The Evilment

Orange County, Summer, California, 1988

I don't know when lust became obsession, but I remember clearly the moment it became rage.

Driving down from the hills into the city and the office I saw her for the first time. It was an early spring Monday morning with a warm wind blowing in from the desert. The brown scab of smog had yet to choke the horizon. The BMW stepped through the curves with the grace and precision of a professional dancer. Getting to the office first, before anyone else arrived, was my routine. Traffic was light and the road was clear. Then, down the road, a "pink glow" began to appear.

The glow rapidly became brighter and turned into a long-legged blonde in hot pink nylon shorts running in the bike lane. She had blonde hair tied in a ponytail swaying atop long tan legs. With each stride the gap on the side of her shorts blinked briefly at me, revealing pale skin. The bottom third of her pale buns were revealed as she ran. She had a perfect ass, round and tight, with great tan lines framing her cheeks. Her chest, in a sports top, was full and bouncing with her steps. She was so stunning I never noticed what her face looked like.

"God, that was incredible," I thought, "only in California can women look like that. These bitches are so good at it, pushing themselves on men, teasing with their bodies, trying to control with their looks, well, not me sweetheart." The winking cheeks fading from my mind as I drove on by.

She was back, a few mornings later, wearing those skimpy shorts again, and a black spandex top. Unconsciously, the car slowed a bit and I took a longer look. Tan skin, long legs, tall and fit. A great body and she knew it. Two days later she was there again, and soon we were locked in a morning dance, a hormonal happenstance, between a driver and a jogger.

She kept the same schedule, three mornings a week, and soon a driving ritual was born. She always wore very brief running shorts, bright and cut to flash her body to me. Pink, green, orange, it didn't matter. Always the pale skin of her cheeks winking out, talking to me. She was deliberately running along the road to tease me. To try and control me. The situation began to develop a life of its own, as if our meeting was ordained. It had a life of its own, growing, building, pulling me closer and closer. My eyes drank her in as the car crawled by, yet she never looked at me, not once.

"What a rush to get the day going. What a tease she is."

As she faded from view her grip would release me. It was like a hand squeezing me and then letting me go. She was playing a game with me, we both knew it and both loved it. Was she married or single? Hell I didn't even know her name, or care. I thought more and more about her and her body and my head began to race with fantasies of lust. Sexual pictures and scenarios poured into my mind. The ride to work was filled with thoughts and pictures, pictures that stayed in my mind longer and longer. Arousing pictures of her invaded my thinking during the day. Running legs, dancing hair, and those pale whispers of skin, and my heart would begin to pound, my blood roar. Other women joggers only triggered my feelings for her. When I didn't see her, my emotions were sullen and down, like a junkie needing a fix. It was our special dance, a silent courtship tango, the embrace of a hunter and the hunted. That it was really the pull of the moth into the flame was soon to become painfully clear to me when she played me for the fool.

I had to have her. She had to feel the sexual energy between us too. She was controlling me with her constant teasing. She never looked at me but we both knew this was a part of the game. Her deliberate way to tease and control me. There were no longer debate within my mind, to act or not, only an overwhelming hunger for her.