The Naked City 1

Summary

The "O" series is tasteful, gentle, soft, artistic erotica unlike anything you have read. There's no sex, yet it is completely sensual and erotic. They are personal growth stories of women, who during unexpected dramatic events, experience an uninduced, spontaneous orgasm from their struggles' culmination in a moment of extreme emotional intensity. If you can't imagine an orgasm that goes on for pages, a blend of art, deep emotion, reflection, and the most erotic experience of a woman's life (and maybe yours), you are in for a treat.

Elena is a young lawyer who has always craved more from life. Her fancy legal career in a world where nothing seems real has left her nostalgic, searching for missing pieces of true, down-to-earth real life. Elena is suffering from a longing for a real human experience missing from her posh and sanitized big midtown law firm lifestyle. While staying at a humble Airbnb in the middle of Spanish Harlem one sweltering New York summer night, she hears gunshots in her sleep and instinctively jumps up from her bed to get into the bathtub for cover. Before she can even fully awaken and open her eyes, she realizes she went through the wrong door by mistake and locked herself outside on the street completely naked. As she struggles to climb up a fire escape in a dark alley to get back inside, she learns a life-changing lesson about primal and erotic reality.

This is the second of the "O" series, and is exceptionally erotic and grimy. Enjoy Elena's heart-pounding, thrilling experience, filled with artistic intensity. Many after first reading this may find themselves enveloped in the experience, unable to think about anything else other than imagining if this had happened to them, and what the meaning would be in their own lives. There's no sex, no men, and the focus is on a woman's internal experience. Emotions include disconnection from reality, wanting of more intensity in life, craving of wholesome genuineness, cross-cultural longing, threats to dignity, mortal danger and fear, self exploration, emergence of inner compulsion, loss of control, adventure and thrill, emotional and physical struggle, personal control and strength, raw mortality, finding oneself, literal grimy sweaty dirt, risk of being caught, striving to overcome adversity, and submission to primal reversion. The story contains a description of a more than 6-page long orgasm. This short story is a work of fiction with sensitive content for adults only.

The Naked City

by Stellan Emrys Wild

Elena was annoyed she forgot her change of clothes, but thankful she remembered her toiletry kit in her briefcase. She figured she would rough it, having only the navy business suit she was wearing, until she got back to midtown tomorrow. As a professional 29-year-old lawyer working her way up the firm ladder, Elena had this city under wraps. She had her career tamed and on track. She was fully in control. This city was her oyster, and she was confident the pearls were all hers.

Yet, something was missing. Something about life remained a bit elusive. She felt like she took on difficult and interesting challenges because she had always been seeking something. Yet, her life felt cookie-cutter. Cardboard-boxed.

Cushy midtown law office. Everybody polite and professional. But not real. Where was the truth? Where was the real life? Where was the nitty-gritty? The more she wrestled with this craving, the more she realized her cushy upbringing had left in her a deep longing for real-world struggles. Most of her legal work was corporate and financial. Dry and stale.

Really, she was looking for "real life." Down-to-earth-ness in a world where everyone was so fake and phony. Most clients were large firms, thankless in wins and unphased in losses they'd simply write off. A connection with a client breaking down crying or the freedom of helping someone resolve a big problem and start a new life rarely happened. Her life just felt sanitized. Everyone was fake at work in her law firm, playing politics and trying to make partner and bring in large clients. Witnesses in court, fighting for their finances and corporate interests. Her first realization after law school was witnesses usually don't break down on the stand crying.

She craved a new experience, without knowing exactly what. She wondered if she would find it in the city. Maybe she had to go to the Amazon jungle or on safari in Africa to find the truth in life, whatever was missing. She read books and watched documentaries about how real and genuine people were in other parts of the world. She knew it was out there. Something real. Something primal. She knew she wanted an experience that would change her into a less superficial, more raw, more natural form of herself. She just didn't know where or what.

