I went back to the Reading Room, my face flushed and my chestnut hair a bit out of sorts to resume work. I took a few more clients, nothing of any real note, but at dusk, around 8:30 by this time of year, I decided I was done for the night. I blew out the candles and locked the house up before commencing the brief walk to my apartment. There was a slight nip to the late spring air, it sent tingles up my spine or was that the thought of Handsome?

I'd intended to go straight home to my hot shower and my vibrator. To simultaneously get myself dirty and get myself clean, but I was distracted by the sound of latin music and the smell of paella as I strolled past Cortina's storefront. Warm light spilled into the street as I tried to walk past, but tapas and alcohol called to me. I weaved through the crowd of diners and took a seat on a barstool, hung my bag on a hook under the bar. The broad back of the bartender was familiar. Maybe food and drink wasn't the only thing on my mind.

"Hey, stranger." The man turned and an expression of recognition over took his comely face. "What's a girl got to do for a drink?" Man, I was laying it on thick. But this was Jack, my ex, and he wasn't the brightest. I had to make my intentions very obvious or I was going home alone tonight. My hands and toys were fantastic, but, let's be honest, there is nothing quite like being fucked by a man. Ideally like it's the last fuck he'll ever have and like his only goal in life is for you both to orgasm. But, I digress.

Jack and I had dated for a few months last summer. Our break up wasn't anything dramatic, it just became clear we had different goals. He was studying sports marketing at grad school and had returned to work all summer and save money for the following academic year. He wasn't my dream man, but I thought he could fuck the thought of Handsome out of me.

"Oh, hey, Claire, I meant to call you." For some reason he looked sheepish.

"Sure, you did," I teased. I didn't care, anyway.

Jack smirked, relieved I wasn't here to rattle his chains for not letting me know he was back in town. I was not angling to get back together at all. "What can I get you?"

"Paloma, please," I replied. "Maybe some chips and guac as well."

One Paloma became two became three. Jack was sneaking shots occasionally from behind the bar when he thought no one was looking. I sat at one end of the bar, noticeably alone. Three seats to the right of me were empty but the far end of the bar was full. Jack hovered at my end, filling me in on life in the big city and casually recounting our escapades from our season together. He was a relentless flirt, especially where alcohol was involved. He touched my hand and arm every chance he got. I wasn't sure if he'd forgotten about my ability or didn't care, but luckily I just wasn't as powerful when drunk which was often a relief. I did see a flash of us under the pier last summer, I was giving him head as the tide rolled in around my knees. It was odd to see myself from this angle, from his perspective. I was in his mind, behind his eyes, but I wasn't in control. His hands were in my hair as I worked his thick veiny shaft and sucked on the head of his dick, long ropes of viscous saliva and precum oozing down my chin and exposed breasts, my shirt pushed down around my waist . "Fuckkkkk," he said as I moved one hand to his balls and fondled them gently. At last he blew his load down the back of my throat, thick and salty. I swallowed it in one gulp and wiped my chin with the back of my hand.

I pushed the memory out of my head to return my focus to the task at hand. Jack looked at me, both suspicious and amused. "What did you see?" he asked, clearly worried I'd seen something he didn't want me to. I grinned, swirling the straw around the rim of my Paloma.

"Remember that time under the dock? The day before you went back to school?"

The bar tender's visage instantly turned crimson and he chuckled to himself.

"How could I forget?"

We exchanged a loaded glance as we reflected on that day and the many, many others that summer when we'd fucked eachother dry and pleasured one another until we had no more orgasms left to give.

"What time are you off tonight?"

Jack touched the screen of his phone to check the time. I happened to see a few notifications from Tinder and Bumble, but it was of no consequence to me.

"Half an hour." He glanced up at me, trying hard to keep his cool. I honestly don't know why he bothered.

"Great," I said, removing my wallet from my bag. I put some cash down to cover my tab and stood. "Come over when you're done. Do you remember where I live?"

"Sure do."

