He felt the lights in the window calling to him. He moved closer, letting his weight slowly down on the thick underbrush, trying to avoid the inevitable snap and crack. Crouching in the brushes nearest the dark side of the cabin, he looked across the ten feet of clearing before the cabin. He felt the warmth pulling to him, an oasis in the desert of the night.
He knew who lived here, he had seen her before. At the market was the first time, getting into the car. He noticed the license plate and made a mental note to look for it on the highway. He had. In a small town like this it was easy to spot anyone or anything. It had taken a week, but he knew where she lived. In the evening he had gone out of his way to drive by the cabin, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. All he ever saw were the lights from the windows. And now here he was. He knew she was inside the house. Inside his head.
The half moon night helped. He could make out the lace curtains in the windows. He heard the beat of the music playing inside. Somehow it seemed to match the beating in his chest. He could make out her movements as she went from room to room. If he was closer, he could peer through the windows. The light was pulling to him, the darkness holding him back. He knew that if he crossed the final clearing there would be no turning back. The conflict tore at him, but to stop now was to let a part of him die. He had come so far already.
He might have stayed all night, but a new light came on and a window opened slowly. The drums came to him louder now. The powerful sound of water running into a bathtub began. He felt a familiar stirring in his pants. He counted to a hundred before making his move. He could hear a cabinet being opened and jars clanking as he moved to the side of the house. Back against the wall, chest beating twice as fast as the drums. He could feel his heart in his throat. His erection was gone, but he knew it would return.
Glancing around the area, he saw her silhouette against the trees. He imagined her unbuttoning the silk blouse and dropping it to the floor, then peeling off some sort of panties, preparing to step into the tub. One leg gingerly touches the toes to the water, frozen in that one moment in time, looking like a classical goddess.
He turned, facing the wall. He tilted to shoot a glance into the first window. The living room was empty, awaiting the mistresses return. The rug in the room caught his attention, a large white bearskin rug. He looked into the dead eyes of the bear that was forever screaming in silence. He wondered if she ever rolled naked on it, perhaps she had made love on it. His hard on had returned.
He made his way to the next window and peered inside. Her bedroom. He became aware of the drums again. He could see the dresser with its top drawer open. Pictures on the mirror. The bed next caught his notice. It stood almost three feet off the floor, covered with a plump down spread. It looked more like an altar than a place to sleep. He could almost see her climbing into it. He resisted the urge to touch himself, waiting instead for the next window.
