Confessions Of A Dangerous Body

You don't know this, but I've been watching you. Your curtains leave a little crack open and though they are closed almost all day, the tiny crevasse is enough for my eyes. I see you scratch, dress, yawn, brush your hair never your teeth, drop clothes on the floor and feel around in your gums checking for, I guess, gingivitis. I see you try and close your closet door and can't, I see you apply eye shadow with your glasses still on. And one day I'm gonna see it all even closer.

Your apartment door swings shut to lock unlike half the ones in the residence halls. I don't live in yours, so I make up a usual pretext of seeing my friend from class upstairs. But every time before I round the corner, I go straight through the doors and check to see if by some chance, the apartment door is open. Your flatmates sometimes come out and I veer away or perhaps engage them in some folderol about football matches at the pub or something. Anything. I haven't yet seen one twice so that's fine for me right now. Not sure what I'll do if time runs out.

One day, it's gonna be open. Some people prop their doors open, but that's unlikely to be you, with your curtain's fastidiously closed. You are not an exhibitionist though there are flashes of it in your behaviour, when you go out with friends to clubs and I lose you somewhere in the bustle of Central London. And then I go clubbing.

The pulsing beat has always worked well for me. It seems sort of stupid I follow you around because even I know I'm good looking. In the mirrors I can see my reflection lit by red and blue lights, bleached blond hair with my roots darkening half my spiky strands, black eyelashes that ring blue eyes. And while I'm not as tall as I'd like to be, I am in a good measure of shape thanks to the gym and recent toxic exposure to California, and even I know myself, unlike you, I show it off constantly. I rub my jaw when talking to the bartender, male or female, I jut my hip, I massage the metal or wood of the corner and I stare. Not just to look like I'm staring, but you know that by now, don't you?

Rotating wheeling bodies reflecting light burning energy. The universe or a disco, take your pick.

It's not long 'til I get some attention. It's one of the strange and remote perks of my attitude. Because when your posture, your clothes, your manner all say "Yes, I'm out for sex and maybe it will be you" people start flocking. They can't help it. I've had one or two encounters with men more beautiful than half the women, but it usually isn't them that come up to me anyway, so I let it go.

Women. Polyester sex, sweat sliding down their shoulder blades, hair sticking to thin necks, eyes wide glassy and alive. I love it. I love their smell after three vodka tonics, and half a pack of cigarettes between their friends. I love looking at their chipped nails, or a run in their stockings or in the fascinating row of peepholes that travel up an unravelled seam of a shirt exposing tiny stutters of flesh. It makes me want to touch you.

It's true, I don't think of you all the time when I'm out, especially when I'm wrapping my hand around some bird's waist, feeling that gentle bump of the curve of her ass hitting my groin. But I do really think of you. I think of your hair, how it's black and shiny, not quite hitting your shoulders. I think about how you trim your bangs into your little sink and then sweep them aside anyway. And then I pull their hair.

Some will moan, maybe genuinely. Some will get pissed right off and stand up straight and walk away. Some look at me with such sudden, wild hurt in their eyes, like we knew each other and I killed their kitten, that I get a raging hard-on just seeing it spark, flare, and dull into what is either acquiescence or apathy. I don't mind the difference.

The trouble is I'm so far from where I meet these girls, on campus like you. So it's always a fond hope I grab a posher sort that would have an apartment near the centre of town. And hope they don't have ugly slags of roommates who will glare at me as I enter or interrupt uninvited.

Because there's nothing quite as nice as a doorframe. Just this weekend, Good Friday, it was a real catch because she lived in the Docklands, alone, just a lonely-but-doesn't-know-it banker with a handkerchief top that glimmered like melted butter on her frame. Her nipples pushed out insistently directly against my own while and the parallel sensations convinced me right away to fuck her, even before I heard her address. She's got her coat on when she fumbles with the keys and I'm hopping on the balls of my feet, glancing up and down her hallway which is abandoned at this hour of night.