I tried to be cute or flirty or something and winked, but he just laughed as if to say "You dork." I navigated the busy dining room and made it to the door. Glancing to the left, I saw Ginger and Handsome sitting at a two-top in front of the window. Her back was to me, but her hair was unmistakable and he was, well, I'd never forget that face as long as I lived. He made eye contact and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he recognized me. Ginger turned to see who he was looking at and broke into a large grin herself, waving eagerly. I returned the gesture politely and exited onto 1st Street. I should have gone right, but I just wanted to look at him one more time so I made a left and locked eyes with him through the rippled pane of glass as I tried hard to maintain a steady gait. I looped around on Elm Lane and, now pointed in the right direction, headed home.

I went through the wrought iron gate of the Waverly Arms Apartments and stepped quietly across the garden courtyard. Mature rose bushes grew outside each groundfloor apartment and in the center, the lush emerald lawn was recently mowed. A bench and a birdbath sat below a shady maple tree. The stairs to my apartment were in the rear of the courtyard. I ran my fingers up the rough brick facade as I ascended the steps to the landing. On the right was the door to my apartment, to the left lived a new couple I hadn't met yet. I hope they were chill and wouldn't complain to the manager tomorrow.

My apartment is cute, but spartan. Light ash hardwood floors and an off white area rug. My couch was a mid century modern style charcoal gray with canary yellow accent pilows and a fuzzy throw blanket thrown over one corner. On the walls were a few printed photos of places I'd visited in Europe framed in chrome. I looked at my phone and, by my calculations, had 15-30 minutes to freshen up depending on whether Jack had walked or Ubered to my place.

The clawfoot tub in the bathroom had luckily been retrofitted with a stand up shower as well. The water was always hot. I peeled off my clothes and left them in a pile next to the tub. Quickly I sudsed my body and shaved all pertinent areas. Ordinarily I would have loved to spend a couple minutes with the removable shower head, but time was of the essence. Now that I was smooth as I dolphin, I quickly moisturized with some rose water scented lotion and slid some booty shorts over my shapely ass, no panties of course. The bottom cleavage of my butt was clearly visible. I silently thanked Orange Theory for all those squats I hated so much. I put on a nearly sheer light blue tank top on, my nipples hard and clearly visible through the fabric. My tits weren't huge, but they were round and perky.

I found a bottle of Rose in the refrigerator, I didn't think it was a good idea to totally lose my buzz or I might just go straight to bed. I poured two fingers worth, thought better of it, and doubled the volume of fuzzy pink drink. I put on re-runs of the Office and positioned myself on the couch, my legs folded beneath me. I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I checked my phone. I normally keep it on silent, but I'd turned the volume up while I was showering just in case. It was unlikely I'd missed anything from Jack, but I was hopeful. Only a message from my mom thanking me for locking up.

I snapped a quick selfie with an exaggerated pouty face, bottom lip stuck out, pathetic doe eyes, the whole nine yards. I made sure to include a bit of cleavage. I had no intention of being subtle.

Are you still coming? I typed after three episodes worth of Jim/Dwight shenanigans. I added John Krasinski to my mental spank bank because honestly who wouldn't.

Three dots appeared in the text window.

I'm so sorry, my boss asked me to stay late. We got a late rush. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is...tomorrow. That's so far away, I thought.

"Fuck." I said to no one in particular and tossed my phone into the throw pillows piled on the opposite end of the couch. Tossing my head back dramatically in exasperation, I let out a quiet moan and softly banged my head on the couch. "Whyyyyy."

I sat up again and grabbed my phone. It was 11 o'clock on a Friday night, surely some stupid fuckboy had to be awake and interested in fulfilling my phallic needs. I opened Tinder again, messaged a couple of previous matches. It was hard being on this island sometimes. There was a shortage of available and attractive men in the general population, but in a population this size, the pool was almost non-existent. Usually my matches came from the mainland or the occasional piece of shit here with his girlfriend but always keeping his options open. I wasn't one to sleep with men in relationships.

When no one replied in the exactly two minutes I gave them, I started flipping through the stream of bachelors. Nope, not that one. No, not him either, huh-uh, no gracias. All duds. Then he appeared.

