The French Window

The dark mahogany door opened into a room with full length dark mahogany cupboards on the right. To the left was a four-poster double bed, its head, another dark mahogany affair, to the wall behind it. White sheets covered the bed. To the other side of the bed, a white lampshade rested on top of a dark cabinet.

A large French window went through the opposite wall as you opened the mahogany door. The house as a whole stood on a Himalayan hill and this particular room overlooked a gentle slope. Gigantic Deodar trees stood till as far as the eye went. Their thick trunks, dark brown in colour, matched the colour of the dark mahogany furniture inside the room. The brown, shrubby, stunted undergrowth around them contrasted with, and further accentuated the solidity of the trunks.

A wind blew through the French window and the white, transparent curtain fluttered inside with it. The wind also went through her flimsy sheath and through her hair as she stood at the window, her eyes closed and her arms opened, welcoming the first breeze of the morning, feeling it over her skin, having it pass by the curvy outlines of her figure, letting it caress herself in places she allowed few other than the wind to so rightfully explore…

She tightened her eyes further. The sensations only grew more intense.

Categories: Relationships | 5 Comments

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5 thoughts on “The French Window

  1. Love the descriptions..

  2. Just a random doubt …is she French, Indian or Nepali ? 😛

  3. Kunal, Thanks a lot 🙂

    Ghost Runner, if you liked what you read, then she is who you think she is 🙂

  4. man, you should have continued at least a little bit more. its like a single bite of mango, its just not enough.

  5. Pinky

    Agree with Shrikant!!!!

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