Dare to Shout Love at a Dying City

It had been far too long since she had last laughed.

She raised her pad again and wrote:

She held the sign up for a moment, then laid it aside and, matching his bow, curtsied formally before turning and going back inside. She thought she could hear his laughter despite the wind.

Pru looked at the clock, wondered how to deal with her impulsive invitation.

The meal question was both easy and very difficult. She had food; that much was easy. But something to serve formally, with no electricity to cook with, that was going to be difficult.

She put that one away to think on while she thought about preparing herself.

Pretend this is the Ball,  she thought. The one you missed. Pretend you had had a real boyfriend and that he'd actually invited you. What would you have been doing?

That much made it easier.

The water was cold, but it was still a shower and the soap still made her clean and the shampoo and conditioner still smelled pretty. When it was finished, she put a pot of water outside in the sun to warm up, then dried her hair as well as she could with two towels before rubbing moisturizer onto her face, arms and shoulders.

The light in the bathroom was dim. She took her hairbrush into the bedroom with its bank of windows and stood before the mirror, working its bristles through her damp hair. She took her time -- she had time, after all. She brushed until it was quite dry and then, following advice once given by her grandmother, began to brush it another 100 strokes.

As she did so, her eyes were drawn to the naked figure in the mirror. She paused, lowered the brush.

She turned this way and that, inspecting herself. She lifted her breasts as if to present them for judgement. Turning, she smiled at her bum -- always, she thought, her best feature. She ran her hands down from her breasts, over her stomach, down to her hips.

It was, she thought, a body to please and delight a lover. In her case, of course, a lover she had never had.

But, she swore to herself, that would change tonight. Even at 75 yards, she would  please, would  delight.

And, in turn, would  be delighted.

She was certain of it.

.

She rinsed the razor in the pot of water, shook it off. Shaving in general was an annoyance and caused a minor feminist backlash in one or two corners of her mind, but, on occasion, it was warranted. And, even if Simon never knew, she would. That was important.

She'd never shaved herself 'down there', feeling it ridiculous, but today she trimmed herself with a pair of scissors and shaved what was left into a well-defined triangle.

It looked... how? Different, certainly. The air moving across her body felt a bit different. She shrugged. It looked -- would look, if Simon ever saw it -- hot.

She hoped.

How daring should I be?  she wondered to herself. Then, It's the end of the world, kid. It's not how daring you should be; it's how daring you can be.  She smiled as she suddenly remembered a back-of-the-drawer answer to her question.

'Always the bridesmaid', Prudence had been invited to a lingerie party for a bride-to-be. The girls had had a fun time. Well, most of them. Perpetually 'between boyfriends', the event had for her been a dismal affair, the laughter and glee of the others another reminder of her loveless state. Expected however to make the saleswoman's night better by purchasing something, the scarlet bra and garter belt combination had lingered in one drawer after another ever since, still in their plastic wrapping.

Opening the bag in her bedroom, her finger tips slid over the fabric, feeling it for the first time. They tingled.

There would be no use for the filmy brassiere, not with this dress. No matter.

And she had fastened the belt around her hips before she realized that she had no proper nylons. Thinking, she found a set of pantyhose and cut off the legs with a pair of scissors. Their tops doubled by rolling, she found the belt's suspender slings or clips held up the remnants quite well.

She ran her hands down her nylon-covered legs; they felt entirely different than with pantyhose. How odd. Her fingertip lingering over the bare skin of her inner thing, she stared at her eyes in the mirror. Was this how she should be feeling?

Straightening up, dressed only in belt and nylons, Pru examined herself solemnly in the mirror. How very, very different from the normal Prudence - the 'proper' Prudence, the 'acceptable' Prudence, the 'prudent' Prudence.

Prudence pushed 'acceptable', 'proper' and 'prudent' to one side, grinned a little at her nervousness. She shivered slightly, imagining Simon's reaction if he could see her so dressed. Her nipples tightened at the thought. Unguided, her hands rose to them, rolled them in their stiffness. She closed her eyes in pleasure, tried to imagine it that it was Simon's hands on her body.

