OffKilterHalo
01-23-2010, 10:26 PM
I usually don’t preface a story; but, I felt a little background on the inspiration was warranted. I was driving home from a late night (on a weekend no less) at the office. It was well past sunset and headlamps were a must. I pulled into cue at a traffic signal and commenced the usual stare through the vehicles in front of me. There was some gesticulating on the part of the driver of the car directly in front of me, and I saw a cascade of hair fall loose as her top was pulled over her head and discarded to the passenger seat. My curiosity piqued and attention now solely focused on her actions I observed her writhing a bit against her seatbelt with the exact motion my imagination produced if she had just slipped off whatever clothing she may have been wearing below her waist. As I continued home, she occasionally slipped across the painted centre line, but not by much. Enough that it was obvious she was distracted. Unfortunately, she didn’t precede me into my driveway. This is a brief musing on what might, oh that the world were made this way, have happened if I had continued following her.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
The sun had set and taken with it the toasted feeling of the afternoon. Heated breezes of dry air are now slightly heavier with a hint of humidity, painting exposed skin, and smells of deep mysterious earthy things rise from the lawn surrounding the car park. Few things feel simultaneously as relieving and frustrating as driving home after a long day at the office… on the weekend… when you were supposed to have the day off. Like miniature lightning the indicator lights on my car flash at the command of the remote in my hand, so unlike Zeus. The car’s familiar presence around me reassures me that I’ll be home soon and have some prayer of salvaging some off time from my weekend. On human autopilot, I find myself behind a Dodge Stratus at a traffic light, clueless of the road I’d follow.
The signal was red. I watched the shadow of the driver in the Stratus. Like one of those Japanese shadow plays, the lead character moved about. The driver’s arms reached to the ceiling; a large form blots out detail, obscuring the shadow stage. As the cloud pulls away a seeming scarf connecting it to the driver tumbles free in delicate strands revealing the driver’s long hair. The driver’s shirt-cloud was tossed onto the passenger seat.
The height and barely discernable shade in the side-view mirror make me near certain it’s a girl. My attention was completely focused completely on the interior of that auto, and its driver in particular. The rear-view mirror on showed a pale light, perhaps a charger for something plugged into the accessory power. She jostled about some more against her seatbelt. As she did, the phantom image in the rear-view mirror had a shadow pass before it, and darkness became bisected and pale. Perhaps I was seeing her legs, but difficult to prove, even to the more libidinous parts of my mind. The signal still kept the stage a few metres from me. Another shift in her shoulders suggested that something else had just joined her top on the seat beside her. She began shifting about, checking her mirrors, almost adjusting the rear-view. Her fingers fidgeted with the radio controls. Her hands left the radio and another shadow fell between the hinted at legs in the rear-view mirror. Her head dipped lower as she slouched in her seat.
Above her car's roof the night changed colors, and it grew a shade darker with the lifting of her foot from the brakes. She pulled away, and I, as on a leash followed close behind. Fortune favored me as she continued along my route through the next few turns. Often she’d drift in her lane, sometimes edging over the painted centerline, as if her body were demanding more attention. I could think of a few things that would distract her from the road.
I moaned, perhaps audibly, as she failed to slip into the turn lane for my little gated community. I blame feline curiosity. The signal just ahead of us was turning red. Neither of us would make it in time to pass the intersection. Some sixth sense jarred my senses enough to recognize my good fortune; the lane beside her was open. I pulled beside her, but stopped short of coming even with her. I was directly across from her car’s rear passenger window. The gap in the bucket seats afforded a view of her. The bright garish red of the traffic signal, tinted with the blue-white of her instrument panel, bathed nothing but firm uplifted breasts capped with nipples tightened by excitement. I could also make out a sheaf of dark hair draping her shoulder, pushed to the side by her breast. Her skin shifted to a leafy green tint and she started to slip away. Damn that traffic light for allowing her to move!!
