Verona

"Hey," she protested drawing several dirty looks from people around us.

"Please Darlene. Please. Here take these, but let me use yours. Please. If you love your brother even a little you'll do this for me."

She looked at me with a sort of odd, worried look, but she took the cheap glasses I was holding out toward her and let me have hers.

I clapped her much better glasses to my eyes and turned them to Samantha's lusciously exposed Delta of Venus.

"The show is down that way," Darlene whispered and tugged at my elbow.

"You only think so," I answered and increased my concentration so much that if Darlene said anything else I totally blocked it out.

Samantha looked from side to side to make sure no one was taking notice of what she was doing. Eyes all around her were riveted to the stage. No one except me paid any attention to that most delicious view and, seeing that, she opened her knees a little farther and scooted her bottom forward on her rented cushion. That caused her pelvis to tilt up a little and the outer lips to spread perhaps the width of a finger. Within that cleft it was almost as I had envisioned; the inner lips were clearly visible and they might have been the coral pink my imagination had colored them, but the flickering yellow light of the candle flame made it hard to tell. It didn't matter. They looked delicate and fragile as satin ribbon, folded back slightly from the opening of the womb. If I could run my tongue along them, I thought, they would swell so much they would push out passed the outside lips and make that orchid open up to me so that I could taste the nectar deep inside it.

At the top, just below where those petals of her womanhood came together the nubbin of her clitoris protruded. It was swollen and upright and begging for someone to stroke it and roll it gently back and forth. . .

Again Samantha looked from side to side and, still finding no eyes on her but mine, she brought her delicate, long fingered left hand down and, shielding it with her right forearm, she stroked her index finger from the bottom of her pussy up between the inner lips to her wantonly engorged, achingly beautiful pearl clit. A visible shudder ran through her as she stroked that center of her desire, and I could feel the quivering of her thighs against my hands though we were fifty yards apart. The first breeze of that sweltering day rose and washed down into the arena like a cooling tide. Twenty thousand voices moaned audible sighs of relief. One voice raised a moan of agony. Mine. That blessed, cursed breeze had blown out the candles!

The rest of the evening was agony. Samantha did not light her candles again, nor did she raise her binoculars to look in my direction. I looked toward her almost to the total exclusion of CARMEN. While the stage was alight I could only see a vague ghost of her yellow dress through the darkness. During the inter-act breaks I drank her in like she was cold water to my parched throat, but she never looked at me.

When the show was over Darlene and I crushed and elbowed our way down and out of the arena. I tried to find Samantha in the mob, but it was impossible. She was gone forever, and that broke my heart.

Later, when I tried to sleep I found it impossible so I went out to roam the streets. In the wee hours of the morning I consoled myself with the thought that, though Samantha was gone, I would always have the memory of Verona.