Xmas comes early for those of you who enjoy my pornographic prose. Here’s the next bit to the on-going writing project that is “Slut”. As promised, this bit’s a little racier then the last installment. And as before, if you need to find the previous chapters, search under “slut” or “story”.
Enjoy!
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There is something so satisfying about peeling off your street layers when you get home. Umbrella in the stand, purse on the table, coat on the hook. I stroll back to the bedroom and continue the job. Unzip the boots then toss them into the closet, pull the skirt down over my hips and place it on the back of a chair, unhook my garter belt and use it to roll down my stockings. Those go on the back of the chair as well. I unbutton the crisp white blouse but leave it, the black bra and black boy cut panties on. My version of lounge wear.
I pad back out into the hall and pick out my favorite rocks glass from the bar. But I notice the slightest little twinge behind my eye, a reminder of the cosmopolitans from earlier that day. So I put the glass back and head into the kitchen for a glass of white wine instead. My stomach grumbles at the site of the fridge’s contents. I grab the wine and say “Later” in the general direction of my belly. A girls got to have priorities. Wine in hand I return to my bedroom. I cross to the windows opposite my bed, pull back the sheers and open the blinds, then I smooth the curtains back in place.
It’s already mostly dark now. The days are getting shorter. Which sucks if you’re one of those freakish daylight lovers. But fall and winter are the urban exhibitionist’s favorite time of year. From dark till dawn every window is our stage. Admission to the performance is only restricted to those who can find a good viewpoint to watch from. My apartment is on the second story on a narrow street so unless you live across from me, or if I’m fucking someone against the window itself, your not likely to catch me at this particular hobby. There’s a break between the two buildings across from me through which I can see a few tall office buildings downtown and even a bit of the Space Needle. I like to fantasize that someone who works in one of those buildings saw me one day. That he’s staying at a crappy job, even working late nights, just so he can see me again. That he’s been watching me for years and if I ever move he’ll quit his job and go on to write novels all about a woman he never meet but had watched making love to numerous men.
And sometimes I like to think about getting sighted by an old retired couple from Omaha spending their vacation seeing the big city of Seattle “Hey honey, why don’t we go up to the top of the Space Needle? I bet the view is great from up there.” This fantasy doesn’t make me come but it does make me laugh. And some days that’s better than an orgasm.
More likely the only result of my self exposure is that it keeps some of my more conservative neighbors from talking to me at our local stop and rob. Still a win win situation.
My mind had wandered and so had my hand. Ah, responsibilities. Want a healthy sex drive? Well you’ve got to work it on a regular basis. I consider masturbating while thinking about my boyscout but decide to wait until I have more material to work with. I sit what is left of my wine down on the bedside table and lay across my bed length wise. I pull my legs up to remove my panties then let them fall open wide, my crotch pointed at the window. I reach under the pillows at the head of the bed and pull out my favorite vibrator, a simple silver bullet. I look down the length of my body at the lovely white curves and planes. There’s a little light bleeding in from a street lamp half way down the block. It adds to, but doesn’t compete with, the dimmed overhead illumination in my bedroom. I might be an exhibitionist but I’m not tacky. I imagine the sheer curtains and the dim lights give the tableau a water color feel. If some lucky voyeur is in an apartment across the street, a floor or more above mine, looking down at me through binoculars I want the view to be less porn star and more peep show. I stroke myself absently spreading the growing moisture over my lips. Staring out the window I mentally scroll through my catalog of pornographic images and scenarios. And the memory just, comes, to me. I turn on the vibrator, place it against my clit and remember.
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His name was Ted. I think. I do remember that he was a chef and that I’d had to train myself to be aroused by the smell of garlic because the scent was always on his hands. I’d meet him through an old friend visiting from New York. He was one of her neighbors in the very communal apartment complex she was staying at that summer. I’d go over, hang out, get stoned, and probably more out of boredom than anything, I seduced him. He was very cute mind you, with a slim almost wiry build. His hair was longish, dark brown and curly. And he was good company on long lazy summer nights and an energetic lover. Toward the end of our affair he moved with a friend into a house in a more congested part of Capitol Hill.
