Solitary Susan

Mark happily agreed. He agreed a bit too happily for my sensitivities as a woman, but ultimately, I was glad he agreed. I had gotten myself into an awkward situation, but I was glad he agreed. He honored the agreement, too, and the next morning when I awoke, I realized I was untouched by Mark, who was still sleeping in that noisy, ugly way men sleep. I love the way men sleep, as long as they're not my brothers.

I scrambled up some eggs for the two of us, fried some bacon and the smells of breakfast woke Mark. He came into the kitchen. "Good morning, Susie," Mark said, and he kissed me. It was the same wonderful kiss he gave me in the restaurant. "You look even sexier in your nightshirt from your backside. Do you realize it's transparent? You have a great ass, if I may say so."

I had never looked at my backside. The culprit had to be the light of the sun streaming through the kitchen window that lit my body up underneath the thin and almost transparent nightshirt. I whirled around to face him, blushing furiously. This made it worse. "Susie, the front is also transparent in the sunlight. My goodness your breasts are gorgeous!"

I was blushing, and wanted to hide. Mark changed the subject, "You can cook, too! I hope some of that breakfast is for me? It smells divine."

We sat down to breakfast, and Mark tried not to stare at my boobs through my nightshirt. He was not that successful, but I knew he was trying, and I appreciated the effort. I was inadvertently being a tease. I decided to confront it head on.

"It must seem to you that I'm being a tease, offering you my apartment as a place to hide, sharing my bed with you, and now dressing this way at breakfast. If so, I apologize. I'm just trying to be nice, and since I live alone, this is my only clean nightshirt," I said. In fact, it was my only nightshirt, but I did not want to say that.

"Susie, if a random woman is going to offer to hide me, and then graciously feeds me breakfast, I am thrilled. It's just icing on the cake that you are so pretty. It's whipped cream and a cherry on the top that you're sexy, too" Mark said. "You're like a great painting in a museum. It's fun to look. I don't have to touch, and I don't have to own you."

"Thanks, Mark. Enjoy the view," I replied. I knew enough about men not to believe him, but I enjoyed his discomfort (he had an erection), and I appreciated his gesture.

After breakfast, I used the bathroom and did those things we women do in the bathroom, and emerged again refreshed, and still in my nightshirt. "Your turn," I said. Mark was very fast, and when he emerged I was in panties, bent over my underwear drawer looking for the right bra to wear with the outfit I had chosen. My large boobs were hanging down, in full view of Mark. Shit, I thought.

"You really are gorgeous," Mark said. "You have the best boobs in the state."

I turned to face him, holding my bra, exposing my boobs to him in a full frontal. "You've done a survey, have you?" I said, giggling just a little.

Mark said, "No, Susie. It's just that your boobs are perfect. I learned in my logic course in college that one cannot improve upon perfection. So, yours must be the best."

"Nice save," I said, as I slowly put on my bra, ending my rather spectacular moment of exhibitionism.

Mark and I developed a sort of life together. I would go to work, and Mark would do whatever secret things he would do during the day. I would cook for us when I got home, and Mark would clean, and then I would clean better than Mark had. I effortlessly transitioned into the domestic role I had grown up in. It was as if Mark were one of my older brothers, except for my gay brother Ray. Mark was anything but gay, that much was clear. We both knew, of course, that he was most definitely not one of my brothers.

We would have fascinating conversations. I found that I enjoyed his company, something I never thought would happen. I felt that I had to ask what he did for a living, in order to keep from dying of curiosity. I had told him about my job, and he seemed impressed. He was vague at first about his own career, but I was persistent. I did not give up.

Around three weeks after I began sheltering him, we had a particularly delicious dinner with a nice bottle of Chianti Classico. I cooked a steak Florentine style, with lots of garlic and rosemary, roast potatoes, and string beans almondine. Mark was rapturous in his praise.

I really floored him when I served homemade chocolate mousse for dessert. I used to make it all the time for my brothers, since one of them was lactose intolerant, and chocolate mousse is made with egg whites and without milk products. It was hard wired into my brain, and therefore it was effortless for me to make it.

