"Sarah's Inbox"

It's after two in the morning, and my sleep is interrupted by a faint but
decisive boom coming from nowhere in particular.

I open my eyes and see nothing but cool blues and deep shadows on the walls
and the ceiling of the bedroom. The ceiling fan causes the shadows to dance
rhythmically and perfectly above my head, and the effect is hypnotic enough
that I can almost, but not quite, fall asleep again. The body beside mine
is warm and inviting, and I unconsciously move myself closer, turning my
body and pressing my back and my butt up against the smooth, warm skin. I
reach behind me and gently lift one strong arm, and bring a calloused and
sleeping hand down on my hip. That's better... I close my eyes again. For a
long time I stay in that position, not sleeping but happy and content.

The boom doesn't return, and I find myself wondering about its source.
Maybe a car backfiring, or someone dropping a giant concrete muffin in his
backyard... That doesn't make sense, does it? Why have an enormous concrete
muffin, and for that matter, why lift it up in the first place, if you're
only going to set it down again? Not a muffin, then, but something else...
a very large bird falling out of its nest. An albatross? Maybe an
albatross, turning over in its sleep and then... boom. That makes me think
of the insanely perfect way an albatross comes in for a landing, looking as
if it's spent its whole life in the air and has never, ever given the
slightest thought to what will happen when it hits the ground. But
obviously it has to know... and knowing it's going to crash and tumble in
spectacular fashion every time it comes down, isn't it tempting to just
keep flying? Or to stay on the ground, I suppose...

Now I'm completely awake. Fucking albatross.

I could reach behind me until I find something interesting connected to the
warm, sleeping body, and if it's really interesting I could play with it a
little... No no no. And no. Bad Sarah. Significant other needs his sleep,
even if I do want to spend quality time with significant other's
significant other. He has to get up in just a few hours to fly to... where
is it, again? San Diego? St. Paul? I really should pay more attention to
the actual words when he opens his mouth, and not just to the mouth itself.

I sigh and look at the clock. Two forty-five. At this rate, I could
probably just stay up all night... that always turns out well, doesn't it?
A white night here and there never killed anyone. But has it maimed anyone,
I wonder? Maybe winged a couple of unsuspecting souls..?

I slip out from underneath the covers and walk around the bed, naked. A
man's button-down dress shirt is lying across the footboard, having been
haphazardly discarded by its owner the night before. I pick it up and put
my arms through the sleeves, enjoying the touch of the fabric on my skin,
and I fasten the last few buttons so it won't fall open as I move. As I
quietly exit the bedroom, I feel as if my sleeping companion is with me,
draped around me like a blanket (or, I suppose, a shirt). His scent, too,
hangs over me, hovering like a warm, familiar ghost.

Downstairs now, I go into the kitchen without turning on any lights. I like
the darkness, I like the way the world looks in the middle of the night,
cool and perfect and frozen. It's as if I've managed to stop time, and now
I'm free to wander about, to do as I please, to do whatever I wish...
Hmmmm. That would make a good story. Have to write that down. I remind
myself that I must use my powers for good, and never for evil...

I open the refrigerator and grab a small Pellegrino bottle from the bottom
shelf on the door. Then I move soundlessly across the hardwood floors, but
quickly enough that I can feel a breeze coming through the open top of the
shirt, onto my breasts. My nipples crinkle a tiny bit, but this isn't
unusual and I notice it only in passing.

My office is at the end of the house, in a little extension off the main
living room, surrounded by windows on three sides. If I have the blinds
pulled up, anyone at all can spy on me when I'm at my desk, but I rarely
open them. The hardwood floor is softened, in this room, by an old and
faded Persian rug. The rug appears to be made entirely of color, of soft
blues and delicate golds and passionate reds, and when I touch my bare feet
to the threads, I sometimes imagine that my toes are smiling, as if they've
been reunited with an old, wonderful lover.

I can hear Escher sitting up in his crate, staring at me as I approach.

"Mommy's awake again," I say as I lean down and unlatch the door. He takes
his time coming out of the crate, and then he stretches with marvelous,
obscene decadence before presenting his head to me, his tail wagging
happily. I go down to my knees on the rug, running my hands around his warm
body and letting him bathe me with sloppy but affectionate kisses for a few
moments.

"Okay, enough, enough." I push myself up to my feet, wiping his slobber
from my face, and Escher jumps up at me, almost knocking me over. "Bad
dog," I say, and immediately he sits down and lowers his head, mortified at
himself. I apologize immediately and give him a small snack from the jar at
the end of my desk, and order is restored.

