Recognizing A Stranger
by Victoria March

He was so fine to look at: lean, pale and utterly, breathtakingly beautiful. I know, I know, a man isn't supposed to be described as beautiful or pretty, but damn! This one was simply eye-popping to look upon, with his long black hair and smooth skin and wide sensual mouth. He was so stunning, I forgot how mangy and skanky I looked as I beamed with delight into his serene gray eyes. I was already half in love, and as his full mouth widened into a broad smile, I felt myself give over my heart and soul and body. It's hard to explain. He was simply the type that makes you throw open all the doors to your being without even thinking. One little gesture and I would have flung myself into his arms and kissed him in the middle of the shopping mall, no questions asked.

Oh, I know what you're thinking. Fantasy sex stuff, of course. It's sooooo typical of a horny, middle aged woman when she sees a prime cut of beefcake sauntering by. But I swear to all the Powers-That-Be, it wasn't sexual. (At least not totally) It was joy! It was sheer happiness and the desire to touch and be touched by someone who was a presence. I felt laughter and pleasure surging up, welling past my lips in a chuckle of recognition and acknowledgement. What I felt was a warm "Hello, you wonderful person, where have you been, Darling! Squeal!"

In my mind&Mac226;s eye I saw us laughing and whirling round in a joyful circle, our humor and surprise infecting the curious onlookers, bringing involuntary chortles and spontaneous embraces amongst mutual strangers. My teeth would sink into his cheek, his neck and lips and his fingertips would dig into my ribs, mercilessly tickling me until I was limp and helpless in his arms. We would be all but exhausted with the exertion of our mirth, breath rasping, lips finally seeking out the long hard kisses we were so hungry for.

What can I say? Naturally, none of those things happened. Except for his broad smile of recognition, even though we'd never laid eyes on each other before that moment, that is. In my heart of hearts, I know we could have done those fantasy things and I'd have ended up buying at least two cellular phones from his booth, with his phone number and email address in my pocket.

When his shift ended, we would have met in a quiet private place where my hair would have been loose and my nakedness would have covered my ill-chosen frumpy costume. The rest of the evening and night would have been the sex stuff. All hot and teeth-marked and scratched, with a deep raw soreness between my legs for days afterward. Sighsighsighalasmoresighs. A final sigh. The current of reality was too strong, and my natural fear of pleasure dragged me past, not even allowing me a lingering backward glance as I rounded the food court.

It's true what they say, "It's not the things that you do, that you end up regretting, so much as regretting the things you didn't do.