Manhattan

"It's perfect," I said.

And it was. Forget the fact that she wasn't an ordinary human, that she magically beamed us here or that her goddamn hair still couldn't quite obey gravity. This was more real than anything I'd felt for years. A moment of honesty only accentuated by its surreal frame. I'd taken more soulless animated blow-up dolls to rooms like this and tried to find the meaning of life through marathon drinking and acrobatic rutting in equal amounts. As if every spurt of semen in the face, pussy, ass or whatever of some stoned out spoiled brat would get me closer to an answer.

No, here I had, for the first time, a real connection, a pair of eyes that saw instead of just looked, a person with a story. Something more than just meat. Call it what you will. A sprite of zeitgeist, a conscious focal point of a million souls, a feng shui embodiment of all the structures that made up the insane steel, concrete, petrol fumes and solid glass walls enigma that we call a metropolis. I still don't know exactly what she was. But there she was, it was no dream, and reality as I knew it had taken a permanent vacation.

I wanted her so desperately that it hurt. I had an erection staining inside of my pants, hands that were shaking like leaves in the desire to roam over her skin, a tongue that wanted to taste her over and over… there was no way for me to hold back anymore. I took her face between my hands, and her gaze met mine for a few, breathless seconds. She knew this was it, and her eyes were wondrously dark. Maybe it was just the dim light in the room, but it felt like more than that.

Looking straight into her eyes, I let my hands slide down the sides of her neck and out the shoulders. The thin straps of her dress slid along easily and soon hung over her upper arms. The only thing keeping it from falling down to her waist was the peaks of her breasts, where it still managed to hold on. Just a tremble, just a too sharp breath would make it fall, but she didn't move a muscle, just held her breath and awaited my next move. I gently tugged the shoulder straps down, and the purple fabric fell down to her hips, where it hung for a second before continuing down her legs. It landed in a tiny heap around her ankles. Folded up it was so small I could have put it in my pocket.

She was naked underneath. No bra, no panties, none of those I-can't-believe-it's-not-floss thongs that girls wear under tight, thin skirts and dresses. For some reason I hadn't expected that. I don't really know why though, she had been going to that party with the intention of ending up stripped and speared anyway.

"Wow," was all I could say, as I took a step back to admire the view. She seemed to enjoy being watched, and an impish smile grew on her lips.

"It's just a body, you know," she said. "It's not really me, only the form I chose as one of you. I guess we have the same taste in women, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh yes." Then a last rational thought hit me. "But… are you… I mean…"

"…Am I a woman? I couldn't say. I feel…feminine. And this body feels comfortable on me. I fill it up just right. Does it matter to you?"

I shook my head no.

"Then don't just stand there," she purred. "The clock is ticking."

"Clock? What clock?"

"It's…" She snaked up towards me. "…just…" Her hands on my chest, shoving me backwards. "…an…" My back thumped against a wall, and she leaned herself against me. "…expression!"

Before I could react, her mouth was pressed against mine again. She half unbuttoned, half ripped my shirt open and slid her hands around to caress my back. I returned the favour, revelling in the smooth sensation of female skin for a while, before heading south over her ass and the back of her thighs. But that wasn't enough, what I had interrupted before in that empty space was not a session of PG rated cuddling. The girl's heavy breathing and more and more frantic attempts to rub her chest and crotch against me told me all that I needed to know. She wanted to feel? I'd sure as hell deliver.

Enough of this nonsense, I thought and took a firm grip of her thighs. She got the idea immediately, hopped up and wrapped her legs around my waist. I carried her over to the bed and threw her down on it with myself on top. I got a little concerned at first when I heard the impact knock the air out of her lungs, but the sound was immediately replaced with a pleasurable groan and her legs squeezed even tighter around me.

I also heard the bed creak like a bad cliché and the headboard of it slam into the wall.

"Hey, you're the expert on this," I said and started to kiss her neck, collarbone, bosom, as she slowly disentangled her legs to let me move down. "And I don't know where the hell we are. Are there neighbours here?"

"Probably," she murmured back, eyes closed. "This is your real world. I just picked an empty…aah…room."

"You liked that?"

"Mhm."