In one of the rashest decisions I’ve ever made, the ever adolescent part of my brain began rifling through the rigorous training on tailing a car that I’d received through cinema and television. Though she was in the passing lane, she was driving well below the posted speed limit and still showing only a cursory acceptance of where her lane’s borders were. I drifted idly behind her car, sometimes close, sometimes drifting back. It was late and there weren’t many other travelers about. Hopefully she was sufficiently distracting herself. The two of us slipped through several intersections without being halted. The odds fell the other way and I again found myself behind her. It was the intersection of two large thoroughfares. White halogen lamps at the four corners lit the intervening space like a dozen full moons. Her rear-view mirror now glowed with the reflected image like a small backlit video screen. Revealing a slender hand slipped between the naked junction of her legs. In the instant between pulling her hand back to her steering wheel and her car moving forward there was just a hint of dark fabric only barely covering her. The chase was on again.
Time lost hold of me. Perhaps 20 minutes after that first delicious sight of her naked torso she pulled into a nicely lit home’s driveway. I continued on and parked across the street several houses further, cutting the ignition and extinguishing the exterior lights. Accidentally I’d found a nice darkened stretch before a house crusading against light pollution. Then I waited to see what would happen, and, to hope that no one came out of the house I was parked before.
The chill of the window glass seeped into the car as time wore on. The dark allowed me to turn about in my seat and look directly back at her car.
I waited, as did she.
She brushed her hair back behind her ears, then her hand slipped lower and the interior light bathed her in total exposure. Even from several houses away I could see the wide-eyed astonishment on her face. She practically tumbled out of the car in her attempt to elude the spotlight inside her car. With the speed she was out and shut the door, it was amazingly quiet.
A pale, to all appearances nude girl, save a slim line across her hips, was now crouched beside her car. The lamps to either side of the garage door making the shadow she hid in a mere sliver beside the car. She huddled there, one hand pressed to the side of the car door, and the other rendered useless by the arm covering her breasts. Mouse-like her head shifted about, trying to look for anything scary in the night, a curtain of long straight hair shifting like a cape down her back. Slowly she began to stand, looking over her car’s front.
As she looked away from me and rotated her body, the dark g-string of her delightfully brief panties could just be seen. Her posture was now reminiscent of one of the links between Neanderthal and modern man, but so much sexier. She simply froze that way, unmoving. Her long legs and taut behind displayed perfectly to me. That dark waterfall of hair brushed the small of her back. She stood erect, her breasts just level with the car’s roof.
I thought this show was almost over as she took her first nearly naked steps from her car. Instead of heading towards her house, she walked alongside her car towards the street. Dancer’s legs walked toe to heel in a sort of prance. Both arms crossing her chest at first, but, after a few steps, her left fell to her side and balanced her steps in natural counterpoise. With her now free hand she opened the mailbox. She was completely out in the open with only her arm and the tiny g-string to maintain her modesty. Holding the mail in her hand, she slowly walked towards her door.
The door was recessed into a slight alcove, shallow enough that she’d still be fully visible. A near-daylight bright light sat a mere four meters above the porch. As she passed her car, her shoulders lifted with a visibly deep breath. As her breasts fell with her exhalation, so did the arm covering her topless state. The garage and porch lamps lit her naked breasts magnificently as she took slow measured steps towards the front door. When she got there, she looked around the neighborhood, in just the way the villain looks for the hero before opening a cracked safe. It was the first chance I had to see her unobscured face. My lord she was cute. Assured in her mind that no one saw anything she knelt down and reached beneath the welcome mat. A glint of metal sparked from her right hand.
The key slipped into the door lock and with a flick I knew this unbelievable event was about to end. Again, she looked around. Kneeling, the mail was placed beside her feet. With thumbs hooked beneath the thin elastic of her g-string she peeled them down her legs and stepped from them one foot at a time. As she scanned the street again, a narrow close-trimmed tuft of hair could be made out, now that she was completely naked. She picked up her mail, bending at the waist, a visible mischievous grin, hardly marred by the biting of her lower lip, and stood back up. The midnight nudist hung the filmy and barely there cloth of her g-string on her front door’s knob.
