My Vignettes – Fidget

by Ceecee Mom

Vignette: A short, usually descriptive literary sketch. A short scene or incident, as from a movie.

OK, to begin, not everything we experience that excites the mind, the body or the imgination is "sexy" or orgasmic as it were, some things are cute, delightful or just charming. Our imagination is tickled and we enjoy the moment for what it is. Have you ever had a craving for junk food? I know the diet, healthy nutritious no chemicals or animal by-products be dammed you crave some French Fries and savor them smeared with packets of catsup, the kind that gets mostly on your fingers when you try to open them. It's not a gourmet meal but tell that to your pallet. Perhaps you are in the mood for a movie, nothing serious nothing heavy, it won't win any academy awards, just a silly goofy straight to video comedy.

I had an observation like that today. Again at work I found another Vignette to indulge myself in. I preface this by saying it was not sexy, not in the classic sense of the word. She was adorable and cute and such a little girl in all her actions. Perhaps 8 or 9 years old, it was hard to tell because she was sitting a good 20 feet away unfortunately, but on a direct line with my view. At the far end of the room is a long wooden bench, not very comfortable. A place meant for temporary waiting. And so there she was, my morning junk food, a delicious jelly-filled donut of a girl—brown to black hair, slim as a sapling young tree in a forest of graceful redwoods, her legs knobby-kneed and delicate almost lost in her little short skirt.

I don’t know how long she had been sitting there before my eye caught her, but I’m assuming awhile since she was all a fidget on the hard bench. Looking up I became fixed on her legs, I knew from her actions and the short skirt with any luck I may get a glimpse of girlish panty. Now I was again sitting to far away to enjoy anything more than a cute voyeuristic glimpse of underpants up those little kissable legs, but she was going to be my junk food I could just sense it. And if I did, no I was not going to become immediately “wet”. I understand the literary metaphor of becoming wet, but please at least at my age I do not become “wet” at the drop of a dime.

I was not disappointed, am I ever? Soon both little palms clutched her knobby knees and she began to dance them on the bench. Open shut, open shut — oh the tease. Panties darkish color, maybe blue? It did truly pass my thoughts that I wished I had one of those Super Hero powers of amazing vision, for if I did my eyes would have pulled her in like a bug under a microscope.

Fidgeting has wonderful multi-dimensional qualities; the body and the mind are restless. She was a text book example of the anxious bored little waif. Soon the dancing legs were replaced by a long seated stretch, her little arms raised above her head she clutched her fingers together and twisted them about, almost in some imaginary hand game. Her body became stiff as a board, back and bottom touching nothing but air, save for her little bum on the very edge of the seat. The delicate legs pushed out as my pixy flexed her toes out, and again the open and shut drill was on.

I was, even to my own happy surprise, treated to another series of movements, which had she been alone with me would have perhaps put me over the edge. My little performer sat back for a moment returning to the upright position, ready for landing: tray table up, seat back in the upright position you might say. She grabbed her billowy little shirt top and proceeded to un-tuck it from her skirt — I’m sure Mama would have scowled at this. For a time she found a little fascination in her exposed girlishly rounded belly and her belly button which she proceeded to momentarily explore with one tiny finger. This all surprised me as the actions were more that one would expect from a curious 4 year old not a girl of maybe 8 or 9.

Then finally my reward, that moment that sets it seems my karmic vignettes apart from those run of the mill people watching we all do. If you could have seen my face, and I’m hoping nobody did you will understand my gift. Having tired of her belly button my little nymph took one hand, and this in a room with not counting employees, of perhaps 10 or 12 adults, and pulled the waist of her little skirt forward in the front maybe about a hands width. Looking down with what I can only describe from my distance, as focused purpose. She peered down into her little crotch, and then after what seemed an eternity to me followed her gazing with her right hand. I swallowed hard and I’m sure I looked side to side almost if this was my act my responsibility; I seemed again to be the only observer of this childish musing. Was I the only person aware of this or is it just my imagination. Now I’m not suggesting masturbation in such a public place with mom or dad no doubt not far off, but to me it didn't matter — I had my delight. Perhaps the scooting about gave her a wedgie I mused.

But the show was not yet over much to my pleasure, my angel, removing her hand from her nether secrets next hiked her whole skirt up to the point where precious leg joins hip and taking both hands between spread legs clutched her little quimmy and began to rock on them. Ah ha I smiled if only another trip down to the Loo could transpire. I imagined myself there on bended knees watching as the little panties came scooting down to her pencil thin ankles her legs spreading to opposite edges of the potty seat, the sweet bare peach exposed, the narrow slit waiting for the relief moments away.