After washing my face I move to my desk and sit down. I flip on the monitor
screen and wait patiently as the walls of the room start to glow with
reflected blue light. Escher sits down beside my chair, looking up at me
and occasionally turning his eyes to the screen. He's so tall that his head
is above the level of my desk even when he's sitting down, and once in a
while he rests his chin on the desk, perhaps to remind me of his general
adorability.

The new story was probably posted today, and I wonder if I've gotten any
feedback on it yet. I ask Escher for his opinion and he says nothing. He
always says nothing, which I suppose is a good thing. I click a tiny icon
on the status bar, then click another button to tell the computer I want to
become a part of the internet again, at least for a little while. When I'm
connected I open a web browser and navigate to my mailbox. There's the
stupid pop-up advertisement, close it as quickly as possible, just on
principle...

"Holy fuck, Escher," I say, and he jumps. It distresses him when I swear,
and I tend to swear a lot when I'm alone, simply for amusement.

Forty-five new messages, and all of them say "Feedback..." I apologize to
Escher and put my hand on the top of his head, rather absently, before
returning it to the mouse.

"Dear Sarah..." I start reading the first message, and without really
intending to do it I've opened my thighs on the seat. Loved your story...
my cock was hard from the beginning... made me come all over myself... My
face is flushed already, and it's only the first message. I click the Reply
button and write a quick response, sincerely thanking him for the comments.
The next message is a little more direct: Thanks for the story. Your gonna
suck my dick and then Im gong to cum all over ur face.

I sit back in the chair, shaking my head. "Can you believe that, Escher?"
Then I lean forward and my fingers are moving across the keys as I type a
response. Your welcome. ~sarah.

This makes me snicker just a little, but it's a good-natured snicker.

Many of the messages are short, but almost always there's an email address
to which I can respond. I read them greedily, even the misspelled ones, and
by now I can feel the wetness between my thighs. Unconsciously I'm leaning
forward, pressing myself harder into the seat... I click to open another
message, and I recognize the email address immediately -- an imaginative
couple with whom I've become close through email. A huge smile is on my
face as I read the words, hearing his accented voice in my mind as he
describes their enjoyment of the story in exquisite detail... "Oh, god,
Escher," I whisper. "Look at the grammar... the spelling... the syntax..."
Escher, once again, doesn't respond.

I pull open the bottom drawer and take out a slender silver object. I twist
one end of the long cylinder, bringing it to life, and then I slide it
underneath me on the seat so I'm straddling it. I push down against it,
feeling the vibrations in my thighs and my ass and along the bottom of the
lips of my pussy... I read this particular email again, several times, and
then I click the Reply button. I'm moving my hips in slow, dreamy circles
on the seat as I type, moving back and forth along the vibrator. In the
email, I describe what I'm doing, how I look, how it feels. I start to
sweat despite the coolness in the room, and I unbutton the shirt and pull
it open to cool myself off. As my fingers unfasten the last button, my hand
grazes across my lap, and suddenly overwhelmed, I move two fingers down to
surround my clit. I close my eyes and lose myself for a few moments,
lowering my head and letting my dark hair fall across the keys, my right
hand gripping the edge of the desk for support... I reach down and remove
the vibrator, then quickly reposition it, and then it's sliding into me. I
do it slowly, almost teasing myself with it, and then it's all the way
inside me and my fingers move back up, tracing an increasingly agitated
path from my cunt lips to my clit and back again, over and over, as the
vibrations envelop me and my breathing quickens. Usually I imagine all
kinds of things as I play with myself, but now I'm just thinking of what
I'm doing, how it feels and how it might look to the couple on the other
end of this message, how they'll react to it...

I lift my head long enough to type a few more sentences, updating the
commentary, and then I give up, losing interest in everything except making
myself come. I squeeze my thighs closed around my hand, burying the buzzing
vibrator deep inside my pussy, and the sound of my wet hand as it teases
and pleasures my clit drowns out the computer's incessant hum.

My lips open and I move my tongue across them, and I watch in a daze as a
single bead of sweat falls from my face and explodes soundlessly against
the edge of the desk. And then I'm the one exploding, not quite soundlessly
but not as loudly as I would like, either... I press my face against the
cool wood of the desk beside the keyboard, and I remain that way for some
time, waiting for the dizziness to subside and for the world to stop
moving, and through it all I feel the vibrator still deep inside me,
relentless and tireless. When I'm finally satisfied I reach down and
extract the buzzing cylinder. I twist the knob once more, counter-clockwise
this time, and the buzzing stops. Like the rest of the world, the vibrator
is now asleep, frozen. I spread my thighs open again and push the wet,
sleeping device underneath me, sliding it gently into its original spot
beneath my ass. Then I sit back up and take a long, deep breath.

