Solitary Susan

Jim told me about his life. He did have a job, even if it was retail and paid slightly above minimum wage. I asked him if he was happy in it, and he replied he was happy enough. We got to the café without incident and thank goodness it was open until midnight. There was a chill in the air so I ordered a hot cider, and Jim ordered a tea, and we both had a muffin. I paid for both of us, as promised.

I began to reminisce with Jim about our times in college, never mentioning of course the date rape, but instead talking about how pretty the autumn had been, and how much I liked the view from the top floor of the library. I just nervously babbled on, occasionally asking Jim a direct question so that he would participate in the conversation. I saw the tension in his muscles start to disappear, as he relaxed and enjoyed the babbling conversation of a pretty woman who at least just then was entirely focused on him.

As it got close to midnight, I explained I had to go, and I ordered a Juno car. That's like Uber, but it's just for New York, and the rumor is that it's a little nicer to its drive I completely disarmed Jim when I asked him for a kiss goodnight, for old times' sake. He awkwardly kissed me, and then I held his head in my hands. I was tempted to break his neck, but instead I gave him a real kiss, even opening my mouth at one point and letting our tongues tangle together. I then quickly pulled away, rushed to the car waiting outside, and called back, "It was nice to run into you, Jim! Go well!" slammed the car door closed behind me, locking it quickly.

"Drive fast, please," I said to the driver. "I'm trying to get away from him. Don't let him catch your license and thereby try to trace our destination." Due to paranoia, I had made our destination the Carlton Hotel on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Once there, I hopped into a conventional taxi and took the taxi to the Fulton Street subway stop, where a lot of subway lines merge. From there I chose the right train to go home and made it home safely. I felt it would be hard for Jim-the-Asshole-Rapist to have traced my movement and found my apartment.

I was much more careful after that experience. The problem was that the restaurant was my only source of communication with Mark. I was afraid to return to it, and also afraid not to return to it.

I had to take the chance. Every other time I had gone for dinner, so this time I went for Monday lunch. I got lucky, and the maître d'hôtel once again slipped me an envelope. This one contained a postcard of the John Hancock building in Chicago. I smiled: Santa Fe, New Orleans, Chicago; I could see no pattern. Mark was good. Expecting a blank backside, I turned it over, and to my surprise, I found, written in Mark's scrawl, exactly this: 44C. I figured, since Mark was a man, it was not his bra size. It was certainly not my bra size! (I'm a 34D.) It also was probably not an airplane seat. It seemed clear to me, at least: It was an apartment in the John Hancock Building.

I went home, packed a bag, and grabbed a Lyft car to Grand Central. At Grand Central I grabbed a taxi to the Marriott at Times Square. Once there, I grabbed a taxi to La Guardia airport, and I got on the next flight to Chicago.

Safely in downtown Chicago, I stood before the John Hancock Building with my carry on. I was used to big buildings from living in New York, but in New York, except for the Empire State Building, and the Chrysler Building with its art deco architecture, they all seem to blend together. The Hancock building in Chicago, however, is special. It is a beautiful building, with its graceful lines and simple design. It's simply magnificent.

Intimidated by the building, and not knowing what to expect, I decided to find a café or bar that overlooked it. I found one, settled in at a table with my back to the wall as is my wont, and ordered a glass of chardonnay. A man's voice, coming from a direction I was not looking, said, "I thought you preferred a good Chianti, or Multepulciano?" It was Mark's voice, but it was not Mark.

The man speaking had a beard, and was a Hasidic Jew, dressed all in black, with a top hat, tefillen, and a tallis under his sport coat. His nose was wrong, and his smile was crooked. But he had Mark's voice, and he knew what wine I liked. He was wearing sunglasses, the mirrored kind. He took them off, and I saw his eyes. The man was Mark. He had the same eyes that could see everything in a second, and yet they looked quietly desperate.

"Care to join me sir? Buy me a glass of Chianti, and I'm yours," I said. The man joined my table, signaled the waiter, and ordered me a glass of Chianti.

"Nice boobs," he said, looking at my breasts, straining to break out of my tight sweater.

"I'd let you fondle them, sir, but they're promised to man named Mark," I said.

"Excellent," the man said. "Call me Mark."

"Susie," I said. We shook hands and Mark slipped a key into my hand. When I finished my Chianti, I bid the man farewell, and went to the Hancock building. I took the residents' elevator and used the key to reach the 44th floor. I went to 44C, put the key in the lock, and the door glided open smoothly.

