It wasn't that Miriam had actually "decided" to remove her panties in the stifling heat—it was more of a natural and consequential thing to do, like a serpent shedding its outer layers, exposing the vibrant ones beneath. Her butter-brown skin looked exceedingly Amazonian. Her thighs showed the tone of a tri-athlete. And the curvature of her back defined itself grandly as it worked its way down to the incredible cleft of her perfectly molded ass, which had been pinched and squeezed and lusted after many times, sometimes not always welcomed.
In the sun atop her apartment complex, she dropped the satiny thong merely by standing up and rubbing her legs together and gyrating her hips. This was a trick she had used playfully many times in the bedroom, and it drove men mad.
And in fact, this time it did as well. Because a man with a telescopic lens was waiting and watching. Ever since his brief encounter at the drug store (she was buying condoms; he tailed her home) he had neglected just about everything in order to focus on the most sensual woman he had ever seen. Within two weeks, he had completely abandoned his actuarial responsibilities, his plants had died, and he barely ate meals anymore. Friends and co-workers were concerned, because he had built his reputation as something of a rock-steady corporate exec by day and a playboy by night. He was the kind of guy most girls felt moist about—a successful businessman who filled out his trousers and made the act of smiling look like an art form. He could converse about the movies of Woody Allen and the philosophy of Siddartha, all the while undressing the conversant with his eyes. And when the girls didn't have a clue about what he was talking about, he'd chat flippantly about American Idol, or whatever happened to be on television. He'd gone through a streak of something like twenty different women on consecutive days, each one a treat for any man.
And he loved long and he loved hard. His maleness would always arouse shock and awe as it invaded foreign soil, as he like liked to think of it. And the passionate breathless screams emanating from his bedroom made neighbors wonder why their own lives were so mundane. And, as if that were not enough, he was somewhat experienced in the art of tantric. Most girls needed about a gallon of water before he escorted them politely into a taxi and off into the night.
Miriam sunbathed. The man ejaculated. He couldn't help it. She was doing to him what he had done to the girls he wooed. And she didn't even seem to notice the sexual potency that surrounded her. She read her book, applied the tanning oil (as if she needed it), and completely ignored the fact that her building was by far not the tallest around.
"Oh GOD!" the man sighed as he climaxed, suddenly aware of his surroundings. The powerful explosion rocked him back to focus, and he wished to immediately climax again. In his apartment, in fact a bachelor pad to be proud of and flanked by custom-leather furniture, he paced relentlessly, naked, still horny, and confused. He simply had to meet her. He just had to. Otherwise, it was possible he might actually burst his flesh wide open from all the pent-up sexual aggression he now felt.
A woman came out to Miriam's lounger. She was a cute little thing, nubile with perky little breasts that suggested a seductive innocence, but bearing the body of complete female as well. "What's this?" the man asked to the open air. He nearly impaled his right eye on the viewfinder.
Through the lens he saw the Amazon stand up again, her elongated naked figure towering over her companion. The little woman approached the sun-drenched lioness in a way that appeared to suggest a long-lost mate. Because in a few seconds, the little girl's hands had stretched firmly for sloping buttocks of the Amazon and allowed the woman to bend toward her delicately-positioned lips.
"WOAH!" the man exhaled. His body shook with tension at the sight. What incredible luck! How he wished he might be involved in this tryst! The phone rang but he didn't hear it.
The Amazon now had decided to control things, because she gripped the girl's baby-blonde pig-tails in each hand and steered her body lower and lower until her head was level with her hands, which had playfully prodded her companion's bronzed posterior until she got so hot she almost hyperventilated. Now she put her mouth to more use, on her knees in the August afternoon. The Amazon arched her head slightly, still gripping the pig-tails. She widened her stance to allow an anxious tongue to sample the delectables. Suddenly, the sweet-spot was discovered, and she convulsed, wriggling and writhing, pulsing her box towards the mouth that gave her so much pleasure.
Again, and again, and again, she thrusted, each time rolling her eyes to the back of her head. The pulsing became more powerful, and the girl at her knees rocked in rhythm to better accommodate her. They became a dancing act, building towards an awesome finish. One girl straddling the other, completely subsumed in an ecstasy like nothing of this world...it was beautiful and tortuous, and it seemed like the feeling would last forever.
Unfortunately, the man finished well before them. He lay on the cold floor, trying to recover, and although he was not now watching the couple engage in their sexual artistry, he heard one long, piercing scream that could mean only one thing—an orgasm on the level with sheer Enlightenment.
When he approached the telescope again, they were gone. He was, in a word, lovesick.
* **
"It's always about a woman," his executive assistant gossiped to the receptionist. "Whenever an unattached man loses his appetite and his mind, you know where his heart is."
"Janice, can you get me the Peterson file?" Dorian said as he walked past her into the hallway. "Just leave it on my desk. I'll be back later."
"Where are you going?" Janice asked. "It's only 9:30."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He was the boss. And the boss wanted it to appear like he was working, so he had strewn things around on his desk, papers and files, and so forth. But the ruse was fooling no one.
"I used to like the old Dorian," Janice whispered to the receptionist. "He used to look me in the eye. Now all he does is shuffle along."
"How long has this been going on?"
"A month."
Dorian appeared again. "Forgot my jacket," he said and was gone.
* **
In the safe enclave of his apartment, Dorian checked his watch. The woman's schedule, he'd figured out, was difficult to ascertain. Her lights switched on at odd and unpredictable hours. She rooftop bathed, it seemed, when she knew no one else would be around. He was sure she didn't hold a nine-to-five job, or perhaps she worked from home. Did she work at all? Did sensual temptresses even have jobs? Work was what ordinary people involved themselves with, and she was of a higher station in life, or so he believed. He had staked out her entryway from a coffee-shop on the corner, spending long hours sipping coffee near the window and playing Solitaire on his computer. She always came and left alone. The myriad men and women who entered the complex were always lovers he suspected and envied, and he imagined each one lying next to her in a state of bliss. He hated them all.
No luck tonight. She wasn't at home. Only a black slinky dress hung over a chair by her window.
* **
Janice came by Dorian's apartment. Clients were furious. He had not returned their calls, and for someone who had made a career out of financial planning and risk-assessment, he had completely abandoned his agenda. "Vacation" was the word he used when he passed his work off to a colleague. The colleague was only too happy for the unexpected surge in business.
Janice rang the buzzer, and he came down to meet her. She gasped at his unshaven face and his emaciated figure. He looked sad.
"Dorian, I think an explanation is in order," Janice demanded.
"Yes, you're right," he admitted. "But I can't really explain it myself."
Janice invited herself up to his place, despite his reservations. They chatted politely about work-related matters and other things that required his attention. As they sat there in the darkened living room, he kept looking over toward the window.
