the reception it must have weighed a ton on her neck. She had touched-up her eyes and lips, and appeared ten years younger. She wore a loose white blouse and a lacy bra that strained to contain her bounty. Alexandra was not petite, maybe 5'9" and 150 pounds with rounded shoulders and thick waist. She was in faded jeans that clung to solid thighs and low-heeled sandals that revealed her pink polished nails.
I bought her a glass of Merlot and we moved to a table on the patio. When I mentioned her husband she shrugged her shoulders and said, "he finally passed-out, so I got dressed and came down. All he does is bitch and complain, let's talk about something else." I was living a dream. Our mundane conversation drifted from work to weddings, weather to wine. I was mostly smiling and nodding. In my mind I was reconstructing her past and imagining our future.
In my visions Alex was the woman who sat in the ladies circle, and slyly confessed to having been a stripper and had had multiple affairs with married men and sexy women. I could picture her at her sultry best. As I imagined it, Alex didn't openly flirt, that was much too vulgar, but her hand would linger an extra moment on your thigh while she told a story. When drinking a cocktail she would stir the concoction with her fingers then slowly lick the wet digits and slide them hypnotically into her mouth.
She had a deep whiskey-voice and a husky laugh that rose up suddenly and easily. She had a habit of raking her long fingers through her silky locks and arching her back to stretch. This raised her heavenly breasts to the limits of her flimsy shirt. The spaghetti straps barely hung on. The smoky voice and secretive tone lulled me into an erotic trance. I stared into those green pools of enchantment, the yellow highlights flashing in the candle light. Her mouth purred to me. I watched as her pink tongue delicately moistened her glossed lips as she spoke, and the expressive gestures of her long, thin fingers traced arcs in the air and then swept through her chestnut locks. Whatever she was saying, I heard something different. I knew in my mind, this seductress was coming-on to me.
My brain was drifting into an x-rated landscape of hedonism. I could certainly picture myself making Alex my sex slave. This scenario had appeared to me many times. A beautiful, desirable older woman in a loveless, sexless marriage, was dropping hints that she wanted to take me for her lover. In my fantasy she was falling under my spell. So desperate for just one night of passion, that she was ready to follow me anywhere and give-in to her reckless desires.