The apartment was minimally, but tastefully furnished, with a coffee table supporting a large bouquet of roses. In the bedroom, on the bureau top, there was a single framed picture. It was of me. In the nightstand drawer, there were more pictures of me in various stages of undress. I smiled.

An hour later Mark appeared. He still had the beard, but was no longer a Hasidic Jew. He rang the bell. I went to the door, looked through the peep hole, smiled again, and let him in, "Hello, Mark," I said. "Love the beard. You should move to Brooklyn."

"Love your boobs, Susie. You should move to the bedroom," Mark replied.

"Doing it with me bent over the couch doesn't fly with you?" I teased.

"Strip, woman, and we'll see," Mark said.

"Ooh, such a dominant man," I teased, and began to undress. I danced around a bit to entice Mark. He sat down and watched me disrobe until I was in my bra and panties. Then I stopped. I looked at Mark, and sang, channeling Badfinger, "If you want it, here it is, come and get it."

Mark rose from his chair, came over to me and removed my bra, and then peeled down my panties, rendering me naked. It was then that I realized he had no curtains. "I'm kind of exposed here, Mark," I said, looking at the picture window.

"We're on the 44th floor," Mark said. "I wouldn't worry too much." He bent me over the arm chair, exposing my sex to his hungry eyes. I mentally shrugged. "I've missed you, babe."

"How much?" I teased, and giggled. He took the plunge, and I groaned out my appreciation.

After the sex, we collapsed onto his area rug. Mark idly played with my boobs, as I stared into his eyes, examining his soul. Something was wrong. His eyes had lost their innocence. A dark cloud had blocked his pure soul. I said, in all simplicity, "They found you, didn't they, Mark?"

Mark looked at me. "It was horrible," he said.

"You can tell me, Mark. I'm a big girl. What happened?" I asked.

"I can't," he said.

"Why not?"

"Just let it be. I can't. There's a lot about me you don't know," Mark said. "You don't know what you don't know."

"Don't get all Donald Rumsfeld on me, Mark. Just tell me," I said. I was unable to hide the quiver of fear in my voice. I was afraid of what I was going to hear.

Three hours later he had told me all he was ever going to tell me. He had been right. It would have been better if he had not told me.

"It was them or me. The five of them had hunted me relentlessly. They were determined to kill me. They had killed others like me. Negotiations were not possible. In the end, they've killed my soul."

"My entire unit is gone. I am the lone survivor. That was 23 people. 18 men and five women. And one dog. It was horrible," Mark said. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Delilah told me," Mark said. Delilah was one of the people hunting Mark, he had explained to me during his three hour story.

"Why did they want to destroy everyone in your unit?" I asked.

"Why does anyone do anything, anymore? They do it for love, money, or for power. They're often the same thing, anyway. In this case we can easily eliminate love as their motive. Our group had created the tools to destroy the bastards. Not physically; no, we would simply render their schemes useless. They are the ones who made it physical. They were my friends. Rebecca was my lover," Mark said, choking a bit on his last words.

"She was dead by the time I met you, Susie," Mark quickly added. I was not concerned.

"Is anyone still after you?" I asked.

"Maybe, I don't know. It does not matter. My life is over," Mark said.

"What if they don't catch you?" I asked.

"I'm dying, Susie. I have cancer. It's terminal. I'm okay right now, but tomorrow I may be convulsed in pain. The attacks on my body seem to come and to go."

I was silent. This was a lot to handle, What was I to do? Suddenly I was overwhelmed with fatigue.

I led Mark to the bedroom. His bed was the most comfortable one I had ever sat on. Wow. His sheets felt like satin. We were both still naked, and I climbed into bed, pulling him into bed after me. He was a wreck after his confession. So was I. I thought of a short-term fix, and I took his flaccid penis into my mouth. I sucked, stroked, teased and cajoled it relentlessly until finally it had the appropriate reaction.

I kept at it. I felt I could suck him all night if need be, and in fact my blowjob lasted a very long time. Finally, I noticed his breathing changing, and small noises were emanating from his mouth, and he tried to pull out of my mouth. I did not let him, and he exploded right down my throat. Some of his cum was in my mouth, and I opened my mouth to show him, just like a porn star. Then I flamboyantly swallowed.

