"Undress" he whispered. The darkness was becoming less intrusive as my eyes
adjusted. He sat by the window, the light from an autumn moon silhouetting him
against the night. He wasn't as tall as I'd imagined, perhaps only 4 or 5 inches
more than myself.I could see his long hair falling about his shoulders and I
nervously pushed my own back from my face. I wanted to make eye contact, some
sort of reassuring connection that would calm my nerves, but it was much too dim.
He remained silent and I realized he was waiting for me to carry out his command.
He wouldn't ask again. Slowly at first, methodicaly, I undid each button, slipped
the blouse from my shoulders and began to fold it. How foolish is that, I
thought, and let it fall to the floor instead. My jeans soon followed, and I
remained in my panties and bra,. My breasts overflowed the white cups and looked
voluptious, the nipples hard now and poking thru the fabric. I ran my fingertips
along the inside band of the panties and waited for him. God, why did he just
stand there? Why didn't he touch me? He knew I needed that. It's why we were both
here. He needed to put his hands on my flesh as much as I craved it myself. These
were no longer choices, they were compulsions. Moments passed and he watched me
sliding my palms gently along my stomache and abdomen, letting myself enjoy the
ache of being so very close to him and not even touching. I could hear him
crossing the room now and my skin tingled in anticipation, the fabric between my
legs absorbing the moisture but not the scent of my arousal. I inhaled deeply