She turned to again examine her bottom in the mirror -- still firm, despite a month without real exercise. Remembering a porn video she'd once seen at a college party, she lightly slapped one buttock. Then again, harder this time. Her skin rippled with the impact; her cheek bore a faint handprint when she removed her hand. Boys are supposed to like that,  she thought. I wonder why?

She swayed her bum back and forth, pondering the power it gave her.

In a thoughtful mood, Pru moved her makeup to her bedroom, laid it out on a chair in front of the mirror. There wasn't much; she normally didn't wear that much makeup. Examining the limited array of tubes and bottles in front of her, she felt frustrated.

But, wait! It didn't have to be artistic, not something to be worn to... She pushed the memory of that sadness aside. Simon only had to appreciate it from across the courtyard -- from 75 yards away. She could do that much with a set of children's crayons.

She found a couple of clips, pinned her hair back away from her face and examined her image again.

She added some colour to her eyebrows with a dark pencil before using a few light strokes of a brush to even them up. She selected a smoky eye shadow and a larger brush. After a few moments, she frowned, wiped it off, tried again. Satisfied, she repeated it on the other side. It looked good. She brushed it several more times, spread it out slightly further.

On inspection, her eyeliner had petrified. She needed to do something. Long fake eyelashes would have been perfect, but even after rooting through her bathroom drawer with a precious candle, she could only find one, so she applied a coat of mascara, let it dry a bit and curled her lashes.

Examining her eyes in the mirror, she gave a small frown, shrugged. It wasn't exactly what she wanted, but it would have to do. 75 yards...

While the mascara dried, she did her nails at the kitchen table. Most of her nail polish was pale, but she had one bottle with the unlikely title of 'Tuscan Burgundy'; her hand reached for that in the absence of another good option. She looked outside, guessed at the time. One coat would have to do.

There was an uncharacteristically bold red lipstick in the pile. She took her time with it before declaring her lips acceptable. Dipping a soft brush into her tin of blush, she lightly shook off the brush before applying it to her upper cheeks. She added highlighter here and there.

She turned her head back and forth in front of the mirror and decided she was satisfied.

Her hand paused as she reached for her one bottle of perfume - inexpensive, a Secret Santa gift she had never bothered to discard. She smiled at her hesitation. Simon would certainly not be able to smell it, but it was the principle of the thing. She put her fingertip on the opening of the bottle, turned it over for a second. She carefully replaced the tall lid before tapping her finger tip behind each ear. After a moment, blushing slightly at her daring, she smiled again at the girl in the mirror and dabbed the scent in the top of her cleavage.

For some reason, the fragrance made her feel much more confident as she went into the kitchen

She'd given a lot of thought to the meal. There was little enough in her larder, to be sure, but it would have to do.

A peanut butter sandwich, using the last of the bread and a final teaspoon of raspberry jam. Cut into quarters, it could be arranged to look more impressive. And, with bread instead of crackers, it could be eaten with a knife and fork. Apple slices. Canned three-bean salad. Served on a proper plate, it would look better at a distance than on her counter -- it would do.

She hoped so, anyway.

Finally, she poured a wine glass half full of warm Pepsi-Cola. It would least look like wine from a distance.

She put it all on a tray, left a white tablecloth and napkin beside it on the countertop.

Still dressed in but garter belt and nylons, she found her wristwatch. It was 6:35. She turned towards the mirror, examined herself again. Was this crazy? What was crazy anyway?  She frowned a little, uncertain of herself. What defines crazy at the end of the world?

She shrugged, tucked her shoulders back - be brave, kitten!  The motion made her bare breasts sway slightly. She smiled, looked around for her heels. Sliding into them, she resumed her place in front of the mirror, struck a vamp pose. Both hands behind her head, pushing out her breasts, she tilted one hip out, made a little moue with her lips.

Pru was surprised at how sensual she looked. Was it really her in the mirror? Her eyes strayed to her new-trimmed cleft, noticed her now-exposed labia. She stared at their shape, as if seeing her sex for the very first time. Tentatively, she reached down with a finger, touched briefly and again pondered the ancient mystery off womanhood.

Her eyes rose as she slid her hands across her stomach, stroked her flanks, brought them up again to cover her nipples. She bent a little forward from the waist, puckered her lips a little.

