Floor Five and Three Quarters

6 min read

photo: SexArt

“Nobody ever tells you when Someday comes.”

Foot clad in canvas is the first thing I see of her.

A very simple shoe makes its way into the elevator and brings the rest of her with it, confronting my high heels in stark juxtaposition to match the rest of her appearance.

Jeans frayed by time rather than design.

Faded green t-shirt concealing breasts I am convinced would be well-served by a better bra.

Medium length brown hair left to fall at will, curtaining an underdone face not many years my junior, bright, smiling eyes to match her shirt.

They meet mine, do their best to warm me.

They have work to do.

My day has been one stress after another. Sales meetings checkered at best, and now I’m behind the eight ball. An early working dinner awaits once I get to the hotel lobby.

My new roommate in this tiny mobile apartment of ours ensures that’s where it’s headed and settles against the side wall.

“Hot date?”

Her countenance dances to the tune of a joke I don’t get, smile spreading slow and warm, orange ink dripped in a water glass. I make a feeble attempt to engage.

“If by hot you mean painfully boring. Business meeting.”

Her eyes give the quickest flicker.

“Business must be brisk.”

Another smile, wry this time. I accept the compliment with the briefest of chuckles, more a puff through my nose as I clear my throat, my gaze leveling at my reflection in the brass doors.

I did pull out the stops tonight. The most plunging blouse I dared, a bra brutally efficient at immodestly squeezing my modest breasts together and up, long, stockinged legs flowing from the tap of my tight pencil skirt into towering heels of crimson.

Persuasion and sex are the same thing.

And my job is to persu —

A metallic squeal. A rumbling lurch. Flickering eyes widen, same as mine, four hands flying to rails. Alarm bell. Silence.


A new bell, this time the phone in the panel. Too cheery. Flicker glances at me lest I demand to speak for our cause, then reaches for it.

Apologies muffled against her ear.

Fixer en route.

Twenty minutes.

Silent curse and texted apologies.

Flicker replaces the handset. “Well, this is a rather classic scene.”

I huff. “The opening of a thousand low budget pornos.”

Flicker flickers.

“If only.”

Her words register slowly. Our eyes connect and I peel them away as I flush.

So unlike me. I’m in control. I set the tone. I don’t come by the whispered nickname of ‘Boss Bitch’ by accident.

So why am I back on my knifepoint heels?

I steal a glance. She’s still appraising me. I can’t sustain the mutual gaze. It’s a lapping flame, touchable if you’re deft but scorching if you linger.

I chastise myself. I need to deflect.

“Not exactly how I planned my evening.”

Flicker leans back. “Yet here we are.” I take another look. She is silently dominating me — quiet confidence her ropes, a steady gaze her chains. I take her in and suddenly realize her power:

She doesn’t care.

Not whether I approve, not whether I slap her, not what I think of her. Nothing. She exists outside the plane of my effortful existence, beyond the realm of my strivings. Her pedestrian clothes veil her power as mine betray me as a girl playing dress up.

Her steps are light as she nears and swivels her head, sharing my back wall. She leaves my bubble intact but leans into it. Her words are quiet, crafted just for me.

“Isn’t it on everyone’s bucket list?”

My pulse quickens at the subtext made more explicit. I dare not look at her.

“I suppose it’s a trope for a reason.”

My words are dry and brittle. Weak.

I want them back to try again.

I gaze forward at our golden reflection in the doors as she turns her body to me, nears me with one last quarter step. Such an odd couple, Main Street intersecting Wall Street. I feel her breath now, warm and humid on my ear, sunkissed Caribbean breeze.

“Nobody ever tells you when Someday comes.”

A hand graces the small of my back gently, ever so gently, my mind having to wonder whether it’s her touch I feel or merely her heat. She lingers at my side, nose touching wispy hair as she draws in my scent, cinnamon and chocolate of my perfume seeming to deeply please her.

And it somehow relieves me to have pleased this stranger so familiar, this tomboy little sister I never had. Why do I remain? Because I can’t leave?

Or because I won’t?

My lips part in anticipation of saying something. No words come. I feel my head turning, realize her strong hand is on my jawline, guiding. I leave my own golden eyes for her green ones, ringed emeralds in fresh fallen snow.

Smoldering confidence smothering my uncertainties.

The hand at my back draws me flush. I am riven with panic as a cradling hand draws me to waiting lips, rose petals testifying to femininity her clothing falsely denies. The fear rouses my stupored brain. Now I should disengage, apologize, await rescue from my knight in shining tool belt.

But my body revolts. Warmth pours into my frigid recesses, dam of dark ice calving and splintering and exposing the depths of a desire I have for so long, with so much effort, held at bay within myself. Here, in this secret place, only Flicker need know of its release.