I flicked my tongue in the pit of her collar bone again with the same delightful reaction. "Then we'll probably wake them up."

"Do I look like I care?"

I paused and lifted my head up a few inches from her torso. Let me tell you, the sight of a beautiful woman in that state of mind, naked, with the hint of a sweat sheen, from the perspective just above her breasts. There is nothing quite like it in the world. Honestly, I could have stayed like that for hours, just looking at the shape of her throat, glistering in the saliva trail I had just left there, her slightly parted lips, the whole flowing landscape of upper torso, shoulders and upper arms, and the two lovely peaks just at the bottom edge of my vision. But I'm afraid she might have turned me into a toad or something if I took more than a moment's break.

"No," I just said, bent down again, sucked a nipple into my mouth, and was rewarded with a happy moan. Right answer, I guess.

My hands were all over her, from her knees to her face, and back again. Massaging her breasts, trailing her lips, slipping a finger in for her to suck on, tickling her in the back of her knee, squeezing her hands and in between just trying to cover as much of her body with touch as I could while my mouth worked its way down her belly. Her own hands were nested in my hair or lightly tracing nails across my shoulder blades and neck. Occasionally, she pinched her nipples, but stopped when I noticed, and started doing that to her instead. Every time I twisted them slightly, I felt her abs jolt and she emitted a small gasp. A hard pinch gave me a little grunt, and when I rolled them between my thumb and finger she emitted a long, gurgling groan. I realized I could play her like a piano. More Chopsticks than Chopin to paraphrase a worn wordplay, but anyway.

That was all well and fun for a little while, but even that grew weary soon. So I let go of everything else and moved further down without warning to flick my tongue into the warmness between her pussy lips. The reaction was instant. A loud gasp escaped her lungs, and her hips bucked up to press her crotch against my mouth. I didn't often go down on women, other than to barter for other services. In the self-centred flesh game of every day up to this one, what others felt was not important. Each to his own, maximise your own pleasure. Other people were just nameless props to maximise my own climax. When I look back at that now, I can't understand how it ever got me off.

Not that night. For the first time ever I had a real concern for someone else's experience. I wanted to please, if all I got to do would be to please without any gratification of my own, it would still be worth it. She had already shaken my world view to the core by merely walking by. If I could do something to return the favour, then why not? Hell, maybe I just wanted to show off, I don't know. I wasn't exactly my old calculating self.

I sucked in her juices and probed her insides with my tongue, and she clamped her hands at the back of my head. In just a few seconds I felt her tremble, tense up, and she gasped herself through a first orgasm. I say the first because I was not nearly done with what I was doing, but took a firm hold of her ass and thighs and started to lap along her slit, as well as up over her clit in a relentless pace. I left one hand free to finger the clit or occasionally her anus, but most of the time it was just this sweet gourmet dish and me that mattered. I think I went at it for at least half an hour before my jaws started to ache. All the while she surrendered herself to countless waves of stimulation. Her hands flailing aimlessly, her breaths constantly two paces too short and though she tried to pant out words now and then, nothing comprehensible came out.

Something wasn't quite right about that. She was more sensitive to touch, easier to please and constantly closer to climax than any woman I'd ever been with. In the soft but resolute vice between her thighs, that thought didn't manage to surface though. I just dug in for all I was worth, boyishly proud of my new found superpower.

Afterwards, she didn't say anything, just pulled me up to her face again and looked at me with misty eyes before sampling the taste of herself with a deep kiss. More exhausted than I first had thought, I rolled to the side and absently caressed the sweaty skin on her chest as we let our hearts slow down to a more moderate pace. I closed my eyes for a minute and focused on the sensation of her curves under my fingertips.

When I opened them again, something was different. The lighting had changed, and the background weave of sounds were slightly altered. I raised my head and noticed that those weren't the only things that had morphed into new forms.

"I found a better room," the lean voice of the strange girl said.

"Wow. Just like that?"

"It's no big deal," she said with a shrug. "Nobody will hear us here. Do you like it?"

