Shy Boldness, or Bold Shyness?

She had stood far enough for me to glimpse at her feet without needing to move in the slightest, yet she had been too close for any subtle appreciation of her figure. But with her eyes now closed, and no conversation to occupy my mind, my vision indulged me as it did a quick roam before I could stop myself.

I had already noticed that she was almost my height, yet not quite, as she needed to tilt her head upwards to look at me, therefore my curious eyes first saw her flat shoes. I realised that if she would stand on her toes, or wear heels, we would be eye levelled.

Symbolic equals. Or lip levelled. Both held their own charm.

Above footwear, those cream loose pants teased my sights, their wide cut hiding treasures I was certain. But clues were given in her slim ankles, in the way the fabric had hugged her legs when she had distributed her weight from foot onto the other. I envisioned smooth creamy thighs. Just fleshy enough to pillow your head, to nuzzle your cheek against, when you took a break from a Kitty French kiss, inviting you to settle yourself and enjoy for a few moments the splendid view of her chest rising and falling to her adorable laboured breathing, before continuing sensual discoveries.

Further upwards, her straight white shoulderless blouse hid her waist. Waspish, hourglass, lush, or athletic, the delicacy was unfathomable. She defeated my imagination, aside from being slender yet not slim.

My eyes climbed to view higher sights, to the straight fall of the snowy fabric which hid the bottom of curved performances, yet suggested small but exquisite breasts in its upper moulding, finishing the concealment of her twinned peaks her bra had begun. A lure. Her chest was nothing less than a splendid lure, and the bane of all sensible men and no few women I was sure.

All this I saw in the time it took for me to draw a breath --which was now caught beneath my breast- while my pulse did a double-beat. My dimmed mind was betwixt a dazed dazzle and a stupefied stupor. I mean, between a dazed stupor and a stupefied dazzle. I mean, I was stupidazzled. I mean...

Stunned.

Her eyes opened and I shook my brain out of its wonderful shock, while I forced my lungs to work, and I told my heart not to work for both she and I. What expression was painted on my face, I had no idea. I hoped it didn't reveal how I had been undressing her.

I bit the bullet. I expressed my honest gratitude for her being an even lovelier sight than the evening was. I was encouraged as those lips itched upwards. Flatterer, her eyes playfully chided me.

This somehow led to swapping stories of our experiences tonight. We decided together that Long Hard Bad Feelings was on a par with trucking ducks, then we laughed at the holy glass. Unsurprising, all our encounters had one thing in common.

"Is sex all they can talk about?" she asked with a wry smile, her amused exasperation shining across the gloss of her lips as she tilted her head towards the party. The movement swayed her bangs across her forehead, a wave of dark gold over the pearled starglow of her forehead. I fought the urge to brush that hair aside, to feel if its silky promise was true, if her skin beneath them was as smooth as it suggested.

"I'm not a prude," she continued. "And I understand that Suzanne organises these evenings for that purpose. But...

She swallowed so silently, I saw it more than I heard it. Then she continued softly, as if offering a sinful confession. "I'm here too ain't I? But I don't obsess over it..."

I said nothing at first since I agreed yet disagreed with her. The subject had been somewhat a pain with the others before, true, but I found myself enchanted -and a little light headed- at the notion of discussing the same topic with this particular fine lady. I gave a mental shrug at my double standard. Guilty as charged. Mea culpa. "I guess it's not what we say, or even do; it is 'how' that counts."

Her eyes gave narrowed amused accusations. "Meaning?"

"Meaning for us to discuss it, or even perform it-" Her eyes rounded a little; more to the point her lashes had risen by a fraction thus giving the impression of having rounded. Damn, I had meant 'us' as 'all guests'. I hadn't intended planting that specific image of she and I, at least not now. So I hurried along. "...It's the method that matters, not just the content."

It was too dark to interpret her wider pupils, but the air between us become taut, a magnetism at work to my senses. For a heartbeat, her tongue darted across her lips, moistening them, as her thumb caressed her glass. The subject was now upon the table, served as a laid temptation between us. Would she bite as I had unwittingly done?

