KingMidget's Ramblings

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It was her shoulders that did it.

Shoulders? you ask.

Yes.  Her shoulders.  They were perfect.

Perfect shoulders?

Yes.  I know it doesn’t make sense, but they were flawless and they drew me to her.

When I first walked into the restaurant, I barely noticed her.  At a table with a group of women.  Lots of empty champagne glasses evidencing enjoyment of the bottomless mimosas.  At first glance, none of the women seemed remarkable or noteworthy.

I accepted the table the hostess sat me at right next to this talking, laughing, smiling group and waited for my lunch companion.  Checked the menu, ordered a drink.  Waited.

And looked over.  Right there, mere feet away.  Smooth skin, flawlessly formed, bearing a light tan of early spring.  Shoulders that were created just for me.  To touch.  That’s all I wanted to do.  Touch her shoulders.  To caress with my palm.  Run a finger along them to see goose bumps sprout.

Shoulders.   Do you think she would have been offended if I had leaned over.  “You have the most incredible shoulders I have ever seen.  May I touch one?”  Maybe she’s waiting for that.  For somebody to touch her.

Do things like that ever happen?  In a flash of lightning, a momentary gasp, the oddball question that might seem freaky actually works.

Maybe, just maybe, she’s got the same script as me.  The one that says that something as simple as the sight of her shoulders drew me to her and I took a chance and said something more likely to cause her to pull back and me to run in shame.  But the script reads differently than that.

The script says it was her shoulders and that I asked.  And she blinked once or twice, turned to her friends who wore various expressions of … disgust, amazement, envy … before looking back at me.  She smiled and barely nodded.

As though in a spotlight, my hand reached across the divide and I did it.  I caressed her shoulder with my palm.  Her eyes closed and she went somewhere into herself, smiling slightly as I ran my finger barely touching her smooth skin and saw the thousands of bumps pop up along her arm.

That’s all there was.  My fingers on her skin.  Touching.

When I pulled back, she remained still for a few seconds longer.  I looked at her and saw that her shoulders were not the only beautiful thing about her.  She leaned to me.  “Thank you.”

What happened next?

Nothing.

Nothing?

Yes.  Nothing.  My lunch companion came.  Her party ended and she left.  But, I touched her shoulder.

 

 

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17 responses to “

  1. sknicholls April 12, 2014 at 4:23 pm

    *sigh* words as awesome as these written in first person amaze me!

  2. El Guapo April 12, 2014 at 5:07 pm

    A perfect moment unsullied by anything else.
    Very nice!

  3. Patrick W. O'Bryon April 12, 2014 at 5:23 pm

    Evocative prose, to say the least. Almost lyrical in nature. Nicely crafted, Mark. Thanks for sending that our way.

  4. Trent Lewin April 13, 2014 at 8:41 am

    Absolutely wonderful, my friend. Got me right into it and I followed eagerly. Wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Really, his is hot stuff, and I am not bothered in the least by the ending; in fact, I think that makes it.

    The touch of skin, wonderfully rendered. Wonderful.

    And by the way, I am NOT going to comment on your new gravatar or that frilly pink thing on you head…

    • kingmidget April 13, 2014 at 8:43 am

      About to go for a bike ride and read this. Sadly I don’t have the pink frilly thing to wear on my ride. But I do get to laugh the whole way. Thank you.

  5. Aussa Lorens April 13, 2014 at 3:22 pm

    Very well done. Innocent and yet strangely erotic.

  6. Kirsten April 15, 2014 at 1:54 pm

    Beautiful. Innocent, sexy, and innocent again! I wonder if I would be brave enough to ask someone to do something like that? Although, a guy might think it weird if I asked to touch his shoulder. Maybe, I should aim for his bicep! lol

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