Seeing as how I am about to bare my soul to you, I ask you to be kind in your judgement of me. Nothing brings me greater pain than to think of one woman who I never saw again after March 20th, 2004. The first time I saw her, of course the natural male reaction would at least for me would be to instantly lust after her. She was in her mid-thirties about 5’6, 130 pounds or so, very milky white skin, auburn shoulder length red hair and beautiful green eyes like Jade. I was smitten, I loved everything about her, her laugh, her walk, everything. I remember our first conversation when I walked into the video store where I met her. I hoped to see a lot of her, as I must confess I lusted in my heart for her body. She wasn’t some young bimbo, she was in my opinion as ideal as a woman can get. The first day I met her, she had on a black low cut dress. It nearly made my heart stop or beat faster, my body couldn’t decide which one. Her cleavage immediately sent all kinds of hormones racing through my body and making me hot all over.
I had introduced myself to her, Moira was her name. I could only equate the softness and sweetness of her voice and smile with the subtle lovely smell of rain as it falls on a parched desert land. Thinking about her gave me chills. I didn’t know if she wore stockings, but crazily enough, i didn’t give a damn. I wanted her more than anything else I’ve ever desired. All those expensive toys I wanted as a child, the desire then doesn’t even match my desire for Moira, which is a pebble to a mountain in terms of size.
I wasn’t sure if I could get away with dating her, I had wrecked my oldsmobile and was only driving my mom’s car. I don’t think I could have had a night out with Moira. It was unfortunate that circumstances seemed to conspire to keep my lust unsatisfied, unsatiated and ultimately, unquenched.
One day I for some reason was a little frisky. Usually I was very shy around women, but I suppose knowing her for the past few weeks, hearing what she usually talks about on the phone while I looked at the rentals made me more comfortable opening up. I had taken a magazine off the shelf and noticed an ad for a spy movie featuring a woman wearing a smart black jacket and a tight white blouse, but my attention was first drawn to her skirt was a little too short, exposing her garterbelts, at least 3 or 4 inches and the end where they were tightly holding up some beautiful off-brown stockings. My heart jumped as this was my opportunity to joke around and hopefully not get my ass kicked by Moira. No one was in the store and I came around to her and showed her the exciting picture which had seized control of my libido.
“This is how you should dress everyday Moira!”
Moira laughed sweetly.
“I wore that yesterday.”
I was confused, not quite understanding what she meant.
“What do you mean Moira?”
“Oh, I wore the same outfit, except for the skirt, it wasn’t quite so short.”
My mouth instantly became dry and my pulse and breathing rate skyrocketed. She must have noticed I was in the initial stages of being insanely horny.
It took all the residual energy I had to squeak out the next few words, all the blood from my brain had gone southward.
“You-mean… you had on garterbelts and stockings?!”
“Yes, too bad you weren’t here.”
“Will, you… please show me them sometime?” I was still breathing heavy. The counter between me and Moira was the only thing keeping her from seeing evidence of my sexual excitement.
“Yes” she said sweetly, but rolling her eyes.
I had dreams about her. Everytime I came in I felt like I was being annoying, she wasn’t wearing garterbelts any of the days I came in, which was damn near five times a week. I was mad but I was willing to be nice simply because I liked her and was willing to be as nice as I could possibly be to see her in her skimpy and sexy little sussies.
One day however, I came in and asked what happened to Moira. The guy working there told me she had quit. All the energy just came out of me. I didn’t have energy to do much anymore. Now i have even less. Maybe it was wrong and maybe it was psycho or sick to ever request of a woman that she reveal her intimate apparel. I didn’t really care.
I must have sat in the car for half an hour crying before i finally got up the will power to drive home. I still think about her a lot and fantasize not so much sexually about her, but about what could have been. Even though I had no right to do what I did I still felt jilted, cheated, hurt in so many ways. It’s depressed me a lot, but I guess I have to carry on anyway…