A very small smile appeared, just the corners of her coy lips wanting to rise beneath a light flush. She took a quick peek to look straight into my eyes, a flattered flash of her vibrant brown eyes beneath black lashes, then she returned her attentions to her glass. But that darted glance was straight away followed by the rise of her shoulders and chest, which descended under a slow exhalation through lips rounded in a very small circle, then was accompanied by a light shiver.

She straightened in the slightest, her head giving a hard tilt to move her hair away from herself without quite throwing it backwards in a seductive way. If that gesture was meant as a tranquiliser, mission failed, I found it so seductive as I swallowed around a lump in my strangled throat.

"Us? How?" she asked, with curious indifference, her disinterest piled a little too thick to be genuine. Slap on the wrist? Hidden interest? My knees lost a little strength when she added, "Performance wise I mean."

"I mean," I started, and my voice was much steadier than it had any right to be due to my choked gorge. She had gamely taken a bite full and a half, so I had to rise to the challenge while chewing my words now. "That we can make love, have sex, or we can duck."

She giggled despite herself, her head shaking in disbelief as she half-rolled her eyes. At my lame pun, or at herself for finding it funny, only God knew and the devil had a clue. She tried to regain some casualness, but those luscious lips were pleading --begging- to smile. A sensual ease between us was in her voice now, as she asked "isn't us making love, having sex, and trucking, one and the same?"

"No." I smiled. Our similar bleaching of the most famous word while discussing intimacy, possibly and potentially an intimacy with each other, now gave my lips a fond if wicked twist. "All three are different."

"Really?" This she stated more than asked.

"Really. And they're not separated by gray areas either."

To this she frowned. "Oh?"

"No, because all three can be done at the same time."

I sighed wantonly, closing my eyes as I imagined for the upthousanth time what I had only read. About and which I couldn't resist placing her with me in the image. My voice became the barest of murmurs. "And should that happens to us..."

Perhaps it was due to the vision of us in my mind, or because my closed eyelids made me more sensitive, but the air changed again within the space separating us. From the strained and pulling of before, invisible sparks now flashed between us, their heat almost felt, the electricity raising the hairs of my arms. I heard her small gulp. Her hushed whisper. "If... If we do all three at the same time, then what?"

Her quiver was back, in full force and carrying the tremble of fearful excitement, a breathless fascination riding within it. My heart stopped, and then galloped. My eyes cindered, felt as embers lighting the night as I looked deep within hers.

"Then... it's magic."

A tiniest of gasps. Glass slipped from her fingers. Her hands caught it, though with a splash of Amaretto onto her white blouse.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice shivered, her eyes avoided mine, her glass trembled. "B-But I have to clean this up inside."

Once again I was stunned, but at her speedy retreat as she left before I could even answer, even less offer to escort her.

I jumpstarted the gray matter with a hard shake of my head, then I followed her steps inside, hoping to find her as I rejoined the partygoers. After a while, unsuccessful in locating her, the evening began to wound down with Sharra having vanished.

Her stain added to her shyness, perhaps courage had lost over timidity and she had kept herself out of sight. No, she had scrambled so quickly, without the smallest display at wiping her blouse, that she must have provided herself an excuse to leave my company. And now she was avoided me.

Had I scared off a bashful girl which possesed a skilled and passionate woman lurking beneath the surface? Or had she felt a fearsome pull, too strongly drawn, and had scared herself all on her own? (And thus left me blameless?) My ego voted for the latter. My better judgement settled on the former.

Having pushed too far, too quickly, I had become the predator. Damn but I hated to think that I had disappointed her, scared her, infuriated her perhaps, by falling into tonight's sex trap like everybody else.

Tired and disgusted at myself, I realised that half of the guests had gone to their rooms, and I decided to do the same. No, I decided to follow suit, and go stuff myself into a closet like one as penance.

I didn't turn on the light as the obscurity suited my mood. The faint moon-glow from the draped window was too cheery. But as I undressed, with its implied promise of rest, weariness seeped into veins, chastising reflections having leeched my last energies, and movements slowed as guilt-tainted syrup replaced blood.

Yeah, that bad.

Now in the buff, I snorted at the notion of slipping on my pyjama bottoms, never mind unpacking them. I never saw the color of my pillow, excused by my laying on my back, but I never saw the ceiling either. I was out like a- No, lights are much slower.

