by Daya Daniels
Your lips against mine
Warm and swollen, locked in a kiss
Things that don’t need to be spoken
Will spill from your seams
They’ll leave your pale curves powerless
I’ll take them into my mouth, consume them
I want to taste, everything you
You must to know, it’s ALL for you.
-Regan
I meet Antonio’s wide eyes again. “A bike messenger dropped it off last
night.”
“Oh.” I said, quickly folding the envelope back, realizing that it must be from her. “Regan.” I whisper to myself. “She gave me her name.”
I head out the door, breathing in the cold Manhattan air and continue down the street. The honking of car horns and distant chatter fill my ears but all I can think about are the first few lines written on the note in my pocket.
“Your lips against mine; Warm and swollen, locked in a kiss.”
I chuckle when I realize, she’s referring to my pussy.
Greer
Two more envelopes arrived this morning. I took them gratefully from Antonio before leaving my building and practically ran through Midtown to get to work on time. Now, I’m here. I lock my office door. After swallowing nearly two cups of coffee and answering a few messages, I decide to open the first one.
I want to be your come
Your fuck
And everything in between that makes you scream.
-Regan
I stare at the words on the page, certain my brows are cinched together. I breathe slowly, staring at the words. “I want to be your come. Your fuck.” I whisper.
I exhale loudly and place the page on the top of my desk, listening to the clank when the ring on my middle finger hits the glass. I pick it up again, “everything between that makes you scream.”
I’m hot and sweat sheens my forehead. My hand is shaking when I pick up the page and read it all again. I groan at the words that are sending shock waves down my spine that surge straight to my pussy. I’m a horny mess and everything this woman is telling me, in absentia isn’t fucking helping.
Her words are enchanting but they’re filthy. Always, filthy.
I shove a hand into my suit pants, finding myself already wet. I’m at work! But I know I can’t go through the day like this. After ten this morning, I have an entire day of meetings. I rub my thighs together and feel my pussy clench, almost instantly from the sensation of the seam of my pants. This is painful, not to mention irritating. I’d been masturbating so much lately. It only seems to relieve the ache temporarily. It never lasts.
Inwardly, I sigh. Slumping in my leather chair, I slip a hand down my pants. I shut my eyes and say the words again, “I want to be your come. Your fuck.” I sigh. “Your come.” I repeat to myself. So, I stroke my pussy until I do.
Regan
I spent all week thinking about my words and what they were probably doing to Greer. I never write, unless it’s for myself. It’s cathartic but sometimes the things I write, don’t come out right. I hope she finds them beautiful, maybe even inspiring. I told her my name, which was a huge step for me but I also told her, more importantly, how I felt. I scribble more words down for her to read tomorrow.
I’m cut open, raw, exposed, filleted...
You’re the blade
So, you will bleed just like me.
-Regan
I seal the note in an envelope and make a call to the messenger service for it to be delivered in the morning.
“So, you will bleed just like me.” I say the words aloud, certain that Greer is just as horny and torn as I am. I’d fucked my vibrator twice this week, which was more than usual. I had an insatiable craving for flesh against flesh but I could wait. I would wait. Would she wait for me? I hadn’t seen any women in her apartment since the Slut Incident. It felt good that she understood she hurt me. This is supposed to be our thing. It isn’t something for the world to be let in on. She better not fucking do it again.
For the past few days, a painting has been hanging on her wall called The Kiss by Gustav Klimt. It was painted in 1908. It’s an odd-looking picture but it’s still intriguing. A man holds a woman in his embrace. Her neck is bent awkwardly, while he places a kiss on her cheek. They’re wrapped in a robe and their heads are haloed in gold leaf. It’s an everlasting kiss.
I dump everything out of the shopping bag that I’d purchased in the past two weeks in the center of my bed. It’s all sexy and skimpy. I thought I’d try something different, since she allows me to be different. I drag one of the bras over my skin, looking at the color. It’s dainty, sexy and racy all at the same time. I will want to know what she thinks, since what she thinks has become so important to me as of lately.
