The Stranger

As a woman, the world is never at my disposal the way it is for others. That’s why I prefer the darkness. The night is always mine.

I tiptoe across the creaky floorboards of my front porch, careful not to wake my dog from his deep slumber on the couch. I’m covetous. I haven’t slept for more than a couple hours at a time since my accident. Circumstances, karma, fate. Whatever you want to call it has led me to this nocturnal, hermetic life. 

Cool, briny air wafts off the ocean and blows my chestnut hair across the nape of my neck, tickling me as I dislodge my five speed from the wooden gate it’s locked behind. I crane my neck up to the sky, receiving a sharp zing in response from my central nervous system. The pain wasn’t even worth it; there aren’t any stars out tonight. Nothing to illuminate this solitary witching hour.

I straddle the hard seat underneath me and take off down the street, sweatshirt billowing and hair tangling as I follow my familiar route toward the private beach access I discovered a few months earlier. 

Before, I loved living in this miniscule beach town. Now it just feels like I’m suffocating. Every corner is awash with memories that I try to forget, and there’s nothing new to distract me. I try my hardest to sleep during the daylight hours to avoid what was once friendly, now meddling, concern from my neighbors. My friends have slowly gotten tired of unanswered texts, dates have petered out because it turns out it’s impossible to make plans with a woman who primarily exists in the twilight zone of the graveyard shift. My dog does his best to bear the burden of my loneliness, but it’s not as though that replaces the heady feeling of a warm body next to me in bed. Of wandering hands in a sudsy shower, of lingering gazes over a mostly-empty bottle of wine. 

“Hey, kid. Haven’t seen you in a while,” the burly clerk of the all-night convenience store I  stopped at draws me out of my reveries. “Where ya been?”

The burnt black coffee I’ve just poured from the cold burner penetrates the haze surrounding my brain as I approach the counter. “I’ve been around,” I reply, “just… busy, I guess.”

“Too bad, I was hoping you found yourself some sleep. Or at least some company.” He shrugs as he rings me up. I like our interactions. Non-invasive with a thread of compassion running through them. I try my hardest to avoid interacting with anyone face to face these days, a luxury afforded to me by my chosen hours, but we’ve struck up an unspoken agreement. He keeps Parliaments in stock, and in return I don’t let on that I know he’s been getting his dick sucked under the counter by the frat boy home for the summer who I’ve seen skitter to the back when they think I’m not looking.

“No,” shaking my head, “Not yet. But if you happen to notice a handsome stranger who also wanders around at two in the morning, be sure to let a girl know.” I unwrap the cellophaned box and pat my pockets in search of a lighter. The Clerk slides a black Bic across the counter and winks at me. “On the house,” he says, and I wave over my shoulder as I make my way through the automatic sliding glass doors.

I’m close enough that I walk with my bike, scoping out the subtle parting of willowy seagrass indicating the mouth of my trail. My back twinges as I lead the bike over loose sand, trekking to a secluded beach that is All Mine at night. I remove the ratty blanket I’ve stowed in the bike’s basket and use it as a barrier between my sweaty skin and the gritty sand underneath me as I lie flat to help ease my back ache. Facing the empty sky, I let my thoughts drift.

I’ve always been by myself. I had aloof parents and moved out of the house at eighteen and never returned. They remember to call on my birthday most years. I worked shitty jobs to scrape together the modest down payment on my teeny beach bungalow. I had a smattering of girl friends who lost interest once they realized I’m a terrible wingwoman, and men have more or less leered at me from a distance. I’m no great beauty, as my mother was fond of reminding me, but I’m a full-blooded woman with enough tits and ass to grab onto and plenty of enthusiasm to make up for whatever else I’m lacking. 

My fingers tap out a staccato rhythm on the frayed cloth beneath me as I take a large breath of salty air. I read somewhere that the air of the beach has different, healing ions because of the salt, which is why the sickly women of yore were sent to languish at the shore. I figured I couldn’t get any worse, so I’ve been sneaking to this private spot for almost a year to put it to the test. With the light breeze ebbing, I’m warm in my oversized sweatshirt, and awkwardly try to remove it with as little jostling as possible. It catches on the edge of my tank top as I lift it over my head and both items come off together, leaving me in only a thin cotton bralette and cutoff jean shorts. Even this slight movement has flared the smarting in my neck, and I close my eyes and breathe in for three, out for five until I can get the pain under control.

The gruff sound of a throat being cleared snaps my eyes wide open. I’m frozen, suddenly hyper-aware of feeling the cool air bring my nipples to sharp points beneath the flimsy material of my bra while in the presence of a stranger. I opt for feigned nonchalance and bring a cigarette to my lips and draw in deeply. “You need something?” I pose to a faceless entity on my right as I exhale.

“Looking at me would be a good start,” the deep, scratchy voice replies, carrying a tone of authority I find hard to ignore. Little does he know that I can’t turn to face him, and I revel in this little rebellion. 

