The Consensual Stalker
He had known it was her habit to spend Friday mornings on a number of errands, generally wrapping a half days worth of activities into one outing. There was the early morning or noon-time yoga class, or a nice quiet coffee shoppe with excellent java and free wifi, or occasionally, just wandering the streets shopping, mostly for clothing, retail therapy she called it. Today was early yoga, and then coffee and a muffin, and now, she was slowly sauntered down the street, peeking in store windows, almost dreamy looking. She had a bounce to her step, occasionally moving to the beat of the music from her ever-present clip-on iPod Shuffle, he imagined.
She half concentrated on the stores but was periodically preoccupied with her phone, either texting or tweeting, but not talking. At times she’d stop and lean against a store front, rapt attention on the small screen, and suddenly burst out laughing, and then look around, self conscious. She wondered if people were looking at her, hoping they might be, and that they might be wondering what she found so laughable.
The day had started when he followed her from her home, across town, and out to the yoga parlor. After she parked and went inside, he went to the cafe across the street, found a window table and had a light breakfast and coffee. Then he leaned back, listened to his book, and waited. As she left the yoga class, he noticed she had changed into the lovely shape hugging, lightweight pink sheath dress, perfect for pulling off and on while shopping. He hoped so, he was looking forward to the idea of a day of watching her pop in and out of stores, knowing how dearly she loved her shopping excursions. He smiled in anticipation of a joyful day of observation, perhaps some embarrassment, a little humiliation and pleasure, certainly a bit of sexuality and excitement.
He watched her come across the street, walk into the cafe, and order coffee and a giant chocolate muffin. She went and sat at a table in the back seating area, waiting for the server to deliver her heated muffin.
He was positioned where he could see her reflection in the window while he appeared to be looking out onto the street. She pulled out her little laptop computer and busied herself with the Internet. The muffin arrived and she divided her time between eating and something on the computer. She busied herself with typing and he wondered if she was writing another story for her blog, she seemed more engaged than simple email or messaging.
After eating her muffin, and drinking a second cup of coffee, she packed her things, got up and headed out to the parking area beside the yoga parlor and got into her car. He got up, walked out after her, climbing into his large black sedan parked at the curb. He started the engine and waited to follow her when she pulled out. As she pulled out, he made a wide U-turn and settled in behind her, heading back toward the downtown shopping area. She looked in her rear view mirror periodically but of course wouldn’t recognize his car, having only seen it the once before, long ago. And that was only a slight image in her rear view mirror at the building supply store.
He followed her back into the downtown area where she pulled into a parking garage. He drove past the parking structure entrance to the end of the block and made another U-turn. He found a parking space beside the parking garage she had pulled into. He remained in the car as she walked out of the garage and headed toward the boulevard shops. After she passed by he got out of the car, crossed the street and took position in the doorway to an office building. From there he watched her as she slowly sauntered down the street, glancing in store windows. When she was half way down the block he opened his Blackberry and sent a text message, “How are you today? Out shopping?”
She replied, “Yes, just started. Went to yoga, then breakfast. Now I’m shopping, you?”
“Yes, I am out today too, enjoying the scenery.”
Reflexively she looked around but in the dark shadows of the doorway, looking through two panes of storefront glass it was unlikely she’d see him.
He sent back a text, “Enjoy your shopping. Buy yourself something nice. Hugs.”
He received her response, “Thanks. Hugs back.”
She put her phone back into her purse and resumed looking at shop windows. He stepped out of the shadows and walked down the sidewalk to the next corner. He leaned against the light pole and watched her as she went from store to store. From time to time she would do a little shuffle dance step or two, clearly enjoying her music. She had always preferred the little Shuffle in lieu of the MP3 player built into her phone, ‘it is so small and cute and easy, the phone is so bulky.’
He decided to give this some more time. He walked further down the street and went into the fountain shop. He got an iced tea, selecting a seat at one of the small window side tables. Sometimes she would pause and look over all the items on display, at other stores she would just slow slightly and glance at the window as she passed by. However, at every clothing store she would thoroughly examine the windows offerings and usually head inside.
After nearly an hour had passed, he pulled out his Blackberry again and composed a text. “Still out shopping? Did you buy anything interesting?”
“Yes still shopping but haven’t found anything I want yet.”
“What did you decide to wear today?”
“Sweat suit earlier, for yoga. Warmer now, changed to a dress, simple sheath, easy to pull off or up in a dressing room.”
“What else?”
“Simple strap sandals.”
“Yes? What else?”
There was a long pause and then, no response. He smiled to himself, imagining, wondering if she was busy with something and not able to reply immediately, or if, more likely, she was reluctant to respond any further. As he sat there looking at the screen, waiting for a response, his attention was captured by movement across the street. He looked up and saw her coming out of the dress shop, phone in her hand, looking around.
Grinning, he typed again, “What else!”
She stared at the phone, looked left and then right, and then back at the phone, and tapped a reply, “panties”.
Even from a distance across the street he could see that she had not worn a bra, but asked anyway, “Panties and a bra?”
