The Devil's Angel

The Devil's Angel

Angela awoke in her large, luxurious bed. Before opening her eyes, she savored the warmth and the intimate personal scent permeating her pillow and frilly flowered sheets. Maintaining this reverie she arose, slipped out of her nightgown, and walked in mock ballet steps to her full-length mirror where she methodically stretched her limbs. She admired the grace and beauty of her reflected form as it swayed and bent in it’s practiced callisthenic routine. After completing her exercises she slowly walked to the large bay window overlooking the garden. She gracefully stepped up on the window seat allowing the warm morning sun to caress and to pay homage to her beautiful, naked body.

I too paid homage to the heavenly vision of Angela. The first time I saw her I thought I had died in the night and was seeing the apparition of an angel. I was sitting at a patio table in my newly rented apartment, sipping my morning coffee, as had become my custom,
when a woman came to the window of the apartment, across the courtyard, facing mine. Sunlight seemed to radiate from her golden skin and from her long golden hair. Her eyes were closed and her untroubled countenance seemed totally devoid of earthly cares. I have no idea of how long she remained in the window. It may have been minutes; it may have been hours. I felt transported to an unreal world where time had no meaning. I seemed riveted to my chair unable to move, unable to speak. When she left my sight I knew the direction of my life had been unalterably changed. Whether this change would prove to be for the better or for the worse I neither knew nor cared. I was helplessly under her spell.

Although she may have been aware of both my presence and my devoted admiration, since she had repeated this morning ritual many times during the few weeks I had resided here, she had never so much as glanced in my direction. Another man might have felt slighted, but I was so transfixed by her beauty and by the seeming simplicity of this primal act that I dared not make any sort of advance lest it deny me of a part of my life that had become almost as important to me as life itself. To some this may seem a gross exaggeration; but I had before moving to this apartment, suffered a number of emotional upheavals that had caused me, upon occasion, to contemplate the deliberate termination of what seemed a rather tedious and purposeless existence. So, the thought of seeing Angela the next morning gave me something, however tenuous, to look forward to.

As time went on I grew more curious about this angelic apparition and I began making discreet enquiries about her. In casual conversation with other tenants I happened to meet I learned that her full name was Angela Powers. She lived with a sister named Barbara who was a schoolteacher. I was told they kept to themselves, they weren’t known for having loud parties, and were considered model tenants in every way. Although I didn’t ask, I ascertained that Angela’s exotic morning ritual was not public knowledge. If it was, the tenants I talked to were given to more discretion than I would have given them credit.

Apart from our morning encounters I never saw Angela enter or leave the apartment building. I feared that I was either suffering from a recurring hallucination or possibly I had seen her yet not recognized her with her clothes on. My mind was in turmoil. This situation might have continued indefinitely had I not caught a glimpse of her leaving her building one evening as I was taking a bag of trash to the garbage room. My wits seemed to leave me, my breathing became difficult and my heart was beating so hard I thought it would bruise my ribs. With no thought to locking my apartment door or fetching a jacket, which for the sake of my health would have been advisable, I descended the stairs and decided to follow her her. I had to know more about her.

As I closed the large glass door of the apartment building behind me I saw Angela turning left at the first corner. There were few people on the sidewalk so she wasn’t hard to follow. With that beautiful mane of golden hair spread over the back of an equally beautiful mink coat, and those long shapely legs, she was unrivaled.

She walked proudly toward the restaurant and nightclub district, attracting considerable attention as she went. I watched the expressions on the faces of the men and women who came towards her on the sidewalk and I felt proud seeing the effect that her beauty commanded. Some tried not to look at her but all succumbed, and when they did they were awed by her imperious presence.

We had walked for nearly half an hour when Angela entered the street door leading to a nondescript second floor nightclub named The Devil’s Angel. I followed apprehensively ascending a narrow, dimly lit stairway. I was reminded of each step as the loose metal edging of the tile-covered stairs clanged repeatedly, announcing my arrival.

I emerged from the stairwell to find myself in a low-ceilinged, smoke filled room. Circular tables, each surrounded by four vinyl-covered chrome chairs, were arranged around a brightly lit circular stage that dominated the room. A dozen or so nervous looking men sat alone at tables illuminated by the harsh light from the stage. Angela was nowhere in sight. I sat at an empty table near the front of the stage not knowing what to expect. I ordered a double scotch from a pleasant looking waitress who seemed vaguely out of place and slightly intimidating in her wholesomeness.

A few more male customers straggled in one by one and gradually the place began filling up. I surveyed the room. Near the entrance was a small bar where two bartenders conversed with each other in conspiratorial attitudes and occasionally filled a tray with drinks for the waitress. Two uniformed police officers entered and spoke briefly to the bartenders. One of the officers repeatedly scanned the room but neither ventured more than a few feet from the bar. After a few minutes they left.

The atmosphere of the club seemed vaguely strained and uneasy. There were no animated conversations. Patrons ordered drinks and conversed with the waitress but there was none of the ribald revelry to which I had grown accustomed at most of the beverage rooms in the area. Songs from a jukebox provided sleazy blues background music, but it seemed somehow impotent. Without warning the volume increased and all eyes turned to the stage. A burly voice with a thick accent made an announcement which I can still hear echoing through my mind, “An’ now gentlemen, we are proud to present for your entertainment and viewing pleasure, Angela, The Devil’s Angel.”

