Fragment 25: The Story of N.

I first met N. at the Tropical House. It was the centre point of the little touristy seaside town that I called home.

She was looking prim and proper, black skirt, dark, opaque, stockings, striped man's dress shirt.

I can't say why but I could not stop looking at her.

Coy, flirty but pretending not to be, she would glance back with head slightly lowered, briefly meeting my gaze.

That first day she left after but a few minutes, brushing airily past, making sure I felt her ever so slightly.

This became our ritual. Same time everyday. Same tables. Many weeks past. This obsessive repetition the Ptolemaic focus of all I did. I was utterly incapable of placing her out of mind.

Then, a Tuesday, nearing the end of season, leaving as always, she dropped the key upon my table as she was drawing past.

It was like a bolt of pure energy had rushed down my spine.

I waited a reasonable amount of time before making my way across the pier to the Victorian beach front hotel where she had evidently spent these summer nights.

Heart racing, mouth dry, I chose stairs over elevator and climbed my way up to 406.

Unlocking the door, not bothering to knock, she fully dressed, same as always, leaning seductively by the open windows, clean fresh ocean breeze cutting stifling afternoon heat.

I made to speak, but she put her thin fingers to her lips and it was clear that I was not to.

Motioning me over to the bed she came across and lay me down.

At bed's end she pulled her stockings off from beneath her skirt, revealing nothing.

Crawling eternally across me she bound my hands with them as I lay, quietly acquiescent.

Closing my eyes she put herself gently down upon my face. Warm, moist and salty, she rubbed, slowly at first, then with increasing vigour, up and down atop me. Deep breathing turning to soft moaning to the delightful squeal of release.

Turning, she lowered my pants and took me in her hands. I was engorged, throbbing with desire. Licking her thumb and forefinger, forming a tight O, she ran it slowly, stimulating only the very top of my head. As I began twitching she went further and further down my shaft, until ultimately swallowing me into her mouth.

Sucking me, still stroking me all the while, she forced herself atop my face, violently now, suffocating me, gushing wet, filling my mouth with her taste, moving so that now her anus was brushing me as well.

As I was about to explode she quickly abandoned my cock and sat upright, cumming loudly, harshly, all decorum now shed.

Several minutes stream by. She remained still there, atop her perch.

Swinging about she took me in her suddenly, her face buried in the pillow beside mine, up against my ear, actually speaking, whispering, yes, but nasty.

Cum in me you pig, get your dirty little reward...

I tried desperately to hold on but could not, exploding pathetically mere seconds later.

Untangling my hands, wordless, putting her stockings back on, she opened the room door.

I, clearly, was now to go.

As I slunk by she stopped me briefly.

I am N.

The next day I went to the Tropical but she, of course, was not there.

Reaching the hotel I knew she would be gone, and she was.

Now every summer, solitary at the table, hoping in vain she will reappear to end my lonely vigil.