We finished the entire bottle of Chianti, and we were feeling no pain. Mark was as relaxed as I had ever seen him be, and that's when he lowered the boom, telling me why he was in trouble. He worked for the NSA, and he had found a way to stop most hackers. Given my own expertise, I might have been able to understand his idea, but he refused to tell me, since it would endanger him. He also refused to tell me why such a positive breakthrough could put him in mortal danger.

I tried to put it out of my mind, and I decided just to trust Mark. He thought I already knew too much. He was worried for my safety. I tried to assure him I could look after myself, but since I had been the victim of a date rape already, it seemed to ring hollow.

In our daily routines, I had become less scrupulous about hiding my body after the experience with the bra, since Mark was good about not trying anything sexual with me. I knew however that my body was a constant temptation. I had seen too many times what my large boobs, small waist, bubble ass, and shapely legs did to men. I am impressed that all Mark ever tried was the occasional kiss, and truth be told, I loved his kisses. We became roommates. We became friends, really good friends. In fact, I considered Mark to be the best friend I had ever had.

Two months and ten days after that fateful night when we both had fegato in that fine Italian restaurant, Mark told me that he had to leave the next day. His enemies had discovered he was somewhere in Brooklyn, living with a bombshell of a woman. I had never thought of myself as a 'bombshell of a woman,' but I am most definitely a woman, and so I was secretly flattered.

I did not want to see Mark go. I had grown fond of him. I realized I would miss him! He told me how I had saved his life. He said that I had given him two months of happiness. Mark told me, "Every day is special for me, since I never know what will happen next. These two months and ten days have been the best time of my life."

He was so grateful. I could see love, real love, in his eyes as he looked at me. I impetuously said, "I want to give you something else, something to remember me by, an incentive to return to see me when you can."

I went to him and I kissed him. I pushed him down onto the edge of the bed. I sat on his lap, my legs straddling his body. I could feel through his pants that his penis had begun to grow. I opened my mouth and French kissed him. I took his hand and placed it on my boob. He felt me up through my clothes. I unbuttoned his shirt, opened it up, and stroked his chest, enjoying his chest hair.

Mark pushed me off his lap, stood me up, and he slowly undressed me, down to my bra and panties. He looked at me. I nodded. Receiving my unspoken silent permission, he removed my bra. He looked at me again. Again, I nodded. He peeled down my panties, seeing my pussy for the first time.

He stripped, and I saw his cock for the first time. It was fully erect. He had a nice cock, but I really did not care at that point. All I wanted was him, my Mark. His cock was a proxy for his heart and soul, and I wanted it inside me. I wanted Mark bad. I wanted him, all of him. I wanted to make damn sure he would come back to me.

He lay me down, and he spread my legs. They parted easily, with no resistance. He went down on me. Few men have ever done that, and I absolutely, positively, loved it. The sensation was magical, but it was not what I wanted just then; it was not what I needed.

I pulled up his head, pulled his body onto my own prone throbbing body, and kissed him deeply. I poured my love into his mouth. He reciprocated; boy, did he! That kiss was beyond magical. We just kept kissing. As we kissed I could feel his erect cock on my thigh. I wanted that kiss never to end. Mark intuitively understood, and the kiss almost never did end. We kissed a long, long time, our naked bodies lost in their embrace.

Finally, it was time for business. We both knew what we wanted. Mark slid up my body, his cock pausing at the entrance to my body and my soul. He looked deeply into my eyes. "You're so beautiful, Susie. I love you."

"Oh Mark. I did not know until this minute, but I love you too. Please don't leave me. Make love to me forever," I said, tears welling in my eyes.

Mark kissed my lips lightly, and then he entered me. At that moment, I knew I was his forever. I had fucked before: Bob, when I got drunk at the college party, and Jim the asshole rapist. Mark was my third man, if you count the asshole rapist, and I do, but in some sense, he was my first. This was the first time I was truly making love.

Suddenly I understood what making love was all about. Sex was simply the ultimate expression of love. Two things were clear to me that instant when Mark entered me: I loved Mark, and he loved me. This allowed me to relax and to enjoy the fuck. Not that I know that much, but it seemed to me that it was no ordinary fuck. Mark knew how to fuck a girl. He was magnificent. He varied his moves, screwing, pistoning, and plunging. I began to moan up a storm.