“I’m not looking for any new friends. Thanks, though.” I retort, confidence wavering as I realize I am entirely alone, half naked, in the presence of a stranger.

“Lucky for you I’m not interested in being friends, then, isn’t it?,” he replies, and I feel the sand shift near me as he approaches my blanket. My eyes slide over to him and I catch myself from wincing as I take in his appearance. A dark, haggard scar bisects his left cheek up into his full hairline and stubble dots a sharp jawline. He is equal parts brutal and gorgeous. “May I?,” he asks, gesturing to the blanket. I say nothing for a beat, waiting to see what he’ll do next, and exhale slowly as he lowers himself down next to me. My pulse ratchets up to an uneven, frantic beat.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you. I came over to make sure you were okay, because from a distance all I could make out was a lifeless body on the shore.” He chuckles quietly to himself. “If I had known it was a beautiful woman I probably would have run over more quickly.”

I jerk at his observation, and then realize something. “The man from the store didn’t send you here, did he?”

“The… man from the… store? No, sorry, I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” he shakes his head. “I just come to the beach whenever I need to get away. Am I wrong in guessing that you know what I mean?”

I say nothing, likely confirming his suspicions. I’ve found the less information I give up the quicker I can extract myself from social interactions. However, as I feel my nipples beading even tighter, I start to question if I even want this exchange to end. In an attempt at congeniality, I wordlessly offer up a cigarette with a raised eyebrow. Before accepting, The Stranger takes a long, measured perusal of my bare skin, finally fingering the cigarette between his thick index and middle fingers as he sinks down to lay beside me. His eyes burned a path across my nakedness, making me want to squirm under his inspection, and my skin is about to erupt at the place where our shoulders are now touching. 

He lights up and we lie together in silence, barely touching in the darkness, and after a time I feel him roll to his side, looking at my profile. “Why?” is all he asks, and I know what he’s implying. I ponder my answer and reply simply, “I come here to not hurt, even just for a little while.” He chews my answer over and hesitantly uses a callused index finger to lightly trace down the bridge of my nose. I visibly shiver at the contact, and I’m almost certain he’s holding his breath, calculating my response. Almost as if he can’t resist, he drags the finger lower, tracing the vermillion border of my full lips. On his second pass my tongue darts out to meet the rough skin, drawing the tip of his finger ever so slightly into the warmth of my mouth. I lightly suckle it and hear his sharp intake of breath.

He withdraws and looks at me seriously, and I’m able to tilt my head slightly to look into his stormy blue eyes. “I’m going to touch you now. I’ll help take some of that hurt away.” He says it like an oath, and I nod my head in invitation. “I’ll take care of you baby, you won’t have to move a muscle,” and with that, he rearranges himself to hover on top of the length of my body. Hips crooked between my open legs, an elbow planted next to each shoulder, he takes my face between both hands and surprises me with feather-light kisses across my eyelids, cheeks, temples, slowly making his way down to my throat. I’ve erupted with goosebumps at the sensation, and gasp quietly when he uses his teeth to nibble and suck on the tender skin of my neck. I feel his weight settling against my lower half, finally providing the friction I didn’t realize I was desperate for.

My hands shoot up, burrowing themselves in his thick brown hair to draw him closer to me. I’m demanding, needy, and my hips jerk up to meet his length, rigid and full against me. He lets out a soft, “Jesus,” as he busies his mouth against the soft skin of my collarbone, licking and biting, left hand carving out a path to my nearly exposed breasts. My chest is heaving and the excuse of a bra I’m wearing puts up no resistance to his ministrations, my nipples straining against the measly fabric, begging for his notice.

He continues his way down, right hand wandering down my bare stomach toward the button on my shorts and gathering my left tit in his other hand. He uses his warm mouth to apply damp pressure directly against the hardened nipple and I almost moan at the contact. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how I make you feel,” he mutters against the cotton. He sucks my peak into his mouth through the fabric, using his front teeth to work the nipple in near-reverence. The sharp sensation bowls me over, and a hot bolt of pleasure makes its way down my spine toward his other hand. As he switches sides, laving my pebbled nipple under his hot, flat tongue, I use my hand to cover his larger one at the waist of my shorts. Together, we work the button open, and he helps me slide them down my now quivering legs. As he reaches for me again, finding me bare, he pulls back quickly and sits on his haunches.

“God damn,” he breathes out, “Out here nearly naked and all alone, looking like sin and tasting just as wicked. I’m not entirely convinced you aren’t a siren, here to lure me to my death.” He says, awe in his voice as he looks down at my naked pussy, shimmering with my arousal and ready for his attention. “I might die if you don’t let me put my mouth on your cunt. I’m close to begging.” 

