The Silent Encounter from the 16 Year Old Imagination

When I was 16, I wrote the following story about a man meeting a woman. 

I had a dream the other night that I enjoyed an evening of tea and fine conversation with a woman who was just like the woman in this story in every way but one.  I racked my brain trying to remember who this woman in my dream reminded me of until it came to me.  So I rummaged through my attic, unlocked my high school strong box, and found the story.  Enjoy!

(The story had no title and so I just gave it this one:)

The Silent Encounter

I stirred from my slumber, licked my lips, and tasted blood.  My lips had chapped during the night, and my skin separated.  I became warm during the night, so I opened the window of my car to let in the air of the darkness outside.

I stumbled out of my car to the pavement below.  Slapping the dust from my pants, I walked, with the weight of the morning, to the cafe across the street.  In the bathroom, I combed my hair, and felt the thick tap water drool down my jaw.

With my hands wet from the towel-less bathroom, I raised the menu to my vision.  Rolling my eyes across the menu, a scent of rose and orange engulfed me.  A fresh smelling woman passed my side and sat in the table across from me in the opposite chair.  Her deep auburn-red hair caressed gently down her shoulders in light locks.  Our eyes met and she realized my awed expression.  Her eyes were sea green with specks of yellow circling the pupil.  Her nose was short and perfect.  The moisture from her full lips eschewed any man, tempting him to discover the temperature of the labial flesh within.  Her actions did not appear deliberate.  They seemed to reveal a spectral grace unseen by the casual passerby, but boldly evident by the entranced.

The hard boiled eggs I ordered came, and I realized her spawning interest in my features.  I felt her desire reaching out for me through her eyebrows and dimples, which changed with her growing anticipation.

I rose from my seat, grabbed my breakfast, and slyly sauntered to the vacant chair across from her.  She gazed up from her plate and whispered a slight grin from beneath her hair.  I sipped from my sweating glass of grapefruit juice, trying to move the large ice cube from my mouth with my tongue.  She placed my wet hand in hers, and petted the condensation from the base of my palm to the tip of my index finger.  After joining my hand with its opposite, she took one of my eggs, heavily salted it, lifted it to her mouth, and biting delicately to the yolk, she sucked the eggwhite into her mouth.  After chewing, she licked the salt from her fingertips and lips.  I handed her my glass.  Her hand dove into the glass and returned with the ice cube.  She then removed the pulp from the ice and put her finger to my face.  For a moment I hesitated, my mouth watered, and she wiped the pulp on my lower lip.  It burned my lip, yet felt healing almost immediately.  She noticed my grimace and placed the ice cube on my lip and began to stroke it back and forth.

Her eyes beamed, and her dimples appeared.  She took my wrist and pulled me to my feet.  I followed her out the door.  I then noticed her sleek, firm body.

She wore a white spring dress that revealed her prominent and subtle curves.  Her back was dainty, yet muscular.  Her legs were long and smooth, leading up to her buttocks, which were separate from both her lower back and thighs.  Her unsupported breasts rose beautifully from her ribs.  The thought of seeing her navel sent erotic thoughts spiralling in my mind.

I walked by her side and she motioned for me to keep silent with her finger.  As we strolled the sidewalk, I felt a sense of curiosity, for she kept her sight fixed upon my face.  After walking several blocks, she turned abruptly into a dank, thin walkway between two buildings.  We turned right, and slowed to a large, sliding, metal door.  She opened the door with a hidden strength.  As she hurried down the dark corridor, I nearly tripped over a large, solid object.  After regaining my balance, I crept into the unknown.

A warm hand stopped my motion at the stomach.  I heard a faint click and a jingle of keys beyond the dark figure in front of me.  Suddenly, a loud clank and grind from a higher level bore into the darkness and into my skull.  Instantly I felt the rush of fear.  She shook her arm, for I was clenching her hand.  Reassuringly, she placed my hand in both of her hands and gently embraced them.

As the din of the approaching unknown increased, so did my anxiety.  She turned to me, and positioning her hand on my face with a finger touching my earlobe and her thumb on my chin, pulled our lips to touch.  I felt an immense high at this simple gesture.  Her lips nourished my split lower lip, yet our lips did not touch, just the moisture upon hers, and the dry air on mine.

The kiss was but a moment, and when it was over, I noticed silence.  She turned and pulled back a creaky gate of some sort, and we stepped into a gaping freight elevator.  The infernal noise began once again, as the elevator began its ascent. 

I eased as the now familiar compartment lifted us past levels of vacant shambles.  As I tried to make out the jumbled heaps upon the floors, her face, shadowed by the dim elevator lamp, stared unceasing at mine.  She looked pleasantly into my eyes, confident of her actions.  I inquisitively sized-up the surroundings.

The incessant clamor halted.  The elevator bounced and rested at the ninth floor.  This floor was different from the others, for it was enclosed from the elevator shaft.  I pushed back the restraining gate and moved from her path.

