Dark Eyes

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I’d noticed her looking at me several times-often as we passed in the hallways and as we rode the elevators to and from classes where we were conservatory students. She was small–the top of her head barely came up to my chin, and I was only 5’11”. But much more striking than her small stature were her eyes– of a strange, mellow brown, suffused with a peculiar warm radiance–which seemed not only large for such a small girl, but aglow with a strange intensity that I had never seen in anyone before. I’m sure that it was those darkly luminous eyes that made me aware of her, and held my eyes in momentary embrace with hers.

There were lots of women in that small but prestigious institution who were better looking than this girl with the haunting eyes. She never wore clothes that emphasized her shape, and it was obvious that her endowments were modest, though still attractive. Nothing other than those eyes set her apart from other passing pairs and trios of quiet shy girls, nervously finding their way around the school, whose lists of distinguished alumni were intimidating, and through whose corridors there echoed intertwining flourishes of virtuoso music-making.

She had to be a first-year student, as everyone already knew everyone else. She carried a flute– one of many who came to study with the great master here. She had to be one of the lesser lights, as everyone had already passed the word around about the freshman virtuosos, who quickly made themselves known in a school where talent reigned supreme. As a lesser light myself, I understood all too well the sense of shyness that one feels when you suddenly find yourself surrounded by musicians of world-class talent.

Having somehow survived the first year and its terrifying performance juries, I was a little more relaxed, but still far from bold enough to approach any of the super talents that I, like everyone else, was attracted to. (Women with such gifts have a natural attraction independent of their appearance; they radiate a brilliance that is dazzling in itself.) So my little brown-eyed girl took me by surprise, now that I had mustered enough self-confidence to look the female students in the eye. Here she was, making me uncomfortable with that look, and neither I nor any of the guys I hung around with even knew her name. She really must be somebody unusual!

Then one day, when I was checking my mail off the main corridor, she walked up and said. “Hi, Lou. I’m Elise” Her mouth curled into a mischievous grin as she recognized my unconcealable surprise, and to my unspoken question “How did you know who I am” she had a ready follow-on, “I’ve seen you in the halls and I asked some of my friends your name.”

“Hmm, so much for shyness, ” I thought, and fought back waves of stupid questions, whose answers were clear enough to anyone not so taken aback. Her quiet voice had, not a ring, but a kind of soft, slightly breathy resonance to it, like the flute itself in the low register, that joined her eyes in riveting me to the spot. To me it was pure sensuality. “Uh, yes, Elise, I’ve noticed you many times.” (“True, but hardly good enough to make up for your not doing anything about it, you dope,” I said to myself.) I finally managed to stammer out an invitation to the coffee shop next door, which she accepted, presumably having expected it with the same insouciance that greeted the rest of my predictable responses.

At any rate our conversation over coffee (this was a long time ago, when young people drank coffee) did nothing to break the invisible web that had encircled us. It was entangling me with stunning swiftness, and finally left me fully content to remain right there, where those eyes and that voice could play with my senses as long as the spell might last. She of course eventually did have to mention that she had other things to do, but we agreed that I would take her out to the local art film house on Saturday night. She seemed to have expected that invitation, as well.

When I met her in the foyer of the dorm Saturday night she was already bundled up against the Siberian climate that went along with admission to our famous school. We ran like a couple of Michelin tire men to my ancient hulk of a car whose only real virtue is that it would start no matter how cold it got. Elise unhesitatingly scooted right over next to me as I fumbled with gloves and keys to coax another of its miraculous starts from the elderly Pontiac. Well, I thought, either she needs what warmth I could offer her to stave off imminent death, or this is going to be a memorable evening. It was going to be memorable anyway, as this was the first date I had had since arriving from my native land, far-off Texas. Even there my Leporello would not even have had to time to clear his throat before his arioso listing this Don Giovanni’s dates would have ended. Of conquests there were none at all.

Once inside the igloo of the theater, we began unswaddling ourselves. I lifted her coat off her shoulders (as was the custom in those antedeluvian times) and suddenly saw a good deal more of Elise than I would have thought possible on such a night. The dress was the basic little black thing, though not in those days hanging from spaghetti halkalı eve gelen escort straps, but suspended from a cowl neckline that draped from shoulder to shoulder in a devastating catenary curve. The graceful complementary arc delimiting the (to me) stunning expanse of skin allowed a peek into the shadowed mystery of her back between her shoulder blades, as I stood transfixed behind this apparition. This wasn’t the poet’s ivory or marble or alabaster, but real, soft ever-so-slightly downy girl’s skin. My gonads were already afire before I had time to realize it.

