glass

Here I am, standing in front of the first floor window looking out onto the world. The glass ceiling to floor revealing me wearing a mid-length wrapped blue denim skirt and white strap top, I was hypnotically-held, framed from the outside like a painting coming to life, vertiginous, dangerous, exhilarating. An allure impossible to resist, how smooth and cool to my touch pressing my palms against it feeling both safe and exposed, beyond touch from both sides.

A disembodied voice talks to me, reminds me why I’m here looking out at the soundless movement of leaves, swishing of branches, birds and vapour trails, occasional litter.  People too passing by, not many, few look up, how many do I couldn’t say, people preoccupied with their own thoughts, schedules, plans, worries, they come and they go.

Again, the voice broke through my reverie, having told me to stand here, by the window, describe what I see, their tinny tones through the laptop speakers. I told them, my voice probably sounding as thin as theirs does to me.

They were wherever they were and I was here, right here, a wilderness of internet between, a cloudscape, a magical medium of wi-fi and pixels, half a world away from each other and chatting in real time. Now I do what I’m told. I don’t remember exactly agreeing to, but, I must have. He spoke gently, measured, a hint of suggestive, invitingly, inspiring trust. The kind of voice that draws to in, drew me in. He oozed reassurance.

I’d surrendered free will, for an hour at least. I‘d agreed, even before I knew why he wanted, I’d agreed, he had that skill. I’d already described my clothes; he’d asked, so I told, how could I not? Go the window, describe what I see, I did, how could I not? He told me to dance, slowly, I did, how could I not? It felt good, he asked me how it felt, I told him, how could I not? It felt good, once I’d got over feeling self-conscious. Turn my back to the window. I did, how could I not, continuing to dance as I was. Bend over, I did, how could I not?

Imaginary music swam over me, filling the room, caressing the pane. Run my hands up and down my sides, I did, how could I not? Slide them over all of me, I did, of course how could I not? So natural it felt, he seemed to know, know what I wanted to hear next even though I didn’t know myself. Press my buttocks to the glass, I did, how could I not? Keep hearing the music letting my body lead me where it will go. It felt cool through the denim and the cotton of my knickers  .

I was lost in the moments that fled from the room, one after another. I’d almost forgot he was there. He was, as he’d been since we started chatting hours ago it felt. Place my hands on the front of my legs and move them upwards, along with my skirt. I did, how could I not? It slid easily, smoothly inch by inch, hesitating as I reached just below where any further would expose my knickers. He told me to keep going, further, further up. Hesitation melted by the fluidity of his words, lift it all the way with my back to the glass, to the world, to the outside beyond. My hands acted before my brain could keep up and I’d pulled it up like it was the most normal thing to do in this position. How could I not, after he reminded of my promise to surrender until we, he, was done.

Black knickers on show to the world, to the outside beyond, their lace waistband and trim, something which on his request I had changed into. How could I not, I’d promised to do what he asked. Such a strange sensation at first and the smoothness of glass feeling cooler now as I pressed back against it. Turn around, he said, how could I not, keep my skirt raised and lean forward, kiss the glass. Strange as it sounds, I did, how could I not, whatever I thought or felt, however awkward it seemed.  I knew the front of my top slipped enough to show off my cleavage as I felt caught in his web of intrigue. How could I not be, curious as I was as to where this was going, where he was taking me?

The exhilaration was almost off the scale. Lift up your top, no questions, just do it; I acquiesced, as crazy as it sounds, I did, how could I not? His voice now firm but retaining its comforting tones, comforting and perhaps. Good. Take off your top. Another hesitation, he sensed it and repeated, take off your top. Off it came, underneath which I wore a black bra. Dance again, as I did before. I did, how could I not? The rhythm found me soon enough once again.

Are you ready?
Ready? Unwrap your denim skirt. I knew this time hesitation wasn’t an option, it was as though he was here, in the room, which in a sense he was. Top button unfastened, diagonal zip lowered, slowly. It reached its end too soon for my nervousness. Pull open my skirt, hold it wide I did, how could I not having come this far, and I was still under a promise against which the clock ticked ever so slow. My obedience was guaranteed by now, he knew it; I knew it.

Dance, dance as before, except this time holding open my skirt which acted as a backdrop for my hips and thighs. The car park across the road below found cars parking, cars moving away,, not close enough for me to make out the features of people but enough so that if one chose to look up they would see me. The birds, the trees, vapour trails, occasional litter. I danced exposing me in my underwear to the world beyond and below, a goldfish in a goldfish bowl with nowhere to hide, on show, on stage, picture  the scene.