The darkness of the interior swallowed her and, like she was falling into oil, she melted out of the light. The door closed with the bit of lingerie decorating the door handle the only tangible proof of what I’d just watched. Like anyone new to voyeurism I replayed everything over in my head an hundred times in the hopes that it would remain crystallized in my memory forever. Glancing back at her house, I wished for another show. The door stayed shut, the g-string seemingly sealing her inside for the night.
I turned the key in the ignition turned on my lights and slowly pulled away. The street sign read Londonderry Circle.
Just where the hell exactly was Londonderry Circle?!?
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
The sun had set and taken with it the toasted feeling of the afternoon. Heated breezes of dry air are now slightly heavier with a hint of humidity, painting exposed skin, and smells of deep mysterious earthy things rise from the lawn surrounding the car park. Few things feel simultaneously as relieving and frustrating as driving home after a long day at the office… on the weekend… when you were supposed to have the day off. Like miniature lightning the indicator lights on my car flash at the command of the remote in my hand, so unlike Zeus. The car’s familiar presence around me reassures me that I’ll be home soon and have some prayer of salvaging some off time from my weekend. On human autopilot, I find myself behind a Dodge Stratus at a traffic light, clueless of the road I’d follow.
The signal was red. I watched the shadow of the driver in the Stratus. Like one of those Japanese shadow plays, the lead character moved about. The driver’s arms reached to the ceiling; a large form blots out detail, obscuring the shadow stage. As the cloud pulls away a seeming scarf connecting it to the driver tumbles free in delicate strands revealing the driver’s long hair. The driver’s shirt-cloud was tossed onto the passenger seat.
The height and barely discernable shade in the side-view mirror make me near certain it’s a girl. My attention was completely focused completely on the interior of that auto, and its driver in particular. The rear-view mirror on showed a pale light, perhaps a charger for something plugged into the accessory power. She jostled about some more against her seatbelt. As she did, the phantom image in the rear-view mirror had a shadow pass before it, and darkness became bisected and pale. Perhaps I was seeing her legs, but difficult to prove, even to the more libidinous parts of my mind. The signal still kept the stage a few metres from me. Another shift in her shoulders suggested that something else had just joined her top on the seat beside her. She began shifting about, checking her mirrors, almost adjusting the rear-view. Her fingers fidgeted with the radio controls. Her hands left the radio and another shadow fell between the hinted at legs in the rear-view mirror. Her head dipped lower as she slouched in her seat.
Above her car's roof the night changed colors, and it grew a shade darker with the lifting of her foot from the brakes. She pulled away, and I, as on a leash followed close behind. Fortune favored me as she continued along my route through the next few turns. Often she’d drift in her lane, sometimes edging over the painted centerline, as if her body were demanding more attention. I could think of a few things that would distract her from the road.
I moaned, perhaps audibly, as she failed to slip into the turn lane for my little gated community. I blame feline curiosity. The signal just ahead of us was turning red. Neither of us would make it in time to pass the intersection. Some sixth sense jarred my senses enough to recognize my good fortune; the lane beside her was open. I pulled beside her, but stopped short of coming even with her. I was directly across from her car’s rear passenger window. The gap in the bucket seats afforded a view of her. The bright garish red of the traffic signal, tinted with the blue-white of her instrument panel, bathed nothing but firm uplifted breasts capped with nipples tightened by excitement. I could also make out a sheaf of dark hair draping her shoulder, pushed to the side by her breast. Her skin shifted to a leafy green tint and she started to slip away. Damn that traffic light for allowing her to move!!
In one of the rashest decisions I’ve ever made, the ever adolescent part of my brain began rifling through the rigorous training on tailing a car that I’d received through cinema and television. Though she was in the passing lane, she was driving well below the posted speed limit and still showing only a cursory acceptance of where her lane’s borders were. I drifted idly behind her car, sometimes close, sometimes drifting back. It was late and there weren’t many other travelers about. Hopefully she was sufficiently distracting herself. The two of us slipped through several intersections without being halted. The odds fell the other way and I again found myself behind her. It was the intersection of two large thoroughfares. White halogen lamps at the four corners lit the intervening space like a dozen full moons. Her rear-view mirror now glowed with the reflected image like a small backlit video screen. Revealing a slender hand slipped between the naked junction of her legs. In the instant between pulling her hand back to her steering wheel and her car moving forward there was just a hint of dark fabric only barely covering her. The chase was on again.
