rubbing, feeling the viscosity, the wetness there.
These things, these little human things that she had not known she was missing. Her time with the torsos now seemedsimple and repetitive. It was mostly men who logged on to chat and when she had lucked on a rare session with a woman and her webcam, the fingers bringing forth the juices for her to view were the fingers of the woman herself. This flesh on flesh, she had been craving it; this intimacy. Even in the arms of a whore, this man seemed glorious in his pleasure.
And now she felt her heart skip a little as she watched the rouged fingernails take hold of his zipper and creep it down. The prostitute reached slowly, and there was a glimpse of flesh before she dipped her head towards his crotch and slid her crimson lips around his penis.
Susanna watched the dipping of her head. She saw the man hook his fingers through her hair, blonde, straight, tied prettily back in a ponytail. She saw his fingers (anybody’s fingers) wrap around the elastic band, a circle of thumb and forefinger around a slick chunk of her hair. Perhaps he was using her hair to control the rhythm of her mouth. It was difficult to tell how much pressure his fingers were exerting. She wanted the woman to take breath, move to one side so that Susanna could see the size and shape of the penis.
This could be Aaron. There was no reason to imagine this wasn’t Aaron, the books, the Nabokov and the Fitzgerald, the subscriptions to her favourite magazines. This was a kindred spirit with an appetite for sex in tune with her own. She watched him tilt his head back, moan gently. With one hand wrapped around the pigtail, the other now gentling against the woman’s chin, she watched him ease herhead forward and back repeatedly, and she could only imagine the pleasure that this warm, wet caress would give him.
Susanna could smell her own sex, musky and damp. The scent of it mingled with the scent of his clothes. This is what they would smell like if they were together, she and he. This earthy moss was the union of two strangers, a strange and pungent alchemy. She shifted uneasily, careful not to make a sound.
He raised the woman gently, lifted her to standing. Her body obscured his. When Susanna tried to peer around her, she heard the rattle of a belt hanging close to her ear. She stopped, still as a statue, but the sound of her shifting had not carried. The woman undid James Bacon’s belt. The jeans dropped to his feet, his shirt was unbuttoned and abandoned to the floor. He stood naked to his socks and the frustrating obstacle of the prostitute’s almost-naked body hid the crucial part of the puzzle from Susanna.
They moved together to the bed, the woman pushing, the man stepping tentatively backwards. The woman abandoned her g-string, leaving her suspenders and stockings to hug her curves. He sat on the edge of the bed and she slipped into his lap like a gymnast. Susanna couldn’t be sure how long the woman had been holding the condom in her hand, but she produced it now like a rabbit from an empty hat. She slipped off him and here for the first time Susanna was treated to an unimpeded view.
His penis was completely erect, the foreskin stretchedback but clearly present. The chest—yes, it could be Aaron’s chest. She crossed her fingers, held them against her breasts. She wished for this to be Aaron, her Aaron, her partner in sexual intrigue, her angel of the internet.
The woman put the condom on with her lips, dipping her head and taking him into her mouth, a slippery little inch at a time. When it was sheathed she shifted her weight and settled down onto him. Susanna peered through the slats at the vision of the woman’s body perched above him, sliding up and down on the sheathed cock. Susanna could see the pink lips of her vagina gripping the pale rubber stretched over the shaft.
Curious. Such a natural act, the same scene played out behind almost every door in their building, the same easy
These things, these little human things that she had not known she was missing. Her time with the torsos now seemedsimple and repetitive. It was mostly men who logged on to chat and when she had lucked on a rare session with a woman and her webcam, the fingers bringing forth the juices for her to view were the fingers of the woman herself. This flesh on flesh, she had been craving it; this intimacy. Even in the arms of a whore, this man seemed glorious in his pleasure.
And now she felt her heart skip a little as she watched the rouged fingernails take hold of his zipper and creep it down. The prostitute reached slowly, and there was a glimpse of flesh before she dipped her head towards his crotch and slid her crimson lips around his penis.
Susanna watched the dipping of her head. She saw the man hook his fingers through her hair, blonde, straight, tied prettily back in a ponytail. She saw his fingers (anybody’s fingers) wrap around the elastic band, a circle of thumb and forefinger around a slick chunk of her hair. Perhaps he was using her hair to control the rhythm of her mouth. It was difficult to tell how much pressure his fingers were exerting. She wanted the woman to take breath, move to one side so that Susanna could see the size and shape of the penis.
This could be Aaron. There was no reason to imagine this wasn’t Aaron, the books, the Nabokov and the Fitzgerald, the subscriptions to her favourite magazines. This was a kindred spirit with an appetite for sex in tune with her own. She watched him tilt his head back, moan gently. With one hand wrapped around the pigtail, the other now gentling against the woman’s chin, she watched him ease herhead forward and back repeatedly, and she could only imagine the pleasure that this warm, wet caress would give him.
Susanna could smell her own sex, musky and damp. The scent of it mingled with the scent of his clothes. This is what they would smell like if they were together, she and he. This earthy moss was the union of two strangers, a strange and pungent alchemy. She shifted uneasily, careful not to make a sound.
He raised the woman gently, lifted her to standing. Her body obscured his. When Susanna tried to peer around her, she heard the rattle of a belt hanging close to her ear. She stopped, still as a statue, but the sound of her shifting had not carried. The woman undid James Bacon’s belt. The jeans dropped to his feet, his shirt was unbuttoned and abandoned to the floor. He stood naked to his socks and the frustrating obstacle of the prostitute’s almost-naked body hid the crucial part of the puzzle from Susanna.
They moved together to the bed, the woman pushing, the man stepping tentatively backwards. The woman abandoned her g-string, leaving her suspenders and stockings to hug her curves. He sat on the edge of the bed and she slipped into his lap like a gymnast. Susanna couldn’t be sure how long the woman had been holding the condom in her hand, but she produced it now like a rabbit from an empty hat. She slipped off him and here for the first time Susanna was treated to an unimpeded view.
His penis was completely erect, the foreskin stretchedback but clearly present. The chest—yes, it could be Aaron’s chest. She crossed her fingers, held them against her breasts. She wished for this to be Aaron, her Aaron, her partner in sexual intrigue, her angel of the internet.
The woman put the condom on with her lips, dipping her head and taking him into her mouth, a slippery little inch at a time. When it was sheathed she shifted her weight and settled down onto him. Susanna peered through the slats at the vision of the woman’s body perched above him, sliding up and down on the sheathed cock. Susanna could see the pink lips of her vagina gripping the pale rubber stretched over the shaft.
Curious. Such a natural act, the same scene played out behind almost every door in their building, the same easy
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