A feminine outline sways cutting through the crowd like a serpent through water. Her movements — bounded only by the laws of physics and that of mankind — are as a ship's prow slicing through a calm sea at night, casting a wake amidst a carpet of tiny creatures, a green glow against the darkness. A darkness left in its void.
Dull eyes follow her movements as she sails upon the concrete ocean. Eyes filled with envy, eyes filled with longing and eyes struck dumb with awe. She is a woman that defines the sex.
Chin held high, her stare is focused on some distant point while she splits the humanity that shares this sidewalk. Her sidewalk. The daring lean towards her, that they might brush against her body, but she artfully dodges their attempts without interrupting her scripted movements, leaving only a faint scent lingering in her path. A scent of fresh scrubbed female flesh and sexual intensity. An intensity that reflects in her eyes: vivid green eyes that fairly crackle with electricity. To hold her gaze for more than a moment is painful for some but a window to her soul for those strong enough.
A mystical assignation is her only interest. A man is all she thinks about in her stride. A man she had hoped to call her own, but who calls himself, no woman's. A man of such perfection she must possess some portion of him. A man equal to her.
An enigmatic smile is the only outward clue to her carnal pleasure. She already feels him inside her, she is already enjoying his favors. A small device well-placed against the entrance to her body rubs the center of her sex with every step. And every step brings her closer to fulfillment, the closeness of this crowd intensifies that feeling. Her long strides with the carefree swing of her hips and arms casts a blur of sensual movement through the motions of others who bob like corks in a clumsy current.
Arriving at her destination she turns to climb the well-worn stairway and the sidewalk breathes a collective sigh of relief.
