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From my vantage point, I could see her vulva, slick with her juices and swelling with mounting need. I wanted, no, actually needed to plunge into her body, possess it, ride her and bury my myself between her parted thighs, but as any voyeur, I remained a silent witness to her self pleasuring, frightened that any slight movement or noise would spoil the magic of the unfolding scene before me. Besides, I knew well enough that, contrary to the popular male belief that a woman in such a position would, upon spying her audience, invite him in to join in, my intrusion would end in my eviction, most likely with a stream of verbal abuse.Her fingertips had found her moistened lips and parted them slightly. It seemed she was being careful not to touch that most sensitive nub of nerve endings, perhaps leaving it till she was ready, or delaying the moment in self-torture. Carefully her tips separated the swollen lips and her forefinger slipped easily between to disappear into the hidden canal. Nothing came up, and she soon realized she had no money at all. That wasn’t so bad, she could go to the bank and take some more out. But where was the bank? Rose went back into the restaurant and was surprised to see the parishoners had left. She went up to a tired looking waitress who appeared to be propped up by the graffiti ridden wall. ‘Do you know where the bank is?’ ‘What bank?’ ‘Uh…it has a drive-up’ The bemused young girl giggled. ‘Don’t they all?’ ‘I don’t know’…Rose stumbled. ‘Up the road a couple of miles is the town of Canaan. There are a couple of banks there.’ ‘Oh…thanks.’ Rose walked out of the Greasy Spoon, astonished that the van she had been riding on was nowhere in sight. She was very tired from hiking overnight, yet was determined to find that little girl’s ball. At a snail’s pace, Rose proceeded toward Canaan. The short December day passed by quickly, and she had just reached the outskirts of the small country village as beautiful reds and yellows shot across.
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