Handsome. Except apparently his real name was Connor. Holy fuck. I scrolled through his images. None of them showed him with Ginger. One, a clearly professional headshot, perhaps from a company website. He wore a well tailored navy suit with a skinny tie. His voluminous hair was parted to the side, cut a little shorter than when I'd seen him earlier in the day. The second image was him beside a Golden Retriever, smiling widely. I hadn't noticed how straight and white his teeth were earlier today, but they could have featured prominently in a toothpaste commercial. The third photo was him wearing a numbered bib from a footrace of some kind, again smiling with his hands on his hips. Only his toned arms were exposed, but they nearly sparkled from the uniform sheen of perspiration. In the 4th picture, he was, sadly, bundled up, posing with a snowboard at a crowded ski resort. I deeply appreciated the lack of dead or exotic animals in these photos. For a moment I forgot he had a girlfriend and was just another piece of trash trying to get a side piece. Nonetheless I swiped right to indicate I was interested in matching with him, if only to give him a piece of my mind. He was smoking hot, but that didn't give him any right to double-time a seemingly decent human being.

I resumed watching the Office, monitoring the app for any movement, but it seemed no one was as thirsty as I was tonight. I had screenshotted Connor's pictures and I kept returning to them, imaginging myself with him after the footrace, grabbing his dick through his running shorts in the car before we drove to our imaginary home, we'd drive somewhere secluded and have sex in the back of the car, my body slick from the sweat of my lover.

I folded my hands together and set them between my legs. I clenched my thighs and let out an involuntary groan as I stimulated myself. This could only end one way. With an orgasm.

I looked around my apartment suspiciously as if to make sure no one was watching though the apartment was totally empty and the blinds were drawn. I flipped the Roku to PornHub and disappeared into my bedroom to retrieve my battery powered friend from the nightstand. It was late and I was tired now, but I was also horny as hell. Masturbation helped me sleep better anyway. Again, I silently hoped my neighbor was cool or at least a heavy sleeper.

I removed the chrome bullet from the bedside table, clicking the button on the end to make sure it was still in service. "At least you won't let me down," I said to the little device as it buzzed, showing no signs of low battery. Returning to the livingroom, I turned down the volume on the couple aggressively boning on the screen just a few notches in the interest of being a good neighbor.

It only took a minute of watching the couple on the screen go at it for me to be wet. The crotch of my shorts was damp and I lifted my hips to slide them off and kicked them away from me. I laid with my head on one armrest and my feet flat on the couch, knees in the air. In my bedroom I had a mirror on the wall at the end of my bed, I loved watching myself, but the bedroom didn't have a tv so here we were. My knees fell open.

I gingerly touched my lips, I knew they were puffy and pink with wanting. I imagined the slick coral of the inner petals as I slowly slid two fingers between my labia. I took in a sharp breath as I felt myself, drenched in longing. I moved my fingers slowly, lazily, even around my slippery orchid several times, occasionally allowing them to dive into my warm, tight hole. I could feel the thick strands of my wetness between my digits like webs as I touched my clit, moaning as quietly as I was able. The couple on the screen was 69'ing and I longed to be in their position. I loved the feeling of being overwhelmed by sensation, a man's face buried between my thighs while I lavished his member with my skilled tongue and lips.

My left hand, holding the vibrating bullet, moved to stimulate my swollen bud. I couldn't handle much of the vibrator at once so I moved it back and forth quickly over my mound to give myself temporary breaks as I felt my orgasm build. It was almost impossible to reach my g-spot from this angle without a dildo, but I loved feeling my pussy tighten around my plunging fingers as I fucked myself, thinking of Connor and panting. My back was arched and face turned towards the television.

Finally, I couldn't wait anymore, I held the vibrator over my clitoris until I feel like I'm going to burst with pleasure. My orgasm washed over me in robust waves and I gasped for air, like I was the one who'd run the marathon. Suddenly, I was tired. I turned off the television and meandered down the hallway in a sleepy daze. I yanked down the comforter and fell into bed, not bothering to put on any shorts or underwear.