Did I like it? The new place was a classy and roomy penthouse high up above the busy streets. A huge window overlooked a view divided between a starlit sky and the artificial stars of occasional windows still shining in a jagged line of skyscrapers. The bed was big enough for a full-scale orgy and if that wasn't enough, there were a selection of sofas, divans and armchairs scattered in all directions. A stacked bar against one wall and a huge aquarium and one of those flat screen TV home cinema systems that would cost me a kidney against the other was pretty much the rest of the room's interior.

Despite of all the gold, mahogany and different shades of marble that lined walls, floors and countless details, the place felt strangely homey and tasteful. There seem to exist two philosophies on how to behave when you get filthy rich. Either you go on an indulging spree and behave like a kid in a candy store, pimping yourself up to the point of no return. The result is a public image of a dumb brat diva and a home that eventually makes you puke every morning you have to wake up in it. What people don't get is that having money to spend is not the same as knowing how to spend it right. The other way is to chill the hell down, hire some professionals who know what they are doing and let them set up the material frame for a good life for you. This den definitely belonged to a spender of the second kind.

"Nice," I said. "Really nice. I could get used to living here."

"But you don't. That's something else about you. I can sense most people's, I don't know, fingerprint. But not you. Just an echo of something, as if you have a mask on. I know it sounds weird…"

"Don't worry," I interrupted. "I'm kind of used to weird."

She laughed. "Right. I guess you are. What I mean is that I can sense the impression of the souls that walk the streets, that sleep here at night, that works here by day. All of them. It's like they are a part of me, and I more or less know them all by heart when I focus hard enough. But a few, like you, are difficult to read. It's hard to explain, but they are…slippery. I don't understand it."

But I did.

"I was born and raised in a two horse town in Minnesota. Except there were no horses there, because anything that can't be kept indoors freezes to death in the winter. Dad was a dentist and mom was a housewife and from third grade to last year in high school I had a crush on Rebecca Sommerfeld without ever daring to ask her out."

The girl – and yes, I'll keep calling her that, using Manhattan as her name creeps me out every time – locked her gaze at me and stared with a fascinated smile.

"That's not at all what you send out," she said.

"I know, I'll get to that. Be patient."

"Sorry, please go on," she said with a wink…

…And started to unzip my pants. That didn't do my concentration any good at all. The shirt was off long ago, possibly left back in the smaller hotel room, and while I continued my story, she sat on her knees by my legs and promptly removed the rest of my clothes. She bent down and placed small kisses on my chest, belly and thighs, but her eyes was fixed on the growing erection behind my boxers. Then suddenly she paused and looked at me with an amused expression.

"Didn't I tell you to go on?"

So I did my best to comply. I told her about my quiet, average childhood, in a quiet, average town, about my uneventful college years, and my current uneventful life. My story was constantly interrupted though, because she continued her ministrations down below. First by removing my shorts and wrapping her fingers around my now fully erect cock. Then by slowly, so very slowly, moving her hand up and down. She seemed to have eyes for nothing but that rigid shaft, but whenever I fell silent to just give in to the lovely sensation of that ultra rapid massage, she stopped, and with a whisper or just an amused glare she prompted me to keep talking.

It wasn't easy, especially when she finally bent down and placed her soft lips at the top of the head. I almost forgot to breathe when her tongue flicked back and forth over the tip. She leaned forward and took the whole knob into her wonderful, warm mouth and I lost all ability to speak for a while. My prick popped out of her mouth and she looked up at me.

"Stop talking and I'll bite," she chided, and let my cock sink into her mouth again. First the head, then another inch, then yet another passed by her lips.

It was the slowest, most prolonged blowjob I had ever experienced. She kept me on a constant, desperate wave of pleasure that got my whole body humming, with a climax hanging there like a beautiful reward just out of reach. My perception of anything but the feel of her mouth on my cock had faded away into nothingness, but the threat of interrupting the weird and wonderful high kept one part of my mind hell-bent on forcing words out from between my jaws. Eventually I managed to stutter my way through a brief version of my whole life up until present days.

"I live in New Jersey in a two roomer…just me and…my…oh god…cat. I run a headhunting business with a partner. We have an…uuh…office in Brooklyn. And…that's about it. Please…please don't stop. I have nothing more…to…say."

