Coming Together

I had developed a weekly date night for some healing self-love. I'd put on soft music, often something ethereal and New Age, light some candles, and open my body to my own deep pleasure. It was always also something of a safe space to experiment, though I admit you can only experiment so much on your own. Maybe that's why I became less and less careful about closing the blinds entirely. I wasn't wanting to be seen by anyone and everyone, of course. I could have stood naked outside for that. No. I wanted to be seen by someone who wanted to see because maybe there was this fantasy of attracting the perfectly right person with the energy I radiated, or that maybe just the right glimpse of my joy would bring someone else joy, even if I never knew.

But that night I would know. I undressed in the bedroom in a slow, sinuous dance, and I gave my now-routine flick of the toe to fling the underwear further than the rest of the pile as if I wanted to keep it least accessible. I had my favorite touches: crinkling my ears and hearing the low static within them as well as feeling the sensation of the skin; first feathering my flanks then scratching them; rolling my nipples between my fingers. Moving down between my legs and across my butt and up to pull the energy through me.

I had just warmed up more lube in my hands when I heard the knock at the door. Did my neighbor lose her dog again? Did someone suddenly need a cup of sugar? Worse, was it maintenance, who if I pretended not to be home, would enter on their own? It had to be someone in the complex because how else could you have made it through the front door?

I had ceased moving but my breath was still heaving. I pretended not to be home. My body was already hot and wet.

"It's me," you said. "I don't want you to stop. I want to join you."

I grinned. I began to massage myself again, let the heat build and glow as I walked to the door. I saw you through the peephole. We'd only exchanged words a few times on the street, but you'd always seemed open, generous, and kind. "Yeah?" I whispered.

"I saw you. Just now. I just want to be there with you. See?" You slowly licked your hand from the base of the palm to the tips of the fingers and added extra spit before you slid your hand down the front of your own pants and shivered the tiniest bit.

I added more pressure and delight to my touch, waves rolling across and through myself, and opened the door. You entered and shut the door but didn't think to lock it. The only maintenance I worried about now was my own, and maybe the more the merrier. I didn't think to invite you further in. Not that you would have much noticed: you were trying to keep one hand moving on yourself while getting off your clothes as quickly as possible. You were both as small and strong as I thought you would be.

Neither of us moved closer. We kept touching ourselves but with our eyes locked on each other. An energy began to flow between us. I smiled and saw the reflection of myself in you. My eyes began to roll. I quivered. I could sense you were close and I wanted us to come together, so I slowed down, scratched the heat up through my navel and into my arms and across my ass and even into my knees, but I saw you watching and I crashed through to the other side with a sudden gasp. I heard your small giggle before you, too, were caught in a string of moans that broke into a shuddering silence. Not bad, I managed to think, for the first time—almost perfect unison.

We both twitched a bit when I could finally hold your gaze again. Our arms hung loose and our legs were slightly apart and wobbly. Your face was flushed and glistening, like coral pulled from the ocean, as surely was mine. We walked forward and hugged. We laughed so hard that soon we also cried. We stood there skin to skin, slightly glued by our sweat, tears, and secretions, and I imagined the energy we had like a calm lagoon in which we now splayed.

"Tell me your story," I said, and you did.