First Words

Somewhere in the humid night, the cold howl of a siren rises and fades, low and muffled, but audible enough to peck into the restless mind of the young woman amid the rumpled sheets of her bed. The muted absence of the sound following the siren's passing seems even more intrusive, peppered with the softest murmurs of the apartment. The hum of air conditioning, the barely perceptible tic of appliances beyond the bedroom, a hushed chorus of sounds too low to identify, but as common to her ears as her own voice.

Opening her eyes, she sees the phantasmal blue of her clock illuminating the room dimly, providing a spectral cast to the space. She looks about aimlessly, searching for some clue as to where sleep hides. Her gaze casts from place to place, with specific purpose. A small dresser next to a taller cabinet, a cramped little writing desk littered with papers, a standing mirror dully reflecting hinted details of a young woman in wadded linens in the low light.

One in the morning. Too late to be lying awake in her bed alone. Somewhere in the apartment the click and hum of the refrigerator engaging reaches her ears and it might as well be a roaring thunder. With a deep sigh, she pries herself loose from the bedclothes, defying the pull to try and sleep, and swings herself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. The mild chill of the apartment air tickles her underclad body, producing a spread of gooseflesh, where the blankets had previously been almost too warm.

Rising from the bed completely, she stretches herself, peering absently at herself in the mirror. Within it, she appears as little more than a shade, a ghost of herself half-hidden in darkness. Her thick hair wild from her hours of tossing, the form-fitting little tee-shirt twisted about her torso, her panties slightly askew across her hips, drooping slightly. Dismissing the sight, she pads mindlessly into the tiny bathroom, turning on the small tap-light on the wall.

In the soft radiance emitted she peers at her slightly better lit face in the mirror, she ruffles her unruly brown-sugar colored hair with her hand, failing to tame it. For a moment, she considers the large wooden hairbrush on the counter, but turns her attention instead back to her reflection. Mechanically, she runs water from the tap, letting it warm, and then lightly splashes a shallow handful into her face. Looking back to the mirror she meets the gaze of the girl staring back. A pretty girl lost in restlessness. Amber eyes underlined in dark shadow, clear and sharp usually, but now dull and cloudy. The tiredness is there in her eyes, but the will to sleep is just not.

Turning off the tap-light, she slips from the bathroom and out of the bedroom into the rest of her compact apartment, hiking her panties back into place and straightening her clingy shirt. Her stocking feet makes soft sounds on the carpet of the brief hallway as she drifts into the living room, her way lit by the muffled light of neon and arc sodium seeping through thin blinds concealing tall windows and the glass balcony door. It creates an iridescent orange glow about everything, strong enough to reveal the living room and kitchenette beyond it.

Slipping into the kitchenette, she opens the refrigerator, a bright white glare spilling out into the dimmer space. She fetches a glass and fills it with milk, returning to the dark living room as she begins sipping. She pulls aside the tall drape of vertical blinds over the balcony entrance, bathing everything in a bright dawn of tinted light from the streets below. For a long moment, she stands before the glass door, milk glass in hand, peering out at the lonely balcony beyond it. A thin sheet of perspiration frosts the outside of the glass, obscuring her view, the night humid beyond her chilled apartment.

Setting down her glass for a moment to snatch up a thin cardigan from the arm of the couch, she slips into it, pulling it closed over her immodest attire. Retrieving her drink, she unlocks and steps out through the door. A low din of cars and city noises washes about her in the warm night air, reduced to background sound by more than a dozen stories between her and their origins. Despite the humid heat of the evening, a pleasant breeze at this height flutters her loose hair. The scent in the brisk air is tangy from pollution and the rank scents of the city, but seems refreshing anyways, natural and appealing.

She leans against the rail, sipping at the milk and watching the flow of the world below, an ambiguous riot of lights and shadows so high up. After a moment, she turns her gaze upwards, scanning the skyline of the city. The misty night sky appears opaque, reflecting the light from the multitudes of street lamps into a dingy orange over black that erases any chance of viewing stars. The city beneath it appears like a dark silhouette, punctuated by points and lines of light from signs and beacons. It seems to stretch on like an urban ocean of bleakness.

Though her gaze carries no purpose, merely skating across the void where sky meets rooftops, it becomes caught by something in the lower corners of her vision. Across the wide streets, she spies a man standing on his own balcony, much like herself, peering with as little aim as she into the city night. Though distance obscures the finer details, she can tell his is naked to the waist. He seems fit of shape, possibly handsome. His own apartment is dark, same as hers, making him more visible in the neon bright of the evening.

For a long moment, she considers the distant man, her eyes straining to define him more. As she watches him, he seems to register her gaze and looks towards her in return. For a long moment, they stare across at each other, two strangers in the night, but together in their restlessness. Akin in their solitude.

After a moment, she raises her glass towards him slightly, as though in a toast of greeting. Though his hands are empty, he returns the gesture with a raised hand, obviously sensing their connection as well. After a moment, both return to their meaningless scans of the city below and above. However, she finds her attention coming back to him, finding him to have returned his gaze to her as well. For a second, something seems to pass between them, a strange notion tickling at her mind, but quickly being thrown away.

