It was late. I was ready to split. He had my keys. I’d given him them at the back door. I’d warned him on the phone. I had work in the morning. “Me, too. Me, too.” I figured we had an understanding. I hesitated to wake him. I’d been having a good time. I had been triumphantly unselfconscious. Now, not so much. I pulled a throw rug around myself. In my excitement over the phone, I had said something about my rule, that I wouldn’t leave until he’d come three times, but he didn’t seem too interested. He just said, “No negotiating, bro. Nah, house rules. You come into my home naked, you mine. That’s it.” I said okay. Now, I was stuck. It was getting to be midnight. Finally, I threw off the cover: fuck it.
First, I wandered around, looking for the bathroom. The one off the hall only had a toilet and a sink. Shit. Then I found the guest bath with a shower. I cut on the lights and jumped in. After toweling off, I headed to the back of the house, opened the rear door, and stood for a second on the patio trying to decide which way to go. I didn’t have a thing on. My hair was still wet.
I went to my car, walking along the drive to the front. I looked in and saw that it was after 2:00. My clothes were piled up on the back seat. I laughed. The street lights were bright. The neighbors across the way were still up, or so it seemed. I hurried along, staying under the trees. I was running, bent low. I went for half a block, stopped, and crouched behind some bushes. I caught my breath. My mind was racing. Words followed. What am I doing?
It was very quiet. I was sorry I hadn’t worn my shoes. What kind of person runs outside without shoes? I wanted to sing but kept quiet. I ran across the street and hid behind a parked car, a large Land Rover. As soon as I realized there was lots of space beneath it, I took off. In a pinch, I could crawl beneath and hide. I’d say I was drunk. I’d cry.
There were few streetlamps and they were old. The affluent like to keep it dim. Every streetlamp that I passed was like the rung of a ladder. I was climbing, up, up, up and away, until I saw someone coming. I froze. I listened to myself breathing. As soon as I could, I ran back across the street and up a darkened drive. All of the house lights were off until a motion detector caught me and they switched on. I lost my balance but kept going.
The residents had high hedges of oleanders, so I stayed on the sidewalk. I hadn’t played like this in years. At the end of the block, I turned left. I would go for it. I would run all the way around the block. I turned my head and looked at my ass. It was good. It was fine. I jumped quickly behind a tree, sinking slowly to the ground. A car was coming. It passed and I followed at a distance. I was getting a little light-headed.
Time to turn. I was walking now. It was dark. My pee-pee had shriveled to nothing. There was grass on my ass. My tits were still small although I’d been receiving treatments. They were sore. I gave my right nipple a twist and imagined how fun it would be to have three. I could wear blinking pasties over them. There was not a single hair on my body. I’d spent a fortune on laser blasting. My nails looked gorgeous. I’d had anal bleaching, twice. A week earlier, I’d had my lips enlarged. My mouth looked eminently fuckable. My hair was now down to my tits. My forehead looked more feminine after my expensive facial at the Ritz Carlton.
I was a sight: I was not a bit tamed. Just another woman with a little dick. I strode past two houses and then picked up speed, all the while running and waving my arms above my head, doing a William Carlos Williams’ sprint, all alone. I wished I had been wearing my dildo with a 18” rainbow ponytail. I wished I was a poet, or at least a song writer.
At the end of the block, I turned once more and realized the street was all lit up. I was on the main drag. When a car drove by, I started going faster. I guessed they saw me. If they had, they must have figured I was reenacting a scene from that film The Swimmer with Burt Lancaster. Just thinking about it made me thirsty. Feeling scared was part of the thrill. The whole thing was quite exhilarating. I felt like a martini.
They must think I am just crazy. I ran up the block, took a turn, and knew I was getting closer to Scott’s. I darted out from behind some parked cars and ran in the middle of the street for fifty yards. Finally, I turned into his drive. I tried to make it look like I was getting something out of my car. Not a care in the world. I walked up the drive and slipped back in through the door at the rear, the one I’d left open. I was out of breath and proud of myself.