by Ethan McDormand
Deep in the night I sat in a nearly deserted bar, nursing my dry Manhattan. Had I been hit by a truck, or had I met a woman whose name I would never know but whom I would never forget? I wasn’t sure.
She told me to call her Eve, and more than once she reminded me that I’d never really know her, not her real name nor how to reach her. She was skittish and witchy and irresistible. Weren’t six glorious, passionate hours enough? she asked me. Why did I also have to know her name?
The bartender appeared, barging in on my reverie. “Solving all the world’s problems tonight?” he asked wryly, smiling.
I got up and walked back out into the icy night. Snow was falling again, glittering diamond wisps in freezing halos around the cruel streetlights.
Her breasts had been as white as the snow, my lustful phantasm. Her nipples were swollen like ripe plums and colored electric pink, then turning frigid blue in the crackling wash of flashing neon outside the window.
“Touching,” she said softly as my hand crossed the space between us, “touching later. Now look at me. Just look, and let me look at you. I want to imagine how your hands will touch my tits, squeeze my nipples, how they’ll stroke my pussy and tickle my clit. I want you to fantasize about how soft my breasts are, how my nipples are just a little warmer than my tits. I want your lips and tongue to lick me and suck me in your imagination and in mine. I want to imagine how hard your cock will feel slipping into my pussy, fucking me mercilessly.”
“Eve,” I whispered as I unbuttoned my jeans, and eased down my briefs to let my cock lunge toward her, hard already and throbbing, stark white, hot blue in the blinking flash of neon.
She gave a little cry when she saw it. “So big,” she whispered, and then the pink tip of her tongue played across her pouting, sensual lips.
“I should spare my pussy your big lance. Have you fuck my tits instead, put a few drops of oil here, right here.” She touched the soft, deep cleft between her breasts. “You could come on my tits and let me rub your hot juice all over my nipples. But I don’t care how big you are or how tight my pussy is,” she whispered. “I want you here.” One slim white hand stroked her raven fluff.
I reached out to touch her again and this time she let me. My fingers tingled as they caressed her tits, squeezing them gently, so soft and full, teasing her nipples like two virgin rosebuds.
“Not yet,” she said, twirling away like a graceful ballerina. “Let your mind play before your body.” She faced away from me and my rigid, yearning cock, presenting her shapely bottom to me. She reached her slender hand back to ease apart her cheeks, showing me the sensual eye of her ass.
“Imagine fucking me here,” she said, gazing back at me over her shoulder, a mischievous grin on her face. “Imagine plunging your big, hard cock into my tight hole. Pretend you can hear me screaming with pleasure.”
She swung around again to face me, her heavy breasts swaying, and moved closer to me, pressing her warm tits against my chest, moving the soft fur of her pussy against my pleading prick. I pushed it hard against the warm, velvety flesh of her belly.
My hands stroked her tits, weighed their heaviness in my cupped palms as she sighed and moaned in pleasure. My thumbs delicately brushed back and forth across the taut skin of her engorged nipples. Her silky hands were on my crotch, one lightly stroking my swollen balls, the other playing finger games with the pulsing head of my cock.
“Eve,” she told me. Eve was her name. We had both ducked into a doorway to get out of the driving snow, which was surprising everyone flooding out of the theater. I’d never seen her before. In a flash, I wondered whether she had been in the audience, but then I saw her baseball jacket with the name of the Broadway show elaborately embroidered on it. Still, it seemed as if she just appeared out of nowhere. As if by magic, her eyes already gazing deeply, hotly into mine as though she’d known me forever, as though we’d always been lovers. In the near darkness of the doorway our lips met in a slow, almost painfully sensual kiss. She tasted like strawberries, like honey, like hot dreams of bliss.
Her long ebony hair glistened wet in the sputtering strobe of a nearby streetlight. “Come on, I know a place,” she whispered, and we walked out around the back of the theater, down into an alley and into a back door. An old man with a cigar glanced up at “Eve,” waved, and looked back at his miniature television.
Our footsteps echoed across the big, empty backstage area and up the iron grating of a precarious spiral staircase that made me dizzy. Down a passageway she led me, though my feet were unsure on the grating and I could see all the way down to the stage several floors below. But she pulled me suddenly into a bizarre little chamber at the end of the hall, and, as she closed the door behind us, I could smell marijuana and old fabric.
We were standing in some sort of storage space for huge velvet curtains. Piles of the stuff were heaped everywhere, and the room was exotically lit by a neon sign garishly flashing into the dirty window. She must have been here before, because the mountainous draperies had been arranged to make quite a cozy nest and there were old wine bottles and ashtrays lying around.
I’d barely had time to think, but as our bodies finally met, I realized I’d never made love to a woman I didn’t know, a perfect stranger. Always it had been a culmination of getting to know each other, almost as though we were exchanging résumés, dating, gradual. This was sudden, fiery, mysterious, enchanting in a way I’d never experienced.
As though she’d read my mind, she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed out to arm’s length, and put her finger to her lips. “Careful there. You’re thinking too much.”
I opened my mouth to answer just as she moved quickly and gracefully to me, kneeling, taking my hard, ready cock into her mouth, deep, all the way in with one hot, soft movement. I cried out in pleasure and surprise, and almost came in that one engulfing movement. I felt my boiling juices straining to shoot into her mouth.
