The Man Across the Street

Rachel looked through her bedroom window to the street below and watched the storefront lights flicker on and then lifted her eyes to the first silhouettes of twilight spreading across the city, heralding the approaching night.

Tonight there would be hours of hot, sleepless dark, lying naked on her bed, and pacing the floor feeling a mixture of loneliness and want in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps Rachel would return to bed and lie on her stomach, squeeze a pillow between her legs and feel its pressure against her thighs, rocking to it, thinking of the man in the window across the street. Hassan. There was one other alternative. She could seduce him and have him in person. Did she dare?

She pictured his dark, hairy arms moving over her smooth white skin and imagined his mouth below the trim black moustache kissing her breasts, tasting her neck, licking her earlobes. She could almost sense the tip of his pink, hot tongue probing gently between her lips, tasting her, opening her, moving down her body, setting her belly on fire, awakening the flow of lava within.

Hassan worked at the small grocery store on the corner where Rachel shopped for odds and ends and conveniences: when she was out of coffee filters or a loaf of bread. He had appeared across the counter a few weeks ago in late spring, suddenly, as if a tower had been built in the neighborhood at a moment's notice. He was tall and wiry, eastern looking, with thick black shoulder-length hair which he kept in a ponytail. He wore a horizontal thin moustache, thick long sideburns, and had beautiful coffee-colored skin. She wanted to eat his skin, taste it as if it was molded from marzipan made from almonds grown in deep in the east, somewhere near the silk road, where men with cocks as thick as horses rode their women to wails of ecstatic anguish every night.

The first time Rachel saw him, Hassan had looked at her with a trace of a smile, as if he could see more than her face, her willowy figure, and her casual clothes. She felt like a mountain range under his gaze, her hills and valleys to be explored, her streams and rivers to be searched out. His eyes weren't lustful, but searching, mesmerizing, tantric in their insistence, as if Hassan could draw her soul to him with a look.

She noticed he had a habit with each customer of taking their right hand in his, and giving them their change with clasped hands. He exuded a dark warmth to everyone, a leisurely easiness, as if he wasn't working in a store in the west, but a market in the east where all the world gathered for stories, to drink in the scent of the stalls, to greet friends and strangers alike.

She felt his hand on her wrist that first time, and though she instinctively shrank from his exotic manly grasp, somehow his touch was a mixture of heat and electrical power, flowing from his body to hers. She felt the coins clink into her hand and heard his voice, as deep as a mountain lake, say thank you.

"I'm Hassan," he said, too, as she left, adding, "Please come again."

She looked back to see his brown eyes dancing in a face that didn't quite smile, and seemed to rivet her to the doorway where he would have his way with her if this was another time and place.

Walking home to her one-bedroom apartment after that first encounter, Rachel felt a sensation of floating, as if instead of using her feet she had levitated home, and felt with it an awakening hunger. She saw once again his fingers grasping her wrist; his long, strong fingers with fine black hair growing sparsely on the back of his hand, as if the testosterone within him bloomed in great manly flowers, emanating into his deep voice, his hairy body, and the unknown manhood within his clothes.

His eyes were penetrating and intelligent, not fleeting, but focused; not staring, but able to gain entry into her, to look through the gateway of her soul and to see the awakening curiosity and longing Rachel held for him. Where was he from? What were his stories? What did he look like naked? Did he have as big a cock as she imagined? What did it feel like to be held captive in his arms?

A week after Rachel met him she'd idly looked out the window late at night, and seen a man in a window across the street. Hassan's profile was unmistakable, his strong frame outlined by bright lights within as he stared up at the moon and stars, which glowed dimly through the city lights. Rachel's lights were off, so she knew he couldn't see her. She watched his lanky form, staring in spite of herself as he opened his window and sat astride it, half in and half out, a cigarette glowing where he held it against his thigh in between slow, deliberate drags.

She wished he would finish and go inside, turn out the lights of his apartment and cast his glance here, so that Rachel could turn on her lights and give him a show, stretching, stripping, bending and writhing, performing for him, luring him. But her hair stood on end thinking about it. Who knew what mysteries were locked within his tightly muscled body, inside his soul searching among the stars. Perhaps he was a wanderer, searching for the meaning of life, listening to the sound of each city, hearing its heartbeat and feeling its pulse, before moving on and seeking another throbbing city, his woman of the night. Rachel wanted to open her window and call out to him, to offer herself, but she resisted the urge.