Over cocktails at a snazzy downtown lounge, she pretended to laugh when her friends joked about there being something primal about the city. If only that were true, was her internal joke. Her friends laughingly called it "the naked city," making funny faces, as if sophomorically giggling over the title without really knowing why. She laughed along with them on the outside, but she didn't really find it funny. If anything, she wished it were more true.

She romanticized down-to-earth, real-world struggles. Perhaps living with a tribe in the Amazon. Perhaps on a ranch in Montana with cowboys who love their one horse and the outdoors even in the rain and cold. Perhaps starting out dirt-poor, without a dime, in a rough neighborhood, and having to build herself from the ground up. The beauty of it. The character she would grow. The truth in the struggle, even the suffering. There was some beauty in such poverty, in roughing it, the raw challenge. She fantasized about what it would be like to have a small, dingy apartment with one window, facing a subway platform in the poorest neighborhood, to build up from dollar one. It was like a strange nostalgia some people have for a fantasy about another time and place. Perhaps she would own one tank top and having to wash it every day. Learn to live with no A.C. Struggle to pay rent. She imagined out there, somewhere, real people, raw feelings, and passion that was just absent from the world she had grown into.

This evening, she was excited about having to go up to Harlem to meet a client the next morning. She could have caught a car service early, but she decided to spend the night up there and wake up fresh. She wondered whether she could jog through the neighborhoods when she got up. To others in the office, it would have sounded crazy that she didn't get a nice hotel, but this was her adventure.

Driving through the very working class Spanish Harlem neighborhood, some of that realness delighted her senses. She felt some of this life in this area she normally didn't venture to. Driving up the avenue, she looked out the window enjoying the sights. She noticed every different culture's food: Columbian, Puerto Rican, Ethiopian, Guatemalan. A Chinese and Equadorian restaurant in one. She was a diverse foodie for sure. She loved trying every different type of food, the more hole-in-the-wall and authentic home-cooked, the better. The smells, the sounds, the people sitting outside reminded her of a more basic and authentic form of living.

As a young attorney living in midtown, she didn't spend much time in this area of Harlem. The diversity and cultural immersion were fascinating, far more diverse than she typically dealt with at her midtown law firm. She was both excited and a little scared, well aware of the reports of crime levels. She also felt a little awkward in her professional attire. She thought about how if someone tried to mug her, she'd fight them off. And she felt ready. Or, if there was a shooting, how she'd dive down behind something bulletproof and handle it cool, like they do in the movies.

Elena's plan was the fun adventure of booking a very rustic Airbnb, roughing it, and make an adventure out of the client meeting. She literally chose the cheapest place she could find nearby, and didn't even look at the photos. The plan was to head over first thing in the morning for the 7:00 a.m. meeting, the only time the client was available. Then, she would head back to the office for a catered lunch tomorrow from a different client. None of the client work was interesting, but her adventure staying a night in Harlem was.

Back at work, the conversations with the other women lawyers were stale. The discussions with her firm's competitors for the partnership being offered next year was boring. Plus she knew she would probably get the promotion anyway due to her hard work and diligence. The hard work in grinding it out somehow made her feel like she was struggling. As far as dating, the guys she knew from work and through friends were all city preppy guys who dressed like whatever popular television show told them to. They were transparent and unoriginal. She didn't find any of them interesting and had not had a date in months. They were all full of it, too.

It was a rare experience for her. Her plan was to soak up the spirit of the neighborhood. She grew up a White girl in Long Island, and went to her Midtown firm right after finishing from her Ivy League law school. She saw people of all cultures as generally good and interesting, and she was also a little afraid. Maybe it was the excitement of it all that she craved.

When the Uber stopped, Elena's first thought was, "Well, you asked for this." Reality certainly hit. It was a poor-looking residential neighborhood. She was staying in one of several units in a building on a small side-street near the highway. As she got out of the car, the steaming hot air hit her immediately. It must have been 95 degrees with sweltering humidity, despite being 8 p.m. this August evening. She told herself it would be an adventure ...for one night, just like she'd been wanting.

