What am I doing here?
The apartment was small–stifling, even. Two dozen bodies, if not more, crammed as close as sardines. It could have been erotic if I was enjoying myself.
If I was sober, I’m sure the combined scent of booze, cologne, and pheromones from horny partygoers trying to get laid would have made me vomit.
But, as it was, I wasn’t sober. The buzz from the back-to-back vodka shots I downed was enough to dull my sense of smell, and I was thankful for it.
The apartment was a studio–not conducive for hosting a party. But the girl who lived here insisted on throwing parties, and the cramped quarters weren’t enough to discourage the entire apartment complex and then some from coming.
I was sitting on her bed, scanning the crowd for my boyfriend. But he seemed to have disappeared.
I hadn’t seen him for almost an hour, or something that felt like an hour. Secretly, I was glad.
I didn’t know anyone there except for my boyfriend and the hostess. I recognized faces, I knew names, but I couldn’t put two and two together for anyone I saw.
It didn’t help that the apartment was dim except for ambient blue and purple lights that occasionally pulsed with the music.
The music was good; I had to admit that. The girl had excellent taste, and her playlists were always top notch. I caught my head was bobbing to the beat of a song that felt like something I’d heard before in a dream.
From my place on the bed, I was eye-level with a dozen asses. Realizing I probably looked like a weirdo sitting by myself staring at peoples’ butts when I was just spacing out, I decided it was perhaps time to find a new perch.
But first, I needed another drink.
The apartment was so crowded I could barely squeeze by anybody. I changed my mind–it wasn’t that erotic, after all.
Strangers’ bodies pressed against mine. If I were sober, I would have been uncomfortable. But I hadn’t been this close to anyone in over a month.
My tipsy brain was responding way too positively to human touch. I could have just stood in the middle of this gyrating, pulsing bodies and let strangers passively brush against me and be okay with it.
But I wasn’t a weirdo, and I wasn’t desperate. Besides, I had a boyfriend. Even if at this point, we were more roommates.
I was nearly to the fridge, and I only had a few more people to apologize to while I elbowed pass. Then, I dimly felt someone from the mass grab my wrist.
Not too firmly, but not gently, either. It almost didn’t register in my brain. My other senses were overwhelmed.
Half expecting it to be my boyfriend, I turned around. Much to my surprise, it was not. It was someone else–a guy I’d seen at these parties plenty of times before.
His eyes peered at me, earnestly, and it made me uneasy. The way it made me feel reminded me of those cultures who used to think cameras would steal their souls.
No one had looked at me so thoughtfully for a long time, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
I tugged my arm out of his grasp and broke out of the crowd. I needed that drink.
And after that, some air.
But he followed me. I was about to pour a shot for myself when he covered my cup with his hand. “Dude,” I complained.
“Here.” The guy pulled a bottle of his own out of the fridge and grabbed a second shot glass from the cabinet. “Your bottle is looking empty. Have some of mine.”
I eyed his bottle carefully. I knew the rule about taking drinks from strangers at parties. But the bottle was unopened, and it was a nice brand. And my own bottle was emptier than I remembered it being.
We cheered each other and downed our shots. It burned, as vodka does, but it didn’t hurt in the way my bottom-shelf shit did.
The guy handed me a lemon wedge to chase away the burn. “Uhm, thanks,” I said. “I’m going outside to get some air now.”
“Can I join you?”
I groaned inwardly. Letting this guy follow me was bad news, I knew it in my heart of hearts.
But he’d already given me more attention than my boyfriend had given me all day. I felt the liquor start to yank at a deep-seated desire for recognition.
Besides that, he was cute.
Instead of saying anything, I just went outside to sit in the courtyard.
The ground consisted of uneven concrete slabs that were not great for walking on when intoxicated. I’d seen several unsuspecting partygoers wipe out before, and I didn’t want to be one of them.
I sat on a bench, and he joined me. The music, laughter, and shouting drifted outside. Briefly, I wondered what my boyfriend was doing. But those thoughts quickly drifted away when I glanced at my companion.
