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Monica

By Trey Gallant

Copyright Jan., 2002 Author's Notes:

Copyright Jan., 2002 - No copy or reproduction may be made without permission of the author. A story inspired by Echso's Inspirational Pics, Archive, Page 3, Pic 8h

Monica walked through the shopping center with a feigned nonchalance veiling her predatory purpose. She was wearing her "hunting clothes": tight red sweater, short black skirt, high-heeled pumps ... and no underwear. Her long brown hair hung loosely to the middle of her back, lending a camouflage of youth and innocence to her otherwise provocative outfit.

She strolled slowly and casually along the sidewalk in front of the glass walled shops and offices. That way, she could observe her potential prey in the reflections without them being aware that as they watched her pass by, swaying ever so subtilely and provocatively, she was carefully monitoring their responses. Thus she could pick her next victim, aiming a significant gesture here, a meaningful movement there at just the moment he would be watching most intently, capturing his eyes and his mind even before she made eye contact and dissolved his will.

That one? she asked herself, catching the reflection of a young man whose glance had lingered a dangerous fraction of a second too long on her swaying arse. No, he was too young, almost still a boy. She was not a cradle-robber; the young man had energy and stamina, but no experience or financial resourses to draw on. Unless a youth looked innocent enough that it would be sufficiently entertaining to corrupt him, he was hardly worth her time. How about the well-dressed, gray-haired gentleman, who already could hardly keep his eyes off her? No, too old this time; she had no wish to cause a fatal exhaustion in one night. She restricted her movements, shifting from a hypnotic undulation to an innocent walk. The gentleman came to himself with a start, sighed, and looked away.

Ah, Monica though, there was her man! The driver of an expensive, late model sedan had almost hit the curb when she threw a distracting gesture his way. She paused, pretending to window shop as she watched him drive on. Yes! He was circling back, as if looking for a parking space; probably thought he was, consciously. Her non-verbal, neuro-linguistic messages communicated below the level of conscious thought.

As he passed her the second time, she shifted her weight from left to right and back again, adding just the right suggestion of sensuality, and letting the movement of her skirt's fabric across her firm posterior hint at the absense of underlying garments. That should bring him back for more! She exalted, as she moved on to the next window after he passed by -- passed on but only after the slightest tell-tale hesitation. Yes, he was circling again. Come to me, she cooed to herself, and telegraphed to her victim by body language. Third time's the charm.

Monica carefully positioned herself near a parking space, and watched as the car came slowly towards her. When she was sure the driver's eyes were on her, she bent over as if to adjust the strap of her shoe. As she intended, the sight of her bare, firm buttocks brought him to a complete stop, his attention helplessly ensnared. Gracefully, she straighened up, her left hand drawing the hem of her skirt up to keep his gaze fixated. She turned her upper body, looking askance over her left shoulder at him. His eyes were finally drawn reluctantly away from her provocatively displayed arse. Their eyes met, locked, and he was lost.

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