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I pulled the collar of my coat closer around my throat as the wind acclerated, whipping through the shadows of the darkened alley. All was quiet now, but the silence would not last.

I had followed her for several nights, an obsession that grew with every waking moment. Her skin was alabaster, her hair a simmering gold, so light it was almost silver. I craved her body in my mind, not perfect by any means. She was too thin, almost skeletal. Her breasts were small, just barely enough to fit the palm of my hands. Her eyes, her eyes haunted my soul. I could easily forget the rest of her but her eyes were tattooed into my dreams. They were a vivid liquid purple, a color not found in nature. Deep, deep purple, as pure as any amethyst sold in the finer stores, and ringed with gold.

Her eyes captured me once, and held me in a trance that broke after only a few seconds, but set a need stirring in me like nothing I have ever felt before. The bar, I can't remember the bar, a little hole in the wall I passed by every day but never had a desire to enter till that night. Somehow, she almost seemed to have called me there that night.

I never approached her, just watched her, like a crazed voyeur, memorizing her every move. She wrapped her arms around a man, small and balding, almost giddy with the attention from her. I was jealous of that little man. His cheeks rosy with passion for her. She twisted around him, her body grinding against him to the tune blasting from a juke box in the corner. He was frozen from desire for her, the lust for her causing beads of perspiration to flow from his shiny head.

They never talked that night, not that I could see. She nibbled his ear, touched his thigh, but never spoke a word. He was in a spell, the same spell I found myself entangled in. They left the bar after only a few minutes, through a back entrance that led only to an alley like this. I was only seconds behind them.

The shock of the cold night hit my skin, and the silence after the cacophony of the bar was deafening. I stood in the night, steam lifting from my skin, the ringing in my ears drowning to a low wail, when I heard them. His moan sounded from behind a dumpster a few yards away, a moan that was almost primitive with desire. I was frozen, wanting to know what she was doing to the man, but unable to move. My breathe came quicker, as his moans turned into whimpers. I was aroused, my imagination wild with the visions of what she did to that man. Then, silence again.

I began to

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