***

I woke to a roaring desire blasting through my veins. My heart drummed in my chest, my breath short, and a thin layer of sweat over my entire body.

I took a steadying gulp of air as I sat up, moved at little backwards to rest my back against the headboard. My glance was attracted to between and over my thighs as a male twitch was seen and felt. My upright arousal was glistening in the silvery night colors and shades. Bits and pieces of an erotic fantasy, hazel eyes and an alluring figure being its focus, seeped back into my mind.

A thrown sack of rock, made of humiliated misery, landed in the pit of my stomach as I realised why I had woken up in such a palpitated state. My teenager days of wet dreams were long past weren't they? I groaned as I brought my palms to my eyes. Sharra was a dream in herself, but still...

I took another deep long breath, which came out as a sigh of despaired resignation, while I wondered where the tissues were to wipe the mess. A realisation struck my groggy mind as I caught a sexy odour, the figurative flick of a finger beneath my nose that drew me up short and woke me. I inhaled deeply, for the third time now, and relaxed as I savoured the scented wisps left by an aroused woman.

Only then did I notice that the sheen covering my entire erection wasn't be semen. Saliva? I had to make sure and brought a sample to my tongue. No. That unique wonderful tang was liquid femininity, the true ambrosia of the-

Whoah!?!

Back up! Rewind! Reload the webpage!

How the hell did she mount me without waking me? How slow did she go to tint my dreams yet not disturb them? And... Who? Who had indulged herself?

I forced myself to fill my lungs to capacity, and rein in my galloping thoughts. I laced my fingers behind my head, excitement and awe dancing together on my lips, and laid back against the headboard as I drew a list of the adventurous ladies.

I noted of my clear headedness -if still tired- thus eliminated the use of any knockout drugs. But I couldn't decide who the smooth criminal was. Not that I felt violated, despite that she had robbed me of a wonderful experience. Not to mention sinfully unprotected, since she left no only her fragrance in the room, but her essence on me.

She was a daring one, a gambler, and my lips twisted in a crooked smile. I have taken some reckless risks myself in the past, few and far between, never in intimacy, but I still did take them. So I appreciated the low odds of the chance she had taken; not threatening yet still possessed the secret thrill of danger, of maybe landing us on the double zero.

But who? Someone with guts, without a doubt. At this thought a defeated wishful sigh passed my lips as this eliminated my fantasy's focus, the divine Sharra.

Since it was useless to venture on who I wanted it to be, I thus concentrated on who it could be. I sighed again but in determination, drawing strength from it. So, then, who's eye had I caught? Predator? Hardly. She would not have been so careful not to wake me. Someone else then.

This was the third millennium, the balance shifting as women regained the power that was rightfully theirs, and perhaps I had met one of their scouts. I was now burning to know her name, her face, her eyes, her life. She fascinated me. But she could have been any of the women present tonight.

I laid still for a timeless moment. Minutes? An hour? I don't know, but my ravenous curiosity began losing the battle against fatigue, my head nodding and hitting nails. My head snapped up with owlish blinks, jerked awake by my own small snore. I decided I better lie back down to sleep, puzzle this out tomorrow, when I heard a soft sigh of relief beneath me.

Ah-ha.

I waited for events to further unfold. I didn't want to startle my new friend -the smooth criminal hidden beneath the bed- before I knew who she was. In this semi-darkness, her anonymity required only a quick escape with her hands before her face.

So I waited.

But she was a patient one, more so than me, and after a good while I decided that she needed more encouragement. What had I done for her to sigh in relief? I had snored. So all I needed to do was to recreate the same sound in order to lure her into a false sense of safety. That was when I hit a snag. Have you ever tried to snore? Not in the classic cartoon way, but in accurately imitating yourself snoring? You can't know how you snore, not really, since you are asleep when it happens. But I still attempted it. Doubtless without success, but I banked that she never heard my night sounds any more than I did.

I was rewarded by the swoosh of fabric sliding on the wooden floor. A head appeared, my breath caught as it threw its dark hair backwards with a scintillation of gold made by a single strand. She then stood with her back to me, a delicate bust silhouetted against the window, her figure hidden by her mid-thigh night shirt. But rising into its hem, legs made of dreams and hopes were revealed.

