I knew you were watching me. At first, I would see you as you passed by the window, appearing to be intent on your job of cutting and trimming the grass and keeping the grounds of my 100 acre estate looking pristine. You never stepped out of bounds, especially when my husband was home. But I could tell that you liked looking at me. Several times, when I was sitting by the pool, I noticed you walking through the arboretum to get to the orchard...which is the long way around. I would wave, you would smile that cute dimpled grin of yours and sheepishly walk away...the sweat glistening on your arms where you had rolled up your sleeves.
So it didn’t surpass me any when I noticed you working late, almost into the dusk, hauling loads of shrubbery clippings. Now, I’m the watcher, watching you bend in those tight jeans of yours and the sweat soaked tee shirt. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and sigh. I see a woman in her late twenties, wasting away in a lonely crystal palace. I toss a tendril of my shoulder length hair out of my face and I wonder if you liked short sassy blondes. My husband was away on business and I intended to find out.
I watch you pause from your work to openly stand and stare at me in my bedroom on the second floor. Slowly, I turn from the window, slip out of my clothes and wrap my yellow silk robe around me as I walk downstairs to the arboretum.
This room is one of my favorites for several reasons. First, it is filled with living breathing things, not statues or paintings, or seldom used china, but wild things, tamed by expert hands. I open the door and the steam of the greenhouse greets my face. I often come down here to sit in the whirlpool at the far end of the room and to enjoy getting back to nature.
The sun was setting and cast its glow over the building, painting it in a wonderful palette of golds, reds and yellows. The reflective nature of the glass in the room causes miniature rainbows to reflect off and shine onto the tile floors. If you hold your hand just right, you can hold a tiny rainbow in your hand.
I loosen my robe, allowing the moisture laden air to caress my breasts, belly and legs. I move to turn some music on, to add to the mystery of the evening, dragging an idle finger in the bubbling water of the whirlpool, then stand where one of the reflections can shine on my body. Instantly a rainbow wash of color appears on my naked torso, a muted canvas for the light.
I look toward the horizon to see how much light would be left to produce my tiny prisms and there you are. Leaning on the end of your rake, your work gloves still on, you stare intently. I meet your gaze as I move my hands to push the robe off my shoulders. As it falls to the ground I step clear of it and pose on the edge of the whirlpool, still holding your attention, and slowly begin to pour lightly scented oil into my hands. Wrenching my attention from your gorgeous green eyes, I apply the oil first to my slender arms, delighting in the feel of the slippery oil on my skin. I take the bottle and drizzle it across both breasts allowing it to run in rivulets down each breast and to drip sensually onto my stomach.
With determined strokes I work the oil into my breasts, massaging them, pulling at the nipples until they stand erect and lonely, searching for a lover. My hands slide down my torso and pause, hovering over my sex. I look to see if you are still there. You are.
Slowly, I spread my legs and reveal the pink flesh of my sex to you. I lean back and began stroking myself as I watch the shovel fall from your hands and your gloves come off as you make your way to the far door of the room.
