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Thursday, July 31, 2008

A Little Tingle

When she first saw him she felt the tingle in her fuzzy. Some might call it a pussy or even beaver, or that other word that started with a C that she would never say, but she thought these words were crude and just wouldn’t use them especially that C one. Instead she said fuzzy, because that was really what it was. Well, except for that one uncomfortable month when she tried shaving it. That month she didn’t really have a name for it, she tried, baldy and even shiny but neither of the names made her feel proud of it so she grew her fuzzy back and was glad because shaving down there was an unbelievable embarrassment that made her pale skin blush splotchy pink.

She saw him and felt the tingle and didn’t notice the splotchy pink blush that rose from chest to cheek in the wall to wall mirrors. Well, she didn’t really see “him” in the wall to wall mirrors of the gym, she saw his hair. There she was doing squats, down slow, back arched just a bit, bottom pushed out so it was at its optimum angle, down a little lower with the bar resting on her shoulders until her thighs were parallel with the floor and her knees were just a bit apart and she could see his hair, long and flowing, longer than most men would wear their hair, there in the mirror when she looked up from looking at the wet spot that really bothered her at that spot right in the middle of her pink bicycle shorts right where it covered her fuzzy. Really who would have thought you would sweat there? But that was also where she felt the tingle. It had been some time since she had felt the tingle, there, down in her fuzzy. Not since the time a month ago when she was watching out the little window of her bathroom in her little one bedroom apartment, the window that if she tilted her head just so and peered between the two ginko trees she could just see the closest end of the apartment community pool. And that morning, looking out, she saw the nice, lean calves of the young Hispanic who cleaned the pool the first and third Saturday of every month. And watching his calves strain and grow taught as he reached to sweep the pool bottom she had felt the tingle so strong that she reached her hand down into that fuzzy bit of fuzzy and soon she found her fingers searching to find that little hidden bump that would make that tingle turn into much more than a tingle. That little bump she had never given a name because that just seemed to silly to name that, even though she knew the names other’s gave it, even the official name, but she just couldn’t name it, in her mind or out loud.

Now this morning, in the gym, she felt the tingle again as she watched there in the mirror. She watched him lie on his hard, flat stomach and curl the weights up towards his hard, round buttocks with one foot then another. She watched the muscles in the back of his thighs stretch and flex but mostly she watched the way he threw his long hair over one shoulder so it fell in a cascade towards the black vinyl floor. It was blond, his hair, nearly white, but thick in a way blond hair seldom is. She continued to squat, down and up, up and down watching him all the while in the mirror. She really wanted to go and lay herself down on his back covering the length of him with herself, grinding her pink bicycle shorts against the black spandex of his bicycle shorts. She wanted to bury her hands into his thick mass of blond mane, while she ground against him. But the pulse of a showerhead was all that she could use to relieve the tingle down there in her fuzzy when she eventually grew tingly enough to go into the shower and again search out that little bump with no name at least in her mind.

The next day at the gym she followed him around the gym making her way closer and closer to him, always just two or three work out machines away, always watching him in the mirror. Today his hair was pulled back into a ponytail the long length of it held tight by a thick, black rubber band. She grew bolder and when the opportunity arouse she seized it and took possession of the leg press machine right next to the ab-cruncher machine he was crunching on. With each crunch forward his ponytail would fall over one shoulder or the other and as he uncrunched back he would flip it back, forward and back, back and forward. She watched while pushing her own weights up and down, down and up. How she wanted to grab hold of his hair and pull him to her and bite some hard meaty part of him.

When the young Hispanic came to clean the community pool the next time she was ready and watching, desperate to find any and all release she could. Every day she had watched the man at the gym with the hair she had come to love and every day she followed his progress from one machine to the next. And every day she had grown more and more frustrated as he did not seem to notice her at all. When her eyes caught his in the mirror he would do that little chin lift that men sometimes do to acknowledge your presence but that never requires any real response and that was all. She grew tingly at the sight of him every time now. His hair was nearly all she could think about and as she again found a little tiny bit of tingly release watching the young Hispanic she was glad she could just see his lean, taught calves there from the little window of her bathroom, because she knew if she could see his short, dark hair it would be ruined for her and she would not be able to find that tiny bit of tingly release with that little bump with no real name at least in her mind.

At the gym the next day she couldn’t find him in the mirrors. She grew nearly frantic searching out the gym’s reflection in the mirror in front of the squat machine. Then she realized that was him there, directly across the gym from her, and to her horror, he had cut his hair. His once long, thick mane was now short, spiky and just plain horrible. She turned away, tears in her eyes blurring the reflections in the mirror. When at last she wiped her away her tears with her pink terry cloth towel she saw there in the mirror next to her doing pull-downs on the pull-down machine big, dark, beautiful hands wrapped around the shiny, chrome bar and she felt the tingle.


Anonymous said...

A tingle becomes an itch... An itch that must be attended to...

Excellent writing.

Miss D

Erotic Hypnosis said...

You're a really excellent writer. Have you ever thought of doing erotic hypnosis or recording erotic e-books for a living?