Chapter 1 – A Lesbian Erotic Romance: Willas Dreamlike Moment

There really was something quite lovely about the woman’s legs and bum, clad as they were in the walking trousers she’d pulled on that morning.

I stared appreciatively at her as I meandered closer, enjoying the very many ways in which she did it for me.

The way her muscles moved under the thin fabric, the way the form of her sublime thighs changed as she turned, moved, shifted.

The way the seat of her trousers almost seemed to cup her small, fantastic cheeks like I wished my hands could – even if only for a breath or two.

The way her slender hips swayed subtly from side to side as she stepped, moved, spun…

The wonderful way she kept her knees almost-but-not-quite-together as she crouched to pick up the tennis ball her dog had just brought back to her…

But the best bit, I thought, was that the woman in question probably had no idea just how delicious she was.

I wondered what her morning routine was…

She’d stand in front of her mirror after her shower – not nude, not this nymph, oh no – she’d be in something gentle and soft, like… like grey cotton briefs, I suddenly thought. Grey cotton briefs that rode up constantly and infuriatingly over those glorious thighs; she was forever having to adjust them, pull them free from where they kept insistently creeping…

Yes.

Definitely.

I paused, thoroughly enjoying the mental image and the warmth it aroused in my tummy.

Grey cotton briefs and a soft fabric bra… black. A black bra. Or perhaps navy. Or… lilac. Lilac and tight and snug over those small but shapely breasts…

And then she’d look at the various choices for the day and press her exquisite lips tightly together and, eventually, choose these stonewashed grey trousers.

They would be her walking pants, her comfortable pants, the ones she wore because she was going out into the fields with her dog.

And she likely had no idea how hot she was in them.

She was perfect in them.

She was perfect.

What a woman.

I tucked the errant pink strands of my misbehaving fringe back out of my eyes and admired her some more.

I’d seen her around quite a bit as Autumn drew on.

She seemed to come to the park twice or more a week between the morning hours of six and seven – prime rambling time and smack-bang in the middle of when I’d be walking in to work.

Her copper-brown hair was always only just restrained under her sometimes-fluffy hat, and the voice with which she chatted to her bonkers Spaniel was wonderfully smooth – not shrill, or intruding, or grating like so many other voices could be. Just… mellow like aged wood in a sunny room, late in the afternoon, when you’d finally pulled off your shoes and were stretching your toes and having a nice tall glass of something cool and boozy.

Precisely that kind of voice.

And I shivered once, a little tremor of need.

I watched her as I approached her and her dog. She’d bent over again to tickle the Spaniel’s ears.

Lucky dog, I thought, sighing jealously.

The fabric of her trousers was pulled drum-tight over her curved and shapely form, and the thin walking jacket flattered her only-ever-so-slightly-padded waist.

I gave her a smile, one girl to another, as she glanced up inquisitively at me when I was about to pass her by. Her cheeks were pink in the morning chill and the brief, freckle-dappled grin she blessed me with was just the most exquisite thing.

I lifted my chin, snuck one more wistful glance back at her – she caught me looking, and stood, and watched me, still smiling, probably amused by my pink hair and short tartan skirt and tights and fluffy-rabbit-bag and lace-up boots…

Flushing, I looked away and increased my pace.

“Come on, Flora,” I heard her say. “Enough dilly-dallying. Lets go play with the ball. Yes? You’d like that? The ball?”

The Spaniel began to yap; clearly the answer was a resounding yes.

I rolled the tightness out of my shoulders and shifted my bag so that it would stop pinching me.

I still had half a mile to walk to work, but I didn’t have to rush.

It was a lovely morning. Cool and quiet, my favourite kind.

So I ambled, and as I ambled I spent a lot of my remaining time thinking about her.

As I almost always did, these days.

.:.

She’d skipped the fluffy hat this time and gone for ear warmers and a hairband – her long copper locks fell in gentle falls and had been expertly trimmed to come to a lovely point that was no doubt within a precise hand’s breadth of the small of her back.

Her Spaniel was being crackers as only Spaniels could be – running around all flappity-eared, barking, rolling in everything, menacing the magpies that were screaming insults and menacing it right back.

She smiled at me as I passed her, gave me a quite lovely little trilling “Hello,” to which I squeaked a silly, shy “Hi,” in return.

And fool that I was, I snuck a look back at her, and she caught me again and smiled and waved an artless little goodbye to me.

God, she was adorable.

Faint freckles on her cheeks, rich brown eyes, a small and neat nose, and a different shade of the same type of trousers – deep wine red this time. Deep wine red and tight as anything across that absolutely perfect bum; perfectly matched with the black polo-neck that peeked through her half-unzipped dark green jacket.

I approved.

I approved in the most approving way I could ever approve of anything, at all, in the entire history of everything, ever.

And even the fact that she was way, way, way out of my league didn’t damp my approval one little bit.

Even her guaranteed heteronormative ways couldn’t spoil things.

A girl could always dream…

I wondered who she was.

Probably a mum judging by the gold rings and time of day – few other women would be out getting quiet time this early in the morning with only the pooch in tow. She was likely hunting an hour’s sanity before the madness of the school run to one of the local private schools. Or maybe she was lucky enough to have a hubby who actually helped out around home…

I sighed.

She was not even in the same postcode as my life, that was for sure.

Oh well.

I wondered what she thought of me. Whether she thought of me. Whether she wondered about me in the same way I wondered about her.

And then I laughed at myself.

Silly little Willa.

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