Ode to Springtime

The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Thank for reading and I hope you liked this tale. Please do leave a comment as I read all of them and take them all onboard.

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Ode to Springtime

It was the usual Tuesday afternoon lull at the thrift store where I volunteer. The lunchtime rush, if that was what you could call it, was over and it was not yet time for harried single moms to call in with their offspring after elementary school let out. So to keep myself busy I was dusting and refreshing our window display. I'd taken heavy, dark-colored clothes off of the mannequins and re-dressed them in greens and yellows more suitable for the season. Easter eggs and downy toy chickens decorated the store windows together with a couple of bunches of daffodils I'd picked up earlier. I was pleased with the result and stepped back to admire my handiwork.

It was the first real day of springtime. And it seemed to have been yet another long, cold winter. Whatever happened to global warming? It never seemed to have penetrated my corner of Ohio! But today, the sun shone out of a flawless blue sky. Fluffy white cumulus clouds floated past on the breeze and the temperature was actually warm. The air felt fresh and clean and people's spirits seemed to have lifted now that winter was in the rear view mirror. Even my grumpy old colleague, Margi, managed to raise a smile. And that is a rare occurrence I can tell you!

I folded my arms and looked out the window at the passers-by strolling along the sidewalk. And then I saw her. No, not grumpy Margi but a lovely young woman. She was walking along evidently enjoying the day as much as I. She was smiling and looked happy. The woman was mid to late twenties, certainly no teen but no older than thirty. And she was beautiful especially as she was dressed for the season. She wore a floral printed, dark green short-sleeved dress, calf-length. It really suited her hourglass figure. She was average height. Starting at the top she had dark brown hair, held back by a couple of clips, which fell down to her shoulders. A slightly old-fashioned style which reminded me of a 1940s poster but it went well with her dress.

Her face was pretty, quite pale after the winter's gloom and lack of light but red lipstick made a splash of color. Her eyebrows were arched, I remember. Looking down I took in her toned arms, bare to the breeze, also a milky white. I was so pleased that she hadn't disfigured her skin with tattoos but left herself unadorned although a gold watch strap sat delicately on her wrist. Looking over I glanced -- well more than glanced -- at her boobs. Her dress was quite low cut revealing much of the swell of her breasts. A white bra strap peeped out at her shoulder. Her breasts were full, nicely shaped bouncing delightfully as she walked. I'm no expert on breast size but I guessed probably a D or E cup or something. Real knockouts! Her deep cleavage was spectacular, especially as it was the first I'd seen for months after that cold, damp winter. Those joggling tits absolutely made her figure.

My eyes drifted down. A nicely cinched in waist gave her an hourglass figure and her childbearing hips swelled out so well. But what made her such a delight to watch was where her green dress ended and where her calves began. Like her arms her calves were toned, fine tuned as if they had been turned out by a master craftsman on a lathe. I guessed she cycled or walked a lot. Again, like her arms, they were pale white, after being starved of sunshine for so long, but so beautiful. Also, no tattoos marred their beauty. Nice ankles, maybe slightly thick, while her feet were in comfortable sandals with her red-painted toenails on show. I watched as her pale-skinned calves approached and the hem of her skirt swished to and fro. I noticed that her calves were smoothly shaved, bare to the milder air, and so worth watching as she walked past my store window. I wondered if that was all she'd shaved -- if she'd removed all her winter fuzz while she had the razor out.

As she walked past my window I imagined her in the shower earlier that morning. She would have dropped her bathrobe and stood there completely naked waiting for the water to heat up. Then she would have stepped into the shower itself. I fantasized about her luxuriating under the spray for a moment, allowing the hot water to cascade over her body, wetting her hair, the water cascading down her body, warming and wetting her winter-pale skin. She would have turned her face up towards the shower head, closing her eyes against the hot water and enjoying having a few minutes to herself.

She would have reached for the shampoo, I assumed a decent brand, and poured a dollop into her hand before lathering her hair, running her fingers through the strands. Then rinsing it out before repeating the process, the suds foaming up and covering her neck and shoulders as she washed her hair. Then placing her head back under the spray rinsing everything out a second time leaving her hair squeaky clean. She gives her head a quick shake. Taking her sponge, she pours shower-gel onto it, something fresh and flowery to match the season. She rubs the sponge over her chest paying particular attention to her breasts, lifting those firm orbs to wash the area beneath which had become hot and sweaty. She rubs the sponge over her nipples enjoying the tingling sensations as those delicate peaks stiffened and hardened under her attentions. She gasps as the rough texture of the sponge rubbed against her sensitive skin.

Reapplying shower-gel she washes her belly, rubbing around her belly button. Then she raises her left arm, water sluicing down her limb and down her side, and washes her armpit, frowning slightly at the stubble laying there. She switches the sponge and repeats the process with her right. Then more shower-gel and she stoops slightly and washes her thighs and calves smiling slightly as she sponges the tender skin behind her knees. Finally, she spreads her legs and now there is little gel left on her sponge she washes that special place between her legs, smiling as the sponge cleans her vulva until she feels fresh and cleansed down there. Her clit tingles and she is so tempted to touch that incredible bud but she resists temptation.

Feeling much cleaner she steps out of the direct spray, reaches for her can of shaving foam and lathers up her legs starting from her ankles to her knees. Then she takes her razor and slips off its cap. Resting one hand on against the tiled wall she runs her razor up her shins and calves, whisking away her winter stubble, careful not to nick her skin. Satisfied, she runs her hand over her newly smooth skin. Then she raises her arms and carefully shaves her underarms. That leaves only the most difficult area -- that between her legs. She realizes she's let her bush grow too long and now it is untidy and unkempt. But she grins to herself. With the warmer weather it is time to get herself ready for springtime. So she takes a firm grip and tidies up her outer labia being sure to check and get every hair on both sides before addressing the gentle curve of her pubic mound until she is smooth and hairless. She rinses off again and checks to make sure she hasn't missed any. Slipping her fingers inside her wet slit to stretch her skin, she gives her privates a final trim. Satisfied, she smiles to herself.

Stepping out of the shower she towels herself dry before wrapping it around her body. She switches on the air vent before heading over to her bedroom. There she drops the towel and glances at her body in the mirror, a little grimace crosses her face as she looks at the tiny imperfections that she believes to be major flaws although to me her body is perfection itself. She walks to her wardrobe and takes a white bra from a drawer. She slips it on and adjusts it to get it comfortable. She takes out a fresh pair of white panties but shrugs and throws them back onto the bed. In view of the pleasant weather, she will go bare down there today and let the warm air caress her sex. A spritz of perfume seals the deal before she pulls on her green floral dress that she hasn't worn for months now. She pushes her feet into sandals, picks up her purse from the chair by her bed, pulls out her keys and sets out to do some shopping.

All this was in my imagination, of course. I have no idea whether she had a shower today as apparently a quarter of people don't shower every day. I don't know whether or not she was wearing panties or not. But pondering those things passed a very pleasant minute as she walked past our store window. I followed her until she passed from view and entered the coffee-joint next door. Then I picked up some stock and carried on decorating the window. But the thought of her stuck in my mind for the rest of the day. Just a pleasant little interlude. I'll never meet her, never know her name, never get to know her personality and the little quirks that make her tick. But that's okay -- sometimes imagination is better than reality.

Authors Note:

This happened. I watched a lovely woman walk past and admired her legs.