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I rubbed my eyes. My fingers were sticky, and smelled of sex. I got up, cold and nude, and quietly dressed. I crept out of the bedroom, opening and closing the door with a faint creak.

Christie's door was open, and she was gone, so I made my way to the cold bathroom to clean up. It was a dingy water-closet, really, with a black commode, a tiny, make-up stained sink, and a damp shower basin surrounded by a pink plastic curtain drawn on a string which held several dripping stockings and bras. A wicker hamper under the sink held some dirty laundry, and a black, frilly thing was poking out under the lid. Curious, I lifted the top and pulled out a pair of used, black panties. I held the silky underwear up to my nose and took a deep sniff. Just as I thought - they weren't Julie's. Julie's smell was very distinct, very gardenish, and she didn't seem to be into the black frill underclothing thing. No, these panties belonged to Christie, her slinky dancer roommate. They smelled a bit dank, but also fruity. I looked around the bathroom and found a box of passion fruit douche -- Christie's, I assumed.

I chucked the panties onto the sink, ran a finger of toothpaste through my teeth and splashed cold water on my face. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and said, "What the hell was last night all about?"

I knew I was involved with another exhibitionist. Last night, with Christie in the room, and later watching us, Julie was able to become aroused, and reach orgasm. I recalled the first night I saw her, singing so passionately at The Bitter End, the mike stand pressed between her legs - did she cum then, too, in front of the screaming crowd? First Bonnie, now Julie. I wasn't sure how much of this I could take.

Still, I was strangely turned on. Maybe not so much by the thrill of being watched, or possibly caught, but by the thrill it obviously gave to them. Both Bonnie and Julie reached monumental arousal through their brash public displays of passion and lewdness, and in their excitement I found excitement.

And then there was the "I love you" thing. Julie would never have said it without really, truly meaning it. And I had said nothing in return.

Did I love her? I was undoubtedly fascinated and infatuated with her, so why couldn't I say it?

I decided to not be a prick and go home just yet. I was going to wait for Julie to wake up. So I went to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of juice, and watched a little news from a tiny TV they had stuck up on a couple of milk crates.

On a footlocker coffee table was the Times crossword puzzle. I could never finish one of those damn things, and I wouldn't have given it a second look, except this one looked different from any other Times puzzle I'd ever seen -- this one was finished. Every square had been filled in, with no crossed out letters or mistakes. In ink! Damn!

After a few minutes Julie came out of her room, wearing a bathrobe, looking crumpled and sexy. She didn't say a word, but poured herself a cup of milk, and joined me on the couch. I flicked off the TV and we sat there for a moment, drinking our drinks, listening to the sounds of the morning traffic outside. Finally she slid into me, laying her head on my chest, and I held her in my arms.

"Good morning." I said.

"Good morning." she replied. "Thanks for last night."

"You're welcome." I said, "Thank you."

She hesitated. "Sorry it was so weird. Can I tell you something?"

"Yes." I said, putting my glass down, and squeezing her into me.

"I'm frigid. I've never really been able to have sex. Dean was the best. He was this big, great looking guy, and I could feel something with him, but not enough. And he got pissed about it, a lot. He's an asshole, I don't want to talk about him. I'm just telling you so you'll know what kind of a nut case I am. I'm just bad at sex. But you..."

"Yes?" I said.

"You made me - wet - the first night I met you." she continued. She paused a bit, letting that sink in. "And I actually had an orgasm. On stage. Do you remember that second set...?"

"Yeah. I remember."

She laughed nervously, "I think it was pretty obvious to everyone. Not to Dean, though. I told him a few days later though, and he got royally pissed. I think he knew it was because of you. Anyway he's history."

"Julie," I said, "I'm an okay looking guy, but, you know, I'm just being clerical here, you got wet from just looking at me?"

I remembered my furtive fuck session with Bonnie in the back room of The Bitter End, and my suspicion that someone had been watching us. "C'mon, Julie. Showtime." Wasn't that what I heard someone say in the hallway while screwing little Bonnie?

Julie didn't answer me at first. She dropped a hand to my lap, and nonchalantly began rubbing me through my pants, playfully testing for any hardness. "Last night was strange, wasn't it?" she said.

"Yeah." I said, "But I liked it."

She whispered, "I have never been that wet."

My cock was rising, and she felt it, and shifted her arm, rubbing against the growing bulge. I kissed her. She was warm, and receptive. I placed a hand inside her robe. She was naked, and her ample breasts fell into my palm. Her nipples were pointy. I moved my hand down her stomach to her mound. She had opened her legs for me. I slid a finger over her pussy. It was dry. I moved my hand back up to her face, and cradled it as I kissed her harder, biting and licking her neck. She opened her robe and I suckled on her tits. I tried her pussy again, and again found it cold and dry. Finally she pushed me away, tears in her eyes.

"Shit!" she said, "I'm a fucking freak of nature! I don't know what it is! I thought, Godamnitt, if I just let loose, you know, tried something crazy, like last night..."

The spanking, I remembered. I thought that whole incident was weird, how she had let loose with a straightforward, "Let's fuck" and how she pulled down her panties and offered me her ass for spanking. And I remembered how she abruptly stopped when, as I now realized, that the passion experiment wasn't working, and she wasn't feeling anything but foolish.