Greer Elaine Sutton is thirty years old. She’s an NYU graduate with a Master’s Degree in Interior Design. I stare at the breathtaking picture. Her long wavy blonde hair is out and her grey eyes are inquisitive as she stares into the camera. She’s smiling, while her hand is curled up under her chin. It’s adorable.
Greer was born and raised right here in New York on the upper west side, attending The Dalton School. She was a rich kid growing up, much like me. I smile when I realize she has no social media accounts. The only picture of her I could find on the internet is linked to the interior design company she works for, called Feng & Associates as the lead designer. I type in a few more words that I think relate to her and a picture of a woman pops up. I narrow my eyes and lean into my screen.
“Mandy Chow.” I say aloud, when I click on the link.
A picture of Greer and Mandy in an embrace pops up. Mandy is a criminal attorney at a large firm here in New York. I click on the next thumbnail, which enlarges a picture of Mandy and Greer kissing. She must be the ex.
The next few links take me to vacation photos – Jamaica, London, Hawaii, Spain. There’s another picture of Greer with a man, who if I was straight I’d certainly fuck. He’s hot, just not my flavor. I giggle a little when I see him in the next picture, in the arms of another very good-looking man. They’re kissing and this time I can clearly see their wedding rings, confirming they’re in fact married and the handsome man is gay.
I let out a loud exhale and sit straight. I feel like I know everything about Greer now and she knows very little about me. The scale seems to be tipping disproportionately. I wonder if she’s noticed.
Greer
It hasn’t escaped me that Regan knows my name. It’s possible that’s why she decided to tell me hers, I don’t know. She may know even more about me now but I figure maybe it’s fine. I’m not the one who’s hiding, she is.
It’s Tuesday. After the show I put on a few nights ago, I wonder if I’ve redeemed myself. Maybe Regan will be there today? I shut the door behind me and toss my car keys on the counter. I pour myself a glass of water and peer through my windows to the next building. All Regan’s shades are lowered, which doesn’t surprise me. The afternoon sun beats down, even though it’s cold out today.
On my way to the bedroom, I stop to admire the painting that had adorned this wall for the past two days. It is Hokusai’s The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife, painted in 1814. It’s a masterpiece of the Japanese erotic art genre known as Shunga. In the painting, a woman diving for pearls is being pleasured by two octopuses. The large of them enfolds her pale, naked body in its tentacles as it eats her pussy. The depiction is subtle but the woman appears to be screaming in pleasure, while the octopus lingers near the tuft of black hair between her legs.
Placing the glass down, on my nightstand I head to the bathroom and take a shower. While I’m in there all my thoughts shift to Regan. How does she feel today? What she might be doing? What will she be wearing? When I’m done, I head back out and take a seat on the edge of the bed. Fingering through my hair, I keep the plush white towel wrapped around me and sit at the edge of my bed, kneading the balls of my feet into the wooden floor. I repeat the words on the first note, I picked up this morning from the concie
rge desk.
“You will bleed just like me.”
The second note is a little more, intense. I open the paper, exposing the words.
I want your cunt and all its American glory.
-Regan
I stifle a laugh. How does she know I’m American? For such a demure and seemingly shy person, her words are voracious and aggressive. The dichotomy of the two baffles me. I’ve decided I like Regan’s writing. It’s subtle and shocking all at the same time. Usually, it’s difficult for a poet to do both but Regan seems to have mastered something special. Her words both make me wet, terrify me and force me to laugh. It’s difficult to pick an emotion to go with, so sometimes I’m just confused.