Yes. It wasn't Vargas, but it was hot. Her confidence grew.

She put on her housecoat and slippers and, deliberately not looking across towards Simon's balcony, quickly laid the tablecloth on her table, set out cutlery, food and Pepsi-wine. She fitted her binoculars to their tripod and set the assembly down before scuttling back inside.

Ten minutes.

Her dress slid over her body like a lover's gentle palms. The feeling of the soft cloth drifting across her nipples felt like cold fire on her flesh.

The outline of the garter belt showed in the mirror, but only if you knew if was there.

A final touch, her grandmother's pearls. They were long enough for two loops close around her neck and one more, longer, almost down to her breastbone.

Her dress in place, she again began to brush her hair, parting it down the middle, half over each shoulder. Natural highlights glowed in the sunlight through the window.

She looked at her watch. 7:00 on the button. She forced herself to stand still, counted slowly to 100. Mustn't look too eager.

New-found confidence adding grace to her stride, she walked out of her apartment onto the balcony. Simon was indeed waiting for her across the way. He rose as she emerged into the sunlight.

She smiled, a private smile. The boy had tried, she had to give him that. Even at this distance, she could tell that he'd shaved, leaving a small goatee. She thought it suited him. He didn't have a tux, not a real one, but his dark sports coat looked very good over a real ruffled shirt with a red bow tie.

He bowed, quite formally. Smiling, she tried to curtsey in the long, form-fitting dress, didn't quite  manage to be graceful.

Simon's laughter could be heard across the courtyard. For some reason, it was reassuring. When her eyes found his, his arm slid inside his jacket, paused and emerged holding something.

A flower!  She knew in an instant that it was a real flower, not a fake. Her jaw dropped. Not only was it maybe the most romantic gesture she had ever heard of, but a flower! Where had he got...?

Her eyes dropped to the green space between the two buildings. The fool!   He'd gone outside, dared the patrols in the street!

For her.

Her jaw fell at the implication.

Regaining her composure, Pru watched as the man slid the stem of the flower into a tall glass already on the table.

She put her hand over her heart in a gesture of gratitude, then waggled her finger at him in a clear mark of admonishment.

To her surprise, he gave a huge stage shrug, his palms raised to the sky. Busted, but you're worth it!

Simon dropped the pose, waved a hand to the table beside him. There were two chairs, two places set. He pulled one of the chairs back as if offering her a seat.

She pulled out the chair by her own table, seated herself without ceremony.

This will be well,  she thought to herself.

Still standing, Simon amazed her a second time, held up a thin brown folder. Opening it, he held it towards Pru, as if proffering it for her inspection. Of course -- a menu!   The boy was good!

Pantomiming holding the folder, she pretended to read, then pointed at nothing, as if making a choice. Holding the pose, she looked up at him. The boy across the way sat down, pointed at his own 'choice' and casually laid the folder aside.

His hand pointed at her, then ran over his chest, down his legs. Your dress.  The palm of his hand started fluttering rapidly over his chest, over his heart. In return, she smiled, mimed pulling on the ends of a non-existent bow tie at her bare neck.

She couldn't see what the boy had served himself, but he was eating something. She tried to take each bite as elegantly as she could, stretch out the meal, make this time of her perhaps-last-time become timeless.

Every so often, Simon would raise his own glass in a toast. She responded. The food eventually finished, Pru quietly gathered her plate and cutlery, put them out of sight under the table. When she looked up, Simon had done the same. Again he pulled out the second chair beside him. This time he patted it in an invitation to join him.

On a lark, remembering a joke one of the boys had played in high school, she stood and blew him a kiss before deliberately turning her back on him. Standing clear of the table, she wrapped both arms around herself, one hand clutching her head, the other running up and down her back and side. From where Simon was sitting, she knew, all that would be visible would be hands on her body; it would look very much as if she was in somebody else's arms, somebody fondling her.

I want that.

Again the boy's laughter overcame the sound of the breeze.

Laughing herself, Pru shifted her chair away from her table, slightly to one side, allowing Simon a better view of his date.

His lover,  Pru wished to herself. I would, Simon.