So when she does finally get her lock to turn, I know I'm safe. I grab her wrist and make her drop her keys and tiny stupid purse on the floor. Before she gets a breath, and I've always been complimented on my reflexes, I have my knee between her legs and have her pushed against the frame with her hands above her head. I tilt mine back to enjoy the view. She is pale, with high points of red color on her full cheeks. Her eyes are willing but they stare slightly ajar of me, paranoid of being caught. Her lower lip is trembling so I lean forward and with trained delicacy, I catch it with first my lips, and then climbing, suck it between my teeth, denting the soft flesh. Her eyes are even wider, it hasn't even occurred to her to close them.

I let go of her wrist with my left hand and bring it to the back of her neck and pull her in, thrusting my tongue inside, holding it stiff like a promise. Once it's in I joust with her tongue until she's finally leaning forward, still holding her wrist up on the doorframe like I still was making her. I live for that kind of shit.

Her nipples are driving me wild again, the left grinding through the sheer fabric of her shirt to tease my right excruciatingly. It's her shoes that make her the same height as me, so I make a note not to let her take them off. We shuffle and I kick her keys and purse across the floor and push her into the door, slamming it shut. She smiles at me, for the first time since the club and locks the door, no-look.

I move first grabbing her by the waist and pulling her towards the love seat where I lean back and let her come for me. She starts kissing my neck and that gives me the downtime to look around her apartment. It's almost all in white, with large graphical modern pictures that mean jack shit on the walls. A glass table...money without taste. But I was willing to forgive lapses in the Ikea catalogue for her body. I pull her out of my neck area where she is biting by stroking her back and untying her top at the neck. She reaches up to help and I grab her hand again and put it on the leather of the couch. Switching our position, I lean her back, still working the knot. Dammit it's tight.

Finally, frustrating and knowing the fabric is weak, I just rip. It comes off at the top and drapes down like a silly apron so I am at first tempted to laugh, then I look at her tits. They are beautiful, almost shining from sweat and glitter. Her nipples are of course, hard as diamonds and evenly staring at me, mockingly tart, like raspberries for the plucking. I drop down and suck on one, flickering, then pinching, then twisting the other until she gasped- oh god- and then alternating the movement. With the spare hand, I managed to rub over the top of her skirt at the juncture of her legs and she brought a hand down to join mine, rubbing over her clothing, bow-legging until her knees knocked together.

I stand up again to kiss but then it is her turn to pull away. I let her strip me, because it is a marvellous good way to get head. It works, as she unbuttons my bright green shirt and reveals my wifebeater- an irony even I like- and then starts to work on my belt, progressively getting lower and lower. I admire the view from above, her hair, blonde unfortunately but still straight and shiny as her thin arms peel down my trousers and run up my thighs as I kick out of my shoes but not my traitorous socks, which stay. Then she stays kneeled there, just...looking.

"What the fuck?" It is a moment before I realise I said this out loud. "You going to just watch it all night?" I ask. She looks up at me and I wonder if I overplayed my hand. She starts to get up. I push her back down, both hands and both shoulders.

"What the fuck?" it is now her words.

I take my cock out with one hand, moving my boxers underneath the whole kit. It is almost completely hard already and an angry red that wouldn't I knew from experience, be denied.

"Suck it." I make this into a seductive thing, like you-know-you-wanna. She doesn't seem to take the bait and then she starts to look for her shirt which is bunched now in varying strips around her waist. I grab her shoulders again and push her against the back of the couch. Her head knocks into it lightly and she looks up, shocked like all those girls surprised I tugged their pretty hair.

"Suck it," I say and it's a command now. She starts to crawl off but I kick the sofa right near her face and she doesn't go any further. I see her glance at the phone on the coffee table not three feet away.

With even measured tones she struggles to say, "Don't you do this."

I take a step forward, then grab her head. She struggles and claws at the backs of my knees, but her nails are not particularly long or sharp so it's fine. She beats at my shins and kicks her legs, moving her around the smooth floor but no farther than my legs designate. I move the head of my cock to her lips, which were briefly open for the breath she wasted trying to escape.

