Kneeling before Him...



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Sunday, December 19, 2004

Dear beautiful stranger,

I saw you when you first entered the cafe. Like most people, my eyes are well trained to spot beauty in a crowd. You stood so straight, so self-assured, so righteous amongst the common rabble at the door. I think your suit made you seem bigger, more imposing than you would normally be, but I also think that big and imposing is your natural state. As you walked behind the waitress, heads turned to look at you. I forced her to lead you to the table across from me by the sheer want of my will.

I waited impatiently for you to be joined by some pretty twittering little thing and I did not relax until you ordered alone. I knew then that I would be eating with you. My lunch arrived first, and I toyed with it gently, not wanting to look like I was waiting, but not wanting to eat it on my own. Yours was not far behind.

And each time you looked into my face, my eyes were studying something else. I could not let you see what I would be so blatant in them. But oh, how I watched you glance at my breasts, my lips, my thighs. How wonderfully inquisitive you were. I saw your eyes widen in appreciative surprise as my legs parted just the slightest little bit beneath the uncovered table, though I doubt you could see much more than you already had. It was so subtle it could have been nothing more than a shift in my seat, yet it was enough to make you think that I was dancing with you too. It was the unspoken invitation that caught in your throat and made you reach for your glass of wine to wash it away.

The dance, my god, it was so beautiful, subtle movements of my stockinged legs, moistening of my lips, the tilt of my head while your hands straightened your tie. You were gorgeous, so very gorgeous, from the shadow already falling on the strong cut of your jaw down to the way the cutlery disappeared inside your huge hands, you acted like this was your due. That suit, oh god, suits were made to be on men like you. I wanted to worship at the alter beneath your understated belt buckle. I wanted to be a good little bad girl for you. You captivated me with your attitude. You wore it on your sleeve. It said 'Yes, world, I am that good.' You made me believe it too. Still I made sure our eyes never met, the game was being played to the full.

Our lunches were finished within moments of each other and you leant back and stretched so broadly that I would have had to purposely avoid you had I not looked at you. You smiled, a warm, joyful grin. I blushed and smiled demurely, my eyes holding yours for just a moment longer than necessary before I lowered them in a very soft and gentle way. You looked at your watch, which was not the only piece of jewellery that adorned your hand, and you sighed. I glanced at you from beneath lowered lashes as you stood and for the tensest of moments, I thought you were going to speak to me. You understood the rules though. This was not a time to enjoy the ride home, only the dance counted here. Arrogantly you turned and walked away.

I gave you time to pay your bill and I smiled at you once more before you joined the swelling crowds and slipped away. I would have lingered over coffee normally, but now that you were gone, this place felt a little darker, a little emptier without your presence. I made my way to the cashier.

'That gentleman,' she said as if you had been the only male customer that had been in the cafe all day, 'he said to say thankyou.'

I smiled at her, a genuine heartfelt smile. You knew this game even better than I gave you credit for.

My beautiful stranger, you will never know how much this girl craved your attention. You will never know how long I have prayed for someone who understood and enjoyed the dance, only the dance. I will always be grateful to you for leaving it exactly as it was and not ruining it by trying to make it something more. Your wife is a lucky woman. I just hope that she deserves you. I hope she is not some wittering little twit, but a lady you can be so proud of. I am almost sure she is. No one learns to dance that well without having a decent partner.

Thank you my gorgeous stranger, for being worthy of my time and for making my time worth it.

I hope that I never see you again.

Posted by Sarah McBroden at 7:44 am

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