He was handsome, no doubt about it. His hair was dark brown and curly and in need of a cut, but it suited him. Some would say his nose was big, but I preferred the word strong. It suited his face.
And his eyes, which I could see now with help from the light of the streetlamps outside the courtyard, were dark blue.
“Do you care if I have a cigarette?” he asked.
I shrugged, pretending to be indifferent to his presence. But I couldn’t help but watch his hands out of the corner of my eye.
Maybe this is dumb, but I’ve always had a thing about hands. Perhaps it’s because it’s fun to imagine what they can do.
And this guy–he had nice hands. There was something about the way they moved. It made him seem very human.
Even with his clumsiness caused by the liquor, there was something erotic about it.
I hoped that he wouldn’t catch me blushing.
“Oh, do you want one?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m good, man.”
He took a drag, exhaled, looked over at me. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said halfheartedly. “Oh yeah, thanks for the shot.”
He smiled, and I liked it. It seemed…shy. But I didn’t know why someone like him had to worry about being shy. He was so attractive.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I told him, albeit reluctantly. A small, annoying sensation of guilt wouldn’t stop nagging me. “I just…you should know I have a boyfriend.”
Another drag, this time to cover up a sigh of disappointment.
The smoke lifted into the sky, and my inhibitions, too.
The vodka was doing its job. And I was glad for it.
“It’s okay,” he said after a beat. “Actually…I have a girlfriend. This is our apartment.”
“Oh shit, I didn’t know you lived here.”
He smiled again. “Bet you didn’t know she had a boyfriend from the way she acts, right?”
I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But it was true.
For a moment, we both sat in silence, aside from the pounding bass. Then he said, “Why were you sitting by yourself earlier?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really know anyone. And like…dancing isn’t my thing. I mean, it is, but not like…not like, here.”
“Are you a ‘dance like no one’s watching’ girl?” he chuckled.
“No, I’m a ‘dance in the privacy of my own bedroom’ girl.” I threw something like a grin at him to try and appear more personable. More silence followed.
“I can leave you alone if you want,” he offered.
But I didn’t want to be alone.
For the first time, I made eye contact with him. His cheeks flushed from booze, but his eyes were shiny.
Warm with liquid courage, I told him to stay.
“I’m trying not to make this awkward,” Marcus admitted. “But you’re really pretty. And I’ve seen you here before, and I knew you had a boyfriend. But I wanted…I don’t know.”
I noticed that his free hand was resting somewhat close to me. My head was swimming, and my heart was pounding in my ears louder than the music.
I gently put my hand over his. I could feel the way he tensed up with surprise, but he quickly relaxed.
A feeling I hadn’t felt in more than a month bloomed inside of me–was I getting aroused? By touching his hand? It had been so long I could barely remember what it felt like.
I felt dizzy with excitement and the thrill of the chase. My vision almost seemed to go black around the edges, like a real-life vignette filter.
All I saw was his gleaming eyes slowly moving closer towards me.
Before I knew it, our lips met, and I knew without a doubt, I was extremely turned on. I couldn’t remember the last time I kissed someone.
It felt so good to feel wanted. The word erotic kept bouncing in my head, just as it had been for the whole night.
There was no going back.
I felt his hands, now free from the cigarette, brush against my waist as he pulled me closer to him. My own hands moved to his messy hair and instinctively tugged a little bit.
His mouth moved from my lips to my neck, which set off all kinds of long-forgotten feelings inside of me.
At that moment, the universe consisted of just the two of us on that bench. Two needy people desperate to feel desired again.
We filled each other with our own need. The longer we kissed, the hungrier we became. Marcus’s hands trailed from my hips to my waist and my breasts.
If I could, I would have straddled him and fucked him on that bench then and there.
Abruptly, he broke away from me just long enough to breathe, “Come with me. We can have privacy.”
I wanted him so badly–my pussy throbbed for some dick as if it was making up for going without it for so long. I had second thoughts, but the idea of finally getting laid was so appealing that I couldn’t resist.
“Where are we going?” I asked him.