The curtain ascends and I jump up from the bed, while my heart does flip flops in my chest. I fist my towel in one hand and hold my binoculars in the other even though they aren’t necessary. I feel like a kid in line at the candy store, waiting for their chance to order. I struggle to keep my mouth close as the red soles of her black patent leather Louboutin’s come into view. They’re at least five inch stilettos with a silver heel. The curtain goes higher and I’m treated to the black fishnet stockings that cover her toned legs and link to a black garter belt. I bang my head against the glass a few times.
I don’t know how much long I can go without wanting to see this woman’s face. She could be a troll. I know her name now, so I’m tempted to Google her to find out anything I can about her but this is the agreement, the silent arrangement we have. I will only take what she gives me, when she decides to give it to me. She’s in fucking control of all of this! I’m just along for the ride.
The window shade lifts and stops at her neck, revealing a black lace bra with small red bows that decorate it in some spots. Her ass is bare. It’s round and meaty just like I remembered. Regan walks back and forth a few times against the backdrop of the white comforter that edges her knees. A huge black dildo is in her hands. The weapon is at least ten inches long. I chew into my bottom lip, realizing I would need to buy a bigger one if I planned to fuck this woman myself. She runs it up the side of her hip. Up and down, then she does it again. She drops to her knees in a squat. I narrow my eyes, hoping maybe a bit of her hair would come into view, instead there’s nothing. The only thing exposed is her neck. She undoes her bra, slowly and drops it to the floor. Using one hand she squeezes her breasts and tweaks her nipples a few times. Then, she shoves the dildo in her pussy and starts to fuck it, hard.
I suck in a breath of air, watching with fascination the degree of punishment she delivers to herself. It’s crazed and desperate. She slows and I get a full view of her wetness that slicks the entire length of the toy. She’s begging for it just like I knew – just like me!
I scramble to the nightstand and pull out my own dildo, though not as big. It warms and has a prong at the top that teases my clit. I don’t use it often, since I prefer to deliver but today I would. Something about this woman makes me want to submit...just a little. I have no clue what she’s doing to me. Soon, I’d need to see a fucking psychiatrist!
I find myself moaning before I even realize it. Regan is fucking her pussy hard with the huge cock in her hands. Her other hand squeezes her breasts and occasionally drops down to massage her clit. She bounces her ass on her heels a few times, making it jiggle and I just want to fucking smack it.
“I want your cunt and all its American glory.” I whisper, pushing the dildo into my already wet slit. I moan and lean against the glass, certain I’m going to melt from the sensations shooting through me.
She’s still fucking herself and her fingers are going wild over her clit as I watch. I imagine myself settling behind Regan with a huge strap-on and letting her have it. The view of her ass from that angle would be incredible. If only, I could just see her hair. I push the dildo deep inside of me and I’m already clenching around it, watching the sight in front of me. A loud moan spills from my lips and I nearly collapse when I come. I drop the fucking binoculars on the floor and jerk and jolt, when the powerful orgasm splinters through me, leaving me breathless and exhausted.
I feel like I’ve cheated. I lazily grab the binoculars from the floor. Regan is still fucking herself. I slump against the glass, taking in how pretty she is in my post-orgasmic state. Her left leg drops and her knee almost hits the floor, when she loses her balance. My skin is hot and flushed and sweat drips along my hairline. I would need to get another shower. This time both of her legs quiver and I know she’s coming. I growl to myself, wishing she were right here with me. The things I would do to her!
Regan rocks forward on the fake cock a few more times, wringing the last of her come out. Then, she stills completely and pulls the dildo out. I’m certain she’s breathing heavy and hard.
I slump against the glass. I feel a headache coming on from the come I just had. Regan stands and remains motionless for a while. She’s still holding the dildo at her side. She shifts in the five-inch heels she’s wearing but she doesn’t move. I breathe heavy and hard. I’m exhausted and sated. This is everything I had today and I saved it all... just for her.
CHAPTER THREE
Greer
This morning I awoke with the sun rise. It was earlier than usual but I figured it was Saturday, so what the heck. I was looking forward to spending a day with Gregory.