She turned around and caught me agape with those dark eyes. Though they were radiant from the heat of an invisible fire; her smile was well in the visible spectrum along with the rest of the bare skin that breathed above the mathematical perfection of the neckline. She had just the slightest gap between her smile-bared front teeth. I was so grateful for this tiny imperfection, as it allowed me to hold on to my sanity, and remember that this is Elise, a real girl. The perigee of the curve of the neckline also led my eyes to another gap-the gentle countours of the cleavage between her delectably small breasts. They rose and fell with the undulations of her flutist’s deep drawn breaths, drawing my eyes along the slopes of their succulent curves and into the shadows of their darker sides. I’m sure I must have said something, but fortunately neither of us heard it.

We drank demi-tasse before the film-something quite noire from the French new wave. The surly black of the coffee set off dark eyes and dress and images from the film hanging about on wall-mounted black and white photographs. We two thorough un-sophisticates did our best to look as if we belonged in the art-film-savvy crowd, but all was overlaid with the images of her eyes, the slight figure sculpted in the black dress, the dress itself and the aforementioned skin. Her glowing gaze never left mine and seemed as if it would swallow me in as we stood there. The roar of the furnaces behind the eyeballs drowned out our perfunctory conversation.

The theater, though full, was cold, and to my chagrin Elise had to put her coat around her shoulders to keep from freezing. Instead she took my hand, and I was happy just to hold it there balanced on the arm-rest between us. Such films as this one still had power to shock, and for the moment wrenched our eyes and minds from our mutual obsession to share its lovers’ existential ennui.

Their fires might have been sputtering; ours were hardly out. I suddenly felt our clasped hands fall off the arm-rest onto Elise’s left leg, and move together along the smoothness of her skirt. The side of my hand noted landmarks along the way: the unseen strap of a garter reaching down to the top of her stocking, where the easily-felt bump of the clasp announced that we’d reached a place I’d merely tried to imagine when I first saw her in that dress. Our hands skated on the skirt up and down along the rippling nylon of the stockings until I felt her legs squeeze tight together, and she began to rock slowly and rhythmically in her seat. She put her hand on top of mine and led my flattened palm along the other leg, and then down the valley between them. I had no idea what Elise was doing, but the sound of her breathing and her closed eyes told me that this was something way beyond my limited experience.

My hand of course was not content to stay atop the skirt, but when it tried to find its way below, Elise lifted it up and put it in my lap. Confused and embarrassed, I hardly knew what to think, until she started again our pairs skating exhibition, this time with her hand under mine, but still leading the way. I’d had no time to adjust the tent that stood where my lap should be, stretched by now on its fully extended pole. It didn’t take her small hand long to find and ascend the wool-clad Everest, a place on me where no woman’s hand had ever climbed before.

The slight moan that resounded deep in my throat on feeling the Elise’s fingers round the head of my stiffened flesh drew a sharp harumpf from a fur-clad matron next to me and the less-than-approving stare of her consort. It appeared that our exhibition had not been without spectators, and hardly enthusiastic ones, either for the film or our own “paws de deux”. Elise’s imploring gaze ratified my unspoken suggestion: “Let’s get out of here!”

The question was, of course, where to go now. We both lived in dorm rooms, and as we made our way past the toes and knees of irritated film art devotees, my libido was screaming for a quick answer to that question. The tent in my pants had by no means folded itself, either, so the film fans had a little live show at eye level that probably told them of the nature of the emergency departure.

By the time we got to the lobby Elise’s eyes repeated the question. The fire that raged within the two of us threatened to incinerate us on the spot. While helping her back into her coat I said “Let’s get in the car; I’ll think of something.” She was standing as close as our coats would allow, and I leaned down to kiss the back of her neck to seal the promise. I saw that she had closed halkalı grup yapan escort her eyes, and felt her press her bottom into my bulging fly to encourage me.

