I put on some soft instrumental music to drown out
the raucous sounds coming from the street, lit a few scented candles, and curled
up at the end of the sofa with my cider. The curtains were drawn and all the
lights extinguished except for a tiny reading lamp. I was about two hundred
pages into the first novel, and enjoying myself immensely, when I first heard
Initially, I thought it came from outside. A soft thump, kind of like an under
inflated basketball hitting the roof. I listened for a bit but the sound did not
recur. Oh, well. Probably kids. There was no way I was going outside to
investigate, so no use wasting any more time wondering about it.
There was a strong breeze, although the weather was unseasonably warm. I had
glimpsed the skimpy costumes of a few pseudo sluts through the curtains of my
bedroom window earlier. Young minds often think such exhibitions will attract
true love. They'd have to learn the hard way—like I did. A beautiful body was
one thing—and a fleeting one at that. A beautiful mind, on the other hand, was
to be forever treasured.
My attention returned to the book in my hands, and just as I was really getting
back into it, that noise came again. Closer this time. Perhaps just outside the
nearest window. Accompanying it, a feeling—a vibe. Not malicious. I did not feel
fear but instead an intense curiosity, which I struggled to put aside. Nothing
was going to distract me from the enjoyment of my solitude.
It was nearing nine o'clock, which was the end of the Trick-or-Treat period
designated by the county. Things would be quieting down very soon, I hoped. Once
again, I dove back into my novel—but settling into it was difficult. My thoughts
kept returning to that sound, and oddly...a smell. As if a window was ajar on a
humid June night, the scent of blooming honeysuckle filled the air. Cloying and
sweet, it made me want to throw open the windows, although I knew the
honeysuckle was long gone.
These thoughts, for some unknown reason, made me intensely aware of my bare skin
beneath the robe. Each movement a caress of soft fabric. Every inch of my skin
on alert, sensing. I held very still, thinking to prevent the exquisite feathery
friction against my nipples, my ass, my thighs. It was no use. The robe seemed
to move of its own accord, touching me and waking heated emotions.