The puzzle fell in place. She had been determined and brazen to attempt this, such as coming to me before I approached her. Yet shy and anxious to hide before discovery, trying to run away as she had already done before. This added to a patient touch to have gotten me so far without waking me, as patient as waiting for an opportunity to be alone together.

The contradictions were tasty teases, her personality a unique spice. I fought against the irrational urge to kneel and ask for her hand. I reached out my own instead, palm's up in the universal gesture of invitation.

"My Lady Sharra?" Three words. One heart offered.

She gasped as she straightened, then whipped around on herself to look at me, the hem flirting higher than her thighs yet her shadow hid the most prized of sights. I heard her anxious swallow as her head tilted downwards, her eyes seeing my offered hand. She gulped this time, as she reached out, acknowledging my correct guess instead of running away.

Fingertips brushed mine, hesitant, quivering in indecision. I pulled them closer, gentle in drawing her next to me, as I willed the small contact to radiate safety.

I shifted myself for her to lie down and she followed my lead. Her legs stretched themselves next to mine, smooth skin feathering against mine. Her chest and mine pressed together, the soothing warmth of her body felt through her nightshirt. The fit was divine perfection, if her mood wasn't; she seemed puzzled by my offer of comfort, instead of the expected masculine carnal charge.

Face to face, she settled her head a little lower into the cup of my welcoming shoulder, as her raised eyes searched my face. Either she dreaded being done to what she had just done to me, or she dreaded why I was disinterested in the appropriate male urgings; but dread was what shadowed her sights with silent questionings.

From beneath her, I draped my arm around her, fingers sliding down against her arm in a slow seduction. The others brushed that hair from her forehead, to push aside her fears. Relief appeared in her wooden toned eyes as I sent her a mental message through mine. Yes, I desired her, but no, there was no rush. And those bangs hadn't lied, soft and silken; they were a caress to my fingertips.

Without warning, words blurted from her lips. "I'm so sorry. I really don't know what came over me, but it just felt like if-" All this in the time it took for my hand to lower from her forehead to her lips and silence her with a finger. It could wait, we weren't going anywhere. I just wanted her within my arms, bury my nose in her hair, and continue to brush those bangs away from her forehead.

"Tomorrow." The promise of her explanations, followed by my un-judgemental understanding, would happen when the sun rose. But only then. I just wanted to exist next to her for a while, and drink her presence.

She gave a little happy sigh, at last at complete ease with me and snuggled deeper into my shoulder. She scooted herself further down, her shirt rising much above her waist in a tantalising sight. Sexes brushed, making her shiver while sending sparks up my spine.

Our eyes locked, carnal questions wrapped in flames were exchanged, where wanting to exist beside her was transformed into requiring to share existence with her.

I hooked my finger beneath her chin, tilted her head to me, to lay my lips onto hers. She was the fastest, as she snaked her arm over my shoulder, her hand on my nape both caressing and pulling me to her.

I tasted almonds on her breath, savoured how sweetened her tongue was, as we danced between our cheeks. One moment she welcomed me into her mouth with a rising passion, the next she was charged with boundless naughty enthusiasm as I was greeted within my own mouth. I matched her fever, and stroked it higher with my own.

My hand wandered to her exposed hip, her leg draping itself over mine to offer her thigh. I indulged the both of us with my fingertips on her skin, she indulged as well when her grip moulded my rear cheek. Our fingers trembled with urgency, yet our breaths were steady if shallow. My heartbeat unhurried but strong, as my ears pounded to the same rhythm. My fingertip brushed her neck, her slow pulse jumping against my skin. Our controlled excitement was almost like a tingling in the air, the calm before the storm.

I lowered my lips, trailing down her throat. Her skin was salty, from her sweat of when she had bedded me while I slept. That evoked a charged image, so powerful that I shuddered and I was near the edge once again. This wouldn't do. I guessed that she had brought me very close, and that it was this nearness to ecstasy which had woken me. I tempted fate, again, as I tasted her in the hollow of her neck.

With a small moaned sigh, her hand left my rear, travelled over my hip, began sliding down to my hardened passion. My hand stopped her. "Don't." My warning was deep throated, a little choked, and had to clear my voice for my coming damning confession. "I'm too close."