Distance

Author: Ramo Kye

The apartment was dark. And would remain so. I’d removed most of the light bulbs and shook them until they broke before putting them back. The only real light came from the dining room’s large window that cast a moonlit glow across it and into the living room.

At first, I thought of hiding in the kitchen. But it was a mess with a week’s worth of dishes stacked in the sink and a trash can so full that it looked like a triple scoop ice cream cone. Instead, I picked the living room closet. It was so packed with clothes that even if someone opened it, they would have to look hard to find me crouching in the back corner.

The closet door folded to open and, with it ajar just a sliver, I had a good view of the entire living room. The couch faced me with a small coffee table in front of it. The main entry from the hallway was to the right. The television was to my left, angled away. I could see partially into both the dining room and one of the bedrooms. I figured it would be enough.

I’d only been waiting there for a few minutes when I heard a key turning in the outside lock. Before I’d repositioned, she walked in. I slowed my breathing and tried to blend into the coats and crap surrounding me.

I didn’t know her name. Didn’t matter. I’d first seen her two days ago, shopping at one of those punk-clothing stores in the mall. In her early twenties, she was long-legged and thin, almost anorexic. Her short hair was straggly and dyed black to match her lipstick. green eyes wide, and shining so brightly through her mascara that they illuminated her dark clothes. I guess what I noticed most, aside from the large nipples that stuck through her shirt, was her smile. Long, like her legs, and thin, like her.

She took off her black leather jacket and began moving toward the closet. Luckily, she must have been tired, and after a few steps just tossed it at the door that shielded me. She was dressed darker than the room: black silk button-up shirt, black suede skirt that ended half-way up her thighs, and black boots just above her ankle with heels nearly as long as the soles.

She turned back and flicked up a light switch on the wall with no result. She sighed. A short, sweet sigh. And headed for the kitchen.

“Fuck,” I whispered. I couldn’t see into the kitchen and not even a shadow of her cast out. If she started cooking, I might risk moving. Maybe to the bedroom across from me. But she was back soon enough with a half-full bottle of vodka dangling from her right hand. She aimed for the couch, sat, and found the remote.

The television flicked on and, I assumed, the DVD player. I couldn’t see the screen but, from all the grunting and moaning, it was surely a porno flick. The sound covered my moves as I turned my squat into a kneel. She put her feet on the coffee table after kicking off her boots that landed in a neat clump on the floor. Then she uncapped the vodka and took a sturdy swig – a small bit trickling onto her chin. She looked around the dark apartment, and even at the closet door for a prolonged while. If I hadn’t been there, I’d have considered her paranoid.

She took two more quick hits from the bottle, then stood, allowing her skirt to drop to her ankles. She wasn’t wearing panties, and had a most amazing jumble of silky pubic hair, trimmed neatly on the sides. Her legs were so thin that they never touched one another. My prick grew quickly at the sight of her and it was a dangerous struggle in the confines of the closet to pull it out through my fly. I was so focused on being quiet that I missed when she discarded her shirt and sat back down.

I had picked the right vantage point. Her feet were back on the coffee table, legs spread wide and very nearly facing me. Her breasts, just more than a handful, heaved as she glanced around the apartment again. A moment later, a hand dropped to her pussy.

The action on the screen must have been heating up as she began to pay more attention to it than to the vodka. One of her fingers, maybe even two, snuck into her vagina as her back sunk into the couch. Wetted, her fingers began to work sloppy circles around her clitoris, causing her body to sink even deeper into the couch. She brought her other hand down to steady and to spread the folds of her lips.

At first, I was able to match her rhythm with my own strokes. But soon her caresses became so frantic that I could almost hear her wrist snapping. Her mouth opened wide and her eyes closed tight as she started moaning. Her legs collapsed, shoulders hunched and her moans turned into a low howl. The sight of her flopping around the couch helped me to orgasm. The first jet hammering at the back of the closet door and the rest landing on the rug. Even the cramping in my thighs couldn’t take away from the intensity.

She was still whimpering lightly into her palm when I couldn’t stand the closet any more. I stood upright, causing a couple coats to fall, and slapped the door open.

Instinctively, she stood. Her eyes shocked wide when she saw me. Then relaxed.

“I thought you might be in there.”

“That was very good,” I thanked her.

“I’m afraid I left a spot on the couch. I can clean it up.”

I looked. It was more than just a spot. But not quite a puddle. I liked it.

“No. I’ll take care of it.”

She gathered her clothes and dressed. They seemed to go on even faster than they had come off. I had to step aside for her to get to her leather jacket. She, I think purposely, allowed her arm to touch mine as she passed.

“I have time for a blow job,” she said without looking at me. “You’d have to wear a condom…”

“Nope, no. I’m fine.” I went to the front door and opened it, showing her the hall. I fumbled for my wallet, found it, and pulled out two fifty-dollar bills. She was polite enough not to grab them. Instead, she waited for me to place them onto her palm. At the same time, she handed my spare key back to me.

“Thanks.” She stepped into the hallway. “Can I ask you something? In case you call me again I mean.”

“Sure. I guess”

“When did it work for you?”

I paused. It was a good question. I didn’t have to think about the answer, only whether to answer her at all.

“When you came, I came.” The words startled her a little. But they also caused her long and thin lips to turn into a smile.

I smiled too. Then gently closed the door.