The Night Falls

Night falls over the terminal, with its blanket of glittering stars drifting down over the last red/orange blazes of the scorching summer sun. At the fringes it purples and wavers in the heat rising from the tarmac. Indeed it is hot, but I wait with a nervous little shiver at Gate 11 as I watch a set of drifting blinking stars glide low, touch down with a roar of jet engines. This is your flight, I am sure of it. Late, as flights tend to be these days, and my nervous pacing in front of the plate glass continues, as the mother of a young boy smiles at me, knowing my pacing is for someone special. She had asked me as we waited out the long delay, and I had helped keep her young boy occupied with talks and finger games. She told me she hoped her husband, the Marine, still grew that nervous in anticipation as the plane flew ever closer.

"I haven't even met her yet," I explained. "She's a lucky woman," she replied.

The doors open first to the usual hustle and bustle of the business travelers, ears pinned to their cell phones as they make their local connections. A typical tourist family stumbles by: father decked out in tasteless Hawaiian print over his expanding gut, the wife in a summer dress from Wal-Mart, the pre-teen boy in Korn t-shirt and oversized jeans, and the teenage daughter drifting out far enough to disassociate herself from the bunch without losing them entirely. I notice how she keeps an arm tight over her bare midriff as many teenage girls do, so uncomfortable with their maturing bodies, everything a crisis. I never understood society's attraction to young females. Maybe it is that I have just changed, realizing that a woman of maturity has the confidence and sensuality that these young children have not yet discovered.

That is when you come into my vision, blurring the musings on the young, unhappy child and replacing it with your soft frame. Your carry-on is slung over your shoulder and you are wearing a light summer dress that falls delicately over the curves of your body. I smile and nervously wonder how damn goofy I must look, yet you smile back and as I approach, I see a nervousness in them, assuring me just a little.

"Hi," I blurt out, trying to be suave but feeling like an oaf as I grab your carry-on and sling it over my shoulder, "how was the flight?"

"Ohh, it was long," you reply, sounding like you wanted to say more.

I realize that by putting the carry-on over my shoulder that I cannot give you the tender hug and kiss that I had planned out in my head. The greeting that would just melt you. The best laid plans of mice and men... I think to my mousy self. I turn and lead you out of the terminal and to my car.

The ride to Atlantic City goes like a flash. Small talk about how our days went, me giving you the usual insider tour guide information as we pass landmarks and billboards advertising the stars: Trisha Yearwood at Caesar's, Steve and Edie at Resorts, Fercos Untamed Illusions running until Sept. 26 at the Sands. We fly down the Expressway into the city, past the decrepit complexes of the real inner city, now almost hidden to the tourists, to the glitz and glamour of the boardwalk casino scene: tall mirrored buildings, flashing lights and signs, huge parking garages.

We pull up to the Taj Mahal valet, you looking at the huge gaudiness of Trump's vision. We check you into the hotel and a baggage handler escorts us up to your room. As he leaves the room, I look at you for a long moment, smiling softly.

"I'll wait down in the lobby while you change."

"Ok." You smile back.

You come off the elevator wearing a striking black evening dress, and a soft smile. I take your hand and lead you to the casino floor. We spend the evening playing black jack, going into the lounge, small talking over the band. The lounge band plays a jazz version of Patsy Cline's "Crazy," the blonde singer giving a bluesy, heart-felt reading and we smile at each other over cocktails.

By midnight, we are strolling along the boardwalk, my hand softly holding yours. I tell you about the beach as we reach a more secluded section of the boards, how I grew up by the ocean, how it was always my place to contemplate.

"There is a line from a song by The Who I always loved: A beach is a place where a man can feel/ He's the only soul in the world that's real."

I think back on my loneliness as a child, as a teenager, that feeling that I was so isolated from life. Perhaps this deep sadness shows on my face as I look out into the darkness of the sands and listen to the distant crashing waves. You suddenly pull at my hand.

"C'mon, I want to see the waves in the moonlight."

We've taken off our shoes and walk by the surf, letting the tide lap at our toes. I find a lifeguard stand and hoist you up into it, sitting then beside you. Moonlight streaks pearl white over the waves, the breakers crashing white foam in a steady rhythm of life, the ebb and flow of nature.

"Look," I say, and point up at the sky to a lone glittering star above the sea. "That's my Midnight Star."

I see you smile in the darkness, your hand squeezes mine and I bend forward. I feel your soft breath as I hesitate close, then softly kiss your lips, more tender than I imagined, but always true sensation outshines imagined fantasy. We kiss in the glow of the moonlight and I swear I see the midnight star flashing in your eyes.

When we return to your room, it is nearly 2 a.m. I ask if you are exhausted by such a long day of travel and sightseeing.

"Not yet," you reply, "We haven't gone dancing."