I think Mark wanted just to fall asleep. He was exhausted. I did not let him. He was lying near the foot of the bed, and I was now sitting up with my back leaning on the headboard. I began to play with my boobs, as I said to him. "Tell me about Rebecca. What did she do to turn you on? Did she talk to you in computer code? Or was it cruder?" As I said the word 'cruder,' my hands moved down to my pussy.

"I cannot speak of Rebecca. It's too painful," Mark said.

"I know it must be painful, but I need you to tell me. I have to know. What did Rebecca do to turn you on?" I asked again.

Mark let himself remember. He smiled, "She was much like you, lover. She had a great body, and she liked to dress in ways that flaunted what God gave her. God had been very generous in her case, just as God has been with you, sweet woman." I was now slowly teasing my pussy as Mark spoke, and my pussy had his full attention.

"Not enough, Mark. What did Rebecca actually do to turn you on?" and I emphasized the word "do." Now my fingers were stroking the edges of my labia, and my pussy, already wet from the blowjob I had just given to Mark, was getting even wetter. Mark was riveted.

"Well, she never did what you are doing. God, Susie, that's so hot!" Mark said.

Calm, but relentless, I asked, "What did she do?"

Mark sighed. Still rapt, watching my pussy, he said, "Rebecca liked to take risks. She would only take small risks, like flashing herself, making love where it was possible someone would see us, that kind of thing."

"The way we just did, when you fucked me in the window?" I asked.

"Yes, risks like that. Public nudity, public sex, that kind of thing, but always where the odds were that nobody would discover us," Mark said.

"Did anyone ever discover you two?" I asked. My fingers were now on the insides of my labia, and every so often went up to my clitoris for a sweet little fondle. Nothing too much, just a bit.

"Yes, once or twice," Mark said, and a small smile crossed his lips.

"Did it ever lead to you sharing her with another man?" I asked. I don't know why that outrageous question just popped out. I suspect it was something I had seen in those remarkable eyes of my lover Mark just then.

"Jesus, Susie. How did you know? Is that just a lucky guess?" Mark replied,

I did not answer him. I just said, "You enjoyed watching the other man ravish your lover, didn't you? I know you did." Mark nodded, dumbly, blushing.

"I have no idea why. I'm ashamed of myself," he said.

"To how many men have you shown our little sex tape?" I asked, as one of my fingers now entered my pussy.

"I showed it to one man in Santa Fe, and to a woman in New Orleans," Mark said.

"Did you fuck the woman after you showed her the tape?" I asked.

"You have to understand..." Mark said.

"I do understand," I said. "I understand everything. I now had two fingers in my pussy, and I began to pump them, slowly. Mark's cock was twitching.

"You're a perverted son of a bitch, Mark. I'm a nice girl. I came here to meet you, and you had better make the trip worthwhile. Put that cock somewhere where it will do some good, you bastard," I said.

Mark came over to me. "Not here," I said.

"In the window?" Mark asked.

"In the hallway, outside the apartment," I said. I took his hand. I put the apartment key on a cord I had and wore it around my neck. The key dangled, sexily I suspect, between my boobs. I took Mark's hand, and with us both naked, I led us to the hallway.

I led Mark to the elevator doors, and I got on all fours, facing the elevator. I wiggled my ass. Mark got behind me, positioned himself, and plunged into my welcoming pussy. I decided to give him a noisy fuck. I can turn on my moans when I want to. All of us women can. I reached up, straining, and managed to push the down elevator call button. I smiled to myself.

Mark was busy pumping away wonderfully inside me when the elevator finally arrived, with its small and surprisingly pleasant little elevator ding. The doors opened. Mark kept right on fucking me. The elevator was not empty, and a man left the elevator, staring not at me, but Mark. The man smiled, a vicious, horrible smile that I will remember to my dying day, which I actually thought was exactly that day.

He stood there, watching us fuck, until Mark finally exploded inside me. I had not cum, but that was fine. I was more turned on, having an audience, than I had ever been. "Nice job," the man said, and for the first time since I had met Mark, I saw his face covered in a mask of pure fear.

The man removed a gun, with a silencer attached. Mark got up to run, even if there was nowhere to run, and the man shot him in the leg. He then turned his weapon on me. I was forced, naked, with cum dripping from my pussy, but at gunpoint, to open the apartment door, and then to help Mark to get inside the apartment. Always keeping an eye on me, the man tied Mark up, tying him to a door. He gagged him, too.

