A Perfectly Natural Sin

One finger danced in circles upon my freckled shoulder. It wandered down my arm, inciting a familiar ache. Dropping to my bare waist the other fingers joined the revelry, teasing eagerly toward my round hip. Tiny hairs stood erect, fluttering with anticipation; betraying the coy masquerade my stillness and silence sought to nurture.

His ragged polo drooped over the back of my desk chair hiding from view a small brass frame adorning my mother’s photo. Footsteps echoed along the outside of my window. The blinds tucked tight one into another and the white linen curtains hugged secure from end to end. I could not see her shadow but I knew my roommate was home for the night. The lock popped with a turn of her key and faint footsteps shuffled along the tiny foyer toward her bedroom.

I held my breath as I feared she might want to tell me goodnight. I fixed my eyes to the door. A distant lamplight clicked on and the door across the hall snapped shut. I searched the floor alongside my bed. My white cotton nightgown with pink lace trim dangled from the ivory bed post. His jeans and boxers crumpled into a heap by my nightstand. One gray sock with red stitching across the toe peeked out from beneath the scalloped bed skirt. But there were no shoes.

I worried that he took them off at the front door. Had she seen them? Did she enter the dark apartment and notice a man’s shoes in the entryway? Perhaps she did not say goodnight because she fretted a man might come to my darkened doorway if she knocked. Would she tell? Did it matter to me anymore?

I had longed for this night since the first time we kissed, though I pretended to myself that I would resist. When the first pangs of emotion ignited between us I hurried to state my opinion on the mat...

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...t with a boy’s stare. They often looked. I could feel it. My breasts had grown. They pinched the edges of my sweaters together, causing them to pucker and wrinkle. Like two round oranges they stretched the fabric between and begged to be adored. Once skinny hips plumped and pulled skirts out from my waistband, an unwelcome surprise during my sophomore year of high school.

Now, four fingers caressed that generous curve from my waist to my hip. Down they traveled to my thigh and lingered but for a moment, teasing. Tickling further to my knee and cascading down my calf they stroked the soft part of my foot before hugging my toes. Finally, they sauntered upward and retraced their sensual journey. He sought to memorize me. With a slow and gentle stroke he photographed each curve that he might review it later. A naked muse, he could hide nothing from me, or I from him.