Smut in the City (Absolute Erotica) Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned to dig in the straw bag she had brought with her. “Here, hold these,” she said and stuck a pair of opera glasses in my hand.
    Opera glasses!
    I put them up to my eyes and began scanning the arena for a flash of yellow dress, schoolgirl hat, and strawberry blond hair.
    It was going to take a long time to comb through twenty thousand people looking for one person in particular, but what else did I have to do? It was still quite a while until the beginning of the opera, and I had memory of Samantha to keep my hopes up.
    “Can you see anything?” Darlene asked.
    “Folks. Lots and lots of folks.”
    “Let me see.”
    “In a little bit,” I said and didn’t stop scanning the area where I thought Samantha had ended up.
    “Hey, they’re my opera glasses!”
    “Did you bring two pairs?” I responded.
    “No silly. Why would I do that?”
    “Well I might like to see the stage too.”
    “You don’t like opera, remember?”
    “Oh yeah,” I said still scanning.
    “So, gimme,” she demanded and tried to get the little binoculars away from me. I wasn’t having any of that, though, since I had just caught a flash of yellow that might have been the flash I was seeking.
    “I’ll let you have ‘em when the show starts. Where is the guy with the cushions? You seen him?”
    “You can rent opera glasses too,” she said, a little peeved at me.
    “Really? So rent some then.”
    “But I have some. These!” She snatched the glasses out of my hand.
    “Hey!”
    “Rent yourself some,” she said and stuck the glasses against her eyes. “Oh look, there’s that English girl that was ahead of us outside.”
    “What? Where?” I tried to snatch the glasses back, but Darlene pulled away.
    “Get your own,” she said. “What is the matter with you anyway?”
    “Crazy with the heat,” I snapped, looking around for a guy to rent binoculars from. There was one a dozen yards down from us and I popped to my feet and started waving and hollering like I was on fire to get his attention.
    When I got the glasses, cheap plastic ones not nearly as good as Darlene’s, I said, “Where is she, Darlene?”
    “Who?”
    “What do you mean who? Samantha. The English girl.”
    “Oh. She’s over there.” She waved vaguely toward the other side of the stadium.
    “Gee, thanks,” I started scanning again and by plain damn luck my first sweep caught a flash of yellow. I backed up and scanned the same strip more slowly. Sure enough, it wasn’t just my fevered imagination. There she was, sitting like a vision amid the mob, and she was looking through rented opera glasses right at me. I knew she was looking at me because when she saw my glasses pointed at her she lowered hers and waved. She was smiling the same wicked smile she had favoured me with when she came out of the toilet.
    Opera at the Verona Arena has a tradition that maybe all out door opera performances have, I don’t know, but when the orchestra begins its final tune up before the overture everybody gets out candles and lights them up. There are even vendors in the arena who sell candles, some just a little bigger than birthday candles, and some much bigger, like dinner table candles. Darlene bought a couple of the little ones and when the orchestra stopped making noise and started making music we lit them up.
    I had been looking every few minutes just to make sure that Samantha was still there and hadn’t moved, or evaporated. It was getting harder and harder to see though, since dusk was thickening toward night. Now I lifted my plastic binoculars again and saw that Samantha had bought a couple of candles too, but not the little ones. She had both of them blazing away now and I noticed that she had lifted the hem of her dress up and laid it upon her knees. Still very prim, but now from the knees down her legs were exposed. That made my mind tick over like a Swiss watch. She was a couple of rows higher than we were so that my eye level was at her knees and my fevered