The town was remote, a few days overland from the nearest airport by winding dirt road. It had grown a lot since the '70s when the western travellers first started to come through, but it was still a small place, with just a few streets. Though tourism hadn't reached it on any scale and probably never would, the guide books described it favourably and it had become well known among backpackers.
He had worked with the visitors in various ways all his life. His generation had never known the time before them. He was sitting at his usual evening spot at the hostel, but tonight he was unusually distracted.
His gaze kept being drawn back to her as she chatted with her companions at the table on the other side of the hostel bar. She wore an ankle length skirt that swished as she moved, and a vest top that clung to her pert breasts. She clearly went without a bra, and her nipples were one thing that kept catching his attention. That, and the unselfconscious way she laughed. Her face seemed to light up, and the sound was a little deeper than he expected from her slim frame, slightly husky somehow. There was a confidence and freedom about her that fascinated him. Some of her movements seemed like a performance, as if she was trying to project a worldliness to compensate for her youth.
She had that hippy look which seemed popular among the backpacker girls who did the hostel circuit, but it suited her and she carried it off naturally. A mess of mousey dreadlocks hung to her shoulders, adorned with beads and threads and bits of silver jewellery. There was a stud in one side of her nose. Both ears sported multiple piercings. Her features were neat and expressive, her lips too full and her eyebrows too thick to call her elfin. As she gestured animatedly he glimpsed tufts of underarm hair, and her eyes sparkled as if with some secret knowledge. Damn, she was getting under his skin and he hadn't even talked to her.
She got up and headed towards the toilets, passing his place next to the bar. Their eyes met, and he felt a frisson of connection, the electric blue of her eyes striking in combination with her brown hair. He caught her smell in the warm night air: a hint of Patchouli, Nag Champa incense, cannabis. Then her natural body odour: the oils in her unwashed dreadlocks, the sweat from her armpits, and something more. Something unmistakable: a hint of the scent from her most intimate place. It spoke of womanhood and a ripe fecundity. And it hit him like a magic charm. Time seemed to slow as he turned to watch her.
Her movements were lithe and supple, hips swaying, small buttocks muscular under her skirt. His eyes were drawn to her dimples of Venus, exposed just above the low-slung skirt. As if feeling his gaze she looked back over her shoulder, eyes lidding slightly as they flicked down to take in his body, before rising to meet his. Her face broke into a coquettish grin, her chin angled down as if shy, then she spun away and on towards the toilets. She exuded both a playful innocence, and an awareness of her sexual allure. Her smell catalysed his arousal, his cock growing in insistent throbs with each beat of his heart. As he watched her walk away he felt a deep urge, different to anything he had felt before. A longing which combined primal sexuality with a yearning for spiritual union.
What was going on with him? He wondered. Usually the stream of young travellers who passed through the town held little interest for him these days. Although they had to be over eighteen to stay at the hostel, he often found their behaviour immature and predictable, and so tended to keep himself to himself. They seemed to have something to prove, indulging in a one-upmanship of travelling tales, and a pretence to wisdom and experience beyond their years which he found transparent and tiresome. Yet this girl had a different vibe, one which struck him when she had first arrived the day before. His awareness of her presence was acute, like he had an internal compass that tracked her direction.
He shook his head, and left the bar to walk around the block. Working security for the hostel, he made sure to keep a discreet but close eye on all the goings on in the nearby area. There were several other hostels in the town, but his had a good reputation, its presence in the guide books maintaining a steady flow of guests. Like most of the buildings it was a bit rough and ready, but it was pretty clean and he made sure it was a safe place. Doing so was generally an easy job. He maintained good relations with most of the other local businesses that served the tourists, paid the appropriate backhanders to the police and syndicate. His quiet physical presence seemed to defuse most situations before they became dangerous.
He got free board and lodging as part of the job; just a simple room, bare save for his makeshift altar and few belongings. He sometimes made a little extra money on his days off doing demonstrations of the traditional movements. They were a martial art disguised as a dance, or perhaps a dance disguised as a martial art. He would teach a few moves to travellers who showed an interest, and were willing to spend the time and money. He trained in the courtyard every day, even when there was no one to pay to watch, and meditated each morning as part of his spiritual practice. The same sense of sacred duty was the foundation of his approach to taking care of the hostel.
---
The next day was bright and sunny as usual. After his morning ritual he would generally take a seat at the end of the broad veranda that fronted two sides of the hostel and overlooked the main road. He had learned that by carefully observing the movements on the street he could gather a lot of information about what was going on, and what might occur later. Sometimes he got the feeling he knew of things before they happened. This intuition had allowed him to avert disaster more than once, and he was thankful for it.
The low tables and comfy cushions of the veranda usually had few occupants at this time of day, and he sensed her before he saw her. There at the corner table with a sketch pad, lost in concentration. Allowing his gaze to linger, he took in her beauty in the bright morning light. That mole on her top lip only enhanced her appeal. She tucked a loose lock behind her ear, the motion drawing his attention down the line of her neck, on to the curve of breasts and bare midriff. The movements of her pencil were flowing and her gaze shifted regularly between the paper and the street. Her face was alive with fleeting micro-expressions; frustration, joy, curiosity, sorrow, wonder. Her mouth moved; tongue between lips, biting bottom lip, parted with jaw loose, then pursed.
She was entirely unselfconscious, absorbed in the creative process. She stopped and took a deep breath, appraising the image before her. Laying down the pad and pencil, she closed her eyes and stretched, reaching high above her head. It was a natural gesture, but watching the graceful change of posture affected him deeply. Her back arched a little, lifting her breasts and jutting them forward. The crop top lifted, exposing her toned belly, elongating the shadow of her navel. The stripes of hair in each armpit were bared in all their straggly glory.
He found himself walking over without intending to at all. He stopped behind and looked over her shoulder. The drawing was of a street dog, the hardship of its life revealed its face. His breath caught at the pathos of the image. The pencil lines were economical, yet rich in expression. The overall effect was almost naive, yet fascinating and deeply revealing of the sentiments of the artist. He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, to reassure and comfort her after experiencing the emotions which she had laid bare in her work. He wanted to show her there was also goodness in the world. He realised with a start that he wanted to reflect her own beauty back to her by giving her the beauty of physical pleasure.
Fragmented images flickered through his head as he stood there, inhaling her fragrance. He saw her back arched in pleasure, felt her fingers wound in his hair as she clutched his head between her thighs. He saw the bounce of her breasts as she moved atop him, dreadlocks flailing. He felt the way her pelvis ground backwards as she bore down on him. He knew the clutching of her pussy as she found her release. He shook his head to return to the present and realised that he didn't know what he might do if he stayed this close to her for much longer. So he merely said
"Amazing work."
She turned in surprise at his presence and beamed up at him, blue eyes sparking with delight.
"Thanks!" she exclaimed, genuine gratitude in her husky voice, looking once more at her drawing, now through his eyes. She turned to him "Sef" she offered her hand.
He took it, suppressing a shiver at actually touching her. Her hand seemed tiny in his own.