She retreats again into her small, cold apartment, her glass now empty, and a thin sheen of moisture about her from the humidity and heat of the summer night. She deposits the glass in the kitchen sink, moving to her sofa and falling onto it. For a long moment, she sits and stares at nothing, eyes shifting about the room and falling upon objects, the television, the coffee table, the large photography piece of a bridge and pier that she'd found at a flea market. She sees none of these things, not really, just regards them absently while her mind spins fruitlessly.

She considers again the man across the void of streets, wondering if he was still upon his own balcony. Without really thinking about it, she finds herself once more at the condensation-frosted glass, squinting through the obscuring fog of moisture. She can barely make out the shape of the building across from her, displaced colors offering up suggestions of detail. She believes that she can make out the pale shape of him against the darker grays and silvers of the steel and glass façade.

Retreating again into her apartment, she moves now with a bit of purpose, actively seeking something instead of mindlessly wandering. She finds the binoculars in her hall closet and returns to the living room, adjusting the blinds aside only enough that she can slightly open the door and look through the gap. Through the binoculars, she finds the man, still standing in the same place against his balcony railing.

Now better able to see him, she takes in his bare torso, finding it to be quite appealing. While he is not bulky with muscle, there is a pleasant definition to his body. His face is handsome enough, with a strong jawline covered in a shadow of stubble. He seems about the same age as herself, perhaps a little older. The better view of him returns the lurid impulse she'd previously felt, but quickly dismissed away as ridiculous.

For a moment, she continues to regard him, mind thinking impertinent things. A strange wave of sensation tickles up through her and she realizes that, without thinking about it, her free hand has migrated to her panties, slipping within the front as is now absently fingering the small nob of flesh buried in the pink folds there. She lets herself run with the thoughtless choice, returning her focus to the man across the way, her fingers slowly turning circles around her clitoris. After a few minutes, her eyes flutter as a particularly high wave of arousal washes across the shores of her body.

Again, she considers the insane notion, but pushes once more aside, thinking to herself how crazy it is, and closes the door again, quitting her attentions to herself. Tossing aside her field glasses, she silently chides herself for her restless lack of inhibition. Looking back down the hallway towards her bedroom, she removes the cardigan and reminds herself that she needs to try and sleep. Going back into her bedroom, she enters the bathroom, once more turning on the tap light and looks at her hair.

She takes up the hairbrush and vigorously uses it to tame her wild locks, smoothing them into shape, painfully separating the snaggles and tangles from her hours of shifting about the bed. She splashes more water on her face, looking at her now more clear and sharp eyes in the mirror. Several minutes of work and those eyes are accented subtly with make-up, her lips darkened with a deep purplish gloss.

The night air is still warm and steamy as she steps back out onto her balcony, the brisk breeze feeling even more enjoyable without the extra layer of the sweater on. Beneath the white tee-shirt, her full breasts tingle, nipples becoming hard, with a thrill of exhibitionistic excitement. She gives a slight adjustment to her cotton panties, a fidget of nervousness, and steps to the railing to lean back out, posturing herself so that her folded arms frame her bosom flatteringly.

She acts as though she is merely looking absently about again, but keeps the man always at the edge of her perception, waiting for him to notice her before she acknowledges him. It doesn't take long for his own gaze to find her and she meets it a few moments after he pauses to regard her. She imagines that he can make out no more details of her than she could of him initially, but feels confident that he can determine that she is appealing even from his distance away.

Though the gulf between them bars any possibility of a verbal communication, the two manage to establish a sort of exchange between them. She can't see the smile on his face, but she knows it is there by the language of his body. She replies with her own body, shifting in ways to silently impart her own flirtation with him. For some minutes, they carry on a strange conversation of movement, like a shared dance.

As the minutes pass, their dance becomes more and more charged, obvious interest in each other growing. In a heat of impulse, she teasingly lifts her tee-shirt, exposing her amble breasts, and caresses one of her nipples with a tingling finger. His reaction is easy to see, body leaning out across the railing. She can almost see the look of lust in his eyes. As she grows bolder, the thought again comes to her mind, insane and daring. The idea seeming ridiculous. She reminds herself that she is not thinking clearly from lack of good sleep. She reminds herself that he is a complete stranger.

Pulling her shirt back down, she raises her hand to gesture to him, beckoning him to her if he should dare. When she sees him look down the length of her building, obviously considering the massive structure, she steps back to her humidity-covered windows and writes across them the number of her apartment. She wills him to be able to read the numbers on the glass, uncertain how visible they are, but he quickly gives her a sort of salute and retreats quickly into his own apartment.

With her challenge accepted, she smiles and retreats into her own home, a current of energy moving through her, she makes a quick dash about her apartment, collecting up dirty clothes to deposit into a hamper, straightening a few things, and lighting a stick of incense. Once this is seen to, she dashes to her bedroom and pulls on a fresh top, a loose skirt, and exchanges her plain panties for something more exciting.

