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Seamus, Charlotte, and the Showgirl
Seamus, Charlotte, and the Showgirl
Our hero is found, as he usually is on a Saturday night, seated at his desk, banging away on the keyboard of a laptop computer that would most charitably be described as antique. Nonetheless, it is adequate for the creation of his opus, which he works on every spare minute he can steal. Seamus, the teller of tales, is mired in the difficult work of honing and polishing words that have suddenly become too familiar, so familiar that he is hard-pressed to find a new way to approach them. The clatter of keys stops for a moment as he thoughtfully chews on a pen, trying to work out a particularly stubborn passage for the fifth time. Out his window he sees the light come on in the bedroom of his neighbor, a pretty blonde with a healthy exhibitionist streak who has treated him to many fine and sultry demonstrations in the past. He has dubbed her “Showgirl,” and he wonders who is on the agenda tonight. Perhaps the landlord again? Perhaps a little solo play? Seamus sees that she is already nude as she makes her way to the bed, her skin slightly paler than her blonde hair. She leans back on the bed, bent elbows supporting her. Her legs, invisible, must be over the edge of the bed. She arches her back and throws her head back with visible pleasure, and he knows she is not alone; he can see her hands working her nipples, her breasts filling her small hands. Someone is ensconced between her creamy thighs, and he shifts in his seat, his head filled with images of himself in that coveted spot. Our hero’s patience is rewarded as the mystery lover is revealed, in an unexpected twist. Showgirl pulls herself up further onto the bed, followed by a tousle of reddish curls, topping a curvaceous body that broadcasts “girl!” Seamus drops his pen. Hello! This is new. He settles in for the show, already starting to squirm as he sees pale feminine flesh touching same, the delicious dance of two pairs of breasts, touching and retreating as the women kiss and stroke each other. Then, as she is wont to do, Showgirl turns to look hard out the window, as if she is looking for him. Her lips move, and her auburn-haired friend also looks out the window for their audience of one. Suddenly, they are gone, and the bed is empty. Seamus catches his breath, disappointed, and then breathes out in a long whistle as the beauties are now framed in the window, one petite and fair, sleek and athletically curvy, the other tall and voluptuous, her red hair echoing her warmed pink skin. The fairy and the Amazon. He is enthralled, and then stunned as he sees them both crook a finger and beckon to him.
* * *
“Oh Charlotte, that is fabulous,” said Ellen as her friend traced the inside of her thighs with a dainty tongue. Charlotte’s long outstretched fingers spanned the tanned thighs of her supine friend as she spread them a little further. Charlotte said nothing, as she was busy placing butterfly kisses along Ellen’s smooth mound, dipping down now and again to kiss her lover’s dark pink lips in a gentle tease. “Let me scoot up on the bed a little so you can join me,” said Ellen as she made room for her lover. By habit, Ellen looked out the window, searching for her fan. She had seen him there so many times, and it gave her a thrill to perform for him. The glow of the desk lamp made him only a silhouette from her vantage point, but she’d seen him many times as he came and went from his house. He was young looking, dark hair and eyes. She had never spoken to him, but had shared hundreds of intimate moments with him; she almost felt she knew him. “He’s there,” she whispered to Charlotte, who had heard of the man at the desk many times.
“Is he?” Charlotte said, not whispering. “I’d like to see this mystery man,” she said as she moved up to join her friend, stifling further conversation with a deep kiss as she felt her way across the landscape of Ellen’s soft skin. “Haven’t you ever wondered what he’d be like?” she murmured into the hollow of Ellen’s neck. She looked up toward the window herself, trying to discern him in the shadows.
“So many times, I can’t tell you,” breathed Ellen as she reached to stroke Charlotte’s ample breasts. It had all started with Thomas, a crashing bore in bed, and when she’d seen the man at the desk for the first time, she imagined making love to him, wishing herself to ecstasy with the dark-eyed man as Thomas labored away dutifully, if without inspiration.
“Well, let’s invite him on over then,” Charlotte said, her eyes daring Ellen as she kissed the inside of her elbow, smooching her way down to Ellen’s delicate fingers, sucking each one in turn.
“Are you serious? He’d probably die if we did any such thing,” Ellen protested, weakly, as Charlotte swirled her tongue into Ellen’s palm, sending shivering ripples of pleasure straight to her crotch.
“Even better!” said Charlotte. “Let’s see what he does. Maybe he’ll turn pink to his ears. Don’t you want to know?”
“Of course I do. All right, let’s do it, before I change my mind,” she said as she jumped off the bed, pulling Charlotte behind her.
They pulled the curtains back from the window and arranged themselves as casually as they could, arms around each other’s back, hips touching. Charlotte waved a little to catch his eye, not realizing that his gaze had not wavered since the light had come on in Ellen’s room. Then they both wiggled their fingers at him in the universal signal of “come hither.” “What’s he doing?” Charlotte wondered. “Nothing yet,” said Ellen as the arm she had around Charlotte moved south to grasp a handful of Charlotte’s ass.
* * *
Our hero remained stunned only momentarily. His debate with himself was ended with the remembrance of two words: Carpe diem. He saved his document, threw on a shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and popped a piece of peppermint gum into his mouth as he locked his door behind him. Seamus realized halfway down the walk that he’d forgotten his glasses, but decided it wasn’t worth going back for them. The opportunity to live a fantasy did not come every day; he wasn’t about to tarry. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
* * *
The knock at the door surprised them, even though Ellen and Charlotte had known it was coming. The mystery man had wasted little time, and they’d seen his shadow move quickly through his room. “I like a man who is decisive,” Charlotte cracked.
“Answer it!” Ellen directed Charlotte from her spot on the bed.
Charlotte undid the locks, and then slowly opened the door to find him standing there in a pose simultaneously casual and expectant. He was very cute in a pair of jeans and a shirt so hastily put on that it was inside out. He was a bit taller than she, quite slender, but had an aura of quiet strength. “Hello, lover,” she said, her voice rich and warm as she held out her hand to him. He took it, and she opened the door wider to let him pass.
* * *
“Hello,” said our hero, “I’m Seamus.” From the bed Showgirl said, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Ellen.” “Nice” didn’t begin to cover it, thought Seamus, as he smiled at the two of them, a portion of his brain wondering at him being in the room he’d peered into from afar, at the invitation of the two naked goddesses that were before him now. The woman holding his hand, (and who seemed in no hurry to let it go), introduced herself as Charlotte. “What is it you do at that desk? You seem to be there at all hours,” asked Showgirl, now Ellen. “I’m a writer,” he said. “I’m writing a book.”
“A book?” the Amazon repeated. “Beauty and brains, Ellen. We are very, very lucky girls tonight.”
“How can I be of assistance to you beautiful ladies?” he asked, fairly sure of their party’s destination, but not quite sure of the route.
“We were hoping you’d rather play with us than watch,” Showgirl said. Her tall friend nodded in agreement, and then asked, “Are you up for it?”
He was.
* * *
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