Once I got us both in the car and plunged the key into its slot (awareness of this almost unconscious gesture hit right in the pit of my stomach) I had to confess to myself that I hadn’t got any farther along in thinking of a place to go. I turned to Elise, felt her eyes reading my face, and leaned over to kiss her again. While leaning over towards her face the play of the dim light and shadows on the pale softness of her forehead and cheeks and lips suddenly gave me the answer: black and white photographs! I’d joined the camera club, and had a key to the darkroom and studio in the old Union building near the dorms! (Right on the key ring I’d just penetrated the ignition switch with!) I’d been there early today, working on enlargements of a pretty model who’d agreed to pose for the club, and I knew that no one planned to use the studio tonight. As far as I could remember, nothing was going on in the Union at all tonight!

I became abruptly aware again that Elise was kissing me as I felt the tip of her tongue touch my lips, which instinctively parted to allow their welcome visitor. No one had ever given me such a kiss, and I felt shivers unrelated to the cold. My tongue met hers and started a sinuous pas de deux that danced in and out of each of our mouths while time stood still. I can’t begin to guess how long we drove each other mad with our naked tongues playing as proxies for our bundled bodies.

It was, in the most prosaic terms, long enough for the steamed up windows to freeze over solid. When we disentangled in our newly made igloo, we both laughed hysterically at the sight, but couldn’t get ahead of the cold in our efforts to scrape off the windows because we just kept plunging back into each others’ mouths. We eventually had to drive off towards the Union with the windows down. I don’t think either of us noticed the cold.

The well-packed snow crunched under the Pontiac’s tires as I turned into the old campus drive. I could see that the Union lot was empty! Yesss! Realizing that everyone recognized my ancient black chariot, I improvised a new devious quirk to the evening’s unfolding plan by parking not in the Union’s lot, but in one reserved for denizens of the women’s dorms, a hundred yards away. I might get a ticket, but better that than have my car tell every watchman to go looking for us in the Union. In those days getting caught could get both of us thrown out of school peremptorily

I’d told her on the way about the plan, and she had squeezed my hand in assent. We tried to look as if we were just a couple of completely insane students out for a pleasant stroll on the artic grounds of the old campus, occasionally stopping to smooch under one of the old converted gas lamp posts, and risking a major case of chapped lips. The full moon was still low in the sky behind the Union, placing the whole front of the graceful old pseudo-Oxford-style building in deep shadow. Once we reached the shadow, we turned and walked slowly up to the impressive front doors of the building. The Union was dark save for the few ever-burning emergency lights, and of course the front doors were locked-it was only open when the building was booked for campus events. I said a silent thank-you to the camera club president for getting us all keys, since the restrictive policy made it almost impossible to use the photographic facilities on the erratic schedule on which it operated.

My key worked. The heavy door swung silently open as I pulled the ornate handle, and we went in. There was just enough light inside to see our way around without groping. Camera club members were supposed to sign in on a pad beside the door, but I knew that if we did we’d get a visit from Ray, the friendly night watchman. Though I liked Ray, this was not the time. I hadn’t quite got as far as figuring out how to deal with his rounds. One thing at a time.

Elise led me into the huge main living-room-style reception room-one of those lovely old posh interiors from the rich ’20’s, with polished oak floors and paneling, oriental rugs, elegant sofas, wing-back chairs, ottomans, windows with small diamond-shaped panes set in lead, heavy drapes on enormous bronze fixtures, a huge baronial carved stone fireplace, and a Steinway concert grand. The big piano and scattered coffee-table books served, I suppose, to remind us musicians that it was people who could pay for this sort of finery who generally paid the bills for the arts. It could have been a swank university club in some big city, or at least so I imagined, having only seen such places in the movies. Elise and I had of course been here before, but never with the place to ourselves.

While I was looking around to make sure we were really alone, Elise had walked over to the big fireplace and thrown her big coat on an ottoman and kicked off her shoes and snow boots. When I approached her she stood in her stocking feet in front of a sofa, facing into the fireplace, her bare arms gripping each other against the chill in the room, halkalı masöz escort which stood cold and empty this icy winter weekend. The whiteness of her legs and arms and cameo of her head and neck and shoulders above the sweep of her neckline stood out clearly even in the faint light that reached her that far into the room. “I need warming up, fast, Lou.”

