An odd one this time. I'm not sure where the idea came from, but ... here it is. Also, I wasn't too sure about the category, but this seems to fit best. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
The woman he follows is an enigma; he thinks he knows her from somewhere, and indeed he does, she's his ideal woman. But she isn't all that she seems.
Feedback is appreciated; either below in the public comments section, PM on Lit, or email. If you want a response from me, email is best.
As usual, please forgive any gaping errors - which are likely.
GA - Antigua, Guatemala. 10th May 2012.
*
Hunched over like a question mark, the can of Heinz tomato soup halfway to the shopping basket at my feet, I gawped open-mouthed as she breezed past on a waft of perfume. Uncurling from the awkward, undignified attitude, I watched her walk along the aisle, saw the yellow dress flicking briskly at the hem, saw her turn left, and she was gone.
Overwhelming
déjà vu
pinned my boots to the floor. She looked familiar, so familiar that for the life of me, ironic because it would come to mean my life, I couldn't place where I'd seen her before. A vague recollection came to mind, an impression of my laptop computer that couldn't quite coalesce into memory proper. One certainty however, right there in the supermarket aisle, as solid as the rich, red labelled can of soup in my hand, was the attraction. From the first instant the lure of her clenched in my vitals, somewhere indefinable, way down low, deeper than my guts -- an instinctive desire, a primordial need.
I abandoned the lonely tin of soup, left it in the shopping basket on Tesco's floor and, cursing at the crowded aisles choked with people, searched for the woman. Moving along the broad concourse at the rear of the shop I scanned each aisle for a flash of canary yellow.
She couldn't have gone far; I'd only been ten seconds behind her. I went from one end of the shop to the other, glancing down each avenue, yet there was no sign of her. After a similar reconnaissance of the check-out desks I left the store. Following a moment's deliberation I decided to wait on the seats next to Gap in the hope that she would cross my path again.
As I waited, feeling like an idiot for doing so, wondering if people walking past could sense my lewd intentions, I pondered at just what the hell I was doing.
'Stalking a woman in Tesco is getting a bit desperate,' I muttered to myself, shaking my head and examining the toes of my boots. 'How sad can I get?'
At the very moment I decided to give up and retrieve the shopping basket from the supermarket floor a twinge of recognition squeezed my guts. The woman in the yellow dress sauntered past, carrier bag in hand. How had I missed her? Taken by surprise at her sudden reappearance I swore when I realised I'd lose sight of her again. She moved with a cool, graceful elegance, poised and self-confident, and I watched the dress flash Morse code like an Aldis lamp through the constantly shifting human fog, which was useful since it signalled the woman's whereabouts as she cut a confident path through the crowd. I stood up, camouflaging myself with the constantly shifting mass of people. Folding their amorphous form around me I followed at a discrete distance.
I trailed her into Costa where for the next fifteen minutes I alternated between surreptitiously watching her and questioning my actions.
What the hell was I doing following a complete stranger around the supermarket? Why had I stalked her to Costa? She was sexy of course, really,
really
sexy, yet I couldn't define the feeling, the longing and dull ache way down deep that drew me to her. There was more to it than sexual allure, and the whisper of
déjà vu
came again. Oddly, with that sense of somehow knowing the woman came a sense of fear, an icy finger sliding down my spine like cold sweat.
I pushed the sensation aside, ignoring prickle of premonition, and watched her sip a latte, absorbing the detail of her -- attractive, assured, with the promise of generously proportioned breasts swelling against the bodice of the summer dress. No wedding ring I noticed when the woman flicked blonde, straight, bobbed hair from her face with her left hand. Not that it was significant these days, the absence of a ring on a woman her vintage. I estimated early forties, must have history, even if there was no husband there were bound to be men interested, I certainly was. I decided I liked her face, not classically beautiful, but pretty in a seasoned, interesting way that I preferred. I saw a mischievous glint in her eyes when she glanced up and her sightline caught mine. I reddened, and the ghost of a smile lifted her high cheekbones at my colouring.
My eyes slid away from her amused appraisal. She probably got that all the time, I thought, men ogling from a distance. Then, leaving me in my seat, for I was too embarrassed to follow despite the urge to talk to her, the woman left the coffee shop.
At work on Thursday, the day after the encounter, I couldn't concentrate. So filled were my thoughts that I repeatedly found myself staring at the computer monitor, not really seeing what was on the screen, just staring blankly at the screensaver when it kicked in after five minutes inactivity. As the meaningless pattern shifted I imagined her image forming among the kaleidoscope of dots and whorls. I saw her face focus in the random patterns. She smiled at me before her face receded, the image pulling back like a scene in a film, in turn revealing her neck, her breasts, a jewelled navel, her narrow waist and wide hips. I could see, at the junction of her thighs, a tuft of pubic fluff. My breathing quickened and my cock stiffened as the image drew further away and I saw her completely nude. The image was so detailed, so exquisitely outlined that I could even make out the carnival colours of her painted toenails. Desperation came at me then, hot and quick, clogging my throat with longing.
A telephone rang and the picture vanished. Suddenly realising my extended torpor I vaguely reached for the coffee cup, only to grimace when I took a cold mouthful. Just how long had I been absent? It was just the hum-drum screensaver pattern on the monitor next time I looked.
In an attempt at distraction, trying to get my mind off the woman, I went into the city centre at lunch time. After picking up a sausage roll in Greg's I walked along the busy pedestrian precinct. Preoccupied I was unusually oblivious to the pretty girls in their brief summer costumes who thronged my route to the park.
Then I saw her. I stopped abruptly, causing a man behind me to swerve round the obstacle I'd become. I couldn't believe it. There she was!
'Twat,' the man I'd inconvenienced muttered in passing, glaring at me.
I ignored the insult. Desire tugged at my vitals as I stood there, gawping. It was definitely her at the TSB cashpoint. She looked terrific, even in the ubiquitous office worker's uniform of an un-patterned, white, sleeveless blouse that buttoned down the front, accompanied by a tight black skirt which came to mid thigh. I thought it a flattering ensemble that somehow enhanced her fecund sexiness rather than turn her into a drone.
The woman turned from the machine as she tucked cash and bank card into a black handbag. I watched her flick her head to throw her long fringe out of her eyes. To my surprise, as she turned and saw me standing there, she smiled. 'Hello again,' she said.
