Reflections of Times Gone Past
 © Copyright, B. A. Woodard, 2000
Author: B. A. Woodard
All rights reserved - Copy/Duplication Prohibited

 Iím old now.  I spend much of my time dozing, eating, reading the occasional newspaper and on a good day, I walk a bit, leaning heavily upon my cane.  One of my favorite pastimes, in these declining years, is the remembrance of times gone by.  I still have a fully functional brain even though my body has betrayed me and I may forget what I did yesterday, but my memories remain strong from many years ago.

 I was starting my third year of college, a junior I believe itís called.  I was young, healthy and vibrant.  Tall and strong, with an air of sexuality that surrounds young men at this age and the ladies seem to like me.  I had no time to complain about life, things were good.  I had worked hard the past three summers having gathered a sufficient amount of cash to rent a tiny apartment, in a bad part of town, but near enough to walk to classes without too much of a strain.  It was furnished with some hand-me-down furniture from the attics of relatives and charity donations of pots, pans and dishes.  As I look back on it now, I can see what a horrible rat trap it was, but donít think I didnít make friends with those rats.  I did and we lived in peaceful coexistence.  At that time it didnít matter.  I was on my own for the first time and ready to spread my fragile wings, to fan at adulthood.

 The apartment consisted of a bathroom, a large four clawed porcelain monstrosity of a bathtub commanding the space.  It had a tiny kitchen with a small little space to squeeze through, which was easy on a college diet, to reach the bathroom.  The main portion was  one big room, a combination living room, dining room, bedroom and study, in a tight convenient package.

 This large room had a window, dingy and dirty from lack of care, but clear enough to see through.  The glass cast an odd amber-gray color when the sun shined through it.  Out of this I could look upon the other edifice and down into the yard below.  It had once been a beautiful courtyard, someoneís secret sanctuary, now overgrown and neglected.  Directly across from my only connection to the outside was another window.  Another apartment in the U shaped design of the building.  Here is where my mind travels often, back to this time of discovery.

 I placed a small, rickety table next to the window, so I would have a place to study and to eat, when I could afford to.  It was nice to sit and gather what I could of the filtered sunlight that shone through the dusty panes.  I sat there so often that to this day I can recall, without any prompting, every small detail of that courtyard and the structure that lie in my eyeís path. 

 Being on the second floor, there was a porch roof below the other window, hanging in a most precarious angle, which looked to crumble and fall at any moment.  Itís shingles curled at the edges and was covered in some type of fungus which had a gray tint to it.  What caught my attention was the potted plants, green and lush, that sat upon this hazardous overhang.  Here and there were bursts of color from flowers, blazing reds, sunlit yellows and rich, pumpkin oranges.  The frame of the opening was down to bare wood, tiny flecks of paint clinging to it. It was rather spacious.  There were two panes of long glass that had shades that looked like oriental fans.  When opened, they would swing out into the air, revealing what seemed to be a warm, welcoming, airy kitchen.   A rotund white feline with slinking grace would perch itself on the ledge from time to time. 

 The first occupant was female.  Petite, with magnificent, flowing auburn hair, her skin the color of porcelain.  She was, simply put, a startlingly, attractive woman.  But what drew my gaze to her was her breasts.  They were pert, round and remarkable in size.  She wore loose fitting, off the shoulder blouses, with no bra to restrain those perfect globes.  A shocking, but electrifying thing in those days.  I would steal sly glances at her, bending over the frame of the window, tending her little garden.  The material of her blouse concealing nothing of what was underneath.   Those beautiful strawberry buds, hard and luscious, revealed for only me to see.  Given my youth, I rose to the occasion many a time, with thoughts of my plowing and seeding her row, the sweet taste of fruit in my mouth.

 The second occupant was male.  A tall, handsome man, he looked very powerful with a well muscled body.  He had thick, tawny-gold hair which stood out in stark contrast to his deep tan.  A man used to hard labor, he had a commanding presence.  I would watch as he arrived home, gathering his blushing bride into his massive arms and kissing her with a passion I had yet to realize.  She seemed so small and fragile next to him, and at times a fear would run through me.  Only her face never failed to light up in bright expression upon his arrival to their little domicile. 

 This was my entertainment, the show I didnít want to miss, for months.  I would hurry home from my boring collegiate life to witness the different displays of happiness and pleasure that seemed to pour out of that window.  Sitting in my hard, unforgiving wooden chair, I would be caught up in their moments to the point where I would forget time.  Upon rising, I was stiff and sore physically.  Inside I felt warm, knowing that perhaps, if lucky enough, there was a woman, a relationship, for me like the one I witnessed through the smoky glass.

 One day, returning home from a particularly trying lecture given by a wizened and sluggish professor, I went to my place by the window to shake the cobwebs of useless information from my mind.  I caught sight of my glorious neighbor, who busied herself with a womanís chores, cumulating in the sensual tending of her plants.  Drifting in a dream like state, I didnít notice her man enter the room, and started when I saw a large hand cover her eyes.  The other hand reached around to an exposed nipple, capturing it and squeezing it playfully.  His hands were large, yet her breast still overflowed it, soft flesh bulging out from itís clasp.  She gasped with a sound that I had never heard before, and turning to him, joy bubbling out from her laughter.  A wave of jealousy hit me with determined force.  This part of the day had always belonged to her and I, our secret time, even though she was unaware of it.

