Owls

August 4, 2013 § Leave a comment

I am walking through Hampstead Heath

and stop when I see a grey brick townhouse with huge windows looking out onto the green. I like it and walk up to it. I think that it is a hotel. Perhaps once a doctor’s house. I go into the garden, and walk up the window.

I am peering through the window when I see a very attractive lady on the other side.

She turns when she sees spots my head peeking in. Stopping she strolls over to the window and opens it.

“Yes?”

She looks like Juliette Binoche. Dark hair. Smoky eyes. A rough lustre in her voice. Her body is slim and taut. Like a rubber band.

“What is this?”

“It’s a hotel. Would you like to have a look?”

She says it all in a quiet cold voice. I suppose she means well.

“Yes please.”

She fully opens the window and I climb inside.

“You have a view over the park.”

“Yes. It used to be a doctor’s house.”

“Oh.”

I tell her to undress. She stands against the wall and removes her jacket, a short black and white matelasse cut to her waist, then her white, silk blouse, dropping these around her.

“Would you like a tea?”

“No thank you,” I reply.

She unzips the tweed skirt and lets it fall to the floor. Then one stocking at a time, rolling these down her long, slender legs and throwing these across the room at me. I catch one, but it costs me a little effort and I knock the chestnut table standing against the wall.

A family portrait of who I don’t know wobbles but regains its poise. She is now down to her underwear—a black see-through bra and sheer net thong. She raises one leg onto a chair and announces:

“How much more?”

“All of it.”

The very next thing I know I am eye to eye with her naked breasts. The nipples look like two owl eyes. My eyes trace down her body, over her cream skin, down past the navel, to the downy tuft of her pubis. I take a step back and strain to take the whole thing in. In essence she looks like an owl. The round, brown eyes, the black beak down below. She notices what I am thinking and immediately begins to flap her arms and make hooting noises.

She runs around the room doing this, climbing the wooden stool, up onto the table flapping her arms like a banshee. I let her finish then give her the mount of her life. When I have finished I climb back out of the window and resume my walk. Deep into the brisk, crisp Autumnal morning air.

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