The Voyeur

She sat on the wooded side of the bubbling stream in a bed of pine needles, leaning up against a tall pine and rolling a needle in between her fingers.

Alone in her thoughts, she felt the soft breeze as it reached her from the meadow across the stream. She enjoyed seeing the grasses painted by the invisible brush of the breeze.

Her attention was suddenly drawn to movement at the top of the hill, next to the unclouded sky: first, graceful movements, and then, to her great pleasure, she realized it was a woman, alone in thought, dragging her wide-brimmed hat through the grasses as she walked leisurely down the hill to the huge, old oak with the swing.

She didn't see the woman sitting by the pine tree, sitting taller now and frozen as her eyes followed this unsuspecting woman slowly coming down the hill to what was, evidently, her special and secret retreat. Even though the stream was between them, and the tree a fair distance away, the voyeur held her breath, as if breathing would give her away. She sat still and watched as the woman approached the tree...touching it as she would touch a lover....intimately....knowingly....as if she and the tree shared many secrets.

Suddenly, the woman watching wanted to discover what those secrets were...who this woman was....what was on the other side of that hill...what made this haven hers....what was actually under that dress....what did she smell like...and continued - almost guiltily - watching as the woman with the flowing hair and thin dress sat on the porch swing which hung heavily from the massive oak, shading her pale skin from the summer sun.

As she sat on the swing, gently bringing motion to her perch, she sat up slightly and turned her head toward the stream, feeling something was amiss. The Voyeur held her breath, eyes locked in on this gift she watched intently, and breathed a sigh of relief to know she had not been discovered. The fair one shook her head, believing she was imagining something and sat back in her swing, kicking her sandals from her feet before tucking them beneath her, tossing her hat onto the ground.

As suddenly as she appeared at the top of the hill, she lay back and threw one leg over the back of the swing. The woman who watched her could not open her eyes wide enough in anticipation of what was about to be her most wonderful fantasy come true.

Slowly and deliberately, the woman on the swing reached for the hem of her skirt and began to pull the gossamer fabric across her legs...revealing pale calves....then, a bent knee...and the raised thigh was exposed, with the skirt falling onto her stomach.

She drug her nails across her legs as if she were making love to herself...and the woman who watched from across the stream then realized that this was exactly what was about to take place....and was thankful to the gods for her good fortune! Her breathing became ragged as she watched the young woman's left hand reach back behind her head and grab the rope above the arm of the swing. Her right hand slid down her thigh and moved slowly to the delicate hair between her legs.

The Voyeur stood now, holding on to the pine tree, as if for balance. She knew she was intruding on a very private moment, and yet she could not make herself look away, so intense was her own desire for this unknown woman. She wanted to run to her and take her, yet she couldn't seem to make her legs move....she wanted to take her in her arms and smother her pale skin with kisses, yet her hand seemed to be implanted in the tall, old pine tree.

She saw the woman reach with her left hand to join the right one and watched with an aching between her own legs as the woman explored her wetness...opening her lips...satisfying her need....and still unaware that she was being watched. She stared ~ openly now and moving forward slightly ~ as the woman began moving delicately beneath her own touch, her chest rising more rapidly with growing excitement.

Gasping audibly, The Voyeur swallowed hard, as the woman on the swing arched her back, quickly moved one hand beneath her blouse and squeezed hard, swollen nipples. She heard ~ above the murmur of the stream, falling innocently along the stones ~ the woman's moans of self-pleasure, saw her writhing as her hand quickened it pace in the warm, moist and most secret place.

And then, from a place deep within her pale body, came a moan so deep, yet ethereal, it belied her innocence. It came forth in a scream of passion as her back arched to meet her insistent fingers. She came hard, her orgasm wracking her body and it appeared that she might have even stopped breathing...just as her audience had. Her gasps turned to moans.....her moans to whimpers and the writhing of her body slowed to a more natural rhythm, her hands lying across her hair and breast.

The woman who watched discovered her own hand at her throat, which was parched from her own gasping, felt the warm wetness between her own legs, and, coming back to her own reality of what she had just witnessed, found herself to be standing in the middle of the bubbling brook....she looked up in time to see the woman in white rising from the swing, gathering up her things, leaning against the tree ~ as if to give her loving goodbyes ~ and made her way slowly up the hill to her unseen destination.

The Voyeur could not take her eyes from the departing figure of grace. And, in astonishment, froze, as the woman - at the top of the hill now - stopped and slowly turned to glance toward the stream. She purposefully met the eyes of her audience and then, with a smile as soft as the breeze they had both experienced, she raised her graceful hand in good-bye and disappeared over the hill which met the perfect sky.

©Kennedy Flynn