I honest-to-God giggle, surprising both of us, and say only one word in assent. “Please.” It’s the green light he needed, and he settles himself between my shaking thighs, smoothing and kneading his hands over the jumpy muscles as he lowers his head to where my legs connect. His dark eyes peer up my body to pin me in place as he uses his thick thumbs to separate my folds, lines of agony furrowing his brow. “If I can ask for one thing,” he looks up at me, “it’s to not cum until I tell you to.” And before waiting for a response, he dips his head down and uses his broad, flat tongue to lick the seam of my pussy. 

I whimper, hands clutching the fabric of the blanket at my sides, and lift my hips into his face. He takes my cue and responds in fervor. As he sips at my pussy, licking up all the wetness I’ve made just for him, his right hand floats up my body and yanks my bra off with a jerk. The cotton didn’t stand a chance against his huge paws and the torn fabric flutters off, leaving me entirely exposed to his power. Helping himself, he works my nipples into stiff, throbbing peaks, and I swear I can feel my pulse in my clit.

He buries himself in my cunt, using a firm tongue to tease my aching clit into fullness, and he grunts in pleasure against me as I emit more wetness, encouraging him. He’s plucking at my hardened nipples and I realize I’m rocking slowly against his mouth, desperate to not lose contact for even a second. I look down to see him rutting against the blanket, fully clothed, and almost cum at the sight of his wildness.

“I told you. Not yet,” he gently chastises me, obviously having felt the muscles inside of me contract, and instead amplifies the feeling by inserting his thick middle finger as he continues to bathe my clit with his pointed tongue. I’m so wet there is almost no friction against his finger, and he slides in and out of my body as I writhe against his face. He crooks the finger up, finding the fleshy patch on my front wall and massaging it, and I can barely contain my shout of ecstasy. “I’m… this is too much. I’m too close,” I whisper, desperate to cum but also desperate for this not to end. 

He pulls back again, this time only slightly, and rubs his stubbled jaw against the abraded skin of my inner thighs, kissing me in worship as he uses his damp finger to apply light but constant pressure against the electric bundle of nerves. I’m shaking like I’ve run a marathon when I prop myself up on my elbows, amazed at his bright eyes devouring the sight of my sodden cunt, when he changes course.

“I’m going to pull my cock out now and rub it against you until we both cum. That’s all I’m going to do. I’m just going to rub you until you feel good. Okay, baby?” I let out a gust of breath I didn’t realize I was holding and once again reply with, “Please.”

He wastes no time shucking his pants, and I laugh to myself when I notice he also wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Maybe we were supposed to meet here tonight. My thoughts are cut short when I watch his thick cock bounce out of the constraints of his pants, a pearly bead of pre-cum bobbing impatiently at his ruddy tip. I lie back and reach out to him in reflex, and he tightly pins my hand against the blanket next to me. “I’m going to touch you like I said. That’s it. Let me take the pain away, just for tonight,” he huffs out, his tone taut with tension. 

Stunned, eyes wide I watch him grip himself by the base and drag his fat, fleshy head through my greedy pussy, and I’m not sure who is more tortured between the two of us. I gasp and he groans at the contact, velvet flesh against hot arousal, and he lowers some of his weight down and simulates fucking me. I’m bucking underneath him, mindless in my efforts to coax his cock closer to a hole, any hole, so I can find completion. He grinds his length against me and I can feel delicious pressure building at the bottom of my spine. I’m past being able to control my impending orgasm, and he must sense this or be feeling the same, because he pants, “Oh, fuck,” over me as he swirls his cockhead around my pulsing clit. I’m on the cliff’s edge when he looks at me with hard eyes and simply says, “Now.”

I detonate, explosive pleasure catapulting me into the ether. I cum so hard my back arches off the sandy blanket, and somewhere in the recess of my mind I recognize I haven’t been able to move like that in months. My cunt is painfully empty, and I seek to guide him inside of my swollen sheath when he shakes his head and removes his cock from me entirely. He fists himself while still between my legs, proud and hard as iron, and tugs one, two, just three times until his eyes roll back and I watch his thick seed erupt out of him and land on my kiss-dampened tits. His entire body shudders like he’s just experienced his own personal earthquake, and he uses the flagging hardness to smear his cum around my nipples. After a moment, he looks down at me with a new lightness in his eyes. I am finally allowed to raise my hand, and I place it gently against his scarred cheek. I let my thumb trace over the trench and we savor the moment, the corner of his lips quirking up in a small smile.

He rolls from on top of me and we lie side by side again, even now my skin aflame from his head against my shoulder. I sigh in relief, the chronic pain having momentarily departed. I wiggle back into my sweatshirt and we look up at the sky together. I point to the only star winking in the sky, finally having revealed itself to us in our passion.

The sound of gulls cawing rips me out of my stiff slumber. I shield my eyes against the harsh sun creeping over the horizon, looking around. I’m on the beach. Alone. I apparently slept for hours, more than I’ve managed at once in a while. I stand up slowly, soreness in my neck and back abated for now, and walk my bike back to the street in the daylight. 

I realize hours later that I never found my ruined bra.

Photo by Leyla Qəhrəmanova