She pushed a black, windowless door open.  Strewn about the large warehouse loft were essential pieces of comfortably worn furniture.  Motley paintings riddled the whitewashed brick walls.  Six foot square windows, anchored by the thick masonry, displayed the city in a most calm air.  In the far corner, a naked toilet and bathtub lie under a rarely used curtain frame.  The sink was located opposite the shaft door, next to a quaint gas stove. 

I turned to her, her eyes crisply fixed upon mine.  Putting her finger to my lip, she motioned towards the sink and drew a glass of water from the faucet.  She noticed the perspiration on my shirt, and offered me a worn t-shirt of hers.  She then began to tease me by placing the glass near my nose and then withdrawing a step or two.  I protruded my tongue in an effort to lengthen my reach.  Seeing the pattern, she quickly moved to me and gripped my tongue in her teeth.

I, surprised by the motion, caused the glass of water to be spilled upon both of our chests, revealing the chilled excitement that we both felt.  Our hands came together, fingers intertwined, and we passionately kissed, opening the door for our wanton lusts.

My hand became loose and wandered to her upper thigh.  Flatly, it slowly moved up her leg, feeling the softness of her skin before it became taut and turned to gooseflesh.  Reaching the small of her back, I felt the miniscule hairs dampen as she began to sweat.

By now her dress began to ride up my forearm.  I removed my hand from her back, and began to unbutton her dress with my other hand.  Meanwhile, she had unzipped my pants and was pulling the hairs on my abdomen with her fingernails.  With her other hand, she ran her fingertips down my spine, underneath my wet t-shirt.  As she helped me take off her dress, the wet fabric clung to her breasts like a second skin.

As her wet t-shirt made a soggy sound on the wooden floor at our feet, my wet hand felt the transition of the tight skin on her ribs to the supple tissue of her bosom.  She aided me in removing my trousers, and lessened the distance between us.  Draping her arms around my neck, I placed my hands behind her thighs and wrapped her legs around my hips.  We slowly staggered to her bed and made love in the afternoon shade.

A soft rain fell the next morning, creating a drowsy tone through the open window.  I opened my eyes, and they focused on one of the stained oak ceiling fans.  The day appeared as if it were dusk, with periods of greater light emanating as the thunderheads divided momentarily.

(I hear distant, rolling thunder outside, as I retype this text, over 20 years later…)

My head waved to each side of me, searching for her, she was not with me.  I began to feel abandoned, as if I was not given the simple respect of her waiting for me to awaken.  The reason shone distinctly in my mind.  I had become physically and emotionally involved with a women whom I hadn’t even spoken words with.  How could this be possible?

From across the room, I heard a faint but distinct humming melody.  My muscles relaxed, and I thought clearly once again.  I heard the sound of water being displaced and trickling down to its source accompanied by humming.

I imagined her, naked in a cloud of bubbles, laying back against the wall with her hair up.  I placed my feet upon the much cooler varnished boards of the floor.  Stooping forward to begin motion, I walked across the floor, slapping my feet on the surface, making a loud vibration that bounced off the shower curtain and out the window.

Reaching the edge of the shower curtain, I announced my entrance into the bath.  Her humming melody reassuring me of my right to enter.  I pulled back the curtain to reveal the vision I had seen in my mind at the side of the bed. 

Her shoulders rising from the foam as the sun from the horizon in a cloud-streaked sky.  Her right knee above the surface of the bubbles, tempting the imagination to wonder of the sight of her lying bare in a soapless tub.  Her left foot, resting calmly on the rim of the tub, slowly wiggling her toes, showing off her fair foot to an unknown spectator.  Her eyes closed and the bulk of her hair secured behind her head in a knot, with groups of runaway tangles streaming at the crest of her face.

I knelt at the side of the bathtub, and reached my hand out to touch her shoulder, for she did not stir at my presence.  As I made contact with her shoulder, her knee submerged as her eyes opened suddenly and she smiled a wide grin.  She bent forward and kissed my cheek.

This struck me as being very out of the ordinary.  She did not hear me.  As I opened my mouth to speak, two of her fingers reached up to seal my mouth, sliding off of my lower lip, which had healed from two nights before.  She reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself, as women do, concealing her hips and torso.

Taking my hand, she led me to the small rolltop secretary at the foot of her bed.  After pushing back the segmented cover, she pulled out a large drawer underneath the desk and removed a leatherbound folio from it.  Producing a calligraphy brush from its well, she began to scroll down a message in old English script.

With a slight effort, I read the paper.  Tears began to accumulate in my eyes, and I felt a deep warmth within me.  It read, “Before we go on, you must know that I cannot witness the sounds of the world in the way that you can.”

I never left her.  I had never felt this way about any woman.  She taught me that actions are the monuments in life and that words are just the wishes of the weak man.

We married and moved to the country, away from the noises of the city.  I sit with her each morning, watching the sun rise, feeling the gentle breeze, and tasting the varied scents of the fragrant air.  But most of all, hearing her heart beat next to mine.

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