She did sound like someone who had been left out in the cold too long. By the time I got to her, she was holding a long fireplace match which she had found and looking very perplexedly into the great drafty fireplace, trying to figure out how to light the huge array of gas logs that had long since replaced the real thing. I gave her a hug from behind and said, “Maybe we should just go up to the studio-there’s electric heat in there, and the door locks,” still unable to forget about Ray. So much for Lou the romantic.

” The first time I saw this room and this fireplace I fell in love with it. I must have sent you telepathic messages to take me here tonight, Lou. Please help me light this fire, so we can stay right here-and don’t worry about the watchman, either,” Mercifully, Elise was romantic enough for the two of us.

“Two bodies-warmed, but not barbequed, I thought.” Fortunately I’d worked one summer for a contractor for the gas company, and didn’t have any trouble finding the concealed knob or getting the thing lighted. It blazed up spectacularly and half blinded us for a moment, so dark was the rest of the room. I took off my big coat and laid it atop hers, and, on further thought, my tie and jacket, my snow boots and shoes. And my glasses. Maybe I could shed enough of Lou’s hidebound trappings to live a little somewhere other than just between my ears.

She sat down on the rug facing into the blazing pseudo-logs, folded up into the tightest package possible, with arms wrapped around her legs and clasped in front of her shins. She still looked cold. I pulled up the ottoman and squeezed myself in between it and Elise, with her sitting in front of me, in the V between my legs, thinking to provide some warmth for her cold side myself. Once the cold lost its grip on her she relaxed and leaned back onto my chest, and let her head relax against my shoulder.

The coat-covered ottoman held its ground as I leaned back. It was going to prop us both up, I realized, gratefully. The goose-bumps on her neck and shoulders slowly vanished as I folded my arms alongside the outside of hers, to match their fold and bring a little extra warmth to them. It was a moment of sheer bliss. My nostrils were filled with the freshness of her shoulder-length hair. My head leaned down to inhale the fragrance of her skin, and my lips kissed the intersection of her neck and smooth shoulder, quite of their own accord. She released a long and rather languorous sigh, with just the hint of a moan floating on it. The first kiss led of itself to a long, slow series replicating the first wherever my lips could reach. “Oh, Lou…”

Now quite relaxed, she let her head and shoulders droop forward, and in doing so let the dress’s right shoulder slide slowly down her arm, bringing the neckline along. I leaned forward again and gently kissed the back of her neck and then the naked shoulder. I saw that now the lovely black dress’s other shoulder had fallen as well. The former elegant curve of cloth was now loose and slowly uncovering her strapless decollete bra and the perfect curves of her smallish breasts.

My hands still covered hers, and I lifted the four of them up to touch the two petite gems of Elise’s flesh, pulling her torso back into mine. I felt a tremor somewhere inside her when our hands reached the soft, soft skin left exposed by the cutaway contour of the sexy bra. The thrill of our hands touching her soft breasts together had brought my tent pole back again to full length, though squashed between her soft buns and my bulging crotch. Then she slipped her hands out of my mine and pulled the bra down, leaving my hands to envelop her exquisite orbs. They filled my hands with a sensation of such softness and such delicate curvature that I forgot to breathe. My hands were ecstatic-alternately molding breasts and areolas within my palms, and then teasing the little nubbin nipples with my thumb and fingers, and interrupting these sensual delights with expeditions to explore every mystery of Elise’s unwrapped stomach, chest and shoulders. New tremors shook her whole body.

Elise began to rock her hips again, squeezing her legs tight together, as she had done when we watched the film. But this time she soon reached forward with both arms and pulled the skirt of her crumpled dress right up to her waist. While my eyes drank in the sight of her slim legs, clad in thigh-high stockings, the taut straps of her garters stretching down to them from silky black garter belt, she plunged both hands into her crotch. The rocking turned to writhing, and she slowly lay over onto my left leg, coiling and uncoiling in ecstatic throes of masturbation. Her sighs turned to moans, dark and resonant from the depths of her flesh. My senses were afire with her sounds, the convoluted throes of her curving limbs and torso, and scents of musk so strong it took my breath away. The roundness of her buns had pulsed against my crotch to the point that I was ready to explode. Elise imploded first, as waves of shuddering spasms engulfed her spring -coiled frame, and indescribable rolling sonant crooning of wordless ecstasy escaped her lips. Her face was a mask of stunned transport from the tsunami of her orgasm.

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