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seascapes and missed calls

12:53 pm Wednesday, 25th September, 2013

the is a balm in the air, and a closeness that is unfamiliar to those of us who live so close to the sea. a late summer heat lays like a thick ointment over the little wound of the bay - not quite soothing, but not altogether unpleasant.
the window in my office are open but little air is tempted inside, and what does enter is not stirred, or stirring.
i have a deadline to meet but, somehow, all urgency has drained from me today. it may be the oppressive air - or simply that i am distracted.
from my window i watch C as she tends to her garden. she is not a tall woman but has a willowy quality to her and her posture is excellent. as she is slim and well kept it is very difficult to determine her age - though i suspect that she is approaching sixty. a widow now she seems lighter than when i first saw her - less weighted at least and more inclined to smile (if only to herself - and when she is sure that she is not being observed).
it is not the first time i have watched her in her pretty little garden. she has a routine - two routines really. one conscious, the other... perhaps less so.
first the deadheading and that weeding. then the watering where required. all perfectly controlled and ordinary. an englishwoman is her garden.
the other routine is of much more interest to me. every so often - and with increasing frequency of late - she will press her fingers to her inner thigh and allow it to stray upwards until it nests for a moment on her groin. one short shiver of hips later she will return to her weeding. a little later the same thing again... and again... sometimes whole minutes pass between gestures. sometimes her fingers linger much longer - pressing with more force, and, at such times her expression alters considerably and a blush - unfamiliar to her pale cheeks - blossoms
what interests me most is that she does not seem to be seeking orgasm by these gestures... merely to explore the possibility of an arousal.
perhaps due to the stifling air there is a stain of sweat across her back.. seeping through the light cotton dress she always wears when gardening
and today, perhaps again due to the sultry day, there is a stain now on the skirt of her dress where she has been pressing. there is a moment when she becomes aware of this wetness, she stares down at it as if surprised. without too much consideration, almost without thought, she raises her wetted fingers to her lips.. to taste. this action appears to wake her. there is a sudden and scolding look in her eyes and she quickly gathers together her things.. and her thoughts... and she sets off briskly back indoors.
C, i consider, and not for the first time, has much potential...

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