Only the shock of feeling her sharp nails dig into my bottom kept me from losing the next twenty minutes of ecstasy as she began to slowly suck my cock, all the way out to flick her tongue across its throbbing head, and then all the way in, deep, until she almost gagged. Slowly, tongue-teasing my penis, every inch of it, as I groaned, “Yes, yes, yes.”
One of her lean hands reached between my legs up behind my back to ease down past my tingling anus, to stroke with sharp but gentle nails my swollen, almost painfully tender balls.
My legs turned rubbery, trembling, barely able to support my weight. I suddenly felt that I was totally under her control, that my cock belonged to her as long as she sucked it, teased it. I would wait to come until she gave me permission. I felt I could last forever and come when she brought me to that heaven’s gate, when she allowed it.
With a woman I was dating, someone I knew, could I have given over that total control? Could I have experienced that passionately insane notion that I belonged to her, that plunging my cock into her eager mouth was this fantastic turning over of myself—cock, body, soul—to her? I didn’t think so. But Eve was a stranger, a phantom, almost as though my wildest hallucinating wet dream had invented her.
We would know each other’s body, the secrets of each other’s passion, but never our names. She would disappear. There was no expectation, no inhibitions. Of course I didn’t think about any of this in words then, only later.
As she tongue-teased the ridge around the head of my thrumming cock, she murmured, “Is the dam about to burst? Is the volcano about to erupt?”
“Yes,” I managed to whisper. “Yes.”
“Then come for me, baby,” she sighed, her words deliciously muffled because my cock was sliding deeper into her mouth. “Give me everything you’ve got.” Her head swept down, taking me deep-throat. One, two, three last strokes as the fire raged through my body and my juices boiled up from deep in my soul and burst into her mouth. Her slender white fist closed over the spasms of my cock as she pumped and sucked me dry, swallowing hungrily.
Flashes of neon outside the window marked the fleeting moments we still had together, for I could not imagine that my phantom lover and I would ever see each other in sunlight. Stark white, wintry blue stabs of neon streaked the swaying curtain of snow outside as we lay in each other’s arms on the mountain of velvet curtain.
Her breasts were warm and full on my chest, her breath hot on my shoulder. “My turn,” she whispered, moving to straddle my face, easing down to let her slick, juicy pussy brush across my lips. My mouth reached up, eagerly seeking her clit. Her slim white fingertips gently opened her pussy lips to place the eye of her sensual hurricane at the very tip of my tongue.
A crazy idea swept through my mind as I licked her: the regret that her pussy didn’t have a tongue to lick back, to reach out and tease my tongue while I was stroking her closer and closer to orgasm. As I flicked my tongue across her hot little button, other thoughts swirled through me like wild surf. I knew she was a mystery I would never solve, a phantom encountered only in the night, this once.
It seemed as if in this little room of swirled drapery, we inhabited a universe of pure sensuality. Sex was our language and we had spoken volumes in only a few words.
Licking, sucking her clit gently, letting my tongue tease her hot, slick nub. She came in a spasm of gasping, screaming passion, squeezing her thighs tight on my head as her fingers laced in my hair to pull my face deeper into her pussy.
“Zeno’s what?” I murmured, coming awake as she whispered in my ear. My cock was already half-hard again as she stroked it with her fingertips.
“Paradox,” she said, flicking her tongue to tickle my earlobe. “Zeno’s paradox. If you shoot an arrow at a target, it goes halfway there, and then halfway again, and it never gets to the target.”
“What’s that got to do with . . .”
“I’ll show you,” she said, laughing softly. My cock was boulder-hard by now, and she leaned back, opened her legs, and guided my shaft into her pussy. “If you go slow,” she said, “taking my cunt with your cock like Zeno’s arrow, you’ll never get all the way in. There’ll always be deeper to go.” She grinned devilishly.
“So then we’d fuck forever.”
“Mmmm” was all she replied, turning it into a long moan as I entered her, a locomotive steaming slowly into a tunnel, hot, pulsing, powerful.
I proved Zeno wrong in the next half hour, over and over, driving slowly but completely all the way in, filling her hot, slick, grasping tunnel; pulling almost all the way out, then plunging in all the way until I thought her glove-tight pussy would split.
“Pinch me,” she said as my hands grasped her large, firm tits, “hurt me a little.” Her swollen nipples came alive as I pinched and twisted and tugged. She did the same to me, raking her sharp nails across my chest, punishing my nipples, swollen like hers with little jolts of pleasure I felt all the way to the head of my invading cock.
Slower, gentler our lips and tongues teased each other, then faster and harder again, loving and sweet for a while, then hard and fast and almost violent. We came together in a sensual free-fall, my exploding cock seeming to shoot its feverish juices forever in waves of fire and ice.
All too soon I was back in the snow outside the theater and looking up at that sign that had been winking neon into our cozy, velvet-draped compartment.
I sit sometimes late at night hoping I’ll find Eve again, my nameless phantom. I walk past the doorway where we met and kissed, and now, rather than a portal to ecstasy, it seems only shabby and empty. The Masonic-temple-turned-theater where we made love has closed down again; the show must have left town and gone on tour.
What happened to me that night is still, will always be, a mystery to me. Now I find myself loving mystery, craving it in my love life, in all of my life. Every so often I find a woman who shares my taste for this intoxicating witch’s brew of passion and enigma. And in those intense nights, rare but beautiful, we reach deep into the mysterious, deep into the heart of the intriguing riddle of sex.