He held my hand as he led me across the courtyard, away from his apartment, to another part of the complex. We took a few steps down to a lower part of the building, and the fresh scent of detergent and laundry filled my nostrils.
Marcus opened the door to what I presumed was the laundry room. It was, indeed, very private.
I couldn’t wait to pick up where we left off.
Marcus, who just moments before was nothing but a stranger, now pressed his body against mine. I could feel the cold metal of the washer on my back.
The only sound now was our heaving breaths and soft moans. I loved how he said my name in my ear, how his breath on my neck gave me goosebumps.
Now that was erotic.
His hands greedily explored my body, and I reciprocated. I loved how his hands felt against my stomach, and then my breasts.
I could feel how much he wanted me, and I wanted to let him have me.
My hips leaned forward into his groin. I could feel how hard he was, and I couldn’t wait to put him inside of me.
Clumsily, my hands undid his belt and then his jeans. As he shimmied out of his pants, I rubbed his cock over his boxers.
My body was so impatient, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I pulled off my shirt and slipped out of my shorts. I was glad I still had enough care to shave every week even though I hadn’t gotten laid in a long time. Not that it probably mattered to Marcus, though.
He dropped to his knees and went to town, using ways no one had ever used on me before.
If I thought the washing machine was cold before, it was downright chilly on my bare ass. And Marcus, his face buried between my legs, kept pushing me against it.
I pulled at random locks of his curly hair, doing my best not to moan too loudly for fear of attracting unwanted attention. I’d never been with a guy who was so into eating pussy.
My knees kept buckling.
Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was his expert cunnilingus skills. But whatever it was, my knees threatened to give out and collapse on top of him.
I distinctly remembered sis hands gripping my ass, shaking it as if that would let him get a better feel for it.
It had been so long since I’d had an orgasm, and between that and Marcus’s expert tongue, I was trembling from my climax in no time at all.
He rose to his feet. His smile, which was shy before, seemed pleased, if not a little smug. But I couldn’t blame him; he was allowed to be proud of himself.
Honestly, I would let him get away with anything at this point.
“Here,” he breathed, lifting me onto the washer.
He spread my legs apart, his dick still hard as a rock. When he slid inside of my pussy, he sighed with satisfaction. I kissed him on the mouth, drinking in his yearning for my body.
He continued to squeeze my hips, gradually holding tighter and tighter as he thrust.
I wrapped my legs and arms around him. I had to feel as much of him as I possibly could.
It wasn’t just enough to have his swelling cock pounding me as if he’d never have the chance again–I wanted to feel every inch of his warm body against mine as if we were one.
I could feel the washing machine rocking backward. But I didn’t care, and he didn’t, either. It turned me on, even more, to have him fucking me that hard.
This whole venture was so sneaky, so sexy.
And so unlike me.
I’d never felt as hot as I did then. There was something so dirty about hiding away in the laundry room. Maybe it was risking being walked in on–what a scene that would make!
But at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck about anything except getting Marcus’s cock as deep as possible inside of me and keeping it there.
I felt his hands on me tighten, and his breath hitched in his throat, followed with a long, low sigh filled with relief.
I felt all of his weight sag against me, and I held him tightly from my spot on the washer while we tried to catch our breath.
Slowly, he pulled out. A stray curl, damp with sweat, hung limply in front of his face. I raised a hand to move it, and he let me brush it away with my fingertips.
We dressed in silence, sobered by our devious little act.
I knew I should have felt guilty, and yet, I didn’t. And Marcus didn’t seem to, either.
When we stepped outside, the party was still raging, with no one the wiser. The night air invigorated me, and I felt more alive than I had in a while. Marcus’s fingers brushed against the small of my back.
“Do you want to dance out here with me?”
The playlist had changed from pumping dance music. I heard strands of “Dancing With Myself” pouring out into the courtyard.
I looked up at him as if to question his seriousness, but his expression was genuine. For the first time all night, I smiled for real.
I took his hand, and under the yellow light of the streetlamps, we danced like no one was watching.
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