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| Blogs > rm_rstoney3 > Reminisces of a Lost Lover |
The start of it all
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The start of it all As was typical for a sticky summer Sunday afternoon in SoHo, I was standing alone outside Uniqlo waiting for my then-girlfriend to emerge. Usually I'm a great boyfriend shopper. After all, I'm the one who benefits from her outfits, so why not have input, gently nudging her towards that shorter skirt, those higher heels, and that more revealing sundress. But this Sunday we were fighting, and that was far too common these days, too, so I waited outside. It was high tourist season for foreign and American tourists alike, and I wanted to watch the eye candy go by. Little did I know what a great decision that would be. The amazing thing about NYC is the sheer volume of gorgeous women all around you, all the time. So when I tell you that the girl coming down the sidewalk lit up my insides, believe me, I'm coming from a place of vast experience. Experience both of the hands-on variety, as well as the accustomed-to-being-treated-to-eye-candy variety. She was a tourist, clearly and easily identifiable by her camera, her guidebook, and her two girlfriends clutching the same. My first guess was Japanese, and I was proved correct when I saw the writing on her guidebook and overheard her speaking to her friends. She would have stood 5'0" if not for the platform stiletto heels. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a pony tail--slightly and intentionally off center--with long bangs coming right down to the top of her eyes. Her eyes. They were extraordinarily wide, and she was wearing the decorative contacts that were all the rage with Japanese girls: they covered her cornea and retina in a dark black. The look was intended to make the wearer look like the girls in Japanese anime cartoons. It worked. And let me tell you, if you're not used to see it--or even if you are--it's startling how subtle yet devilishly sexy it is. When a Japanese girl with these lenses on looks up at you and bats her eyes, all you see is a deep pool of endless black, and all you can think about is how many ways to Sunday you can fuck this little cartoon character. Before I go any further, let me digress and explain that I'm not some Asian-creeper looking for a submissive geisha or objectified schoolgirl. NYC is far too diverse a town, and I've been exposed to nearly every culture, and as many women in each as would have me. I have no preconception or stereotype in my mind about how a woman should be based on her race or nationality. I love them all with equal vigor. But there I was, standing on the sidewalk, ogling at this girl like she just walked out of a cartoon. Her face was in perfect proportion, round, with a cute button nose, full cheekbones, and, wait, was that just a hint of babyfat still? God it was a picture of pure intentionally farcical innocence. I gave her body a quick glance up and down, and then decided that quick glance was far too short. Not only did she have a beautifully proportioned face, but her body was just perfect. Her shirt was an oversized American Apparel see-through rag that fell off her left shoulder, revealing smooth silky pale skin. Underneath was another shirt, this one perfectly tight fitting showing off her pert breasts. Despite the sweltering summer heat, the outlines of tiny nipples could be made out, even from a distance. The girls made their decision and started off walking again, now heading toward me. As she approached, I found myself looking down at her legs, shapely, a little bit of curve to them, despite her slim figure. And then I noticed as she came closer, her black tights--and she wore nothing else on her lower half but these tights--were so tight fitting that I could actually see the shape of her vulva. It was as though time slowed down for me. Here in front of me, walking by me, was exactly the kind of girl that not too long ago would have found her way to my bed. Instead, I was just leaning against a standpipe, staring passively, while waiting for my girlfriend to emerge. Girlfriend. Fuck. for a few blissful minutes I had completely forgotten about her. Nearly ten years of on-again-off-again relationship had soured so badly now that everyone could smell the wretched stink of it all. Once upon a time, I ruled this town, its sidewalks, bars, and offices. I laid out brilliant game in daylight, aggressive chatter in the evening, and last-call drunken hookups in the early pre-dawn hours. I took advantage of introductions from friends-of-friends-of-friends to always nab a hottie for a night of lust and passion. Notorious to some, reviled by others, rejected more often than not. Not afraid of rejection because I had no shame--what's one rejection when there's a whole metropolis of 8 million people, probably a good solid 500,000 are fuckable girls in my age range? That was me, once upon a time. And now here I am, waiting for a girl to emerge who I often regret being with, who doesn't make me happy, and who's let her body slip into a comfortable flabbiness. She's in there, I'm out here, we're fighting, again, and I'm being a total creeper staring at this girl's perfectly outlined pussy. It's all going through my head in slow motion: My little wide-eyed Japanese princess with her pussy wagging in front of me. She's splayed out on my bed, shoes off, shirt off, tights still on, legs spread, her hair out of the off-center ponytail and strew over my pillows. I pull her in close and rub my hard cock against that bulging outline of a pussy. And it goes from there. Only it doesn’t. The moment passes. She walks by. I stand still. Waiting. What am I waiting for? I’m waiting for this relationship to either improve, or end. It’s not going to end itself. I’m going to have to do it. I miss living out those fantasies. I miss chasing girls on the street, in the bars, in the offices. I miss the thrill of the hunt, and lust of the conquest. It’s been lacking in my life for far too long. That sweltering summer Sunday in SoHo with my little Japanese princess whose tights were just a bit too tight, her eyes a just a bit too wide, and her possibility just a bit too far outside of my reach. She changed my life there on the sidewalk. That was the beginning of the end of that relationship. And the start of it all. Again. |
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8/16/2012 1:59 am |
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