By Terri for Dave: The View, The Handkerchief, The Click
It is one of those muggy days of summer. You are
walking past her house, when you hear something strange. You start to go on. It’s
none of your business, after all. But the sound haunts you.
It reminds you of a woman crying … but not quite.
You turn and go back to the house, just looking for what you are not quite sure.
You wander around to the back of the house. The sound is louder there. It sounds like
… could it possibly be? A moan?
The French doors are open in the back. The sound is even louder there. It is definitely a
moan … a low, soft moan, almost of pleasure.
You raise your hand to knock on the door when you see her. She is lying across the bed in
the afternoon shadows. She is alone, and looks almost asleep. You start to leave when you
realize the moan you are hearing is coming from her lips.
Curious, you focus on her, allowing your eyes to adjust to the darkened room. Although she
is fully clothed, her blouse is partially open and one of her hands is on her breast. The
other hand? Your eyes follow the willowy length of her arm, down … it disappears
beneath her unzipped jeans. She is moving both hands very slowly as you gaze upon her.
Her moan startles you and you step back, not wanting to be discovered. But now you are
captivated by her beauty. You cannot take your eyes off her. The motions of her hand
quicken and she begins to writhe on the bed. Her movements become faster and more violent,
and her cries are nearing the scream pitch.
With one final yell she collapses and relaxes, then removes her hand slowly and lies very
still for several minutes.
Then she sits up, shakes the cobwebs from her brain and gets up to go into the next room.
You think very seriously about following her in there when you hear the bathtub begin to
fill. In a matter of moments she returns to the room, now fully nude. She stands near the
open door, still unaware of your presence, and lets down her hair. Her body glistens from
the perspiration of the day.
You smile gently thinking to yourself what a wonderful show you are getting as she brushes
her hair. She is tanned and perfect. And she doesn’t give any indication she knows
she is being watched.
She turns and goes into the next room. The faucet stops, and you hear her slide into the
tub. Curious, you step into the room and head for the bathroom. But you trip over her
shoes.
"Who’s there?" she calls. You say nothing, your heart in your throat for
fear of being caught. You hear her getting out of the tub and scramble behind the closet
door just before she comes into the room.
"Damn!" she mutters to herself, and closes the French doors with a loud latch.
"must’ve been the wind." And with that she returns to her bath.
You are certain she can hear your heart pounding, and now you are trapped. You cannot go
out the door from whence you came; surely she would hear you leave. And when she returns
from her bath to get dressed, you will be discovered behind the closet door.
"What ever shall I do now?" you ponder.
Then a grin grows on your face as you get an idea. "Hmmm, now why didn’t I think
of that earlier?" you speculate.
He stands behind the closet door waiting
for the sound of splashing water. He knows she is soaking in the bubbly warm water,
enjoying her afterglow. He knows she will close her eyes and he will have a few minutes to
steal away and lay his plan.
As he hears the gentle splash of the water in the bathroom, he slowly steps from behind
the closet door and ever so quietly steals to the French doors. He slowly opens them and
begins to step through them -- but not before he reaches into his pocket and drops his
monogrammed handkerchief where she will find it. He purposely leaves the French doors
open. The gentle breeze is blowing the curtains so she will be sure to notice. He walks
across the lawn and enters his apartment through similar French doors and leaves them
open. He begins to prepare for the night.
She feels a chilling breeze on her as she relaxes in the steaming tub, remembering the
moments just a few minutes before when she was writhing on the bed. She pulls the drain on
the spout and steps from the tub in all her glory, pausing to look in the full length
mirror . . . gazing upon her nakedness with lust in her eyes. She walks into her room and
stops suddenly. The French doors are open again. "I thought I closed these" she
thinks to herself. Then she notices something lying on the floor in front of the open
doors. She slowly and cautiously walks to the doors and peers outside not knowing what
might be out there. She sees a light on and an open set of French doors similar to hers
across the court yard. She stoops and picks up the handkerchief and holds it to her nose .
. . the scent of a man . . . a man's cologne: Drakkar is stirring her senses.
"Hmmm" she says. She looks at the monogram: DMM.
She closes her eyes a moment to savor the aroma and think about the letters. It comes to
her. "There is a very good looking man who lives across the court with those
initials. In fact he lives right over there where the doors are left open. Hmmm," she
wonders. "Was he here?"
Of course he was, and being a gentleman, he did not want to let his presence be known. He
did not want to interfere with the moment she was enjoying. That would have put her at a
disadvantage and put her on the defensive. Nothing would have been worse. "How
sweet" she says, holding the kerchief to her nose again. "Hmmm . . . and he has
left his door open and a small light on" she thinks. "He left this on purpose so
I would know he was here. Hmmmm . . . " she moans softly. This turns her on even
more, knowing this mysterious man was enjoying her moment as much as she had. She looks
around for her robe, and pulls it on her shoulders. She steals across the courtyard, not
knowing what lay beyond those open doors, but hoping ever hoping that the next touch she
felt would not be her own. She pauses by the open door and peers inside.
That's when she hears a familiar sound. The blood starts to heat her loins once again. She
enters the room.