She continued. "I'm sorry. God, I really think I need a psychiatrist. I want to be with you, but my fucking body just won't cooperate!"

"It did last night." I said. "Julie, you were sexy as hell last night."

She whispered again, "Because we were being watched."

"So that's your thing." I said. "I'll tell you what I'll do. Next time we go into the park to rehearse - we'll have sex instead."

"What?"

"Yeah. Right there on the hill. I'll bet people throw more money. We can use the extra change to buy you therapy."

She laughed, then said, "What the hell am I going to say to Christie?"

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Jogging, probably," said Julie, looking over to the door where a dance bag sat waiting. "She'll be back soon though, to get her bag, she's got a dance class at noon."

"You want me to talk to her?" I said.

"God no!" she replied.

"Seriously, I could." I said, "Or better yet," I continued, kidding, "you could hide in the closet and watch us have sex. The exhibitionism thing works both ways, you know. I know she's willing."

"She sure as hell is," laughed Julie, "You heard her talking about you last night. 'Stony cock!'"

Then Julie stopped laughing, and got all serious. She stared at the closet. It was against the far wall, and was already cracked open. Anyone sitting in there would have a clear view of the couch.

In the hallway we could hear someone opening the front door to the building. Julie looked at me quickly, a gleam in her eye. She patted me on the crotch once, feeling how hard I still was. Then she got up, crossed the closet, looked at me, said, "Enjoy," and ducked inside.

I know you can't see me, dear Reader, but do I look like I have a "Dangerous Sexual Encounters Wanted" sign tacked onto my forehead? What the hell was going on this month? I go through a year long dry spell, with nary a woman or a decent lyric in sight, and now I had to buy stacks of new blank lyric sheets to keep up with the new songs I was writing, and a loufa just to scrub the daily scent of female sex off my body. It all started two weeks earlier, with that damn Hunters moon in Washington Square Park. Two weeks! In two weeks I had had fantastic, dangerous, public sex four times, with two women, and had written a dozen or more great songs, more than I had written in two years. And now Julie, a girl I could see myself actually settling down with, or moving in with, or, hell, maybe just stalking, at any rate a girl I wanted to be with one-on-one was asking me to get blown by some babe while she watched and diddled herself in a closet. "Am I cursed?" I started wondering, "Or blessed?"

The front door opened with a jangle of keys and Christie entered, sopping wet from her run. She wore form fitting biker's pants and a leotard top. She was thin and trim, taughtly muscled and fit.

"Hi." she said, startled to see me, then looked around for Julie.

"She's out." I said. "Went for juice, and bagels. You just missed her."

"Oh." she said. "You guys doing something together later?"

"Just kicking around."

"Cool." she said, hesitating, wanting to ask me something.

"She said you have a class to get to."

"Fucking ballet." she said, kicking her dance bag. "I hate ballet. But my manager says I need it, so..."

She turned around to shut the door, and I took in her body. She was an study in lines, two round, cupping buttocks neatly flowing into toned thighs and sculpted calves. Her skin was tanned and even, and glistening with athletic sweat.

I glanced at the closet, which Julie had left cracked open a good two inches. I knew she was in there, sitting on the floor, her robe open and her fingers hoping to explore a moister field of dreams than usual. I needed to move things along here.

"Listen, Christie, I could leave until she comes back..." I said, acting as if she had a problem with my being there.

"No." she said. "Sit. Wait. It's okay."

"Okay." I said, "I just thought after last night..."

She looked down at the mention of the previous evening's adventure.

"Look, I'm sorry about that." I continued, "I swear, I didn't know you were there until the end, and by that time I really wasn't able to do much about it."

Christie looked up and smirked. "No, probably not. Julie and I will talk about it later."

"Don't be hard on her." I said.

"She wanted me to watch you guys. That's why she asked me to leave the door open. That's not freaky?"

"She didn't plan it." I said, "It started when you came into the room and..."

"You were awake then?" she asked, surprised. "I thought you were out cold drunk?" She narrowed her eyes at me, "Great. So you heard what I said about ---"

"Yeah," I said, "but I know how guys talk and I know women do the same thing. It doesn't mean anything."

Christie got all embarrassed and said, "Yeah, well, sometimes it does. I gotta' towel off."

She bounded off into the bathroom, and closed the door. I expected Julie to poke her head out of the closet, but she didn't make a peep, so I just sat there, and waited for Christie to reappear. Bringing up her lusty comments about me last night was a good idea, maybe it would get her thinking. I heard her rumbling around in the bathroom. And then I suddenly remembered something - I had left her black panties sitting on the sink. She was sure to see them, and wonder what they were doing there. I decided that this was a stroke of good luck, and began to wonder about how she was going to react to the possibility that I was examining her underwear in la toilet.

After several minutes Christie re-appeared, her limbs and back dried of their sweaty glisten.

"So. You. Singer-boy!" she said, coming over to the couch. "Just what exactly did you hear last night?"

(next)

This story was split into 2 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
1|2
Note: This story was originally submitted as one long story
and it was only broken into 2 parts for faster page loading.

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