That night he’d been late. Not the first time. His roommate had been home and let me in on her way out. And I hung around for awhile feeling sexy but a little bit foolish. But then he showed up, a flurry of energy, and starving. He immediately opened some wine and set something to cook on the stove. While that simmered he slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. I downed a glass of wine and poured myself another. And waited.
His bedroom was in the back of the house. He’d just moved so it only held some of his cloths and things, some boxes and his futon tucked into a nook in the corner. It was a large room and the lack of any real furniture only made it seem more so. He hadn’t even had time to buy a lamp yet so the only light was what came in from the living room behind me and what was coming in from the window at the far end of the room. The view was of the alley mostly surrounded by the blank back walls of apartment buildings. But directly across from me the building facade looked like an old warehouse, run down and tagged with graffiti. I remember thinking that I wanted to see what the building looked like from the front. If it was just this view that looked so unfriendly and forgotten. The window was open letting in the quickly cooling night air. I regretted the slinky sundress I’d chosen to wear. There was the slightest kiss of fall in that breeze. Summer was ending.
I sat my empty wine glass down on the floor next to me, wrapped my arms around my waist and leaned my torso out the window. From behind me I vaguely noticed the sound of the shower turning off and of moist feet padding across the floor to the kitchen. The familiar sound of pots and plates followed.
And then faintly, from outside, the sound of a whistle. He could carry a tune that whistler. It was late, and quite, and the sound carried crystal clear. I guessed he was about a block away walking in my direction down the alley. I wondered if he could see me yet.
And then I felt warmth behind me. Ted was a hot blooded boy and fresh from the shower. It felt like the air of a green house closing around me. Hot and earthy with just the slightest under note of garlic. He pressed himself up against my ass and I could feel the clear outline of his naked cock completely unobstructed by anything more than the thin fabric of my dress.
I’ve always said that the best aphrodisiac in the world is a nice hard cock at the right time and place.
I pressed myself back against him hard and he instantly joined the movement. He placed his hands on my hips and worked me back against himself a little faster and harder. My arms had ended up pinned between my ribs and the window sill. So when he flipped my dress up over my ass and started to pull down my panties I almost broke the sexy silence to ask him to move our dance to a more discreet locale.
But then I heard the whistler again and it sounded like he was almost under us. Ted had taken the opportunity of my distraction to finish what he started with my panties. And when I came back to the moment I pushed back trying to move us out of sight. He took this as a sign of eagerness and slide his nimble fingers inside me from behind. I groaned aloud. And I felt, more than saw, the whistler stop walking and look up.
Something in my mind just switched and getting away from the window was the last thing I wanted to do. I could feel my wetness like a cool place at the tops of my thighs. And when I backed up again this time it was in eagerness. To make sure I was clear I said, still facing the alley, “Now. I want you inside me.” My eyes frantically searched the shadows on either side of the alley to find my whistler. I thought I saw him. A dark shape against a darker wall with the slightly lighter shadow where I pictured his face. And just in time as Ted buried himself into me. On his next back thrust I got my arms out from under me and used them to brace myself against the sides of the window. I kept my eyes on my secret lover while I rode Ted’s cock. I let his gaze caress me while that other man pumped himself into me. I could feel myself getting close. And knowing he was watching. Knowing that he was that he would see when I oh goddess he would see when I… and I came for him. I came loud and hard and just a moment before Ted pulled out and poured himself over my back.
Ted wandered off again in search of a towel and left me panting and post orgasmic. Left me alone with my audience. He stepped out of the shadows then but I could still barely make out his face. I could read the expression though. He wanted more. But the curtain was coming down now. I gave him a smile and slowly stepped back away from the window disappearing like a slow fade into the darkness of the room.
I never told Ted about the third party that joined us that night. There was no need. The affair was ending and I liked it being our secret, my whistler and I. And I never did walk down the street to see what that building looked like from the front. I found myself driving by a few years later and there was a shiny new apartment building in its place. I even pulled over and got out of my car just to see if they hadn’t simply refurbished the old one. But the shape was completely different and now three stories of windows looked back into the alley.
Maybe this wasn’t the place. Or maybe I had just imagined it. The whistler. The window. Everything. But then I looked up and saw the back wall of the house, solid, except for that one bedroom window. I flashed on how I would have looked to him from down here. And I hoped he’d enjoyed it. I hoped he’d gotten off, hell, is still getting off, to that memory…
Just like I am now.
