From: an183@anon.penet.fi (Mark O. Zorro)
Subject: Purple - a vignette from Mark O. Zorro
Organization: Anonymous contact service
X-Anonymously-To: soc.misc
Date: Thu, 21 Jan 1993 18:05:16 GMT

Vignette:  Purple - A Real Experience


A shade of purple.  What a beautiful color, especially on her.  Her soft
turtleneck sweater is striking in that color.  I looked at her face from the
side as she talked to a friend, oblivious to my stare.  The sweater really
does frame her long neck very nicely, and from all appearances seems to support
her chin as if on a pedestal.  Looking up a little more, her mouth is very
striking in this pose.  Her lips are what many would call luscious and full,
the dream of every man and the envy of every woman.  Her glossy lipstick, of a
hue and color matching her sweater, really brings out the natural beauty of
her lips, though I wonder why she needs that.  For any other woman it would
be overkill, but for her...  And her brown eyes, ahh, they could melt anything
with their warmth and liveliness.  I have never seen eyes that are so alive
and so "deep" on a woman before.  Her soft and luxurious hair, an auburn color,
is cut in a trendy "pageboy" style, though a little longer - as a man I have
difficulty describing in words hair styles, but I know what I like.  Yes,
trendy, but I know if I lived a hundred years ago, I would still find her hair
appealing and attractive.  Very beautiful, her face - for a woman who just
passed forty, she is the equal of any woman twenty years younger.

And still she chats very melodiously, oblivious to my thoughts and stare.

Looking down onto her chest, I cannot help but notice the wonderful curve
her not-too-small, and not-too-large breasts make as the purple sweater
clings softly, yet firmly to her.  She's wearing a bra, though images of
her wearing that sweater without one flash through my mind.  Her bra must be
very sheer, I see very faint outlines of her nipples through the woolen
fabric of her sweater.  I know it's not polite to stare at a woman,
especially towards her chest, but manly desires, curiousity, have gotten the
best of me.  What is it about the female breast that drives my thoughts and
passion?  Real strange and comical as I try without success to think about
it logically.

Continuing downward, I notice her shape to be very trim but not thin.  Here
is a mature woman, with the fullness of shape that comes with maturity, but
yet not overweight at all.  Again, many twenty year old women would love
to have her body.

And still she chats to her friend, now more animated and with laughing, still
not knowing what I'm thinking.

The feelings inside of me are stirring with this image of my lover.  As my
gaze now turns inward, I travel to a distant land of things that were and of
things to come.  We stand in a field of tall grass, the stalks gently waving
in a cool, summer morning breeze.  As I look in her eyes, her hair is being
gently tossed by the breeze.  How beautiful she is.  I gently embrace her and
pull her soft body close to mine.  As I look in her melting eyes, I lovingly
kiss those luscious lips.  My right hand I place behind her neck, and my left
hand I caress the small of her back, the feeling of her soft and silky sweater
sends small shivers through both of us.  And as we kiss, I can feel her breasts
press against mine, and can feel her every breath through them.  My left hand,
not satisfied, now gently touches the plateau of her chest above her breasts -
I look straight down at their fullness, and we touch our foreheads together.

Though her eyes are closed, she can visualize from my touch as well as from
hers as she caresses my chest.  My finger, now at the base of her neck, slowly
moves down to the soft place between her breasts, stopped only by the soft
purple fabric.  Reflectively she looks at my caressing finger, and I know that
she enjoys its attentive caress, reaffirming her femininity.  Almost playfully,
but with a seriousness of desire between two lovers, my finger moves to the
left, and brushes over the tip of her erect nipple, which I can feel through
her sweater.  She glances up into my eyes, the fullness of her irises reveal
to me the depth of her passion.  They look like deep wells of crystalline
water that never never end.  We kiss again, only with more passion and 
desire...

Just then a voice calls out to me from outside my dream world.  I startle,
and hear you, my lover, calling me, beckoning me back to reality.  Two times
you had to call, and I finally answer you almost sheepishly.  You chuckle,
saying something about me being a space cadet and that I must have been
dreaming.  Little do you know what I was just dreaming and that you were the
center of my dream.  On second thought, with that sly little smile on your
face, you probably know...


Dedicated to J.

Mark O. Zorro

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