For the past two weeks, I’d been reading Regan’s words which came more frequently. It’s almost as if from the first time she began writing, she couldn’t stop. Her writing became more poetic, more personal until I started to feel her words.
Every Tuesday, we mind fucked each other. At least that’s how it felt. This has been going on for four months now. Regan still hadn’t shown me her face. I figured by now I would’ve rushed across the block and demanded to know who lived in the apartment on the west side of her building, but I didn’t. I could’ve typed her first name into Google a million times, but I didn’t. I could’ve returned all the poetry she sent me, but I didn’t.
I make my way to the kitchen, still yawning. I peer out the window and notice that all the blinds to Regan’s apartment are open. I stand stunned for a moment, looking at where she lives. It’s cozy and comfortable with minimal furnishings and modern appliances. I make myself a cup of coffee and sit at the center island this morning staring into her apartment, maybe even hoping to see her but she isn’t there. I don’t know why I expect her to be.
I don’t have to pretend
You are with me; I am with you
See me
To touch, to fuck
To claim you
Is to kill me.
-Regan
I’m a practical person. I’m not one to stay on the hamster wheel for long. Even if I did have feelings for Regan, what is this? I couldn’t love an imaginary person. I’d spent most of my adult life being in love with the wrong woman and now that I found the right one, she wanted to remain a ghost. I made up my mind that if Regan’s window shades went down at nightfall, I’d make my decision. This is all crazy and I’m beginning to think it’s making me insane in the process.
I move the page to the side and finished my coffee.
The ding of my cell phone jolts me out of my trance. “Hello. Y-yes six o’clock is perfect. Thanks.” I rattle out into the phone before hanging up with the caterers.
Placing it down, I take a deep breath. Today is Martin’s birthday. I’d planned something small but special for him. With the help of his asshole husband Gregory who would be helping me today, we planned to put the finishing touches on the cocktail party tonight.
Greer
“Happy Birthday, dear Martinnnnn! Happy Birthday, to youuuuuu!” Everyone sings.
Martin presses a hand to the center of his chest and blows out all thirty one of the candles. I place a soft kiss to his cheek and he pulls me in for a hug. Scattered applause breaks out and Martin laughs, like a little kid.
“Speech. Speech. Speech.”
Martin blushes and makes a loud exhale. “Oh, my God. I d
on’t know what you all want me to say.”
I giggle at his embarrassment. I take a glass of wine in my hand and step to the side, looking over the table that’s crammed with gifts.
“Um, where do I start. Thank you to my best friend, Greer. She is my rock. She is my buoy in the safety of the storm. She keeps me afloat. It’s been that way since we were kids.” Martin says giving me an adorable look. “Gregory, I love you.” He says pressing a kiss to his lips. “And here’s to another year in the hopes that I don’t fucking die. God willing, I make it to my next birthday.”
Everyone titters. Martin laughs louder. I roll my eyes at his dry joke.
The music comes on again and the small gathering of people in my den scatters to refill on wine and hors d'oeuvres.
It’s been a wonderful night and I’m only half drunk in the hopes of being full drunk by the time this party ends. I head over windows to look out at Regan’s apartment. The shades are still up. I shift where I stand and take a deep breath. When I spin around Brie is standing next to me.
She smiles and steps closer. “You haven’t called me.”
I let out a sigh. “I didn’t think it was like that.”
“So, you fuck me with no plans to speak to me again?”
I take a lock of her dark hair between my fingers. She seems pissed off, maybe even annoyed but I’m doing her a favor. “You couldn’t handle a woman like me, Brie. You know it and so do I. So, who are we kidding here?”
Brie smiles but I know a pissed off smile when I see one.
“I like you, Greer.”
“Yeah, I know that.” I say placing a kiss on her cheek.
“But I get it. I think.” She whispers.
She rakes her fingers through her hair and looks around. “This is a nice party. I love that piece over there on the wall – the art. What is it?”