Escher has been watching me the whole time. I wonder what he's thinking.

"What?" I ask him. "Like you've never seen that before."

One ear goes up, making me laugh out loud. I kiss him once, quickly,
pulling away before he has a chance to unroll his ridiculous tongue and
attack me with it.

"Indianapolis!" I suddenly say, startling the dog once more. "That's where
he's flying, Escher." Then I frown a little. "That's not really anything
like San Diego, is it? Or St. Paul?"

Back to my faithful readers... I finish up with my long email and send it
off, then move on to the next. The unnamed correspondent has a proposition
for me. Loved your story. How about marrying me? I nod my head
thoughtfully, petting Escher at the same time. "He does make a convincing
case," I say, looking at the dog for confirmation. The dog tilts his head
up, as if to remind me of the person still sleeping above our heads.
"True," I say. "But he hasn't asked me to marry him, now, has he? This
might be my only chance, Escher." The other ear goes up, and the first ear
goes back down. I'm sure this means something in Escher's language, most
likely Huh?

"You know, Escher," I say. "It's not the pale moon that excites me. Is it?
Is it? So just put that thought out of your sweet little doggie mind..." I
think I just like the look on his face when he's confused.

The next email is from another very appreciative reader, who also happens
to have a number of suggestions for how I might continue the story, all of
them intriguing. As a postscript, he adds, Maybe you could get the dog
involved a little?

"Escher!" I whisper, shocked and appalled and mildly aroused, too. "Can you
believe someone would..." And then I stop, because I see something in
Escher's eyes that makes me uneasy. "Don't look at me like that," I order
him. "Or I'll trade you in for a cat."

The vibrator, though quiet now, is still nestled snugly beneath me on the
seat, pleasantly solid as it rubs against the moist, delicate flesh down
there. I press against it now and then as I type, the way a cat might
unconsciously rub itself against a warm leg or arm as it settles down to
sleep, as a sort of biological or spiritual imperative. Sometimes I think
of myself as a cat, actually... Maybe there's a story there, too?

A long time later, I finally turn off the computer and flip the switch on
the monitor, casting the room into darkness again. I lay the vibrator on
the desk and tilt the chair back so I can reach the cord for the blinds. I
tug on the cord, and then I'm bathed in the soft and hushed pre-dawn light.
I turn the chair around so I'm facing the windows, my legs spread wide,
knowing that I'm all but invisible to the outside world but enjoying the
feeling of exposure anyway. I pull open the shirt and lift my legs, resting
my feet on the window sill. The moon is low on the horizon, and I think to
myself, half-asleep, that actually the pale moon does excite me...

I fall asleep; and sleeping, dream.

Eventually I feel something warm on my naked belly, and I open my eyes,
unaccountably happy despite having slept only an hour or two. The sun is
just making its way above the horizon, and the warmth I feel on my skin
comes from the first few rays of daylight, reaching through the windows to
caress me. Escher is asleep again, sprawled around my feet. I step over
him, not bothering to put him back in his crate, and I make my way toward
the stairs as the room behind me becomes slowly but irreversibly suffused
with warm, perfect color. I imagine that the world is coming back to life
behind me, trying to catch up with my steps.

I ascend the stairs and push open the bedroom door, then step into the
darkness. A glance at the clock beside the bed tells me the alarm will go
off soon, so I walk quickly to the clock and disable the alarm. Then I
unbutton the shirt and drape it across the footboard, crawl into the bed,
and pull the covers up over my breasts. In the darkness I find a shoulder,
and I slide my hands up from the shoulder to his face, pressing my fingers
to his cool skin. I whisper something in his ear, but it's a secret. I
nibble a little, too, but not quite enough to disturb him, and I keep
whispering as I caress his face. I'm not as loud as an alarm clock, so he
wakes up very, very slowly, and by the time he's fully awake, sunlight is
starting to make its way past the edges of the heavy curtains that cover
the windows.

I kiss him before he can open his mouth to say a word. Then I put my finger
against his lips, and I say, "I think I need a new chair for my office
again."

He smiles sleepily, and nods.

"As you wish," he says, and then I finally put my head down on the pillow,
and fall asleep.