She didn't stop. Instead she seemed to decide that it was time for a well deserved reward. The motion of her tongue increased, and she started bobbing her head up and down the shaft faster and faster. And deeper and deeper too. I felt her nose brush my pubic hair and the tip of my cock hit the back of her throat. But that didn't seem to bother her at all, she just kept going, sucking harder and moving faster. I didn't have to do anything except holding on as she resolutely guided me into the build-up of a massive orgasm.

I didn't have either time or vocal capacity to warn her, and my climax hit me like a sledgehammer, sending black spots dancing across my vision. A first load of cum splashed into the back of her throat, and she jerked back a bit in surprise, but kept her lips wrapped around me. Another spasm sent a strand into her mouth and the overwhelming sensation subsided before she finally pulled her head back and greedily licked up the dribbling white fluid.

I couldn't move, could barely think, I was so spent from the final explosion after that long, excruciating but incredible session that I couldn't remember nor care about anything but the sated sensation of my post orgasmic high. I felt my mysterious bed partner crawl up beside me and snuggle up against my side, her head on my shoulder and her fingers drawing odd little patterns across my chest.

Eventually, I managed to get my bearings again and also enough composure to speak.

"That was incredible," I said.

She mewed a little sound that could have meant just about anything. "I have my moments."

"You've had nothing but moments since I met you."

"How nice of you to say," she replied. "Now will you please get on with what you were saying? It was nice to hear about you, but what did it have to do with anything?"

"Yes, sorry. I was getting to that but…ahem…something kind of made me lose my trail."

"You're a bit of a wise ass," she teased.

"And you have a bit of a nice ass," I volleyed back. "Now let me get to the point. The point is this. That guy, the Joe Schmoe everyday dude, that's the real me. But the reason you don't know about him is that I never bring Joe Schmoe to Manhattan. Here I'm something else. A fake, a persona, a freak, call it what you will. My Mr Hyde, I guess. Some kind of glamour animal that I can't seem to function without."

It had started, I told her, with Binder. A client from two years ago who became an acquaintance and later a friend. This was his world, an alluring scene of exclusive surface, attractive people and an attitude of anything goes. It became the perfect place to let off the steam that a life within the limits of strict conventions had served me. There was this crazy mix of a top dog lifestyle, any booze and drugs I could imagine, high pulse music, high profile entertainment and porno style shameless non-commitment sex at the drop of a hat. For a desk job small town guy bored out of his shoes, it was as if the pearly gates had opened. It drained my accounts and put a heavy strain on my job performance, but I pushed that away. That was small town worries. But Manhattan, or at least Manhattan as I knew it, was no place for a desk job small town guy.

"So I left Dr Jekyll behind, and took Mr Hyde to town. I guess that's the guy you saw. But as you said, it's a mask. Just a fake."

"Not anymore," she said and stroke my cheek. "I can feel you now. Not just because you told me, I sense something different in you. I can tune in to the person now."

"I guess we woke Dr Jekyll up," I said.

She said nothing for a while. Then out of the blue: "I like that person."

"Oh. That's…nice. I mean, wow, how does one respond to that?"

"By granting me just one tiny little favour."

"What favour?"

"Pin me down and fuck me until I can't breathe. That's what you're here for, and you know it. If I don't get to have you inside of me really soon I think I'll lose my mind."

There was no finesse to it this time. No consideration this or that way, just raw, strong instincts unleashed. Two bodies consuming each other, crotches slamming against each other over and over, a cock buried deep in a pussy, nails digging into skin, grunts, growls, screams, tears and laughter in a delirious riot of sensations and emotions. On the bed, on the floor, up against the big fucking windows, on top of the bar…no place was too ridiculous for us. We fucked as if our lives depended on it until we collapsed in exhausted heaps, lay wrapped up together in perfect stillness until we were ready to start over, at a new location or a new position.

I came more times than I thought was humanly possible that night, shooting my seed deep into her body so many times I lost count. I guess I didn't consider what that might or might not do to whatever creature she was. And I also guess that she might somehow have something to do with my boosted endurance. God knows what kind of Viagra voodoo she might be capable of if she can teleport herself, and me, anywhere in the city she pleases.