by Nathan Faust
(07/09/03)
Standing in the deli line at the mega supermarket, my number is 19 and the last number called 15. It seems like everyone is restocking their entire supply of cold cuts, each order consisting of several different cuts of meat or cheese.
She is waiting in line as well. Her number is higher than mine and I had watched her walk up. Nondescript really, blonde, not a beauty, with a face not perfect but attractive and a body that was thin and lithe, but not athletic. Her skin though.... Her skin is something to bath in, pale
white, smooth with a blush; like heavy cream poured on fresh peaches. She is shy, not reserved or withdrawn, but someone who, it can be told by looking at her, does not feel as if she has much of a chance in a world where absolute perfect beauty is the standard and all others, less than nothing.
I turn and walk toward her; she is twenty or so paces away from me, but I feel her from there. As I approach the ten-foot mark, we make eye contact and I can see a blush begin to rise. Not an ugly blotchy thing but smooth pinkness that enhances her, makes me have to touch her, feel that skin. I approach and stand very close. My hands are empty, hers encumbered by one or two
items. I stand close and look at her and, holding eye contact, reach out, cover the inch or so between us slowly and brush the inside of her thigh with the back of my hand. High up, near the point where thigh becomes treasure. As my hand moves away it grazes hotness at the junction.
She gasps slightly, does not move away, in fact spreads her legs slightly and leans in toward me.
"I have to touch you," I said, "I have to feel your skin." I move away somewhat and shift so that I am behind and beside her. Our backs are toward a freezer case of lobster tails. There is no one near to discover the adventure; both of us gaze at the lowing herd.
I slide my hand up under her sweater and touch the small of her back, feel the warmth there, the down that covers the area. Not hair exactly, smooth, like corn silk. I place my whole hand across the spot, feel her shiver, lean in and say, "Come with me." She nods quickly, a slight move of the head, once down and back up.
Applying slight pressure to her back I steer her into the stock area next to the deli section and look for my spot. I see it almost at once, a tall stack of large cases containing paper towels. Moving in that direction I discover it to be mazelike, and, in the midst of the maze, a three foot cube of cases sitting alone.
I turn her toward me and relieve her of her load. Placing the basket on the floor I pull her to me. I hold her tight, my nose in her hair, inhaling the citrus of her shampoo, and I reach down to grasp the bottom of the sweater. Stepping back, I pull it up and over the top of her head, then quickly undo and remove the bra. I lay my cheek against her chest; I at first kiss, then
lick, then lightly bite the perfect cherry pit of a nipple, hearing her gasp as I simultaneously reach down and undo the clasp of her pants, encouraging their drift to the floor.
Taking her hand, I invite her to step from the puddle of blue and sit on the case. As she sits, I slide her satiny underwear down her legs and gaze momentarily at the light blonde hair that just barely hides the prize of her. I kneel before her. Beginning just inside her left knee, I slowly kiss my way to the spot that I want more that anything in the world at that moment to feel on my lips. I hear her breathing increase, with small whimpers beginning to arise from each kiss.
At the spot where the inside of the thigh moves toward torso, I open my eyes and gaze at the beautiful paleness as I move on to kiss down covered lips, inhaling deeply and smelling her smell; slightly salty, slightly acrid, delicious, the smell of her and only her. Pushing her thighs apart more, I press my lips to the center of her and kiss her deeply; as I do so I
hear her gasp and touch my head, no push, no greed, just a light warm and encouraging hand at the back my head, where neck joins skull.
How to describe that kiss? My lips have never encountered such a feeling, smooth, hot, slightly damp, the pleasure of warm cream on warmer sweetness. The feeling of the kiss and the smell of her are all it takes for me and, as I feel my release, I feel hers. At that delicious moment, in the distance, I hear....
"Number 19? Number 19."
"Last call number for number 19."
I shake my head, cannot speak, cannot breathe right, can only raise my hand, and stumble toward the counter trying to hide my erection with my basket. The Deli man pulls back slightly, unable to interpret the look on my face, am I ill? "Can I help you sir?"
Mumbling something about aged provolone, I glance back at the tall, slight blond, with the skin of peaches and cream. She smiles.