"I hope you're still wet, little sexpot?" the man said. That's when I knew Mark and I were going to die, that day, on the 44th floor, in Chicago. The man tied me, naked and spread eagle, on the bed.

I guess I knew what was coming next. The man did not speak, but he undressed. He removed his clothes slowly, carefully folding them on the bed. Soon he was naked, too. He smiled at me. "Tell me you want me to fuck you, woman."

"I don't want that," I replied.

I remembered Mark enjoyed watching Rebecca get it on with another man right in front of him, and I wondered if he would enjoy this man fucking me in front of him, too? I looked over at Mark. "Should I let him?" I asked Mark, pretending as if I had a choice.

Mark was in pain from the bullet that had grazed his leg. He winced, but managed a smile, and he nodded yes. So, I decided WTF, that I would try to enjoy it. I would do anything for that man, and it seemed sexy to me to fuck a gun toting stranger.

I told the man, "Climb aboard, stranger. I hope you are a good fuck. I like to climax, you know."

The stranger smiled, and he did as he was told. He had a nice cock and before I knew it, he was inside me. I began to moan. This really surprised him. I let my body rise to meet his thrusts, at least as much as my restraints allowed. The stranger smiled and grunted as he fucked my bound and willing body.

"If you untie me, I could enjoy the fuck more, you know," I said, gasping in between the words.

The stranger thought a minute, and he freed my legs and my left arm. He wasn't that threatened by me, a naked woman underneath him and fucking him. He resumed fucking me. I was determined to give him the fuck of his life. It was the same strategy that had let me escape from Jim-the-Asshole-Rapist, back in New York. I wrapped my legs around him as we fucked. I dug my nails into his back with my free hand. I moaned up a storm.

In truth, I was getting really turned on. Then he began to choke me. Uh-oh. I could not breathe. Strangely, I could feel an orgasm rapidly build. He was fucking me viciously now as I tried and failed to breathe. I felt as if he were killing me. It suddenly came: an orgasm washed over me with a violence I could not have imagined. My entire body shook spasmodically, as if I were having an epileptic attack. Then I passed out.

When I came to, I played possum. I opened my eyes just a smidgen. Mark still had an erection, and he was still tied up. We were alone. The mysterious stranger with the gun had left. Mark explained he was one of his enemies, his hunters, but he knew Mark was dying of cancer, and since he got to fuck his woman, and since I even cooperated, he decided to let both of us live.

I stayed with Mark, and I nursed him as he died. He was lucky, and the disease killed him in less than a week. I filled him with black market opiates to ease the pain. When he was dead, I arranged for a funeral. After, I returned to the Hancock Building to gather my belongings.

I dressed, wiped away all traces that I had been there, vacuuming up any loose hair or fibers, wiping all surfaces I may have touched. I used all of my knowledge from detective novels, television shows, and the movies, to cover my tracks. I searched Mark for any evidence of a connection to me, and found the digital files of the video and pictures, and the print outs of my naked self that he had shown to who knows how many other men. I erased the files in such a way that it would be hard for someone to reconstruct them. Hard, but not impossible. Best I could do.

I left the Hancock Building, took a taxi to the airport, and checked into a nice airport hotel. Once I was safely in my room, I quickly vomited in the toilet, three times. Then I got into bed, under the covers, and I cried. I cried for three hours.

I took an airplane to DC and then an anonymous bus, under a pseudonym, to New York. From the Port Authority, I took the subways back to my Brooklyn fortress. I cried for a long time. I went to work the next day.

I lived a quiet life in my fortress. After around six months, I decided to try the bar scene again. This time I made sure I was taking Miriam Angel to a heterosexual boy meets girl kind of bar. We both found men, and we both went home with our respective men, and we both had meaningless sex. We did this a number of times before I met a man I could like for the long haul: James Valentine.

He was an ordinary man, hard-working and honest. He was good looking and clean. We began to date, and eventually it got serious. He was no Mark, but that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing, wasn't it?

It was a year later when I found it. My goodness, it was well hidden. Given how thoroughly I clean, it is surprising how long it remained hidden. It was from Mark. It had a note to me as its first file, a Read Me file, although it had some intimate thoughts. Mark was speaking to me from the grave. His computer code, his life's work, was all there, on the single 1 terabyte flash drive.