EYES

A FANTASY By Robert W. Birch

        I think it was her eyes. Yes, I’m certain that’s what it was that attracted me to her. If you’ve ever met a woman like her, a woman with those eyes, you’ll immediately know what I mean. She was much prettier than I deserved, and I felt awkward and uncertain as we were casually introduced. Her words said, “It’s nice finally getting to meet you,” but her eyes seemed to speak louder. “I want you,” they cried out to me. I was sure others would have heard . . . to have seen in her eyes that ravenous hunger. At first I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but it was clear by the way she looked at me. She wanted me!
        I extended my hand automatically to greet her, and she took it, holding it lightly, unlike what I would have expected for a woman of the same height as I. We stood eye to eye. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. Her eyes reached out seductively. “Take me,” I distinctly heard them say. I could see it . . . she definitely needed me.
        I fumbled for the right words. To have said, “I hope what you’ve heard about me was all good,” would have been trite. My mind raced. Her eyes waited as though she was teetering on the brink of an orgasm, waiting for my response to bring her to conclusion. “My admirers have been too generous in their praise,” I said, hesitating and then adding, as though making the final decisive thrust, “and my critics have been far too harsh . . . ”
        “. . . in their criticism.” She finished my sentence as though wanting me to come with her. Her eyes danced. “I am, however,” she said teasingly, “one of those critics.”
        My heart sank. Who is this woman? On what basis had she judged me? Where was her critical review? The panic must have shown on my face, for I did not want to lose her . . . did not want her to think ill of my . . . of my pathetic work. I have long feared my own incompetence. Had she discovered it? Had she exposed it?
        I hurried to concede a point. “Perhaps your criticism is just.” Her eyes narrowed as though to peer through the darkness, to re-evaluate her judgment, to see me in a different light.
        “I know what I know,” she said and her eyes opened. An image of her laying spread eagle on a bed flashed onto my mental screen. Those eyes called to me again, continuing the foreplay. I had not lost her. Her desire from me was strong.
        “I do what I can,” I said feebly. It was an inadequate excuse, a throw-away response, and at that moment I felt totally impotent. I braced myself for her rejection.
        “Do you do everything badly?” Her response was surprisingly playful. Her eyes smiled and then lowered to my crotch, the very tip of her tongue peered briefly from between her full red lips.
        “I’ve a wet spot,” I thought, for I had felt my shorts dampen with the tell-tale evidence of my excitement. I was sure my pre-ejaculate had visibly soaked through my trousers.
        Her eyes returned to mine, her tongue appeared again, tracing the contour of her upper lip. “I want to taste you,” was written in her eyes. Another sticky drop made its escape and found refuge in my shorts. She rephrased her spoken question. “Are there things you do well?”
        “Oh yes, things I do very well in fact.” I hoped my words would convince her, although I struggled with my own deep sense of insecurity.
        “Oh, I’ll bet there are.” Her eyes continued as the spoken words ended. “And I would love for you to show me,” they pleaded in silence. I imagined she was feeling the warm dampness of her own anticipation, wanting the fullness of my presence within her body.
        “Things I think even my worst critic would enjoy.” I wanted to tease her, play with her. “I have many impressive skills.” As I spoke her eyes seemed to focus inward. She held her breath, and I imagined she was close to her sexual climax.
        “And I am known for my skill as well.” Her respond brought a surge of warmth into my loins. “Come with me,” her eyes begged.
        She had not let go of my hand and as her eyes fluttered, she squeezed it and was silent. Her eyes cried out, “Yes, oh yes,” and then her grip relaxed and our hands parted.
        I tried to ask with my eyes, though uncertain if she understood, but I needed to know if it had been as good for her as it had been for me. “It has been nice talking with you,” were the only words that came from my mouth.
       “My pleasure,” she said, her eyes confirming my fantasy.
       As she walked away, I wished silently that I had asked this stranger her name.


Copyright 2001 Robert W. Birch


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MARGARET'S DIARY:

An Erotic Ghost Story

A Novel by Robert W. Birch

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Kevin, an aspiring author who works as a mover of furniture, finds the diary of Margaret, a widow who died at age ninety with no surviving family. On seeing Margaret’s youthful-appearing ghost, Kevin manages to quell his fear when he realizes that the sexy apparition means him no harm. He quickly discovers that the recently deceased woman’s ghost plans to use her personal journal as her way of eliciting his help. Kevin and his wife Cathy, two young, uninhibited, amorous spouses whose passionate love for each other forms the main reason for their being selected as helpers by the sexy female ghost, discover the details of the tragic death of Margaret’s only child: a gay man who was stabbed to death in 1983 at the age of forty-two. When they learn that the bigoted Chief of Police of that time hid evidence and buried the case, their resolve to identify the killer hardens further.

Convinced that Margaret will never be able to join her son and husband until the murderer of their son is found, Kevin and Cathy discover that Margaret communicates by causing cryptic clues to appear. They find that Margaret retains a sense of humor, a lively curiosity about sex, and a delightful giggle. As the two ardent lovers conduct their investigation, their efforts bring them even closer, emotionally. Their awareness that Margaret observes their bouts of energetic, passionate lovemaking fails to bother them in the least.

Kevin and Cathy put together a team, including the retired detective who investigated the murder. During the past twenty-five years, the detective has nursed guilt arising from his having failed to protest the Chief’s closing the unsolved case. The current Chief of Police joins the team, along with a number of gay males. The team members follow false leads and find themselves forced to reinterpret clues, but the search finally leads to a shocking revelation, justice for Margaret and the man murdered so long ago, and a deepening of the emotional bond uniting Kevin and Cathy.

This is an erotic romance. This genre has a lot of explicit sexual scenes and language, but features a monogomous central relationship and a happy ending. This paranormal erotic story is available in print as a soft cover edition, 162 pages, 6" x 9", perfect binding. Our cost $15.95 plus Priority Mail Postage.

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