The View

The room was clean again. The air was fresh, yet it hinted at the history of the place. The room had a history. Patrons that have come and gone: businessmen, lovers, loners, perhaps even a family or two. The room had a history. The room held the history, almost like a silent film. That is, if you knew how to look at it.

I did know, even as I stumbled upon the secret in a serendipitous way. I discovered the room’s secret two days prior of staying here on holiday. I was anxious to see what it would unfurl to me this night.

I sat in the antique chair and relaxed. Relaxed my body if not my excited heart. I stared out of the leaded window, at an angle while I sipped more of the gifted Scotch. The angle was important. The angle was critical. The view itself was a dull one. Of undescriptive buildings across the way from an almost forgotten time. There were no windows to spy into, just the dull walls.

I watched as the dull walls across the way slowly absorbed the sunset. I watched as twilight bled the dull walls of their warm, sun-painted hues. I watched, until the light balance between outside and within, turned the leaded window into a ghostly reflection into the room. The reflection showed me my temporary bed. The reflection showed it at a different time. It showed me her, again.

She was something of a dream. A woman of station, but of a different age. It started as it did the nights prior. Her sitting on the bed, sipping a drink, while staring out the window, staring at me, but not seeing me. Her stare goes beyond me, yet it is so surreal it pierces me as well, a hook into my soul.

She sips and slowly relaxes. The weight of her day melting off of her. As she drinks I drink her in. The shape of her face and how her dark hair frames it so. The red of her lips caressing the glass she sips from; the way her hand cradles the goblet. She is a lovely thing. Bewitching and compelling. In my life my eyes have always shied away from moments of such voyeurism, yet with her, I am enchanted. She seems a bit older tonight. As if months passed from the night before.

She slowly unravels herself from her clothes, as she has the nights before. My pulse quickens even more this time. I find her now familiarity more enticing than the newness of her that first night. I take another sip, yet it does nothing to calm my pounding heart.

That first night, I watched her until she was joined by a man. He loved her in a quick way. A means to an end. He was gone as quickly as he was there. She returned to sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out the window after, and finishing the stirrings her body had that the man merely itched. My body itched with its own desire, wishing her hands were touching me instead of my own.

The last night, I watched her until she was joined by a different, younger man. She rode him in a slow way, as if teaching his body just what a woman with transparent desire could do. When that man left, she stared out the window, while exploring her body in a much different way from the first night. She was already aflamed, she just let it burn. It was impossible not to try to quench the burning of my own body, watching her enflame her own.

Now, I watched her, naked and waiting. Until she is joined by a woman, obviously shy and nervous. The woman I have watched the last, few nights, just smiled and gave a slight nod to the new woman.

The new woman let the slip that was shrouding her flow off her body. She kneeled in front of the woman on the bed and sank her head between her legs. I watched the woman that I have become so enchanted by, lip a sigh and let her fingers knot into the hair of her latest lover. I watched until her body shuddered in silent climax, wishing I could steal the noises of the moment as much as I am stealing the sight of it. The other woman stood and kissed the woman on the bed. Then she left and the woman on the bed turned back to the window and fingered both pairs of lips, as if savoring a memory.

I stood and took a step closer to the window. Needing to get a bit closer to her, holding the angle save I lose her for the night. Inches away, I reach to touch her face in the reflection. The glass shimmers on contact. Her reflection becomes more vivid. The smell of the room is suddenly mixed with both a heady perfume and the musks of women.

I turn my head toward the bed and there she is. I blush, somewhat embarrassed of her catching me in my aroused nakedness.

“I’ve dreamt about you coming to me in this very room,” she said in a flinty voice, “and now here you are as I always dreamt you although I always assumed you would arrive through the door. Have you dreamt of me too?”

In answer, I walk toward her, more confident. I kiss her lips as her hands find my heated skin. I kiss her breasts as her hands find my arousal that her beauty has shaped. I say, “Yes!” before I bury my head between her legs, finally hearing just how sweet her passion sounds.

*~~~*

She sits in the chair and waits. Waits while she stares out of the leaded window. Watches as the sunsets paints the walls across the way in yellows, oranges, and reds. She unbuttons her blouse and waits. Watches as twilight sucks the colors dark while she shimmies out of her skirt. Watches until she see the man again in the reflection of the window. Naked and waiting. Waiting for the woman he always loves. She watches as that woman shows up. Watches in silent envy, wishing to share a passion like that. She shares it in her own way, watching, touching, and dreaming of getting caught in that other time, that distant past. Watching as a pair of lovers get more entwined.