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by R Cane

Published by R Cane

Copyright 2018 R Cane


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She must know I can see her - sliver of damp tan skin, an elbow, flash of side nipple, her ass when she turns her back.

This is the spare bedroom I guess, but still, how could she forget that lying here minding my own business I will see her in the bathroom beyond the slightly open door - wisps of loose hair flying in the breeze as she runs lotioned hands over skin. Thin slice of earlobe, waist, thigh, hint of hollow near her private self. Is she trying to kill me? I could roll over, look out the window, but am mesmerized - this woman is beautiful.

Maybe she has forgotten I am here at all. It was very late when I was locked out, she looked like she might have been coming in from a bar or somewhere, drinking. Though not knowing her, it’s hard to tell, maybe she’s that kind of smiley and bright all the time?

Feels strange, peeking through the open door into someone’s personal routine, the way she looks at herself in the mirror, hands on naked hips, judging? Certainly assessing. Me waiting to get caught, yet unable to look away. There is no catch though, she eventually throws a tshirt over her head, opens the door wider, “coffee?” As she leans in I see the white vneck lift up to show the curve of her ass. She must know?

Her quick glance is not particularly flirtatious. Not sure what this is. “Yes,” I reply, hop out of bed in my boxers, a tshirt I found in the room that smells faintly of vanilla. I am small breasted so there is on issue there, but my shoulders must be broader than hers, all that swimming my mother pushed - the material stretches over me a bit. I get a long look, but can’t confirm the expression. Plain curiosity? Approval? Something else? When she turns, her tshirt swings just below her business. Clearly comfortable she is, whatever else may or may not be going on.

After splashing water on my face, smoothing my hair, I follow her path down the hall, stairs, into her kitchen. “Thanks,” I offer while she works around the counter making coffee.

Turn, smile, “for what?”

“Well you kind of took a stranger in off the street in the middle of the night?” and let her watch your naked self, I don’t say.

Shrug. “I’ve seen you around.”

Hm. Ok. “I don’t know if I like seeming so harmless – ” I admit.

Facing away, filling the coffee pot, “I didn’t say that.” That’s it. She leaves me with that line, nothing else. Oh, and somewhere between inviting me for coffee and my arrival in the kitchen she has stepped into thongs, bright blue, that I can see just between the bottom of her cheeks when she leans forward over the sink. Is it bad to look? She has to know, right? Eventually turning back, leaning against the counter, “how do you like it?”

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