Mark pulled out and pushed me up onto all fours. I had never done it that way before. For me, this meant an anal fuck. Well if Mark wanted anal, that was fine with me. He had my total submission just then. But he entered my pussy again, to my surprise. My first rear entry fuck was a revelation. All those dogs I had watched fucking growing up really knew something!

Mark's cock reached places no other cock ever had. I squealed in delight. He began lightly to slap my ass. I said, "Yes, Mark. Harder!"

Mark slapped me hard. I groaned and moaned, both. "You like it rough?" he said.

I had no idea what rough meant, but the only reply I could give to Mark, the man at that moment I loved, was "Yes!" I then added, "I am yours, Mark. Do whatever you want to me and with me!"

Mark clearly knew what rough meant, and he slapped me and plunged into me with brutal force. This took me by surprise, and I began to have second thoughts, but suddenly during one of his plunges, my body took over and I got aroused in the extreme. Mark could tell, too, since I made no effort to hide my response to his violent fucking. I was panting like a dog as he ravished me.

When I came, the orgasm was so powerful I collapsed onto the bed. Mark then pulled out and was clearly about to explode. "In my mouth, lover!" I screamed. I opened my mouth to welcome his cock inside it. I tried to swallow all of it, but he just had way too much. A lot of it escaped and adorned my large boobs. I am flexible, and I was able to lick a lot of it off my boobs, in a wanton, lewd, and lascivious gesture of desire.

We rested, and we talked about our future, or lack of one. How would we communicate? How would I know if he was okay? He had answers for everything. I still did not want him to go, but he explained he had to; it was not a choice. It was life or death.

"Then let's do it again," I said. "I'm told I give a good blowjob. I took his flaccid cock in my mouth. I gave him the full treatment, humming as I enveloped his generous ball sack, stroking his cock, lovingly willing it to be hard again, hard for his Susie. I got it nice and hard.

"Let's film ourselves," Mark said. "We'll both have this tape as memory until I can enjoy you again."

"I'm a step ahead of you, Mark. It's the advantage of seducing a paranoid." I pointed to where one of the cameras was hidden.

"Okay, you little sexpot, prepare to be ravished," Mark announced. I told him not to be rough this time.

"I need a sweet, loving fuck, Mark." That's exactly what I got. Afterwards, I knew he had to sleep. He was leaving at first light. At first light, I walked him to the subway entrance. In New York, the subways run 24 hours a day. I was crying. I had tried to be brave for Mark, but I knew he was leaving my life. It would now be empty.

"I was happy living alone, Mark. You ruined that. Now I'm to live a life of longing, of mourning your absence, you bastard," I said, at the subway entrance.

"Remember what we discussed. You need to get out, to date other men. You deserve a life. Find a good man, have children, have a life. My days are numbered. You know that," Mark said. He kissed me, a long, loving kiss. He gave me a quick breast fondle through my clothes, and he was gone, swallowed up into the murky depths of the subway entrance.

I stood at the entrance for a long time, maybe an hour or more. I went to Manhattan and I walked along Second Avenue looking for a bar open at 6AM. After a while I gave up, and went back to Brooklyn and to my home. I went to my nest, the one place in the world I felt safe. I sat, as if in a daze, on the bed, and stared at the walls of my apartment. I had once been so happy alone in this very apartment, away from my brothers, away from Jim the Rapist, away from the world.

I could not eat. All that I could do was to sit, stare, and occasionally cry. When I cried, I sobbed, and my stomach muscles finally clenched, forcing me to stop crying. I watched Law and Order reruns, and that calmed me down a bit. I actually looked forward to the distraction of work the next day.

The next few months I lost myself in work. Finally, I felt strong enough to do what Mark told me I had to do. I entered the world. I entered the world I had so happily left. I had walled myself up, and it was only Mark who could have penetrated my armored defenses. I got dressed in a form fitting dress that barely contained my boobs. I looked in the mirror and a strange woman, as hot as a firecracker, stared back at me. I brushed my hair to perfection, and I took myself to a nail salon.

I had a banal and meaningless conversation with the cute Asian girl who did my nails. She complemented my outfit, and told me whomever I was dressing for was a lucky guy. I did not break down and cry, although I wanted to. I just nodded and thanked her.