Eventually he had finished the cigarette and gone inside, and the lights had gone out, but Rachel hadn't performed for him. Instead, she'd slipped off her clothes, sat back in her bed across a plethora of pillows, and stroked her body, feeling his eyes penetrate her, imagined him whispering erotic eastern fantasies to her, feeling his mouth sucking her nipples, feeling his strong hands open her, his long cock thrusting up into her, until finally, panting, she had come in a torrent of ecstasy, breathing so hard she felt as if she'd run for miles and exhausted herself.

Even so, Rachel didn't sleep. It wasn't enough; it wasn't satisfying. In the dark, the ceiling seemed to swim with long, hairy fingers, not scary, but intriguing, seeking to stroke and touch her body, to explore her texture, to knead the muscles under her skin and to awaken every sense within her, making her taut with desire without any further release.

After that night, Rachel vowed never to go into the store again, but to put Hassan from her mind and rid herself of the temptation; to seal up the passion. Instead, she resolved to go to the gym and work out. Perhaps that would relieve the tension, the ache as if she had found a mysterious new door in her apartment, but was resolved to paper it over with a poster and forget about it. After all, it was foolish to dream; she and Hassan were from different worlds. He had expressed no particular interest in her, other than the searching gaze each time she went into the store. He was nothing more than a fantasy, an unattainable masculine fire that would burn out soon enough if only she channeled her feelings into other pursuits.

At first it seemed to work, and the routine of exercise, work and friends loosened her from the grip of ferocious hunger. Although it was hot during the summer nights, she slept better and tried to think of movie stars whenever she masturbated, and not Hassan.

It was inevitable, though, that she would need something from the store, and one evening she discovered that she'd run out of toothpaste. She considered going to another store, but still went to the small place on the corner, part of her hoping against hope that he wouldn't be working tonight, but another part of her giving in to desire.

There he was, as usual, greeting her and squeezing her wrist with the same strength, jarring her soul and making her loins flow like the Nile. She almost told him that she lived in the building opposite, but something made her bite her lip and walk out with nothing ventured.

That night, Rachel went to bed early, while it was still light, thinking about Hassan, wondering what she should do. She drifted off while reading Scheherazade, waking in the morning a little before her alarm sounded. She lay half awake, a little feverish and aware she'd been dreaming. She sensed the wetness between her thighs, and almost felt a lingering hand on her breast and a masculine mouth on her thighs, as if her dream of union had not yet reached consummation. It had been Hassan in her dream, and she'd lusted after his huge thickness, willing him to push its length deep inside her. There was no refreshment in sleep, and although Rachel got out of bed and went to work, all day the craving grew. She had to see him, somehow. She had to have him carnally, to bring her passion to a full and burning climax.

So here she was, now, late that night, looking across to his room, where the lights were still off. Perhaps he kept them off, or was asleep, or maybe he was out with a lover, seducing her, or wandering the streets alone, gathering stardust, reciting eastern poetry to the night sky, watching the leaves of city trees fluttering black against the night sky, the call of an evening bird sounding in answer to his deep voice.

Suddenly, Rachel was seized by an impulse to find him, to bare her body and soul and to have him, come what may. She threw on a sheer blouse without putting on a bra, slipped on shorts without panties, and pushed her feet into thongs. The night air was heavy and humid but not overpowering. It was hot enough to bead the perspiration on her neck and for a trickle to flow between her breasts.

She paced across the street outside his building, wondering what to do. She had to get inside. She tried the apartment building door, which was locked, and she didn't know which suite number was his. She could guess if only she could get inside. It was on the third floor—the second occupied floor, since the first floor had only storefronts—the same as her building across the street. She couldn't press the buzzer to call him; at least she wasn't that desperate yet. What would she say? She checked her watch and found it was after midnight. She should slip back across the street and go home.

