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It was late and I was tired, but having just arrived
from Jakarta after a long and dreary flight, I needed some change of scene
before turning in.
The hotel bar was nearly empty. Even in a city like this one, full of
exotic people brimming with sensual attraction in their sleek and colorful
fashionista dominated culture... even here, things closed down by 4:30 AM.
Except for me, that is... and her.
She never shifted her pose, never looked my way, never spoke a word, never
did anything other than blow slowly rising smoke rings and sip her drink.
She looked as though she was a thousand miles away and still climbing. She
looked as though her world was sufficient unto itself.
Tired and bored when I had come into the bar, now I was fascinated; though
I made every effort to keep from showing it. Still, it was more than
clear, this was a woman who knew she'd be noticed wherever she went. She
was familiar with being seen, noticed... even watched. She appeared to be
of both Asian and Western European descent, with perhaps a touch of Native
American as well. Slender, clearly very fit but without that overdone
muscularity that so many girls work toward in the gym. About twenty-six I
would guess.
Her body moved with a kind of efficiency I had rarely seen; almost as
though each cell knew it's function in any movement she desired to make,
and responded perfectly; neither more nor less than needed. This resulted
in a graceful, almost stylized presentation. Only once did she falter...
or was it... more likely... purposeful.
I enjoyed her one enjoys a work of art. Beauty, grace, and a clear and
heavy eroticism dwelled within and oozed out of her. My reaction was
surprisingly non-sexual. A slap in the face and a beer would, no doubt,
have awakened that part of me, no doubt. No man could see this woman and
have no sexual thoughts at all. But mine were muted in the lazy haze of
fatigue I felt, the slow movement of the ceiling fan, the quiet work of
the girl behind the bar, as this silent self contained woman danced her
dance.
As for the "faltering"? It was just an instant, so slight as to leave me
wondering if I had even seen it correctly; but when I told the girl behind
the bar that I was ready to go, and tossed a fifty on the bar while
standing up to leave... she moved. It was a departure from the totally
unconnected way she had been until that moment. She appeared to shift,
ever so slightly, toward me... and to twist her upper body around in a way
that emphasized the cleave between her ripe breasts. The image was there.
And then it was gone. She was detached and in her own world again.
Without thought, I stopped and just looked at her. Maybe half a minute..
just looking. It was so quiet that the hum of the fan above us, pushing
the humid air past our warm damp skin, dominated the senses. The bar maid
didn't move. Even having seen the million near encounters she had
witnessed from behind the bar, she was spellbound by the tension of those
thirty seconds. Looking back on it now, I think we all were.
I turned and walkied from the bar; across the marble floors below crystal
chandeliers that hung twenty feet above, to the elevator.
Like so many aspects of this place, the elevator was a powerful
combination of modern design and old world lavish tradition. As the crisp
clean brushed aluminum doors opened I could glimpse the deep tones of the
mahogancy covered walls inside, adorned by a brass holding rail on all
three sides.. hip high. Before even entering, I knew that the silence
inside would be even more complete than it already had been in the bar. |
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