Pearls of Desire

Spring. The cherry trees are in full blossom, petals of pink and white fluttering through the air, just as my heart flutters in my chest. We've met a thousand times, but not once in person, not once in flesh and blood. Now here I am, walking the downtown streets, hoping I might catch a glimpse of you. I haven't told you I'm here yet. I want to surprise you. Tonight when you sit down at your computer to tell me about your dreams, I will tell you about mine. I will tell you of how I wait for you in a hotel room just blocks from where you live. I will tell you to come to me, to join me, to spend the evening with me. Or perhaps I will tease you, elude you, make you guess and wonder at if I'm really here or not. Perhaps I will give you one night to prepare for me, one night to lie in wait with the knowledge that I'm close enough to touch, to taste. One whole day to anticipate the night of your dreams.

This all sounded like a good idea, until it became clear that I would suffer equally as much, sitting in my hotel room, watching your words flash across my screen, growing hotter and wetter by the moment, knowing that you were close enough to touch, to taste; the anticipation growing within me faster than the speed of our internet connection. One more night. One more night of torture by text messaging before I could have your body next to mine for real.

We talk into the night, planning, dreaming, hoping; wondering if we will feel the same connection in person that we've shared online for the last several months. You are sure that we will. I am less certain. Yet I can't deny the all consuming desire your words incite in me. I feel my limbs tingle just thinking about the things you've described to me in exquisite, inviting detail. And thinking about that first time we came, together, online, has my body humming with awareness at the memories.

I spend my day shopping, a laundry list of items to buy in hopes of pleasing you. You told me what you'd like, you told me what would turn you on. And so here I am, gathering my arsenal of womanly wares, setting out to turn one night of passion into a night of carnal bliss to last us a lifetime.

Back in my hotel room, I prepare for you meticulously: shower, shave, trim. I stand naked before the full length mirror, my long hair curling around my face, across my shoulders, over my front, down my back. Languidly, I trace a finger from the hollow of my throat down my chest, between my full, round breasts, nipples puckering in response to my thorough self appraisal. Inhaling deeply, I let my finger continue its path over my flat, tight belly, acquired by weeks of shaping exercises. I draw my finger lower still, over the indent of my belly button, over the smooth skin below it, finally coming to rest on my pubic bone. Momentarily, I study the trimmed patch of dark hair that guards my secrets. My eyes travel lower, accessing my long, toned legs. Turning to the side, I study my firm, but ample behind. My sun-kissed skin glows bronze in the muted overhead light. I lower my eyelids and try to see myself through your eyes. A shiver of anticipation chases up and down my spine.

I reach for the lilac scented body spray and mist it into the air. I walk through the perfumed cloud, shivering as the cold droplets bead against my heated skin. I close my eyes, inhaling the unmistakable scent, visions of spring and new life dancing in my mind. I hope that the scent of lilacs in the air will always remind you of me, of us, of the night to come.

I look at the clock and my heart races. Thirty minutes. I have thirty minutes to become the woman of your dreams. I slip into the bra and panties set I've bought for you: a slippery black satin confection. The panties are barely there, covering the essentials, yet hiding just enough to add allure and intrigue. I imagine you grasping the thin satin-covered elastic side strap with your teeth and breaking it, you being too hot and hurried to take the time to remove them properly. That image still fresh in my mind, I slip my arms into the bra, feeling the caress of satin against my bare flesh. The bra manages to contain my breasts just barely.

Leaning over, I reach for the dusty rose-colored angora sweater that I've laid out on the bed. It is soft, so soft, and I chose it because it exactly matches the color of my nipples. It slips on like water, flowing over my curves, defining them, clinging in all the right places. The V-neck front dips low, revealing the soft upper curve of my breasts. I wonder if you will deign to run your tongue along the cleavage I've put on display for you, or if you will only think of doing it, not daring to take the chance. The black skirt I've chosen to complement the outfit is snug around my waist and hips, flaring out playfully into a miniskirt below. It barely covers my behind when I'm standing upright, and doesn't have a chance when I'm sitting down. I imagine Marilyn Monroe and see the picture of her dressed in white, standing over the grates, holding down her skirt being blown upward from underneath. She wore something akin to this, but longer. I twirl in a circle, watching the skirt flare out, my panties playing peek-a-boo with the casual observer.

One last finishing touch, the crowning element of my ensemble. Sitting on the bed, I remove the brown paper lid of a rectangular box and unravel a mass of fragrant white tissue paper to reveal strappy, black stiletto sandals. I slide them lovingly onto my feet, criss-crossing the thin black straps around my ankles. They make me feel feminine, delicate. They make me feel sexy. I stand and admire how they emphasize my long, long legs.

My golden brown hair lays in waves around me and I decide to pile it in a curly mass atop my head, held in place by only a string of pearls. Stray tendrils remain to frame my face. One small tug, and the whole mass of curls will tumble down around us both. That inviting image leaves me feeling warm inside, anticipating a time when I can do just that, leaving our naked bodies bathed in my soft curls. And the thought of what you might do with those pearls, the sensual adventures that await me, makes me shiver in response.

I apply my make-up carefully, enhancing my features, not hiding them. Brown eyeliner on my lower lids to emphasize my caramel colored eyes, a tawny brown eyeshadow on my upper lids, edged and heightened with a dusty rose matching my sweater, my nipples. A slight blush on my cheeks. A deeper rose lining and coloring my lips, teasing you with the palette of colors that awaits you below; the color of my nether lips.

Small, teardrop diamond earrings set in gold and a matching necklace are the last to be added. The pendant of the necklace dips invitingly between my breasts; the better to draw your eyes there I muse. I hold my breath and take one last look in the mirror. It is silly to be so nervous about how I look now, when I already know you think I'm pretty. But it's our first real life meeting and I want to look my very best for you. I want to look hot for you. I want to be desirable to you. I want to be the fantasy woman you've seen in your mind's eye for so long.

Just then, there is a knock at my door and I think my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I consider laying lavishly on the bed, waiting and willing, calling for you to enter, but I decide against it. Nervously, I twirl a stray curl in the fingers of one hand while reaching for the door with the other, wondering what you will look like in person. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and turn the knob.