I had started to settle into a routine (Virgos do that), so it came as a bit of a shock when things were suddenly different. I slipped between the fence and garage at about the same time as usual, but tonight, Sharon wasn't settling into her evening routine. Instead, she was a bustle of activity. From out here, I couldn't really tell what she was doing, but she was doing it with great focus. Maybe she was finally going to have someone over, finally solve for me the mystery of her apparent unattachment. Whatever it was, I didn't need to stand here in the courtyard watching, so I made my way around to the back of the house.
But, wait. This was wrong too. The section of tree stump I'd been using as a footstool wasn't on the porch, it was by the bathroom window. My mind went into a whirl. Surely I had put it back, hadn't I? True, I was not in a particularly collected frame of mind when I left, but I wouldn't have forgotten that, would I?
What did it mean? Maybe she had another `admirer', one who was not as careful as I was to avoid tipping her off. Unlikely. She was going to bed when I left last night, so what could have prompted moving the stump. I just couldn't make it fit. After pondering it for a while longer, I decided that I must have forgotten in my post-orgasmic state, resolving to be more careful. Still, it nagged at me.
The bedroom blinds were wide open, the light shining out under the lilacs, so I couldn't sit there. I could come back later, but I didn't want to miss anything. Finally I just went back to the back of the yard and sat with my back against the fence. It was nearly 10, and I couldn't imagine anyone dropping by much later than that, so I figured I wouldn't have long to wait.
At about 10:15, the bathroom light went on. I had apparently missed the evening massage. Oh well, c'est la vie. I climbed quietly up on the stump. She wasn't there. I heard the window open in the bedroom, saw the shaft of light diminish as the blinds came down, noticed the remaining beam: about a foot high opening at the bottom of the window I guessed. I was thinking of going over to sit under the lilacs when she walked back into the bathroom.
She was nude, of course, carrying a box, which she set by the tub, and a black satin negligee on a hanger, which she hung on the door. So she WAS entertaining. I wasn't quite sure how this made me feel, but ultimately decided that, with the blinds still up a foot, I would probably get to watch. Somehow I was certain that she would want the lights on while she made love. She left the room, and came back in with a champagne bucket and two glasses. She must be planning to be `surprised' in the bath. She filled both, taking a sip out of one, then set them by the tub and slipped into the bath.
At least some things didn't change. She settled back in the tub, smoothing the water down her breasts, long, lingering strokes, then down her stomach and across her mound, stopping there to appraise her shave, or maybe just for fun. As she drew a finger slowly up over her clitoris, her legs spread to allow better access, one knee resting against each side of the tub. She toyed with herself, teasing but not settling into a rhythm. Her touches were slow, tantalizing, broken by sips of champagne. "Doesn't want to wear herself out for her lover" I thought, probably showing my ignorance of feminine eroticism.
She must have spent 20 minutes in the tub, arousing herself, and me, but both of us to a lower pitch than usual. Finally she pulled the plug and stepped out. It appeared that her "surprised in the tub" scenario didn't work out. She didn't seem perturbed, just picked up the other glass of champagne and drained it. I, on the other hand, was steamed. What fool would be late for this date? Unbelievable. But my disbelief couldn't last long. I was too enchanted by the sight of her sitting on the edge of the tub dressing for her lover.
It was exquisite, like a striptease in reverse, but the clothes going on just made her more seductive. First came crotchless panties, the wisps of black lace around the opening emphasizing the smooth skin of her pussy, her lips parted with desire so her clit showed clearly. Then came a black garter belt, and a bare wisp of a bra, black as well; for effect, not because she needed it. A teddy was next, satin, slit to the navel and loosely laced, falling away at the breasts to show the lace of the bra.
She must have saved her favorite item of clothing for last, black silk stockings, with a barely discernable pattern. She rolled them on at a glacial pace, smoothing and caressing, holding her leg out for admiration when she reached the knee and again when she reached the top. Fastening the outside clips, she ran her finger gently around inside the top of the stocking to her inner thigh, then back to the front, to back to front. The finger couldn't resist a lazy wander over her clit as she went to fasten the last clip. She stroked her hands up and down the leg, obviously just enjoying the feeling, the lips of her pussy opening and closing as she bent her leg.
The other leg got the same treatment, but this time at the top she lingered longer on her pussy, dipped her finger inside, lifted it to her lips to taste, then reached out and picked up a champagne glass. Raising her leg onto the side of the tub, she brought the glass to her pussy, turning it and placing the rim between the lips, then rotated it to put a smooth ring of her sweet juices around the top of the glass. Then she placed it and the other glass on the tray with the bucket, filled both glasses, and rose to go into the other room.
I stepped down and crossed to the bedroom window just in time to see her set down the champagne on a small table in the middle of the room, then leave again, to put on high heels as it turned out. I moved over under the lilacs and stopped, cold. This was ALL wrong. There was a small stool there, a low table. There was no screen on the window, and a chair in the center of her room next to the table. And there was a note on the window.