Again, she was reluctant to respond, but eventually said, “no, just panties, no bra.”
“Which panties?”
“The white gauzy boy shorts.”
He felt a tingle in his palms from the tactile memory of those white gauze boy shorts, his fingers flexed involuntarily.
“Mmm, my favorite, very nice.”
Again, she looked around. Clearly it seemed that she sensed from his text messages that he might be around, nearby. He was sure that she would not be able to see him through the tinted window of the fountain. As she stood there looking up and down the street he texted back, “Enjoy your shopping, I am sure you are drawing some very appreciative attention.”
Her curt response came back, “No. I’m not.”
“Well, I need to be on my way. Have a good afternoon sweetheart.”
Again, a short, matter of fact reply, “Okay, good bye. I am nearly done and will be heading home.”
“Bye bye.”
She dropped the phone down into her bag and headed down the street and disappeared into another shop.
He got up, refilled his glass and returned to his seat. It was a bright sunny day with a slight breeze and temperatures probably in the low 80’s, a perfect day to sit with a rich sweet tea and watch the world passing by. There was a lot of activity, a lot of shoppers and window shoppers out this morning. Everyone as dressed for a warm fall day, surely glad that the oppressive heat of summer was passing and autumn was on the way.
He looked at the time and was beginning to wonder if he had lost track of her. Perhaps she had left or moved on while he was refilling his tea, or when he’d gone to the restroom. He was considering sending another text message when suddenly she emerged from the original store with a heavily loaded shopping bag. She was headed back toward the parking garage. It seemed that her shopping adventure had borne fruit and was over. He dropped a tip on the table and stepped out onto the street. He followed her along on a parallel route from the opposite side of the street.
When she turned into the parking garage, he dodged between traffic and ran across the street. He did not want to lose track of her in the dark maze of stairs, parking levels and myriad cars. When he entered the structure she was just turning around the corner of the staircase to the second level. He entered the stairwell and followed.
As he got to the second floor landing he heard her above him opening the door to the third level. He paused a moment and then ran up the final flight of stairs. He twisted the door knob slowly, silently and opened it just slightly but could not see her, or anyone. He stuck his head out through the door and looked to the left, deeper into the structure and saw her walking down the aisle toward a bank of cars on the right side of the drive. He stepped out, crossed the driveway and proceeded along the bank of cars and saw her turn in beside her own. He was about a dozen cars away and needed to catch up before she got in.
From one car away, across a vacant parking stall, he saw that she was fumbling with her hand bag, the shopping bag and her keys unlocking the backseat door. As she put her bags into the back seat and slide the door closed he stepped up behind her.
He took hold of her upper left arm and grabbed the back of her neck, pushing her hard up against the side of the car. Leaning in close he spoke into her ear, “Be still” but she continued to struggle against his grip. Looking closer, he let go her left arm, pressed her against the car with his body and reached up and pulled the ear-bud out if her ear and repeated, “Be still.” She seemed to recognize his voice and calmed down, relaxing the fight-or-flight tension in her arms and legs and torso.
Continuing to hold tightly onto the back of her neck he reached around and pulled the ear-bud from her right ear as well. He ran his free hand along the side of her hip and upper thigh and felt the memory. He moved his hand down further and grabbed the material of the dress and struggled to pull it up.
After he got the hem of her dress up around her waist, he let go the material and moved his hand up to her breast. He cupped his hand up under her left breast and felt her warm softness contrasted by the stiff hardening of her nipple. Rolling it back and forth with his thumb and the side of his finger brought a soft murmur and groan, and even greater stiffness. He pinched down harder and twisted, and felt her body tense, and wilt slightly. He loved the warm feel of her body squirming against his.
He let go her nipple and took hold of her left wrist. He guided her hand down across her front, across her stomach and pushed it inside the elastic of her panties, then deeper down. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Touch.”
He felt her hand moving, “Just touch, no rubbing. Curl your middle finger down and under.”
Still holding her wrist, he felt her fingers move. He deepened his voice even further, “Press with your finger, wiggle slightly, up and down. No friction. A very subtle movement.”
He could feel the tension in her stomach as she worked her finger slowly up and down. She was groaning and shifting and rocking in a thrusting motion.
Deep into her ear he said, “Restrain yourself, slow and easy.”
But she continued working her fingers, pushing her skin back and stroking lightly back and forth. She began spasmed repeatedly, like she was receiving little electrical shocks. Suddenly she was grunting and folding over at the waist, jerking and quivering.
He let go her neck and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his body tightly and they both shook with her spasms. Eventually her breathing slowed and her tension relaxed.
He opened the door and nearly poured her into the drivers seat. She collapsed into the seat and leaned her head back against the head rest, eyes closed, seemingly ready to drop off to sleep.
He rolled the window down and closed the door, then leaned in through the opening. A slight smile spread across her face. He reached in and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her head forward and gave her a long, deep kiss. Their tongues touched, teased each other and then he withdrew.
He ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Have a good afternoon sweet girl,” and turned and walked toward the stairwell.