As she walked up the walkway to the front door, her 2-inch heels clinking on the concrete floor, she hoped nobody noticed her in her professional skirt and jacket. She thought about how she would have loved to go for a stroll and savor the authentic flavors, hear the conversations, and maybe even connect with locals. She'd planned to bring a change of clothes, and maybe even go for an early morning jog, but had left it all at home. She had planned to go home to get it, but ended up staying in the office later than would allow. So, she decided to make an adventure of the situation as presented. She definitely did not want to go meeting locals dressed in a white blouse and suit. She would have felt awkward as sin, like the typical white girl lawyer showing off.

The building was run-down and had a courtyard. She entered through a locked gate, obviously for security reasons. And yes, she did notice hammer marks on the exterior gate. The courtyard had many windows, all facing each other, and she walked up a flight of stairs to her unit, #8. She opened the door with her key, looking around at where she would spend the night with a mixture of excitement and humility. She was a rich girl playing poor for the night. The place had old furniture, old fixtures in the kitchen and bathroom, and looked like it had remained as-is since the 1970s. There was no air conditioning, not even a fan. She looked out the open courtyard window and noticed another unit had a big, bulky air conditioner right in the window.

The bed looked old and worn, so she checked it for cleanliness. It seemed okay. The bedsheets were beige with age, and there was a cloth blanket on top. The place was sweltering, as if the walls were almost sweating. But, she was afraid to open the other side window, which had an exterior fire escape. She put down her briefcase on an old dresser, took out her toothpaste and toothbrush, and began to get ready for the night.

She went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass that looked like it came with a fast food meal from the cabinet, and poured room temperature water from the tap. This certainly was roughing it. She hung up her blouse and suit on a hanger she found in the closet, so they would look as clean and professional as possible for tomorrow. Since she forgot her change of clothes, she realized she didn't have many options.

After doing some reading over the client's files, she hopped in a cool shower. The coldest it could go was barely cooler than lukewarm. While toweling off with the one worn towel, she decided to wash her underwear with hand soap in the sink and hang it up to dry in the bathroom. She was fully in the minimalist vibe, and at that point, she could either sleep in just her short white tank top or nude.

She laid on top of the blanket nude, on her back, in the dark, crossed her feet, and decided to enjoy her "roughing it" experience. She occasionally slept nude anyway and told herself it wasn't a big deal. She touched her arm and it was already wet with perspiration again it was so sweltering. She figured she'd just take a shower in the morning again anyway.

The occasional voices and yelling in various languages caught her attention. She wondered what they were saying, what their lives were like, what it would be like to permanently live here, to struggle to pay rent, to have two good friends in the community to share a roast chicken with. She could smell Spanish arroz con pollo emanating from one of the nearby kitchens in the building. She dozed off trying to stay still to keep from sweating profusely in the hot room. Occasionally, she would be reawakened by the clinking and clanking of pots and pans from neighbors doing their after-dinner dishes, and stare at her stained beige bedroom ceiling reflecting nearby neon lights outside until she dozed off again.

Suddenly, the dizzying cracks of loud gunshots rang through her head, and she was jolted into motion, her head dizzy and ears ringing. Still mentally asleep, she flew out of bed involuntarily, unaware of what was happening. She darted naked across the worn tile floor in the dark room. Without any real awareness of what was happening or where she was going, in one confused motion, she pushed what she thought was the bathroom door open, adrenaline-pumping, with a half-dreaming thought that the bathtub might shield her from flying bullets. She didn't know if she took a breath or even opened her eyes until she passed through the door. It slammed behind her with a thump. Only then did she look around, forcing her eyes somewhat open, instantly knowing she had made a mistake.

She wasn't sure whether she'd dreamt the gunshots, or really heard them, or whether it was a car backfiring, or someone banging pots and pans in a kitchen filtered through her dream world. But it didn't matter now. She was literally outside, naked, staring in disbelief at other houses and windows in a side street, at the top of a stair platform. She forced herself to process the unbelievable sight of parked cars, houses, and windows, all outside in the open city night. She heard the sound of the highway nearby and felt the warm flowing city night air gently blowing over her entire body.

