An anthropology class. One I enjoyed because the teacher’s passion was so great. The subject matter was her doctoral thesis topic, the culture of the ǃKung people the remarkably gracile tribe of hunter gatherers who live in the western Kalahari desert. You may have encountered these people and their place in the South African film, The Gods Must Be Crazy. Interesting people.
I noticed you across the room. Eyes sort of looking nowhere betraying your total disconnect from the classroom goings on. How did I know? Well you didn’t seem to be looking at the professor or at your notes on your desk. You were almost lost in some middle distance glazed stare. Your back was slightly arched. Your feet flat on the ground, wider stance than one might expect would be comfortable. I noticed the pulsing vein in your long graceful neck. The slightly blotchy flush in your neck and cheeks.
Then it dawned on me. Were you self hypnotizing yourself into sexual arousal. Maybe that’s too mystical but you look flushed and aroused without rocking or bucking or touching yourself between your legs. I feel certain I’ve noticed you meandering through the last moments before an orgasm. Then your neck blooms w spreading blotchy pink and that slightly blue vein in your neck is pulsing prominently.
You shift. For the first time in minutes your eyes seem to focus on the prof. For no particular reason you turn my direction and our eyes catch. You look right at me, not friendly or warm but holding my stare for longer than is considered polite. Yes, I noticed you thinking your way to and all the way through a silent but stunningly visceral mental but full body orgasm in the middle of our ethnography class. It wasn’t about me or for me but I shared your moment. Incredible. Sorry (not sorry) to have intruded upon your bracingly beautiful privacy. Unforgettable kismet.
Years later I see you meandering through the galleries of the de Young in Golden Gate Park. Alone. Strikingly intelligent and singular as you seem lost in your afternoon aesthetic inspiration. Stylish in your understated unadorned way, resembling no other women around or having any connection to the styles of this or any recent year. Would you even care what anyone thought of your appearance? Your nonchalance, your self possession being the soul of your undeniable strength and charisma.
I walk through the galleries at a good distance from you hoping that it’s not obvious you’ve attracted more of my attention than the California modernist paintings on the wall.
Later in the courtyard of the indoor outdoor cafe we’re both seated sipping our drinks. I’m carefully looking somewhere other than at you. At least that’s what I think I’m doing when I turn to steal another look at you. We lock eyes and I’m jolted back to that classroom again. Time stops as you look right into me.
Then I hear you say, “Ezra?”. A smile transforms your face surprising you almost as much as me. Then you get up w your coffee and walk toward me.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yttlbd/m4f_tuned_in_picked_up_her_signal