When the knock comes to her door, she is at work lighting the last of a collection of candles about the living room. Sensual music is playing, turned down low. There is little hesitation in the knock, loud and firm, but a flutter of anxiety passes through her. For a moment, there is the question of whether to carry through to the end of this mad idea. Of whether to let in this stranger and do something that common sense would have vetoed in another time, in a state other than this horrible restlessness.

As she opens the door, she can see in him the same nervous wonder as she feels, slightly uncertain, but needing this adventure. There is an earnestness in his expression, a fear that he is dreaming. It is obvious that he approves of what he sees of the young woman who opens her door, her lithe body and vivid eyes alluring. There is a moment of awkward silence, neither sure what to say. He starts to speak, but she reaches out and puts a finger to his lips, afraid that any words might break the erotic and insane spell of this moment. Afraid that saying anything at all might bring reality back.

She pulls him inside, her mouth finding his and kissing him deeply, as passionate as old lovers though they are fresh strangers. He reciprocates immediately, taking her into his arms as she kicks closed her front door. She pants in desire between his furious kisses, a flush of heat rising from below. Tongues dance with each other, mouths hungry for more. They guide each other deeper into the living room, hands exploring each other. She pulls off his shirt, her hands running across the skin beneath, tracing the geography of his torso. His muscles re more defined and firm than she expected, sheathed beneath a layer of soft skin.

His hands seek out and cradle the firm curve of her breast through her satiny blouse, finding the tight numb of her nipples, bare beneath the silky top, and caressing them through the thin fabric. Little crackles of electricity seem to radiate through her breasts as he carefully traces their shape with one hand, the other slipping up beneath the shirt in back, his strong fingers sliding along the curve of her spine. She wills him to slide the hand outside the front of the shirt beneath, longs to feel his skin against her bare breasts. As though he hears the request, he slides it down and under the fabric, lifting it up to expose her perky bosom.

After a moment, he draws off her shirt, revealing the bare torso beneath and his lips find her breasts gracefully. She sighs at the sensation of his attentions, aroused by his boldness. She guides him to the sofa while his mouth attends to her breasts. Turning him, she silently directs him to sit down, standing close before him. She again wills him to draw off her panties from beneath her skirt, which he does. As she kicks them away, his strong fingers caress the treasures they hid, bringing out gasps at his touch. After a moment, he lifts her skirt up and leans his face in to kiss at her sensitive area, fingers still gently probing up within it.

In another minute, she is unfastening his pants, pulling them away, taking the briefs beneath with them. He is already erect, his manhood hot and ready. She drops to her knees and slides him between her lips, eases him deep into her mouth. He makes wonderful, manly sounds as she stimulates him, her hands roaming his thighs and hips as her head moves up and down the hard shaft at a steady and smooth pace. His hands run through her hair, stroking her head and neck affectionately, gratefully.

Without warning, he takes her by the shoulders and draws her away from her task, commanding her now without a word, only by gesture and will, to stand. Leaning back into the sofa, she hungrily looks at him as he guides her to climb atop him, his still member sliding effortlessly into her damp lower lips. The firm feel of his erection sends cascades through her as he thrusts deep within her, a deft and agile stroke. His strong hands manage her body as she shifts her hips back and forth, grinding into him at moments, savoring the feel of every inch of him as it slips in and out of her drooling nethers.

After a short while, they shift positions, her laying back along the sofa, him slipping back into her, one hand grasping her be-socked ankle and raising it high, the other pressing firmly, but carefully at the corner of her pelvis, pulling her towards him as he thrusts into her. Her hands paw at his face, his chest, his back, as he angles about, taking her with deep and amazing confidence. His thrusts are strong and heavy, deftly working magic as he pounds deep into her loins.

She pants and whimpers in exquisite pleasure as they couple, soon beckoning him to move with her to the carpet, her knelt down and him behind her, one hand pulling at her hair as he clings to her. From there they migrate to a table with him slamming into her with vigor, her legs on his shoulders. They move out to stand on the balcony pressed against the rail. Her naked breasts bounce as he penetrates her from behind, both of them looking out at the equally naked city. Her sexual utterances are lost in the wash of sounds of the city.

In that thrill of being so exposed, defying the night with their boldness, she feels a wild rush of amazement and hunger. Her fingers tangle through his hair as he nibbles her neck, his manhood crashing into her below. She looks for other eyes in the night, wants to be seen here, being filled for all the world to watch. Wants to have this moment in time witnessed, if only to know that it is not just a dream.

Eventually, they both find themselves in her bed where she lays him down and rides him fiercely. His endurance is like a wish, her uncountable orgasms over the hour has been like a shower of gifts. No longer held in her restlessness, she already knows that soon they will both collapse into each other, and both of them will finally find the sleep, wrapped around each other, that they have needed and sought. Looking down at him, she sees the tightening of his face, recognizing it for the herald that it is and leans down, her hips quickening in their motion to help him reach his final goal. She kisses him softly on the lips and meets his gaze, seeing the look of forewarning flash in them, a silent indication that he is near.

Fixing her gaze to his, looking deep into his beautifully dark eyes, she speaks to him for the first time. Her words half whispered, but full of confidence and certainty. Full of need for what they ask.

"Cum into me."