Stars at Night
Tonight is the second time this week that I see her in the bar on the 27th floor of the gothic office building in which I spend my days. She is popular; chatty and flirty, sipping from drinks offered to her by the men caught in her gravitational orbit.
We first met while I was waiting for a refilled bowl of pistachios. She leaned past my shoulder to signal the bartender and brushed up against my arm, “Oops, sorry. Hello.” We ended up exchanging a few words before I returned to the table where my colleagues were waiting.
We chatted again a few weeks later and by the third time we talked it was because I had come to the bar in the express hope of seeing her again.
Tonight I’m playing it cool, not trying to work my way into her circle of conversation. I’m at the bar alone, mindful to project calm confidence. Her name is Jennifer.
About ten minutes after we first nod hello from across the room she comes over to where I’m sitting; a blue cocktail in a martini glass in her hand.
“Too sweet,” she says and holds the glass out to me.
I take a sip and contort my lips, “Yuck.”
She laughs, takes back the glass and tosses the drink into a potted plant. Then she holds out her hand for my glass which I give to her and which she then drains, “I owe you.”
She sighs and scans the room with bored eyes, “I’m going up onto the roof for a cigarette. There are stars at night.”
Her invitation thrills me, “You can get onto the roof?”
“Insider info. Let’s go.”
She walks out in front of me. At the end of the lobby she heads for a service door where she punches a four digit code into a keypad. The door buzzes open and she walks up a concrete flight of stairs. As she walks her leather skirt flexes from side to side; the slit at the back of the skirt yielding to reveal the soft white skin of her legs.
At the top of the stairs she buzzes open another door and we walk out into the night-time air. The dull hum of air conditioners and traffic drifts along the summer breeze. She walks to the railing and leans over it to look down at the street below. I remain standing at the rooftop door. Her skirt is pulled taught around her thighs.
She turns around, leans back, flicks her hair to one side and waits for me to walk over to her. Once I’m a few steps from her she reaches into her blouse pocket and takes out a condom packet which she holds up between two fingers, “The truth is, I don’t smoke. But you’ve been wanting to fuck me for a while now.”
I stop, put my hands in my pockets and look directly at her.
“Well then,” she continues, “let’s not let a beautiful summer’s evening go to waste shall we?”
I walk to within a few inches of her.
She puts the condom packet between her teeth, reaches down to my crotch and grips my penis. A rush of blood courses through my veins.
Once I’m hard she gestures for me to take the condom packet from between her teeth, which I do, and then uses both her hands to unbuckle my pants before beginning to stroke my cock.
After a minute she speaks, “Ready?”
“Take off your shoes and pants,” she instructs me while hitching up her skirt. We look at each other, my cock projecting upwards through my shirt tails, her pussy blushing red.
She raises herself up onto the railing while I put on the condom and then guides my penis into her. Her hair falls across her face, her mouth open as she watches it disappear into her. When she looks up at me I put my hand on the back of her neck and grip tightly, pulling her slightly toward me as I start to thrust into her. Her pussy is wet and I imagine her lower back and buttocks against the cold steel of the railing as I grip at her neck and fuck harder.
When she comes she throws back her head into the night sky and calls out over the sound of the traffic below. Fiery clouds reflect the glow of the city lights that surround us.