After nearly being caught in her voyeuristic pleasure yesterday, the Brunette had decided to avoid the risk of further exposure by remaining indoors.  Instead of occupying her usual perch on the balcony, she opted to observe the beautiful Blonde from a bank of oversized windows, forming the foundation for one wall of her master suite.  On rainy days she would sit for hours in front of them and watch as the bands of gray, twisted clouds whirled in from the Pacific Ocean.   

Today was different though.  The Brunette sat naked on a meditation pillow near the base of the windows.  Try as she might she couldn’t resist touching herself as she gazed upon the luscious Blonde occupying the sand before her.  The attraction was shocking in its intensity.  Since her initial sighting of the Blonde, the Brunette had fantasized endlessly about their first meeting; the images generally culminated in a scorching hot and exceedingly raw sexual interlude. 

Her gaze returned to those lean muscular legs and the Blonde’s perfectly formed derriere.  No woman had ever affected her in this way; she wondered what the hell was happening to her.  She knew it was pitiable to behave in such a cowardly way; to indulge in this secret guilty pleasure.  Why was she struggling so much to find the courage to simply introduce herself? 

There was just something about this woman… when she looked at her a profound warmth filled her very soul; the entire experience intimated the hell out of her. 

Each evening the Brunette would simulate a prepared introduction.  She had thought through so many different scenarios, she could have written a text book on social etiquette.  If she ever did work up the courage to confront her trepidation, she would be socially proficient.

But each morning she awoke to the same uneasiness; her feet sullenly refusing to climb the distance necessary to stand amid the pebbles of warm sand and greet the buxom Blonde.  She wanted to run from her daybreak shadowing ritual and yet she found herself compelled to return to the same exact location each morning at the appointed time, watching and waiting for the Blonde’s arrival.

When the Blonde turned to face the house, the Brunette knew she was searching for her.  Instead of being further intimated, it turned her on.  The Blonde wanted to know her, too.  Perhaps she felt the heat of their connection as well.  The thought brought an instant wetness between the Brunette’s legs.  Her fingers slowly began to circle her inner lips as she imagined herself touching the Blonde, holding her in her arms, kissing her breasts, and licking that luscious derriere.  An intense yearning to hold what she did not possess came quickly.  Her long fingers sped up in response to her desires.  As the Blonde finished her final pose, a sweet, sharp climax was achieved.  A groan of satisfaction emerged from the lips of the Brunette.  She fell backward on the cushion; her upper body contacting the plush carpeting of the floor as she stared silently at the ceiling.

God, she had to stop this.  She would be absolutely mortified if the Blonde discovered her secret daily indulgence. 

Or maybe it would turn the Blonde on?  It certainly was possible…to know that just the sight of her body could dissolve a strong, autonomous, alpha woman into virtual Jell-o. 

Shit, who was she kidding?  The woman was probably straight.  What were the odds that her dream woman would turn out to be a lesbian?  They certainly had to be infinitesimally small.  She needed to cease coming up with rationales to justify her voyeuristic behaviors. 

One thing was certain; procrastination on meeting the Blonde was not going to bring about a resolution.  As her older sister often reminded her when she lapsed into procrastination mode – “You need to shit or get off the pot!” 

The trouble was, at this particular moment, the pot looked like the safest place to stay.