 Before my emotions had time to settled, he had led her to a chair.  He sat, turning her once again, so she was placed on his lap with her back against his chest.  She wiggled her arse against him in a tantalizing manner, a movement he seemed to relish.  He slid his hands down her silky arms, capturing her delicate wrists in his strong grasp.  Pulling, he held them out away from her body, as if she was a sacrificial being.  She licked her full, wine colored lips, her eyes half closed and gave a little moan of delight.  Mesmerized, my gaze was riveted to this scene and I felt a shift somewhere deep inside me.

 Slowly, with great deliberation, he began to work on her shoulders.  Biting, kissing, running his tongue along the tender skin, imprisoning her against escape.  Putting his mouth on the place where shoulder ends and neck begins, he sucked teasingly.  Her head fell back, resting on him, her moans increasing as he continued his assault.  He let her arms fall to her side, reaching around he slid the material off of her breasts, revealing them in all their perfection.  As I stared, I could measure her breathing by the sweet movement of her chest.  I found myself stiffening, the strain in my pants becoming unbearable. 

 His hands moved over those ivory mounds, gently at first, then with increasing firmness.  He played on her nipples, like a musician.  His fingers running over them, squeezing them, pulling on them, then moving away only to repeat his practice.  Those delectable buttons hardening under his tutelage. Her breath was coming out in short, wispy gasps and I released myself, springing out at full attention.  He reached down to a place I could not see and brought up a thick, dark braided whip.  It was like none I had ever known, a horsewhip having only one length of leather, this had many.  She waited in anticipation, with a glazed look in her eyes.  Had I not noticed this, I would have rushed over to aid her.  Fear and excitement took hold of me, as I witnessed this savage sensuality. 

 With the skill of an artist he began to flick at her breasts.  From one to another, her nipples growing and glowing a more deeper shade of strawberry.  Hot, angry red streaks began to form on that alabaster skin, the sight one of poetic beauty.  My hand was now firmly upon my hardness, stroking up and down with each crack of his unbounded tool.  Sated, he placed the whip with great reverence on to the table top next to him.  He returned his attention to the marks upon her, tracing the outlines and she flinched as he glided his fingers over his work.  With his other hand he reached to her skirt, and with a quick, jerking motion, pulled it to her waist, spreading her legs wide with his own.  I watched with anticipation as his hand went directly to the sweet core of her being.  His finger entered her effortlessly and she pushed forward towards him.

 The patch of hair between her legs was the same deep rich color as the hair upon her head.  I looked at it with longing and hot desire, pulling harder on my manhood, imagining her wetness surrounding it.  His finger still inserted, he placed his thumb over what I now know was her clitoris.  She pushed against his hand, moaning louder, as he worked her into a frenzy.  Her head moved from side to side, as if she could take no more of this malingering torture.  He knew her well.  Pulling his finger from her slickness, he first put it to her mouth to suck, then into his to enjoy.  He released his hardness and in one quick movement, it sprang forth, large and pulsing.  The size of it making me envious.

 Putting his hands around he waist, he lifted her onto himself, as if she had no weight to her at all.  As she was settled onto that large member, I thought to myself he must surely split her delicate intimacy.  In this I was wrong.  She started to pump against him with a fury that I have rarely seen.  They moved against each other in an euphoric state.  I moved right along with them, my stroking becoming more demanding as they rode each other.  He lifted her with intensity and she met his deep thrusts.  Faster and faster they danced, his strong hands guiding her hips, the succulent sounds of their mating drifted through the air.  I watched as first her body stiffened, then his body.  Triumphantly, I also came with them as their wild ride to ecstasy arrived at itsí finale.  I slumped back into my chair, staring at the pearly liquid running down my now deflating erection. 

 Closing my eyes, I concentrated on returning my breathing to normal.  Upon opening them again, the room across the way was empty, as if the intimate scene I had just witnessed had been all a fantasy in my overactive mind.  Confusion lodged in my mind, yet the excitement of what I had observed stayed with me.  I went to bed that night a little wiser in the ways of men and women.  Thinking was an impossibility and I fell into a deep sleep.  When I awoke the next day, I peered out from behind the dirty glass only to find that the plants and colorful flowers that once adorned that ramshackle roof were gone.  The window across the way was bare, the shades having disappeared and was closed up tight.  No sign there had ever been the inhabitants that had loved so passionately only the day before.

 Having now lived into my twilight years, I see things differently through these old, experienced eyes than I did when I was a mere boy.  Was I the voyeur, thinking I had so skillfully hid my lustful gaze?  Did she know I was there?  Did they talk about her teasing exploits for entertainment at night, wrapped around each otherís bodies?  Was their final erotic performance some strange going away present to me?  These questions have run through my mind for all these long years.  Now, I swat them away like buzzing flies and swim lazily in my thoughts of many years ago.  I was a young, healthy and vibrant. Tall and strong, with an air of sexuality that surrounds young men at this age and the ladies seem to like me.  I had no time to complain about life, things were good.