Drop the skirt. How could I now. It fell to the floor. Something black, something with lace, it’s what he asked me to wear, how could I not, my word was my word. Goosebumps skittered across my skin from my head to my toes, encouraging me as though in league with his voice, with him, wherever he was half a world away I assumed. He must have hypnotised me, surely I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise, how could I, why would I? Emotions, sensations swallowed me whole with each request, each command, extolled through soft syllables designed to inextricably seep into my attention. Turn with my back to the glass. I did. Bend over, I did, moving my hips side to side with every move conducted by him as though I was a new score he was composing making each note move along the staves as his will.

I was not responsible for my actions, I told myself; except I was, at least in part. Lower the straps of the bra. How could I not? Unhook the bra. Let it go. It fell to the floor. I wrapped my arms and hands over my now bare breasts but, as if again he was right there in this room, bend over, he said and let them hang freely. I did, they did. Run your hands over your hips, over your thighs, up and down, don’t stop until I say. I did, how could I not, it was not so much asking as merely stating what will happen next, and then next and then next.

Turn around, face the window. How could I not. I turned around once again finding the world still there, on full view as I was now to it and all beyond and below. Tick-tock. My body stiffened slightly, every molecule of air played across my nipples now excited, self-consciousness. He knew. I knew he knew, I could hear it in every word he said, he knew. Caress myself, all over, stand where I was and do it. I did it, I did it, how could I not. He had taken my fingers beyond normal touching, the day-to-day, the mundane we do and now it felt like it wasn’t my hands at all bot another’s, sifting arousal from my every pore. How dark and deep our desires can sleep, that is until awoken.

A hand between my thighs, how warm I was, I am, inside my knickers. I dug them in without instruction, or subconsciously predicting his next instruction until he said, more, more, like that, yes. How did he know what I was doing? More, more, dig them in more, our psychic bond was complete it seems as though he almost didn’t need to say but I was doing it anyway. He’d wound me up and now there was no going back. Deep they felt, I felt, we felt into my thighs, playing over and through the delicate material, I almost wanted hands to tear at my skin which now fizzed with dry perspiration. I could feel eyes, eyes on me, eyes watching me, eyes exploring me, eyes locked on me, or so I imagined. Or, did I imagine it?

Don’t stop, and I didn’t, I couldn’t, a promise is a promise so how could I stop. Feel it, feel it, feel them beyond and below, feel their eyes, feed on their eyes, feed their eyes; we are all watching.

Pull them down, slowly. Tick-tock. Pull them down, slowly. My fingers took the lead as my mind couldn’t decide, teasing the waistband, pulling them down a centimetre at a time, stopping as though fighting against it, but the fingers were already committed, determined. Turn around, back to the window. I did, how could I not? The laced elastic gave in as I felt more of myself also submit as lower they came nervously, over my buttocks feeling once more the eyes of the world upon me, or so he had said: feel their eyes, feed their eyes.

All the way now, all the way: I did so, how could I not? Down they came as I step out of one leg and then the next leaving me utterly naked, my back to the glass to the world beyond and below.

Dance. I danced, slow and admittedly sexually. The clock ticked and tocked and ticked, my body exuded a heat, the heat of sex, of submission, a moistness tingled between my thighs, the sun entered the window kissing my nudity.

Turn around. I heard and didn’t. Turn around. Hesitation fought back, turn around then retreated back into its shadow. I turned around to face the world beyond and below, to whatever happens will happen, to the inevitable. Couldn’t I have just lied and said I was doing what he asked without actually doing. But that’s not me, not honest, not right, a promise is a promise. Also, it did feel like he was here in the room, or close, close enough. This was the only way.

Dance. I did so, how could I not? I danced naked, animated as I was trapped in this frame, my pale skin, my curves, imperfections, flaws, freckles, shoulders, breasts, nipples, waist, hips, thighs, arms, legs totally free. Let them in, let them see, let them touch, let them use every inch of you, let yourself be what you want to be, let them have what they want to have.

His voice became an echo, a ghost, a phantom, a breath of air. Tick-tock. It was a while before I realised it was gone. Was it really there? Was he really there? Silence, and then an orgasm gripped me, my fingers between my thighs, clenched, I crumbled first on the inside then my limbs gave way, falling to the floor, curling up, shuddering, moist, sweat, that familiar scent, minuscule death throes rippled through me again, again, again, until they didn’t. Was I dead? Is this death?

I hadn’t died. I know because I’m here writing this to you, still here, still here, having had yet another window in my world thrown open for all to enjoy.

© Emmaleela