Then an old man appeared from inside Hassan's apartment building and came out, holding the door open for her. Rachel nodded at him, feeling her pulse quicken with a mixture of panic and foreboding. Inside she could smell a trace of marijuana and air freshener mingled with carpet cleaner. She walked straight forward up a flight of stairs to the second floor, and then up another flight to the third floor. The hallway was dimly lit, and Rachel bit her lip, tiptoeing along, looking at the number on each door, trying to guess which one was his. It must be the second to last, since he wasn't on the corner, but next to it.

Just as she reached the correct door, Rachel stopped in her tracks, seeing that it was open a crack, revealing a dark interior. The smell of incense wafted out, and as she watched, she saw the sudden glow of a cigarette in the darkness, and felt her heart beat almost to bursting and felt as if she could hear it pound. She was glued to the spot and waited, wondering if he had seen her. There was no sound or motion from inside. After a few moments, she slipped just out of sight of the doorway, and listened, wondering if she should go through with it. She closed her eyes, listening, trying to hear him breathe, trying to hear him draw in the smoke and blow it out—but she could hear nothing.

When she opened her eyes, Rachel almost gagged with the fright of seeing Hassan in front of her, his tall, lean body observing her from the doorway, seemingly without surprise.

"I—", she said, intending to make some excuse, but he put a finger to her lips, indicating her to be silent, and led her by the hand into the darkness of his suite, closing the door behind her, and seated her in a large comfortable chair. Her eyes slowly became accustomed to the darkness since a little bit of light leaked in from the street through his dark curtains. Hassan sat in a chair opposite her, smoking silently for a few minutes before he spoke.

"I saw you down below a few moments ago when my uncle left. I recognized you—you've been in the store, haven't you. I've told you my name, but you haven't told me yours."

"It's Rachel. I—".

He cut her off again, his deep voice cutting into her sentence.

"Let's not offer excuses at this hour. Fate and the night throws together many possibilities, some of which we seek, and others we don't. Many times we seize no opportunity, and the moment is lost as if a wave washes over us and there is nothing to remember. Such is the life of those who rest in the obscurity of the familiar and the habitual. But I sense that you are not like that Rachel, are you? For example, the first time we met, you bought garlic and chilies as well as soap, and I thought, well, here is a young woman who is clean as well as having a spicy life..."

His voice smiled in an ironic way, and his last words lifted in such a way as to continue, while he took a long draw on his cigarette.

"You remind me of a woman I met in Qila Shaikhupura one night as I wandered by the stone fort built by a mogul emperor along the river. In the same place, Alexander the Great fought one of his most serious battles. I could almost hear the sound of distant horses as I looked at the night sky above the water. There was no moon, but stars only, and the tobacco I held to my lips was satisfying as I gazed on the water."

"Then as I looked across the fort, a woman approached, walking furtively but in my direction, slowly but surely closing the gap between us. It was not a place of prostitution, so I wondered what she was doing there alone. She came straight up to me like a phantom, but I recognized her the instant she removed the shawl from her face as a woman who often visited the marketplace where I worked in the daytime. She didn't speak a word, but pressed against my body, offering herself to me, begging me to take her there and then in the darkness. I had the feeling that she wanted to take revenge against some lover who had betrayed her, but I was glad to oblige. Neither of us said a word."

"Against the stone wall of the fort I thrust her, taking her flesh, pressing into her ripe body again and again, feeling her tight thighs reach climax one, two, three times before it seemed her legs gave way, and I had to hold her in my arms against the wall. After a minute or two, however, she was off, like a female Djinn or spirit of the night, and was lost in the darkness. It was the last I ever saw of her. Now answer me, Rachel..."

He took another draw on his cigarette and stubbed it out, apparently in an ashtray beside his chair, blowing the smoke upward. His smooth voice was utterly entrancing, and the way he spoke, Rachel felt unable to move under his spell. She too wanted to be taken, to be utterly possessed, laid and fornicated.

"You're here for the same reason, aren't you? Yes or no, nothing else."

He stood, and Rachel felt his presence, smelled his scent, not objectionable, but masculine, powerful and full. She nodded silently, unable to stem the catch in her throat, and stood to meet him, shivering even though it was warm, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Well then. You shall have your wish," he said, and taking her hand roughly, led her through the shadows a short way and into his bedroom.