A hush fell over the audience. My face prickled and I felt immobilized. A few spectators squirmed in their seats as a tall, blonde woman wearing a close-fitting, ankle-length negligee, with a feather boa hanging loosely from her arms, walked slowly and deliberately to the rear of the stage. She hesitated a moment then gracefully mounted the two steps to the stage allowing the warm spotlights, and the devouring eyes to fondle and defile her tantalizing flesh. Light radiated from her skin and from her long, golden hair. Her eyes were closed and her untroubled countenance seemed totally devoid of earthly cares. She stepped out of her negligee which pooled at her feet. In white frilly lingerie she was truly the vision of an angel.

Angela swayed softly to the music and ran her hands slowly and sensuously over her body. Gradually she opened her eyes. Hot blue flame engulfed me in her steady, steamy gaze. We were one with the music. Although the room was crowded she seemed to be dancing for me alone. I was mesmerized, spellbound. Even when she turned her back she held me transfixed. She strutted and cavorted in exotic pantomime acting out, for the entire world to see, my intimate desires and fantasies. I felt naked and exposed. I would have left immediately but my humiliation weakened my resolve. I sat there a prisoner, unsure if I was in heaven or in hell.

Angela ended her dance to a thunderous ovation. I felt as though someone had kicked me in the stomach. In a daze I slowly finished my drink, left my table and headed for the red exit sign. Before I reached the door a soft, sultry voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Not leaving so soon are you, honey,” a woman’s voice purred.

I looked around and seated at a table to the immediate right of the exit door was Angela.

“Didn’t you enjoy the show? I danced especially for you,” she teased. “Sit down and have a drink, you look as though you could use one.”

I silently obeyed. With a casual wave of her slender hand the bartender immediately appeared at the table.

“I’ll have my usual, George,” she said, “and bring my friend whatever he wants.”

“I’ll have a double Chivas straight up,” I murmured, still in a state of shock. I fiddled with a pack of matches that was lying on the table with the words The Devil’s Angel printed on them. Angela placed her warm hand over mine.

“I’ve had my eye on you for some time now, you know,” she said in an affectionate maternal tone. “I was wondering if you’d ever get the nerve to call on me. I think you’re rather cute.” She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Want to see me home tonight? I don’t bite – much,” she added with a wicked smile which showed her perfect, even teeth which seemed almost to glow in the near darkness.

“Come on,” she said as she took my hand and lead me down the stairs. I felt like a child being led to the bathroom. When we got down to the street I noticed that it had rained recently. The lights flickering on the wet pavement imitated the glare of the mid-way. There was a feeling of cleansing and renewal in the air.

Angela hailed a cab. Apart from the curt directions she gave to the driver we traveled in silence, interrupted only by the squelch and intermittent voices over the two-way radio. Her presence and the warmth of her body were nearly overpowering. Her leg pressed against mine and her hand rested on my knee. The cab stopped in front of her building. I paid the fare then we walked hand-in-hand to the door. I held it open and she led the way upstairs. Her high heels drummed unmercifully as she quickly ascended with me following closely behind. Unlocking the door to her apartment she again took my hand and gently pulled me inside. With a triumphant smile she backed me against the door. She then took both my hands in hers and cupped them firmly against her warm perfect breasts.

“Now, Mr. Peeping Tom, isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for all these weeks?” There was real excitement in her voice and her eyes flashed in the moonlight that invaded the room. Beneath my fingers her heart pounded and her dress fell to the floor. Putting her arms around my neck she kissed me long and deep, her warm breath coming fast and heavy on my cheek, as my fingers explored her soft flesh.

She began to squirm and moan and push her hips against mine. With a slight gasp she pulled away and reached for my belt. She led me to the bedroom and undressed me with an expertise that would have done credit to a nurse. She quickly removed her own garments and hurried me under the soft bedclothes.

I leaned on my elbow and gazed at Angela's marble-like shape, iridescent in the moonlight. I studied each perfect feature and concentrated on committing them indelibly to my memory, knowing I would relive this moment many times in fantasy. I thought, this truly is the stuff dreams are made of..

My lips kissed and my tongue traced the landscape of her form. I was intoxicated by the sweet perfume, salt and honey taste of her smooth skin. She moaned and quivered as I slowly explored, sucked and kneaded the sensuous curves and valleys of her lightly muscled, slender, athletic body; a dancer's body. She writhed as our excitement increased and we indulged to the fullest this magical, dreamlike pantomime. I worshiped, adored and was humbled by her grace and beauty.

We made love many times that night. Under Angela’s expert guidance we shared her intimate desires and acted out her fantasies. I awoke the next morning to the sight of Angela performing exercises in front of the full-length mirror. She slowly walked to the large bay window seat, allowing the warm morning sun to gild her radiant form.

I thought to myself, this is where I came in. I reviewed in my mind the events of the past few weeks that had let to this fantastic encounter. I saw myself sitting at my patio table, a younger and less worldly man, a foolish grin playing nervously at the corners of my mouth. The sky was a rich blue and the sun immobilized everything in view with its unrelenting spear-like shafts. Heaven, I thought, could not be more wonderful.

My reverie was broken as Angela performed a pirouette on the window seat. With the sun at her back her form was silhouetted against the azure sky. The sun shining through her hair formed a halo of the richest gold. She stepped down and walked proudly toward the bed. I arose to meet her and we embraced in the warm sunlight.

Angela purred into my ear, “This, my darling, is only the beginning.”