I’m currently working on a collection of erotic short stories, one called The Girl in Greenwich Village, which I have posted the first draft here. It’s about a man that falls desperately in love from afar with the girl next door, a girl who is self-conscious about her protruding labia that he has become obsessed with and watches every night through her window. The story is for anyone who enjoys erotic stories, but it’s especially for young women that feel abnormal because of their labia size.
The Girl in Greenwich Village
Her apartment is directly across the alley from mine, fourth floor. Hers is a tiny one room flat: a bathroom, a fold-down bed, a corner kitchette with a small stove near the window I’m looking through. Mine, somewhat bigger, has three rooms. I’m in my living room, sitting where I sit every night, falling in love all over again.
Her blinds are never closed. It must not occur to her that someone may be staring in her window, like she is living in her own private world free to enjoy being home alone without wearing clothes. I have watched her every night from the first night I moved in, captivated, enchanted, building a world in my mind where she and I fall in love. I have thought of little else since. When it’s dark outside, with my lights off, I can see everything she does in her room. The first night I saw her, she was walking out of her bathroom, still wet from taking a shower.
Forgetting the boxes I still had to unpack, I pulled a chair close to the window and stared as she patted her body dry with a towel. Time ceased to exist. Everything else in my mind evaporated. It must have been that very night that I fell in love with her, became obsessed, began creating fanciful scenarios of the two of us together, both of us naked, perhaps talking about our day, or maybe watching a movie, just the two of us being comfortable together without the inhibitions of the everyday world.
She is of Asian descent. Her olive color body has possessed me from the first moment I saw her, the color of her skin, her stature and mannerisms, her long willowy legs, her soft feminine curves. Just by looking at her I know she and I are one, like counterparts though we’ve never met, walking the same path with the same hopes and dreams, as if destiny has already written our future.
Slightly above average height, her olive color skin perfectly matches her short dark brown hair. Her delicate shoulders compliment her narrow waist, flat belly and long willowy legs. Her protruding pelvic bones give her a sculptured look. The dramatic flare of her hips draws attention to her fleshy round buttocks. As I watch her each night, I feel her soft smooth skin on the palms of my hands, supple, warm and receptive. We take walks together in Central park. We take cross-country drives. We walk hand-in-hand along desert beaches.
Her female features are unlike any I have ever seem, irresistible female embellishments, uncommon, unique, tantalizing beyond any I have ever imagined. Her large brown nipples are upturned and appear to be perpetually swollen, like dark amplified peaks that crown the summits of her small breasts. I see myself sucking them, pinching and pulling them, watching her squirm and listening to her squeals.
Between her legs she has the most uncommon, yet captivating female characteristics I’ve ever seen. Rather than the puffy, nondescript slit one expects to see hidden in a triangle of hair, her pussy is a prominent mound, smooth shaven, enhanced by protruding inner labia that hang between her legs like a succulent pair of dark fleshy butterfly wings. I long to taste them and make them swell. I long to part them with my fingers and reveal the female mysteries that promise to take me to the center of the Universe. I long to feel their wrinkly texture with my tongue as I suck them and pull them with my teeth, and make her writhe with ecstasy. I long to feel them sliding along the shaft of my penis as I penetrate her.
I have lost myself in her. My days are spent contemplating my return to the chair in front of my window, where I watch her until she turns out her light. She is the magic in my erections, the object of my climaxes and my dreams, the source of my destiny. I imagine the smell her skin after a day’s work, the girlish sweat of her underarms, the tart odors between the fleshy rounds of her buttocks, the musk of womanhood between her legs, damp and fragrant.
I’m married to her. I’m with her every night. I think about her at work, on the train home, lying in bed at night, when I masturbate during my morning shower. She’s in my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I have followed her to work, watched her look at dresses at Macy’s, watched her eat a sandwich at the deli down the street. I’ve watched her prepare her dinner, make her bed, read a book in the square across the street. I’ve watched her rub her pussy when she takes off her panties, like a man does to adjust his genitals when he takes off his underwear, but she is doing it so that her beautiful labia hang freely.
Foremost in my daydreams is the day we meet. When? How? How will I go about introducing myself? What will I say? Will she know I’m in love with her the moment our eyes connect? Has she ever noticed me watching her from my window? Will she be glad we have finally met? Will recognize her destiny with me as I have found my destiny with her. Or will she think I’m strange, the man she has seen in the shadows, a hopelessly sad voyeur?
It’s Saturday morning. I awaken to the city noises on the street, detect the faint smell of semen that I have left on the sheets. The girl was in my thoughts as I fell asleep, as I masturbated, breathing the scent of her exposed secrets, secrets only she and I share. I twist my legs off the bed and head for the window, my erection bobbing before me.
Standing in the shadows of my living room, I see her having breakfast at the table, same chair where she always sits, a bowl of cereal it seems. I watch how she brings the spoon to her mouth, leaning forward a bit to skim the pages of an open magazine just beyond the bowl. How beautiful she is in the morning light, her naked body like caramel cream in the soft light, her legs slightly parted under the table, her small breasts with their glorious nipples dropping slightly as she leans forward to turn another page. Continue reading