Only a Matter of Time

By ChicagoTunnelKid

The room was lit with a lamp on her bedside table, which cast just enough light to set off a glow from her hair. His breath caught as he gazed upon her. This woman, the woman who called herself his, set his heart swelling with love at the mere sight of her.

He watched as she went about her nightly routine, brushing her hair as she walked about the room, stopping to pick up this item or put away that item. By the time she returned the brush to her vanity, her hair gleamed and flowed as one fluid sheet of honey-brown softness. He longed to run his fingers through it. He turned from the balcony window, leaned back against the wall, and took several deep breaths.

He did not think she knew of his random, unannounced visits. These were for him alone; he allowed his imagination free rein and delighted in the beauty that was his to see. He tried not to think of these visits as a violation of her privacy. After all, she said all that she was, all that she had, was his. Did it matter that she was unaware when he was appreciating her beauty?

Calmer, he turned back to the window. She came out of the bathroom dressed for bed in a nightgown that shimmered as it hung from her shoulders - shoulders that were bare, as the straps were only thin strings... shoulders that he knew would be soft to the touch.

She pulled back the covers, sat on the side of the bed, raised her feet (he saw that her toenails were painted), and pivoted until they were under the covers. She stretched out her legs and leaned back, propped on her side with an arm. She reached over to the bedside lamp to turn it off. As she did, the top of her gown stretched tight across her breast, clearly outlining it for his gaze. He swallowed with difficulty.

He again leaned back against the wall, steadying himself for the trip back to the tunnels. He had a feast upon which to feed his dreams. He stealthily climbed back over the balcony wall.

Inside, the woman smiled. It was only a matter of time.