From munster@eden.rutgers.edu Fri Jul 18 12:37:53 1997
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From: munster@eden.rutgers.edu (El Sol)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Stalking (mf plot)
Date: 18 Jul 1997 12:37:53 -0400
Organization: Rutgers University
Lines: 119
Message-ID: <5qo651$kkp@er6.rutgers.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: er6.rutgers.edu
Summary: mf
Keywords: mf



				Stalking

	She doesn't realize I watch her yet. It's better that way, she knows
me, not well, but enough to say hello if she accidently meets me as I trail 
around in her wake. 
	It's convenient to live in one of those mid-range cities, no more than 
40,000 people. You get to recognize faces so you're not surprised to see a 
familiar pair of eyes, and if maybe they are always looking at you, she can 
dismiss it as someone recognizing a familiar face they don't have a name to 
put to yet. That yet is very important. 
	I watch her, maybe someday after she stops dating the pretty boy, I'll 
talk to her but for now just watching her is enough.
	She lives across the street from me, third floor. I didn't notice 
her until I woke up unusually early one morning. I was drinking a cup of 
coffee hoping that the rare shot of caffeine would prepare me for an ungodly
7 in the morning wake up. I had decided to apply for a temporary teaching 
position at the local university. The only interview I could get was at 9 am. 
I like to be prepared about these things, and 2 hours seemed enough time to 
quell any butterflies. 
	I took the cup to my window and stared out into the early morning 
street, there really wasn't anybody outside, except garbage people. I discarded
running outside to give them my garbage bag, it could wait a few more days. 
A slow movement of white caught my eye directly across my window, she was 
bouncing around in front of her television in white panties and a white sport
bra. She had brown hair in a pony tail bouncing along to a rhythm, I couldn't
hear from where I watched. 
	I smiled into the cup, as she bent down from the waist, she seemed to
be doing the beginning stretches before the serious workout began. She seemed
extremely enthusiastic to be bouncing around like that during the warm-up. 
	I watched her bounce, strain, and pump her way through her work-out. 
My coffee was cold before I took another sip, there are better things than
caffeine to wake you up, I guess.
	She walked out of her room, and I studied what I could from my 
viewpoint. I seemed to be looking into her living room, I could see most of 
it from where I stood amazingly enough. The dimensions of my apartment 
building seem to be strange because even though I was on the same floor 
as her, I seemed to be looking slightly down into her apartment. I walked 
to my right to stare out the other window in my apartment that faced her, 
it gave me almost the exact same view as the first window, but this one looked
into the right-hand window on her wall. I smiled to myself this could be 
interesting. 
	I took a quick shower, changed into my 'interview' clothes, and walked 
to stand just inside my building door, staring out its window waiting for her. 
She came out of her apartment, I got lucky, somehow her car seemed to be  
parked directly in front of my building. 
	I opened the door, walked down the steps, and at a brisk pace passed 
in front of her car just as she got to the door. One quick hard look showed 
me what I wanted. Violently dark eyes, the hair was actually a light shade of
honeyed-brown instead of the dark-brown it had seemed to me from far away, she 
was, well I guess lush would be the best word. Very few women can be described
as luscious, with every thing that makes her a woman being on the border-line
of womanly to comical. Not perfect bodies, but each part just a little over the
top without being obscene. Breasts, a touch to big for her frame, hips a hair 
to wide for her height, etc.etc. 
	As I walked from her before she looked to me, I wondered at the 
burgeoning fascination, I like athletic rather than well, mother-earthly. 
	And so it began. 
	Finding myself crossing her path time and again. Buying her a drink,
as I left the restaurant she was just walking into, without letting her 
see who was watching. 
	Walking down the street on a Saturday morning, passing her, turning my 
head to blow in her ear, maybe it was a just a breeze. Surely, noone would blow
in some stranger's ear in the middle of the street.  
	Sitting behind her, on the bi-weekly movie she watches alone, as 
relaxation. 
	The ritualistic good-nights at my window. 
	The early-morning cup of coffee and aerobics. 
	
	She's dating a pretty boy, maybe that's why I've kept my distance. 
Her height, thin, shoulder-length blonde hair. The type most males are taught
to torture in high school. I've wondered why she goes out with him. She..She..
the best way to say it is that she overpowers his presence. Then again, it 
could just be me. 
	It was during the fifth night of ritualistic good-nights that I 
discovered it. 
	I walked to the window, and saw her and the pretty boy dancing to 
a slow rhythm, swaying really. Well, she was swaying. 
	I watched the motion of her hips enthralled. He wasn't taking advantage
of the dance. That slow, alone in her apartments, the rhythm she was moving 
to seemed made to run your hands over her, to touch wherever she allowed, and 
to hope each passing of the hand convinced her to allow a bit more of her to 
be explored. 
	She was in charge. It would be immensely interesting to struggle with 
her for control of the passion. I smiled as he just let her push him down to 
the floor. 
	She started a slow-strip, I ..
	I don't really remember much of it, the slow-dance, different articles 
of clothing being gone all of a sudden. The heat from her, I swear I could 
feel the heat from her even across the street. He had to move, he had to move.
	But he didn't he just lay there, as she straddle his hips, he raised 
his hands up to toy with her nipples. 
	She undid his pants and slid down his legs, trailing pants, and nipping
newly exposed skin. He had to move..
	He wasn't wearing underwear, or maybe she pulled it down with the 
pants. She crawled up until she had the alignment, she seemed to want. She 
had to go to him. 
	I watched her reach between her legs, and place him carefully. Her 
head rolled back in that slow sigh of passion that a woman uses if you're lucky
when a part of you is slowly becoming a part of her. He still did not move..
	She started a punishingly slow rotation of her hips on him.
	
	I turned from the window, and went to bed. I had a 7 a.m. appointment
the next day. From the looks of him, she would have enough energy and some to 
spare for a workout the next day. I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling 
playing that slow roll of the head back, mouth open to let a small gasp of 
surprise and pleasure escape. I imagined the motion, the sound, but this time
I wasn't watching it from across the street, I was beneath her. Beneath, for 
every roll, for every sharp intake of breath, and each release of air in a sigh
of pleasure. 
	
					El Sol


						




