Cover Art Copyright 2011 O’Neil De Noux
She Gleeked Me
by O’Neil De Noux
Copyright 2011 O’Neil De Noux
A woman in a tight, black skirt and a red blouse tapped down her sunglasses and peered over the top to gleek me. I tapped my own sunglasses down and gleeked her right back, checking her out. Had to admit, the neighborhood was looking up, attracting women like that particular long-legged redhead to the Arabesque Café, corner of Barracks and Burgundy Streets, caddie-corner from Cabrini Playground.
We were both seated at outside tables. She had her dress hiked above her knees, a few inches above her knees. She put her coffee cup down, uncrossed her legs and began pulling the stocking on her right leg up, all the way up to her garter belt. I caught a flash of white panty as she refastened the stocking. She spread her right leg and pulled up the stocking on her left leg, giving me a full view of the front of her panties. Things like this didn’t happen often enough for my taste and I was not the kind of fella who would look away. If I had a camera I’d have a permanent image.
Miss Long-legs got up, smoothed her dress down and came straight to my table. She put a hand on her hip, looked down and gleeked me again, showing me green eyes, before saying, “You’re the detective, aren’t you? From down the street?”
I folded my newspaper, stood and extended my right hand. “Lucien Caye, at your service.”