You click on the radio, flipping until you find a late night soft station. Steely Dan's Aja begins, a delicate piano over a soft, sensuous rhythm, exotic and sophisticated. We dance in low light by the large sliding door looking out over the beach, over the ocean, and the midnight star frames perfectly in the picture. My arm rests in the small of your back as we sway... as you rest your head gently on my shoulder... as I kiss you tenderly.

After the song, you turn to face the window, the perfect vision. I stand behind you and wrap my arms around your waist as you hug yours over mine. I feel the tingle run through your body as I slide my chin to your shoulder, my breath soft and slow by your ear. I nuzzle aside your hair and turn to softly kiss your neck, beneath your ear. I hear the catch in your breath; I hear the delicate moan you hold back in your throat. Your head tilts away and I kiss again.. a trail down your neck to your shoulder, a slightly more audible hummm in your voice. My fingers move gently along your belly and your hips gently adjust to my body. We are 6 stories over the boardwalk, where sleepless tourists and defeated gamblers roam the boards. I wonder what a lone walker thinks, looking up at the glass tower, up at us above the earth. Does he see us as he hesitates? Does he catch the slow slide of my hand down from your waist to the triangle crease of your soft black dress. I know he does not hear your now deeper, in disguisable moan as my hand presses inward, moves fingers gently as I kiss your jawline, let you turn your head slightly to kiss me deeply.

The looker sits on a bench, head turned up as I continue to stroke you between your legs. My other hand slides gently into the cleavage of your dress, cups gently your lace bra.

"I do think he is watching," I whisper, stopping a moment to point down. You gasp and freeze for a moment. "Shhhhhhh, you are many miles from home. You are a stranger. Stars were meant to shine."

You open your mouth to gasp and to say "No" a word which never reaches your lips as I slowly unzip the back of your dress. As the zipper reaches the small of your back, I slide my hands up to your shoulders, slip them, with your straps down your arm and let the dress fall. You stand shuddering in the pale moonlight, in black lace bra and panties, displayed like a mannequin in a Macy's display. Our tourist sits still on his bench, looking to the right, to the left, then back up at our window and pulls his windbreaker more tightly around him. He's riveted to us as my hand slides down your belly. You move to stop it. I kiss you deeply, grind my hips against you, take my other hand and remove yours, letting my hand travel down further, I cover the front of your panties with my hand, moving fingers in gentle circles over the lace. Now you are moaning slow and long, my tongue playing with yours. The fingers of my other hand play along the cup of your bra, feels your nipple harden under the fabric and traces its outline over cup. I let you get used to it, kiss your shoulder, gently nibble as I see your lidded eyes look out to see the watcher, get comfortable realizing you will never have to meet him, that you are still covered and that I am only now teasing. Then again you gasp and softly squeal in protest as you feel my fingers begin to creep inside your panties.

"I... can't.... ohh, God," you breathe as my fingers slide down to touch you. Long soft fingers sliding over your slick labia. I feel your knees buckle slightly and gently run my fingers up and down each side, slowly and delicately. The watcher has a blanket with which he's covered himself. Must be a gambler that lost it all, left only with a stolen remembrance of trip to the World's Playground; perhaps this will be his only show. My finger curls, softly slides as you groan long with the long insertion in your inner chambers. You body collapses forward as your head drops back against mine. Your hands you reach out instinctively to press against the plate glass, to hold yourself up as my finger probes inside you. I smile down to the man, whose hands obviously reside and move over his lap underneath the blanket. My fingers move up to find the hood of your hidden button, I slip aside the hood of skin and rub a fingertip over the swollen bud I find. Your mouth is agape to the sky, as if you want to swallow the moonlight. Your hips move against the circular grind of my finger. Your moans begin to catch, a squeal rises from deep in your throat as I move faster, orchestrating your hips as they gyrate faster and deeper. You thrust back into me as I feel the muscles of your inner reaches contract. Your hands flail back to my body and your grip my hips as the shudders wrack your body.

"He watched it all," I whisper into your ear as your shudders calm, my hand still resting in your panties. You look down to see him stretched upon the bench, still looking up, a visible bulge at his groin. He is too far away to tell for sure if his hands are moving slowly on his lap, knowing he doesn't want to be caught by passers-by, or in any way ruin the one lucky break he's gotten.

You whisper, "Well, he's only at the intermission." You turn and slide one arm around my shoulders, one around my waist and kiss me deeply, intensely, pushing your body against mine. The kiss becomes savagely passionate as you slide your hands to my shirt and unbutton it slowly. You stand back slightly and look at my chest as you get to the last button and gently bring the shirt off my shoulders and to the floor. Your hands run flat over my chest as you stare at it, beginning to plant kisses over my collarbone. I slide my hands behind you and slowly unclasp your bra as your tongue traces over my breast, to my nipple as I hiss an intake of breath to the feel of you tasting my sensitive nipple. I pull your hands down to let your bra drop to the floor. I imagine the perspective of the watcher, seeing your bared back, curving down to your black panties, and wonder if he fantasizes my perspective as my fingers trace over the curve of that back, slide forward and run over the breasts he can only imagine, the nipples he can only fantasize between his fingers that are now rolled between mine.