Rachel saw that it was an inner room without a window. Inside there was a single candle burning, a large bed, a plush couch with large arms, and a huge dresser with a larger mirror. Incense was burning slowly on the dresser, and the scent transported her to places she'd dreamed of with silk cushions and Persian carpets.

She already felt exposed and in his power, but almost immediately and without a word his large hands pulled off her top, ripped down her shorts and slipped off her thongs, leaving her utterly naked before him. He pressed her against the wall, her naked breasts, belly and legs feeling his hard frame. She could smell his skin which seemed as if he had danced in a mountain of exotic spices. He pressed against her, kissing her mouth with lips much softer than she expected, and his tongue, probing lightly, made her thighs water. She had expected something much more rough. He wasn't consistent—sometimes he was gentle, sometime rough, but each time he was gentle she wanted more roughness.

Almost without warning, he lifted her up and held her in both arms, squeezing her skin for a moment before laying her out on the soft bed, and before she knew it he was astride her, tying each of her limbs to the four corners of the bed, first her wrists and then her ankles, with what seemed like silk scarves. She was utterly open and naked before him, and could not resist his will.

In the candlelight she watched him strip, seeing the muscles rippling along his chest as his shorts and underwear dropped, and a long cock appeared, looming before her, glistening in the flickering dimness.

She gasped, letting loose a moan half of fright and half of desire, feeling trapped, but not wanting to be unloosed before he had completely possessed her.

The man bent down, holding down her wrists, and kissed her neck, licking the sweat from her breasts in round circles, avoiding her nipples. He licked first the outside of her breasts, and then her belly, alternating with frequency, moving his strong hands to grasp the sides of her exposed torso. Her erect nipples ached for his mouth, but still he would not suck them or even lick them. After some time, his tongue went down to her outer thighs and his warm breath moved between her legs, but he didn't lick her pussy, returning to her breasts and belly again and again.

"Oh God," she started to pant, closing her eyes and opening them again, feeling his powerful hands holding her, his hot tongue licking her, and wanting more. "Suck me!" she finally said in a gasp of want.

He didn't suck, but put a warning hand over her mouth, and went down and licked the outside of her labia with the tip of his tongue, running it leisurely up and down, avoiding her clitoris and inner thighs. She felt as if hot springs were welling up from inside her legs, and she couldn't get her mind off his cock, wanting it, but not being able to see it other than momentarily as he moved over her.

Suddenly he grasped both breasts in his strong hands and sucked one nipple and then the other, hard, while laying the shaft of his cock over her thighs with the tip at her belly button. Rachel groaned, wanting him inside, willing him to take her.

But no. Instead of thrusting into her, he resumed kissing and licking her breasts, moving his mouth down to her ripe pussy for brief moments, and then back. Each time he moved down, she ground her thighs up into him, willing to feel him against her, wanting to feel him inside, deep inside. Then after what seemed like a long time, he made an O with his tongue, and took her clitoris inside the heat of his mouth, rubbing and sucking it with more and more intensity until she was on the edge, urgently pressing into him, wanting to come.

When she was almost there, he moved to her outer thighs, and softly sucked her nipples, letting her down, not letting her come. It was frustrating. He began again, tasting her breasts and thighs, bringing her so close she thought she would make it, but didn't, and ached to be rid of the silk scarves so she could jump him and impale herself on that huge cock and have her fill.

He took her down again, till her breathing was slower. She expected him to begin again, but this time he didn't. He untied the scarves, and before she could plunge herself against him, he picked her up in two arms and set her down over the arm of the plush couch opposite the bed, with her ass up, and grabbed her waist with both hands. He fucked deep inside her with one hard thrust after another, his whole length moving in and out of her again and again. Rachel was already so close that the fucking brought Rachel to an explosive orgasm, with a loud guttural moan. She felt like a lion being possessed by her mate. He slowed for a moment, then reached around her and stroked her plump pink clitoris, and pumped his thick penis inside her without stopping. She came again, violently, arching herself open to take all of him inside her, feeling his shaft deep in her. With a quivering spasm, he grabbed her body in a vise-like grip and the dam of his body burst forth, filling her wanting thighs with the fountain of his manhood.