I exhale assent, meet her kiss. A hand glides liquid past my waist, measuring my appetite as it cautiously cups the crest of my firm curve. Tongues begin to dance to our bodies' sonata, labored breath the brass, hearts the percussion. They part, reengage to part again.

Her lips finds no satiety and move to the taut skin of my neck. I heave a heavy sigh as hands move to my waist then up my sides, skin on skin, tasked fingers strumming ribs like harp strings in their transit. I grip the rail to steady myself as they find my breasts, overlapping and covering them as a turned book page covers and conceals the one prior.

Flicker’s mouth moves to my collarbone and then my chest as her hands ponder. Her excitement is palpable as she finds the front clasp and defeats it. Her hand hooks from beneath and tugs my blouse to the side.

I’m laid bare to her.

My freed breast lauds her liberator as I feel a hand hoisting me to this marauding mouth. There is no build, for there is no time. Suddenly sealed around my pale pink nipple, she starts to suckle me, tugging my breast up and away from me as she pulls strongly with a slow, deep rhythm. I catch a cry at the last second, the sound coming out of the back of my throat garbled and ridiculous.

I feel a smile against me, a break of suction, leaving Flicker to flick her tongue across my now feverish nipple as her hands find the zipper of my skirt.


Oh God.

It has so far been an innocent affair so far as affairs go. A drunken dare, only sober and goaded by myself. But I fear this is threatening to become…become…

…exactly what it was intended to be?

Unpainted fingers hook my loosened skirt, my lacy panties, and bunch them uselessly on my thighs. Trimmed sex stark against pale skin. Scarlet perfuses me. I look up and away, catching my gilded twin in the mirror.

Neither of us can help the other now.

Flicker purrs appreciatively, glances up to ensure she’s a welcome intruder, leans into me. Flattened tongue takes tentative taste, then morphs, suede spade digging into me, searching me, one fold, another. I shudder with stifled moaning. My newly minted lover writhes inside me, sighs a sigh of savor through her nose, warm puff curling through curls of trimmed tuft.

Wet crackles echo softly in our tiny honeymoon suite, ephemeral bride and I, my body responding in earnest to her as she silently speaks of the depths of her lust for me, for an hour, a minute, I know not. Fingers penetrate, one, two, effortless, insistent thrusts falling into a strangely familiar rhythm, a song I know somehow but couldn’t place without her. Hips matching, velvet tongue on my button, breath short, hands clenching, roll of thunder behind sheets of rainfall hissing static in my ears, building storm, ocean of desire and necessity and rage and chaos swelling, heaving within me, and…


In a moment, a twinkle, a flicker, her eyes are an inch from mine, unflinching, unblinking, foreheads touching, hummingbird wing fingers insistently insisting inside me. Free hand laces into my short hair, gasp escapes as she gathers it in a fist and any pretense I am not her clay, her pawn, her bitch is made molten by the heat of her gaze, whitecapped ocean froth —

A kiss.

Her tongue tip dips behind dewy lip, curls, beckons what boils and seethes inside me. I taste the spice of my musk upon it. Lightning arcs in my brain, thunder roars in my ears as ocean breakers crash on the jaded stones I gaze into, hummingbird’s nectar reward flowing into its thrusting beak. I whimper because I cannot scream because I am a little girl who has not been given permission to scream, not now, not here. My whimpers are choked back sobs now, fire hydrant through garden hose, and Flicker is so very proud of my tortured quiet as she takes everything from me, everything that matters, feels my self-importance draining hot and viscous into her beseeching hand.

At long last my tides recede, the storm rumbles on, and I want her, want her to know my bliss, want to make her feel as out of control, want to know what her salt tastes like and to spread her —

A buzz, lurch, whirr.

We’re moving.


Five. Hissed curse as I claw at my panties to cover my dripping wickedness and

Four. I tug at my skirt, fingers flailing at the zipper, infernal tiny pull so

Three. Flicker seems almost amused by my panic, grants my pinballing elbows space as she draws her fingers so very slowly to her mouth, eyes closing as my honey touches her

Two. I beg mercies of a pantheon of goddesses, pray prostrate before them for the dexterity to hook my bra, to smooth my blouse, to fix my

Ping. My golden doppelganger gives a look of terror as she is torn in two, doors squeaking as they rumble open.

My knight is balding and squat.

“Boy, I’m really sorry ladies, I got here as quick as I could, but the traffic was just…anyway, you guys okay?”

No. Show me. Show me where the button is for floor five and three quarters.

And then shut the door.

Flicker reassures him, exits. Fresh air swirls around her as the delicate aroma of our sex spills out with her. She turns, secret smile faintly flickering as offending fingers trace away the faint trace of moisture on her lips.

The last evidence of our love.

“Pleasure sharing Somedays with you.”

Foot clad in canvas is the last thing I see of her.

Thank you for privileging me with your time and attention. If you’re interested in longer pieces from me, you can find them here.

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