You lift your head, run your hands up and lock your arms around my neck, kissing my deeply and passionately. Your breasts press against my chest as my hands run down over your ass and slide over the waist band, starting to tug them. You release your arms from my neck and bring them down to my hands, pulling back and shaking your head.

"No, baby, he saw me get off; now he needs to know what he can't feel."

With that you bring your hands to the button of my slacks and look down as you unbutton it. Then you look up lovingly as you slowly down my zipper, slide your fingernails inside them and let them fall. You step on the crouch of the fallen slacks as I slide my legs out of them. Still looking in my eyes with a soft, innocent stare, you drag your fingernails down my chest, down my abdomen and into the waistband of my boxers. You start to tug them.

"Mmrrrrrrrr, not fair," I playfully snarl at you, "I left your undergarments on. He couldn't see you, only imagine you."

"Darling, he won't see you," you whisper back as you begin to slide down my boxers, "I will be right in front of you the whole time."

My boxers hit the ground as I step out of them, your fingers brushing my kneecaps where they stopped when the silken shorts slid on their own down my legs. Your eyes have not left my face, studying my expression as I look at your soft stare, then gaze down at our watcher. His knees are now raised, a risky move on his part since he cannot see now down the far end of the boards. Perhaps I imagined it, but he seemed to nod his head at me as I gazed out. I feel your lips touch my neck, your tongue trace up my throat as your nails rake up the front of my thighs. The brush of your hair on my chest moves off as I look back at you, as you gaze again in my eyes as your fingernails climb up to my hips, then trace along my waistline, in towards my center. I look back at you and wonder if you can see what I ache for. You tilt your head with a questioning look; your fingers reach the center; my eyes half-close and my lips mouth the word baby. Your fingernail digs teasingly in my navel, you give a soft giggle, and give you a goofy playful pout. You wink and slip your hand quickly down, wrap it around the base of my manhood and gently squeeze. A moan escapes my lips before I can even bite it back.

Your eyes close as you slowly stroke. For what is likely a minute, but to me is an eternity of pleasure, you slowly pump, I feel magnificently large as my length extends beyond your curled fingers. After coaxing me larger than I think I have ever felt, you slide your hand beneath and run your nails along the underside, circling around the crown and slipping your fingers over the pre-cum drenching the head. As your fingers play and coax my fluid onto them, I feel the nails of your other hand rake the underside of my sac. With a groan, my knees buckle slightly and you cup my testicles gently, holding me up by them. I open my eyes, mouth agape like a wolf baying at the moon, and look in your face as I see you raise your fingers, drenched with my fluid, to your bottom lip, coat it with the nectar, and slide your tongue slowly over it, taking it in with a purrr. You take my hand and place a finger over the glistening lip, then slide your mouth slowly over the length of my finger. When you slide it out, you look at me, glance back to indicate our man below us, and whisper, "Don't worry, my hair will hide it all."

The entire landscape of the Atlantic City boardwalk and beach come into my view as you slide down my body, kissing and nibbling my chest, my abdomen, as you go down. I look out to the moonlit ocean; the moon begins to dip into the swelling seas as your hand again wraps around the base. Curious about the reaction of our watcher, I glance down to find him gone. The bench is now occupied by two girls, one whispering to the other as she gapes wide eyed. I gasp at the sight, but at the very moment your lips slip over the head of my shaft. I am sure you believe it was her mouth, and it mostly was, but as the whisperer also turns her face up to us I can only moan, feeling you slide your mouth down over my length. The girls, who look college-aged, I am sure can only see the back of your head, your kneeling frame, and my torso. And whether they can see well enough to see my face, they at least see my hands slide into your hair and clutch over your ears. They giggle, like it is a game, and I would feel embarrassed were it not that they stop giggling and gaze.

Your mouth works soft magic on my manhood as you keep your hand around my base, stroking intermittently to keep the tension high. Your other hand teases fingernails over my swollen sac. I moan and gasp as you slowly quicken the pace. The giggling has now stopped from the girls and they fold their arms over their midriffs, like they know nothing else to do with them. Finally, your hands slide back to my buttocks as you take me in deep and thrust your mouth deeply, quickly over me. The girls watch, but don't know if they can look in my face, as I cry out, raise my face to the stars, and release to you.

"Do you think he enjoyed it?" you ask, looking up at me. I gaze out to see the girls standing, jumping up and down and clapping as two boys, backs turned, walk up to them.

"I am sure he did, baby," I say as I reach over you to grasp the curtain rod and pull the curtains closed, "but the shows over now."

As the curtains draw, I see one of the girls pointing up to our room and the boys turning up to look. Then I gaze into the sky to see the shine of Venus winking over the sea. I pull you into my arms and say, "Come to bed, love. We still have each other until the next nightfall."

To be continued... if you wish.