It was one of those nights when the city sweltered. When drops of sweat ran down glasses and dogs would lie in front of cars rather than get up and move. My roommate and I had just run out of Modelo, and I drew the short straw. Coming in from the fire escape produced pearls of sticky perspiration that would soon be pasted to the tank top I threw on. He tossed me the keys as I lumbered toward the door, dreading the two-block walk to the bodega.
I never got used to being in the stairwell of our building. Being in there alone – the utter silence punctuated by rare echoes of slamming doors, the unsettling atmosphere of automatic lights that didn’t always function – kind of unnerved me. When I turned the first corner and failed to be assaulted by a sudden flash of dull yellow, I assumed that the light was broken. The second corner of darkness made me think otherwise. You may find this ridiculous, but when I heard the door open two flights up, my first thought was that a serial killer had cut the lights and was coming for me.
Shoving this notion aside, I shouted up, “Careful! A couple of the lights down here aren’t working.” “None of them are,” came back a cheerful, semi-familiar voice. “There’s a city-wide blackout.” Ah. Perfect timing. I stood still and listened to the rapid patter of her light footfalls tripping down the rigid, worn surfaces of each stair. She stopped on the landing above me. “Where you headed?” she asked. “Was headed to the store to buy beer, but who knows if they’ll be open,” I replied. “Oh,” she said, coming down to meet my voice. “The blackout might not last for long. They usually don’t.” She felt around in the darkness until her fingers grazed my forearm.
“How is your skin so cool?” I asked, awed by how refreshing her grip felt on my melting skin. “I’m always cold,” she replied with a shy laugh. “I like how hot you are.” She drew closer to me; I could feel her other hand an inch from my torso. “It’s like waves of heat just radiate off you,” she said. The sheer fabric covering her breasts brushed my arm as she moved even closer; I could feel my cock start to stir under my shorts. “It is literally 95 degrees,” I said, not daring to move.
“If you’re so hot,” she continued in a silky wolf voice, “Why are you still wearing clothes?” “I – I mean, I was planning on going outside,” I stammered. “Stay awhile,” she directed. The smell of oranges drifted from her lips as she raised onto her toes to find mine. She felt like buttercream. Not just her mouth – her everything. I relaxed as she slid her hands around my waist and her tongue between my parted lips. I swung her around so her back was against the wall and lifted the skirt of her sundress, dropping to my knees, preparing to slide her panties down – but finding none. “If you’re so cold,” I said, “Why aren’t you wearing more clothes?” “It’s the only part of me that’s hot,” she replied.
She was right. Her labia warmed my tongue; my moist breath floated around her lips as I circled her clit. She grabbed the back of my head and eagerly held it in place while I lapped at her, her cream smearing my chin. “Hold on,” she said suddenly, pushing me back and dropping down to grope around the stairs for her purse. “Ah, gold!” she exclaimed upon finding a condom. She dragged my shorts down, and my cock sprung out to meet her waiting hands; she took me into her mouth for a wondrous minute before tearing the wrapper open and rolling the condom on me.
She faced the railing and leaned over it; just as I started to slide inside of her (god, that first thrust is always so glorious), we heard a door open above and heavy footsteps start to proceed down the stairs. I put my hand over her mouth, picked her up, and backed up into the corner. We stood there silently until the other tenant was out the ground level door. I pushed her against the wall and gripped her hips as she pushed back onto my dick in long, even strokes, both of us panting and sticky as hot buns. Her stifled groans echoed throughout the sealed stairwell; I cupped her breasts and steadied her as she rocked back and forth against me while touching herself. Finally, exhausted and soaking, she tiptoed up and off me, turning to face me.
“You didn’t come,” she said. I leaned in to kiss her; her cheeks burned, and her hair was plastered to her face. “Sometimes it takes me a while,” I said sheepishly. “You feel amazing.” “Come see me after you get that beer,” she said, squatting down to feel for her purse. “7C.” With that, she leapt down the steps into the darkness, rendering me no longer unnerved by the empty stairwell and its echoes.