Saturday, April 6, 2013

A Moment In Time





 I often go through frenzies if creativity.  I photograph, write, edit, and create.  Ideas linger in my mind like ghosts, unfinished projects haunt every moment of my life...

 I'm changing things up here and there as well: I've dropped the 'blogger' address and bought the domain name.  I'm a '.com' now...  I've followed some awesome advice from another blogger and started using Twitter, so now I tweet.  I wrote a book and self-published it, so now I'm an author.  I started an erotic podcast, and now I'm a broadcaster.  I'm editing the sound of orgasms, and now I'm a voyeur... Granted, that last one was always true.

 I love to drive.  My first car was brand new, 50 miles on it going off the dealer's lot.  A purple Honda Civic, two-door hatchback with black tint all around.  It had a clearance of two cigarette packs.    In the 16 months I owned it, I put 58,000 miles on that car, and there isn't a road in Northern California my tires hadn't kissed.  Paved, dirt, gravel--there were roads that had obscure names, roads that were just numbers, roads that didn't have names at all.

I also drove at night a lot.  I worked graveyard shifts and on my days off, I drove.  A causal night was five hours behind the wheel.  Other nights I'd go from Sacramento to San Francisco, and then turn north and hug the coastline to Fort Bragg before turning east again.

 But how does this relate to voyeurism?  Easy.  People live in the light.  With your drapes open, a clear pane of glass turns into a mirror once the sun goes down.  Most people never notice the change because it happens so gradually.  When you drive in the dark, the warm glow of a window can beckon like a siren call.

  People live in the light, and sometimes they forget they're not alone in the world.  Those are the moments a voyeur like me lives for.  Innocence.  The world gets frosted around the edges, time stops, and mouths go dry.  At best, acting is an attempt to capture that stolen moment.  Some people can do it, but rarely can it be done well enough to fool me.  

 So all these years later, after all the magical nights daydreaming about what was happening behind the glowing mirrors I passed at 75mph, I finally captured a moment of my own.  It was brief, my vision blurred around the edges, and time stopped--just for a moment.  

 I walked to the pizza place up around the corner when the rain hit.  It was like the sky ripped open and just decided to pour.  People on the street scattered, hunched under awnings, and crowded into the shops along the promenade.  It was Friday, my wallet was full, my obligations were nil, so I just kept walking.  Running wasn't going to keep me dry anyway, and I was too hungry to turn around.  One of those 'I haven't eaten all day' kinds of hungry.  I did turn my phone into my pocket though.  Hungry didn't mean stupid.

 The pizza place was packed when I got there.  The water drummed on the roof loud enough to make everyone talk over themselves. It didn't look like anyone ordered very much either.  I paid for the pizzas and thought about trying to wait out the worst of the shower in the shop, but it was a such a nuthouse that I just asked the guy behind the counter to wrap the boxes in plastic.

 I'll say this for the rain, though.  It killed the broil the sun was beating down on us.  A week straight of 100-plus made everyone a little rough around the edges.  The air felt clean again, and except for the the rain, it was silent.  There was still an occasional car that passed, or someone running between awnings, but between those random moments, it was like the world was deserted.

 When I got to the cross-street, the whole intersection was flooded. I didn't want to risk dropping my dinner, so I turned for the alley and started to circle around.  Once I veered away from the streetlights, everything got a whole lot darker.  Deep shadows pooled around the weak light from the windows of the apartments perched over the stores.  I could have seriously twisted my ankle, or worse, dropped my food into one of the potholes scattered around me like a minefield.

 I was avoiding one such catastrophe when a light popped on above me.  The glow revealed a deep pit large enough to swallow my shoe.  When I turned, I caught a glimpse of a woman standing with her back to me above the bakery.  The rain was still heavy, but her window was wide open to let the fresh air in.  I blinked as she turned, and my eyes were drawn down to her breasts.  Her nipples were a pink-brown color and a gorgeous contrast to the darkness of her hair.  I didn't even feel the rain anymore.  


 Her bedroom was mostly hidden by the angle, and she leaned over to shut off the light.  I sighed, and started to finish my trek when a smaller lamp switched on.  She was on the other side of the room, sitting this time so I could only see her face, but I knew the look.  Her shoulders were hunched slightly and her hands were pressed into her lap.  Her eyes hooded, and her mouth hung slack.  There was the smallest measure of movement, but the real story was in her face.  Her body was reacting to her touch, or maybe that of a lover's hidden below the window frame, there was no way to know. She held onto a quick release just as a peal of thunder crashed overhead.  Her head tilted back and she let out a tiny yelp before her teeth clenched and she froze.  She stayed like that for a few moments, and then leaned over out of sight.  I waited for a few seconds, and my mouth went dry.  I heard a screen door open across the alley, and a shiver ran through me.  It was time to go.

 

After all, I was really damn hungry.




2 comments:

  1. This post has a tinge of Christopher Moore to it - not the early stuff, but the Dirty Job/Lamb stuff he's written. I kept waiting for the tone to change and a tentacle to reach out from the gutter to try and grab you.

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  2. Embracing the inner voyeur is such a wicked delight. To indulge is to sip life's bounty, with pleasure. Thank you for sharing another fine libation from the rich cellar of your thoughts.

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