She shuts them hastily but I press it closer, wiping it against the full flesh of her lips. I think of you, and your three or four brands of lipgloss that I've seen you apply in public once or twice, licking your finger with the excess. The thought brings out a drop of precum and the sight of it smearing along her lipstick makes me snap and, shoving my hands forward onto her head, bury my cock down her throat.

She gags, it's to be expected but it's so hot and so good in there I just stay stil from the motion and enjoy it as the wetness works me. She's involuntarily flexing her throat muscles and her mouth is moving to say things, I imagine of incredibly violence against me, but the touch makes me shiver and electricity race from my balls to my temple. I pull out and let her have a breath and start over this time with a rhythm as she tries now to bite- I jump out of the way just in time.

"I gave you an option," I tell her by way of rebuke. She spits at me, but only gets as far as my midsection. I know I'm in trouble if I let me stay where I can hurt her so I grab her now and press her kicking, screaming and flailing again against the low back of the loveseat and bend her over. She's got a great ass, rounder than yours to be sure, but maybe a bit fleshy. I try out a good smack to see if it ripples, she screams but I catch the faintest suggestion of a groan at the end. It makes me smile.

I can't figure out a way to get the skirt off so I just push it up so it bunches around her hips. Keeping one hand pressed to her bucking back, I pull down her stockings and thong- wow, a thong- with the other. I put my fingers in, she's dry. Poor girl, maybe she was hurt. I moisten my fingertips, savouring the taste for a second and thrust them in and she cries out nearly escaping me, turned halfway around, still impaled on my hand and leaps for the phone, knocking it over. I push her away from it, carelessly, anywhere and she hits the far inside corner of her apartment. I unplug the phone and see she's made a break for the door.

"No no no. That would be embarrassing for you." I say, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her around. With another well-aimed push she again is thrown over the couch.

"Welcome back," I say into her ear, leaning over the couch pressing my chest to her back, patting her ass.

"Fuck you," she grits. I position my cock slightly softened at her pussy, which is most likely dry again but I can't afford the time wasted. I conjure up another image of you in my mind, the one time I saw you dancing after you left a club, amazingly purely by accident, we were on the same Night bus and you were still high from the experience and swinging your thin hips with such abandon and carelessness I almost got up from my seat and fucked you, in front of all your friends and strangers.

I was hard again, almost painfully and knowing I needed the velocity, I rammed into her cunt. She screamed so hard the glass frames on her pointless art prints rattled. It was touch going for a moment as she clawed and bucked but then I moved my hips so that her exposed clit rubbed against the couch and again, just in the distance of her curses, I felt her tone change despite itself. I pumped into her pulling her hips hard into mine, feeling her stretch and open, even finally start to get wet. I reached around, feeling safer now and pinched her nipple as hard as I could with what I had of my thumbnail. She shrieked and I felt my dick pulse in recognition and whatever her mouth said, her pussy contracted and milked it. Against her will, sure. Did it feel great? Oh you must know- Yes.

Despite that, I was still surprised when she arched her back and choked out the unmistakable dry gurgle of an orgasm. She must be one of the lucky few who come easily, even in a strange episode like this. It's not fair.

I began to ride her in earnest, grabbing her hair and pulling it so her neck arched like a horse and I thrust my hips harder and harder against her until she seemed slack, almost a doll, in my arms. I kept fucking her still, only seeing my mind's eye your wet Technicolor red slit slammed apart by my dick, greedily sucking up my come. I thrust hard until I practically fell over and knew like always, it wasn't going to work. She had seemingly woken up as I stopped. I pulled out, still rock hard and even angrier than I realised. She looked up, black mascara stains already dried down her face, making her look like a goth rocker gone wrong.

I left her there, dressing quietly as she watched me go with grim triumph, made no move for the phone, the door, or my throat.

And I came back to your window, where I knew you were sleeping.

And for the first time since you arrived at my school, your door was open.

I would get my own back.