From the moment I was first introduced to Maggie I thought she was hot. She was sexy, funny, and intelligent and had fantastic huge breasts. Infact, her breasts were so big they looked out of proportion with the rest of her tall thin body; but they were still fantastic looking huge breasts.
Maggie was opinionated, clever and very loud. She talked fast and knew a lot of information about a lot of different things. She had an opinion about everything, and she stated them all confidently. And although some people were visibly put off by her cleverness, it didn't worry me, because I was immediately smitten with her, and I thought every word that poured from her sweet sensual lips was simply compelling.
Equally funny and intelligent people always tend to win my attention over others in a group. I am first drawn by their sense of humour, their wit and their ability to make me laugh. Having done that, I am then captivated by a frankness and genuine honesty, their vitality, and joy for life.
It isn't long before I become fascinated, hanging onto their every word, forgetting all others in the room: and finally I become transfixed, caught in a spell, something heavy and yet solid; opaque; it's a feeling, and it washes over me and for a fraction of a tiny bit of a second, I think on them differently. This will never cease.
Everything they say is fresh and new and relevant to my life, and everything they do and are, are things I wholly aspire to do and be. To say I am easily influenced, would not be an understatement by any mean, to also say that I am a chemelon of sorts, changing my skin to fit in with that of those I am closest to at any given moment in time. Some might suggest I become 'obsessed' with my objects of affection (or should that be affliction?). If this is the case, then my obsession is a healthy one, not one resulting in undesirable behaviour - like, say, .........stalking.
On the contrary, my obsession gives birth to a whole gamut of emotions and thoughts, the want and the need to be with this exciting, fresh and new personality; to see what makes them who they are, what they do in their lives to make them how they are, to dig into the crux of their lives and become one with them. I want to know how they became this clever, funny, highly articulated being. I want to find that essence that makes them who they are, the magic ingredients they mix to make their lives as passionate and as sexy and as captivating as they appear to be.
I want to be with them, listen to them talk, watch the way they behave in public, observe them professionally, have coffee with them, get involved in deep and meaningful conversations with them and become their new best friend.
Of course, the idealistic side of me always wants eventually to become lovers with them, because after all, it is their charm and charisma, their essential self that I find incredibly sexy and completely irresistible. To be able to get into this person on a far deeper and intimate level - to make love, to have sex - would be the ultimate.
Of course, I don't immediately jump to thoughts of sex. That takes time; admittedly not much though. First I want to feel and find and explore my way around their minds and brains, and then their souls, and once I have peeled off those outer layers, only then do I begin seeing them in a different light. Not only do they become naked and open to me, they become sexual, sensual, desirable in a manner that goes beyond my obsession for them mentally, and becomes a powerful all encompassing form of lust and passion.
And that is how it happened with Maggie. I met her through mutual friends at their BBQ one sunny summery Sunday afternoon. It had been a really warm day, and now, at dusk, a gentle breeze offered itself to us. Our host was taking good care of his guests, making sure our plates were filled with food, and our glasses always atop with drink; mine of choice, champagne. Maggie too I noticed, was drinking champagne, and lots of it.
I could hear Maggie's voice ringing out above all others that afternoon, actually, it was her laugh more than anything. She had a marvellous hearty laugh which was accompanied by either a simultaneous clapping of the hands, or her head being dramatically thrown backwards - when she was really excited, she would do a combination of all. Watching her laugh, always made me laugh - she had that infectious and contagious quality about her.
I was drawn to her that afternoon not only by her laugh, but that she was debating with others over an issue close to my heart - the environment. I had worked professionally in this field, and therefore new enough to be able to put my 'two cents' worth in. Together, Maggie and I took on our adversaries in a fierce competition of will, skill and knowledge, and at debates end, we were unanimously declared the winners - jubilation and adoration abounded for us. Maggie grabbed a full bottle of champagne, popped the cork, topped my glass and gave me a big congratulatory hug, "Come on girl, lets go outside and celebrate our victory!" she squealed.
And that was it. I was soon hooked. Maggie talked and talked and flattered me with my superior knowledge and fact giving through our previous debate, that she made me blush on several occasions. She also bought this to everyone else's attention, which was a little embarrassing, but I liked that she liked it.
Together we drank the entire bottle of champagne, after which we both spent a few hours dancing it up on our hosts ready made dance floor. I was pretty wasted that night, but I remember stealing a moment and sitting by myself on a chair, watching Maggie dancing. Her body moved in perfect time to the music, her slender waist rocking back and forth, her arms awash in the little laser show projected onto the wall in front of her. Often her eyes were closed and she moved like she was alone, her hands brushing down the front of her dress, over her breasts, delicate, slow. But she wasn't alone, for I had already begun to press into her space, and as I watched her, I knew I was already falling for her. Our first night together, ironically was the weekend of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. Maggie had invited me over to her house to watch the live broadcast - the images of the glitzy, glamorous and gaudy rainbow coloured procession.
We sat in front of the television, drank cheap and nasty cask wine. We sat giggling, laughing at the gay boys in their tight little Speedos and quietly ogling the women with their variety of small pointy white; big hefty dangly; or perfectly silicone, but all naked titties on show for the entire nation to look at. Secretly I wished I was there, in the parade, in amongst the women, in amongst those titties. Instead, I was sitting with Maggie, quickly getting drunk and steadily feeling warm and tingly all over - I knew I was in exactly the right place.
I assumed Maggie was getting drunk quickly too, for she soon displayed a very relaxed side of herself that I hadn't seen before. She lounged comfortably back in her seat, her long skinny legs draped over the side in my direction, so that if she spread them even slightly I would get a little peep - she told me weeks later that she had sat that way intentionally, and that if things didn't happen, she would have indeed opened up her legs for me.
As she slumped comfortably back, she still managed to hold her wineglass with style. She could be loud, opinionated and some even suggested quite rude at times, but she was still always style and class. When she was drunk, when she was arguing a point, when she was a stranger in a room full of friends, even when she swore, she was classy.
Tonight, as we sat in the darkened room, lit only by two thin candles and the barrage of colours, glittering sequins and spasms of glitter spewing out from the TV screen, she looked casual, relaxed, comfortable.