Facing him, she hugged herself, hard. When he returned the gesture, Pru felt a warmth in her heart. If it wasn't love, it would do for now.

She smiled as widely as she could, hoping he could see.

He could, she was sure.

Daring much now, she ran one hand down the side of her head, over her neck, over her bare shoulder, coming to rest on her breast. Even knowing it was her own hand, her nipples beneath the dress grew hard.

Simon was watching her, entranced. As it should be.

Prudence laughed again, knowing she had control now, knowing too that Simon could play the game well.

She moved her hand around and over the swell of her breast, closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if trying to concentrate on the sensation.

When she looked down again, Simon hadn't moved. On impulse, she reached out, picked up her binoculars and held them up for him to see.

The boy stood up hurriedly and sprinted inside, emerging triumphantly a minute later with his own pair.

So much the better!

She'd already aimed hers at his chair. Leaning back, Pru again began to stroke her breast through the black cloth of her dress, with both hands now. A quick glance showed Simon with his glasses firmly to his eyes. She felt her body respond to... him. His hands. Distance didn't matter.

Slowly, slowly, the girl moved her hand over the dress, upwards to her neckline. Her fingers paused, slid inside.

A quick glance showed Simon leaning forward, binoculars firmly against his eyes, elbows on knees to steady his gaze.

Pru again let her head fall back as she slipped her fingers further into her dress, coming to rest over her breast. This time, it was no act. Her nipples were as hard as she could remember them ever being. In her mind, it was Simon caressing her - Simon, her new lover. She floated in that thought, allowing herself to drift higher and higher in her arousal.

It occurred to her, briefly, that others might be watching from his building, but realized that it didn't matter. Not now. Tonight, there were only she and Simon, first loves, last loves.

Tonight belonged to them.

She stopped, pulled the neckline down to bare one breast. Leaving it exposed, she looked across the courtyard, directly at the binoculars, licked her lips slowly.

Pru could feel the warm evening breeze on her breast. She ran her hand over her head again, down over her chest. With both hands, moving down her chest in stages, she pantomimed undoing a button, then another, then another.

Stopping, she smiled broadly, bent to look through her binoculars.

Your turn.

She couldn't hear him now, but the sight of his laughter was clear.

He ran a finger along his own jaw, slowly pulled at his bow tie, letting the ends fall loose on his shirt.

He looked at the girl, smiled, pursed his lips in a lingering kiss. Raising his chin, he undid his collar button before softly stroking his cheek.

It was my hands on his face,  Pru thought. It was if she could feel his whiskers, the fabric of his shirt under her hands.

Pru watched, barely breathing, as Simon slowly undid the rest of his buttons. Standing, he shrugged out of both shirt and jacket at the same time, letting them fall. A shirt-tail caught in his trousers; pulling it loose, he tossed the two garments aside.

He blew Pru another kiss, sat down and reached for his own binoculars.

Prudence could feel herself react. Her breasts felt heavy; there was a weight in her stomach.

She briefly touched her own chest with both hands, then, her arms straight in front of her and her palms facing Simon, she slowly moved them up and down, as if over his chest.

Looking at the faraway figure, she smiled for him, smiled for his pleasure, smiled to show her own pleasure at the evening.

She looked away from Simon on his far balcony. Moving her bare right arm deliberately to her chest, Pru lightly pinched her stiff nipple, allowing herself to feel it under Simon's hand. Slowly, she peeled the dress down off her left arm and shoulder. The soft knit fell onto her lap, leaving her torso bare; she covered her breasts with her hands as if suddenly shy. A moment later, she looked back again to Simon. Uncovering her breasts to his sight, she brought her hands up in front of her face as if holding Simon's head to kiss him. She opened her lips just a little, ran her tongue along them.

Laughing to herself with happiness, Pru leaned back in her chair. Her hands slid under her breasts, lifted them, presented them to Simon in invitation.

Through the binoculars, she watched as the boy leaned forward, his hands out to cup her breasts. His lips moved from one hand to the other. His tongue licked between his lips at each hand and Pru again felt his touch in her eager boobs. He took his time, lingering on each side and the girl realized she was in the hands of an gifted and sensitive lover.