Her heart immediately began to race uncontrollably, as she realized she had accidentally run through the wrong door - an exterior door. She had run outside onto an exterior flight of stairs on the side street. Her immediate thought was to hope the door hadn't locked, but yep, it sure did. It was an exterior door, and the metal plate was smooth against the other. There was not even a doorknob on the exterior of the heavy metal security door, she realized, as she ran her hands over where a metal piece overlapped the lock mechanism on the other side. She tried to dig her fingers in, but it was locked and solid. There was no getting back in this way.

She crouched down becoming very aware of her complete nakedness, standing barefoot on the concrete steps' landing. She asked herself, "Shit, where am I?", She looked around at neighboring houses, mostly about three stories tall, in the residential neighborhood, in this empty street in Spanish Harlem in the middle of the night. Most of the houses' interior lights were out, but some had small lights or the blue glow of television sets still visible. By the energy of the street, it was obviously the middle of the night, but she didn't know what time. Most of the neighborhood was clearly asleep. She heard Latin music emanating from at least two distant neighborhood residences, but she could not distinguish where exactly they were coming from. Perhaps they were from someone quietly listening to music, or someone who had fallen asleep but left music or television on.

Her mind raced with the scenarios that would play out if anyone saw her, and they went from bad to worse. In a split second, still half-asleep, she had an imaginary glimpse of people screaming and calling the police, perhaps thinking she was a homeless prostitute on a drug high, trying to break into the building. Or the possibility that actual bad actors, dangerous or crazy people might drive by and see her, in which case she literally had nowhere to run.

She is aware that her heart is racing, but ignores it, knowing she has to get out of there before someone sees her. In her half-squatting position, pressed against the door, she scanned the neighborhood. She thought about knocking on another neighborhood house door to hopefully find a decent household, rather than having a random encounter with whoever is was on the street or in a passing car.

Seeing no reasonable options and pushing past the scenarios of knocking on a random door naked in the middle of the night as unbearable, she had no choice. She reflexively skedaddled down the stairs, naked with her bare feet quietly slapping the concrete steps. She carefully rounded a parked car and turned the corner of the building leftward into the darker, side alley looking for cover, feeling the damp and imperfectly-cracked concrete beneath her feet. The dungeony, dark alley was lined with trash dumpsters, bins, and garbage. It had many windows overlooking it, mostly smaller bathroom and kitchen ones. It smelled like Spanish food, maybe the same baked chicken with rice and beans or a different recipe. One version of the Spanish music could be heard louder now.

As she took several steps into the dirty alley naked while looking around as she walked, she tried not to step into a puddle on the concrete pavement, before looking up at her Airbnb window on the second floor. It felt like a dream, but she was all business. Thank the universe there's a fire escape, she thought, but then realized she was certain her window was locked. She had double-checked it before going to bed. She became dizzy realizing how fast her heart was racing, covered in sweat from forehead to toe. Looking up at the fire escape in her half-asleep and adrenaline-pumped stupor, she wondered if she could go up it and somehow get back inside.

The fire escape ladder was in the raised position at the top, attached to the second floor on one side, and apparently suspended on the other side, hanging slightly lower. It was the kind you walked down, lowered by the weight of the person, but with a spring that kept it raised to prevent someone from climbing up.

Looking around in desperation, she noticed a discarded television set and, next to it, a dumpster. The dumpster itself was about a body-length from the end of the fire escape ladder's bottom section which comes down, but now was raised to its top position, suspended near horizontal close to the upper structure. The racing thought popped into her head of her actually climbing up.

She saw the dumpster's large plastic lid was open leaning against the building, grabbed it with one hand, and pulled it towards her to close it. She meant to lower it slowly but it was heavier than she thought and was so dirty it slipped out of her hand. It slammed down on the dumpster, closing, but kicked up an intense cloud of dirt and dust which she instantly felt completely envelop her sweat-covered body, hair, face. She was forced to squint, so it didn't go into her eyes.