I was still only 24, the perfect age for the bar scene. I did not have a bevy of girls to join for some armor, so I went only with a friend from work, Miriam Angel. I felt completely vulnerable. Here I was, a sexy 24-year-old with boobs almost spilling out of my dress, showing a hell of a lot of leg, entering a boy-meets-girl bar with only Miriam as my wing woman. Jesus.

In all innocence, we chose a bar that it turned out was a gay men's bar. Of course! It was in the West Village. What were we thinking? There were almost no women in the bar. Well, what the hell, I was there, so I sidled up to the bar and ordered a Brandy Alexander. Miriam had a Whiskey Sour.

The only heterosexual man in the bar immediately approached us. I learned he was there as the wing man for his roommate, who was too scared to come alone. I asked, and he pointed to his roommate, who was being curiously chatted up by a man I could have gone for in a big way, had he been into women. We had a nice conversation. He tried hard to pick us up, but neither one of us was interested.

Miriam and I adjourned to a coffee house that was open late, and we had a good talk. Miriam was a sweetheart. She knew something was wrong in my life, and she wanted to help. I could not open up to her, what could I possibly say? We eventually parted ways, and I returned to the safety and comfort of my Brooklyn fortress.

I was happy, but depressed. I felt that I had had a glimpse of a happy life, and it had been snatched from me. I began to spiral down once again into a depression. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, from a hiding myself standpoint, but after a couple of months of depressing solitude, I took myself to the same Italian restaurant where I had met Mark. I was surprised by my warm greeting.

The maître d'hôtel came to my table, welcomed me effusively, and surreptitiously slipped me an envelope. I slipped it into my purse. At the end of a wonderful meal I ordered an espresso and a shot of Sambuca, and went to the ladies' room. In the stall, alone, I opened the envelope. The envelope contained a postcard of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Nothing was written on it, but nothing had to be. I knew. Mark was telling me he was alive and well.

I gave the maître d'hôtel my halogen smile as I returned to my seat and I lingered over my espresso and Sambuca. I could not stop smiling. A plan began to enter my head. I figured it had a chance to work. It could give us, Mark and me, a future. It was better than depression and moping! Anything was better than the relentless sink into the bottomless quicksand that was depression.

The next sunny day I took myself out of the apartment and headed over to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. I took some notes, and stopped off at an internet café in the Bronx, one where they provide you with a computer you can use to go online. When I got home I typed up some letters, and then I went to the local Mom and Pop drugstore which had a notary public. I got my signature notarized and sent off the letters.

When I got the birth certificate, I used it to get a social security number. A child who died at the age of three days would not have had his social security number. I had a picture of Mark, and I used it to get him a passport. New York State has its own IDs for people who do not drive cars and do not have a passport. I got Mark one of those, too. When that worked I had Mark's new alternative identity. There was no way I could get him a driver's license. He would have to do that himself. Now all I needed was Mark.

It was security violation of the first order to keep returning to the same restaurant, but I did, anyway, to see if another envelope would arrive. One did, and this one had a picture postcard of New Orleans, again with nothing written on it. Well, Mark was certainly moving around! I was not sure why, but he clearly did not want me to know. The problem was, I had no way to communicate with him!

One time, returning from the restaurant after a nice dinner with a bit too much wine consumed, and no envelope from Mark, I felt as if I were being followed. I ducked into the subway, seeking the safety of having other people around me. Bad luck: I had just missed a train, and the platform was empty. It would be a long wait for the next train, in Brooklyn around 9pm.

A man was walking down the stairs to the platform. It was Jim-the-Asshole-rapist himself. The bastard had found me. Damn! Now here I was, all alone, on a subway platform.

Jim moved toward me with unexpected speed, and I suddenly had the fear he planned to tackle me right there on the subway platform. I ran away from the tracks, which was hyper dangerous, over to the wall, which was safer, and I held up my hand, indicating to Jim that he should stop. To my surprise and relief, he stopped shortly before he reached me.

I said, "Hello, Jim. It's been a while. How are you?"

I think speaking to him in this ordinary way surprised him and caught him off guard. I continued, "Want to go for a coffee? I know a nice place not far from here. My treat."

I had Jim flummoxed. He said, "Sure." I led the way, and we exited the subway station and all the danger it presented, back to the street, and a new and different set of dangers. I kept Jim talking. I said, "What are you doing these days? Do you have a job? Do you work here in New York?"