Watching Them

She watched them…

… not so much the beautiful creatures behind the windows in the red light district, but the people — men and women — walking down the street, glancing at the windows. It was the expressions on their faces that fascinated her. No one noticed her where she sat alone on a bench, her hands deep in her coat pockets, her face half hidden behind the high coat collar.

A single man — was he single, or was he here trying to escape from his life? — kept his head turned forward, but his eyes roamed the bodies on display. The way he was dressed made him look like a business man, the dress shoes, the expensive coat, the visible tie around his neck. Maybe he was here on business, and had escaped his hotel room to come here where life is buzzing, and sexy offers were made without words. She watched as he passed her, and continued walking, still not turning his head.

Her eye fell on a couple holding hands. His eyes were openly fixed on the scarcely clad women behind the glass; hers alternated from a quick glance at the same women, a look at him to watching where they were going. He stopped, said something, and she quickly looked at the window, before pulling him along with a shy smile. Was that disappointment on his face as he glanced back of his shoulder? Was the woman blushing, shy that she pulled him away? Or maybe she was blushing because what she saw in the window made something inside twitch, and she didn’t know why?

A sound caught her attention and she diverted her eyes from the couple, to find a man talking to one of the ladies of pleasure. An ordinary man, dressed in jeans and trainers; his coat more functional than fashionable. What service was he requiring? A full-on fucking, or only a blow job? Fascinated she watched as his hand disappeared into his pocket, and he pulled out a wallet. Wasn’t payment always done inside, and not on the street? He opened his wallet, and even from where she sat, she saw a thick pack of notes in it. The woman took a step back and opened the door wider. Soon the curtains were closed, and all she could do was fantasize about what went on inside; what expensive service he had bought.

The sexy images in her mind stirred something inside, a kind of longing, a wetness between her legs, but she quickly forgot about it when her eyes fell on another couple approaching. The only way she knew they were a couple was because when the man stopped in front of a window, so did the woman. She looked nervous; almost scared. What was their story? Why did she look nervous? Or was that irritation on her face? Didn’t she want to be here? Did it make her feel insecure?

A woman appeared in her line of sight, totally diverting her attention from the couple. It was a woman alone, just like her. Was she here to do the same: observe others? Maybe she was a reporter wanting to write something about the red light district? Or was she a customer? Which service would she go for? Licking? Fingering? Fisting?

She crossed her legs and shook her head, trying to get the image out of her head; to ignore the excitement in her body.

The business man now walked in the opposite direction than before. He fascinated her. His demeanor fascinated her. The way he walked. The way he looked at the woman, but didn’t look. The way he observed his surroundings, but didn’t seem to see anything. Why did he return? Was he interested in a special moment with one of the women before he returned to his hotel? She had decided that he was a traveling business man, wanting to forget his mundane life back home in a bought moment of passion. She kept her eyes on him, willing him to knock on one of the windows and negotiate his desires, until he disappeared from sight.

What did all these people hope to get from this night life? Did they come here to escape their lives? To feel something? To fill a void? Why was she here? Because she loved to observe people? To weave stories around them, because of the expressions on their faces, or the way they were dressed?

“Mind if I sit down?”
The question startled her, but surprise overwhelmed her when she saw him. The businessman. He sat down, close to her.
“I couldn’t help but notice you watching everyone, and I wanted to share your fascination.”
Together and in silence, they watched the passers-by, weaving sad and happy and impossibly sexy stories in their minds.

© Rebel’s Notes

Wicked Wednesday

8 thoughts on “Watching Them

  1. I loved this, it’s a guilty pleasure of mine too. In a restaurant or cafe I always try to take the seat facing into the room, or looking out of the window. I think it may be quite important for a writer to have this observation skill – I love all the little details you’ve woven in and how you’ve guessed at their dynamic. I thought the couple were selecting their ‘third’ from the women in the windows!

    I love the twist you delivered at the end.

  2. Rebel, I loved this story . I found it so relatable and in fact I have too people watched in the red light district. What a nice little twist at the end.

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