Time lost hold of me. Perhaps 20 minutes after that first delicious sight of her naked torso she pulled into a nicely lit home’s driveway. I continued on and parked across the street several houses further, cutting the ignition and extinguishing the exterior lights. Accidentally I’d found a nice darkened stretch before a house crusading against light pollution. Then I waited to see what would happen, and, to hope that no one came out of the house I was parked before.
The chill of the window glass seeped into the car as time wore on. The dark allowed me to turn about in my seat and look directly back at her car.
I waited, as did she.
She brushed her hair back behind her ears, then her hand slipped lower and the interior light bathed her in total exposure. Even from several houses away I could see the wide-eyed astonishment on her face. She practically tumbled out of the car in her attempt to elude the spotlight inside her car. With the speed she was out and shut the door, it was amazingly quiet.
A pale, to all appearances nude girl, save a slim line across her hips, was now crouched beside her car. The lamps to either side of the garage door making the shadow she hid in a mere sliver beside the car. She huddled there, one hand pressed to the side of the car door, and the other rendered useless by the arm covering her breasts. Mouse-like her head shifted about, trying to look for anything scary in the night, a curtain of long straight hair shifting like a cape down her back. Slowly she began to stand, looking over her car’s front.
As she looked away from me and rotated her body, the dark g-string of her delightfully brief panties could just be seen. Her posture was now reminiscent of one of the links between Neanderthal and modern man, but so much sexier. She simply froze that way, unmoving. Her long legs and taut behind displayed perfectly to me. That dark waterfall of hair brushed the small of her back. She stood erect, her breasts just level with the car’s roof.
I thought this show was almost over as she took her first nearly naked steps from her car. Instead of heading towards her house, she walked alongside her car towards the street. Dancer’s legs walked toe to heel in a sort of prance. Both arms crossing her chest at first, but, after a few steps, her left fell to her side and balanced her steps in natural counterpoise. With her now free hand she opened the mailbox. She was completely out in the open with only her arm and the tiny g-string to maintain her modesty. Holding the mail in her hand, she slowly walked towards her door.
The door was recessed into a slight alcove, shallow enough that she’d still be fully visible. A near-daylight bright light sat a mere four meters above the porch. As she passed her car, her shoulders lifted with a visibly deep breath. As her breasts fell with her exhalation, so did the arm covering her topless state. The garage and porch lamps lit her naked breasts magnificently as she took slow measured steps towards the front door. When she got there, she looked around the neighborhood, in just the way the villain looks for the hero before opening a cracked safe. It was the first chance I had to see her unobscured face. My lord she was cute. Assured in her mind that no one saw anything she knelt down and reached beneath the welcome mat. A glint of metal sparked from her right hand.
The key slipped into the door lock and with a flick I knew this unbelievable event was about to end. Again, she looked around. Kneeling, the mail was placed beside her feet. With thumbs hooked beneath the thin elastic of her g-string she peeled them down her legs and stepped from them one foot at a time. As she scanned the street again, a narrow close-trimmed tuft of hair could be made out, now that she was completely naked. She picked up her mail, bending at the waist, a visible mischievous grin, hardly marred by the biting of her lower lip, and stood back up. The midnight nudist hung the filmy and barely there cloth of her g-string on her front door’s knob.
The darkness of the interior swallowed her and, like she was falling into oil, she melted out of the light. The door closed with the bit of lingerie decorating the door handle the only tangible proof of what I’d just watched. Like anyone new to voyeurism I replayed everything over in my head an hundred times in the hopes that it would remain crystallized in my memory forever. Glancing back at her house, I wished for another show. The door stayed shut, the g-string seemingly sealing her inside for the night.
I turned the key in the ignition turned on my lights and slowly pulled away. The street sign read Londonderry Circle.
Just where the hell exactly was Londonderry Circle?!?