She stands in awe at what she sees in the
room. Although the physical floor design is identical to hers, the decor is entirely
different. This is lavish, like something out of one of her soap operas. And there are
candles and flowers everywhere. It is yet early evening, but the candles are all lit.
She steps back between the opening in the doors when she sees a movement in the bathroom.
Yes, there are candles in there also, and someone is in there. It is him. He is lighting
them. Having done so, he returns to the room and looks around, obviously pleased with what
he sees. She is sure he will see her, but the butler comes in, bringing a cloth-covered
cart.
It is laden with fruits, cheese, whipped cream and what all else she can not tell in the
moments she watches. She does notice two wine glasses, and a bucket of ice with the
tell-tale bottle poking its nose out. He surveys the assortment before him, nodding and
saying "yes, yes this will do nicely." Then, turning to the butler he asks
"how are you coming on the other matter we discussed?"
"It is being taken care of even as we speak, sir" comes the reply.
"Good. Very good."
She sees her opportunity to steal away unnoticed, and, quietly as she had entered, she
slips back into the courtyard to return to her home. She berates herself for thinking he
could have had intentions for her. "How silly, that he might be attracted to
me", she thinks, her heart heavy from the experience. "He is expecting company,
and I certainly would not want to intrude." She resolves to return the kerchief
someday.
Candlelight is what she first notices when she walks through her door. Even in the ensuing
twilight, the fire dances on her walls. As she looks closer she notices the candelabra is
identical to many she had just seen in his home. And beneath it is a single red rose. Her
mind begins to reel now. Before she could fully ask herself how he had managed to do this,
she remembers the conversation she overheard with his butler. Only then did she realize
her French door had been fully closed, whereas she had left it ajar when she left. What is
he up to? What is he up to, indeed?
She sits on the edge of the bed and watches the candles flicker as she contemplates all
this. Surely he is expecting a guest, but why would he send candles and a rose to her
place? Was it mistakenly put there? She is certain he is responsible for this, but she
still cannot figure out why. Why her?
Well, she thinks, there really is only one way to find out, and that is to ask the man.
She gets up and starts to go back to his house. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she
stops. No, she is certainly not dressed appropriately for the occasion. He is a gentleman,
after all, and a true gentleman requires ... a Lady.
Her mind fully engaged now, she begins gathering her things. Yes, this teddie, these
stockings. The pink satin teddie hugs her form as she slides into it. The stockings
follow. As she stands in front of the mirror brushing her hair, she briefly considers
going just like as she is. But no, that would certainly NOT be lady like.
In the inner recesses of her closet is what her kid sister calls her "fairy princess
dress". The ballet length chiffon gown is such a pale blue it could almost be
mistaken for white. "Ah yes", she thinks as she zips the form fitting torso.
"This will do nicely."
She ties her hair back with a matching blue ribbon, then pauses to consider the artistry.
Just a touch of lipstick, and a sprits of perfume ... now she is ready. She steps into the
white shoes, picks up the handkerchief and heads for the door.
Just before she opens it, she stops. "A Lady doesn't call at the back door" she
thinks. So she heads for the front. It would take only a few minutes longer to get around
to Wood Avenue, but the effect would be worth it.
Meanwhile, he paces the floor, back and forth, growing nervous that she may not respond as
he had hoped. Had he gone too far in his intentions? Or had he not made himself clear at
all? He wonders. And again, pacing the floor, ever watching the courtyard for her return.
He does hear the doorbell, but dismisses it as another high school band member selling
chocolates. Henderson had been instructed to purchase such things equally from all, and
would take care of it, he concludes. Nervously he stares out the window.
"Yes?" he says to the quiet knock on the door. It is Henderson.
"There is a young lady here to see you, sir," is the reply. He turns and sees
her, standing before him, tall and gracious. He is immediately captivated, even more so
now than before.
Like fog creeping up the coast, she makes her way across the floor to stand next to him,
beside the French doors. "Here," she says softly as she extends her hand.
"I believe this belongs to you."
It is only then that he breaks eye contact with her and sees she is handing him his
handkerchief. He cannot contain his pleasure; his plan is indeed working. His face breaks
into a brief but broad smile, then he takes her hand, raises it to his lips and gently
kisses the back of it. She purses her lips to keep from giggling as his beard and mustache
tickles her hand; but she regains her composure just before he locks his eyes upon her
again.
"Thank you," he says.
It is her turn to smile now. "But of course" she replies. She then looks around
the room and finds it very much the same as before. Suddenly feeling a bit shy and
nervous, she stammers "I - I - I see you are expecting a guest. I shall leave you
now." And with those words she begins backing towards the doors behind her. The doors
through which he had been looking for her. The doors that are still open.
Alarmed that she might actually leave, he steps suddenly toward her, reaches his hand over
her shoulder and pushes the door shut saying intensely, "please stay."
She feels the warmth of his breath on her neck as he leans toward the door, and the brush
of his beard on her shoulder sent a tingling wave of chills throughout her. Trembling ever
so slightly, she meets his gaze as she hears only the pounding in her own heart, and the
definite click of the door closing behind her.