Part 6

The intense heat of the New York summer was now a distant memory; a fresh blanket of snow covered the city. Christmas decorations adorned businesses and city streets signifying the season. The city, of course, was busy as usual—children in oversized puffer coats and backpacks heading to school and gearing up for the upcoming holiday break; shoppers darting in and out of boutiques and department stores; cars honking as they crawled through slushy streets.

It had been seven months since Sofia and I first met and ever since that improbable day, when she descended from heaven and literally fell into my lap, we had been seeing each other regularly. We went to fancy dinners, out to movies, and even attended parties together. For all intents and purposes, we were the couple I wanted us to be.

And, the sex—my god was it amazing. We constantly pushed and teased each other, exploring new places, positions, and ideas as frequently as we could. There was never a moment that I can recall, when one of us was interested and the other was not in the mood. It was seven months of constant, sex, lovemaking, and fucking and never once did we seem to get bored or exhaust our possibilities.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Apocalypse Now? It’s classic!”

Sofia and I were cuddled up under a blanket, tucked into the corner of the low lying sectional in my loft, thumbing through Netflix on a snowy Sunday afternoon.

“I’ve just never seen it,” She replied, surprised at my surprise. “Is that such a big deal?”

“No, I suppose not. It’s just that it’s like my favorite movie of all time. I mean, the scenes with Dennis Hopper—and Marlon Brando? It’s so good!”

“OK, silly,” she answered, calmly. “Let’s watch it now. But oh, wait. Before we get started,” she added. “I forgot to tell you. Do you remember my old friend, Yasmin?”

I nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“Well, she’s coming to New York. Apparently, she left her boyfriend—they were together for years—and is taking time to travel and see the world.”

“Whoa! Good for her, I guess. I’m sure it’ll be great to see her. How long has it been?”

“Let’s see… I don’t think I’ve seen her since I moved out of my parent’s place. I mean, we email every now and again, but yeah, it’s been years.”

“Wow, you must really be excited.”

“I am, it’ll be great to see her again. We were so close as kids. One thing though: she asked if she could stay with me. I would say yes, but my place is so small. I was wondering—“

“Don’t say another word—of course she can stay here.”

“Oh, thank you, sweetie!” she exclaimed, leaning in to give me a kiss.

“I guess I just don’t get why you won’t move in here with me, it would make things so much simpler. You’re here all the time and there’s plenty of space,” I attempted to reason with her. In the grand scheme of things, seven months was not a particularly long time. I understood this. But, things just felt right between us and I was certain I knew what I wanted. And, it’s not as if this was the first time I had broached the idea.

“I know, baby. But, I like having a place of my own. It’s close to school and it makes days when I have to work so much easier when I stay there,” she explained, not for the first time. “Plus, having my own space makes the time we do spend together that much more… exciting.”


“Shit,” I growled under my breath as I glanced at the sleek Nomos Galsshütte watch on my wrist realizing it was almost 3pm. I clicked send on one final email, grabbed my things, and darted out of the office, avoiding contact with any of my coworkers. Today was the day Yasmin was supposed to arrive and I promised Sofia, I would get the place ready for her stay.

I walked briskly down Madison Avenue, clutching my camel overcoat closed around my neck to keep the frigid January wind at bay. “Ok,” I thought to myself. “If it’s just past three now, I can probably make it home by 3:30 or 3:45 at the latest. That’ll give me a little over an hour to get the place together. I can do this; no problem,” I added giving myself a little pep talk.

Normally the train is packed when I leave work, but at this afternoon hour I was easily able to find a seat amongst the groups of teenagers and school kids who usually make the subway their own domain before the after-work rush hits. I placed my headphones over my ears, blocking out the sound of adolescent chirping as I settled into the plastic orange seat closest to the door. Half an album later I was exiting the train and making my way through the poorly shoveled Brooklyn streets, hopping over the puddles that formed on corners, and arriving at my front door.

“Brrrr… its fucking cold out there,” I said half out loud, defrosting from the short blustery walk as I rode the freight elevator up to my apartment. “I’d hate to get stuck out there for too long today.”

I stepped in to the apartment and immediately noticed the lights were on. “That’s funny,” I thought. “I was certain I turned those off before I left.” I suppose it was possible Sofia head let herself in at some point; she did have the code after all and had done it a couple of times in the past when she had left something she needed. But, normally she was good at turning off the lights.

I tossed my coat over the back of the sofa. “Hello?” I called out seeing if maybe Sofia was still there. But, no response. And then, I noticed the bathroom door, which was practically shut closed, yet remained slightly ajar. I walked across the apartment, scratching my head thinking, “Strange. Maybe Sofia decided to take a shower. But wait, she’s supposed to be in class today. Isn’t she? That’s one of the reasons I had to come home early. Maybe she took off.”

As I approached the bathroom, sure enough, I heard the shower running leading me to believe that my assumptions were correct. I nudged the door open expecting to see Sofia’s hourglass figure standing under the jets, but as the steam cleared something entirely different was revealed. A tall, thin mystery woman with small, perky breasts and slender hips was enthusiastically masturbating, her slender fingers making short, fast circles over a neatly trimmed pussy; her other hand pinching a large, erect nipple. Her eyes were closed as the water fell from above, lost in her motions. She stood there with one leg raised and bent, her foot placed up on the shower bench, affording me a clear view of her long slender labia visible through the sliding glass of the large shower door.

I froze in place, more than a bit surprised. “This must be Yasmin, but why is she— “

Before I could finish the thought, Yasmin’s eyes flashed opened and locked directly on mine, her gaze intense and purposeful. I was completely paralyzed; a dear in headlights, aware I should close the door and leave, but transfixed nonetheless. A wicked smirk crept across her sharp feminine face before biting down on her tempting lower lip as she slid her fingers inside herself. Not breaking her focused stare, she continued to administer self-pleasure, fully aware of my presence.

I stood there in awe of this long, model-esque, elegant stranger uncertain of how to respond. She was beautiful, but she was also my girlfriend’s oldest friend. My indecision was ultimately, in and of itself, my decision, and so I maintained my position, eyes fixed as a tent appeared in my trousers. The stunning enigma in my shower continued fuck herself with an unbroken stare, her graceful fingers sliding in and out of her soapy pussy and rubbing her hard, little clit; her other hand fondling her pert breasts’ pebble-like nipples. Mesmerized I watched this unexpected vision’s breath increase as a silent, unblinking orgasm overtook her long, delicate body; cumming while never once taking her eyes off me.

She shut off the faucet and slid the shower door open to reach for a towel. Naked and casual, she dabbed her dark blond hair dry as if she was alone in the room and then, as if she just noticed me, she extended an outstretched, elegant arm to shake my hand.

“Hello,” she quipped insouciantly finally breaking her silent spell. “I’m Yasmin. Thanks for letting me stay here.”



We sat on the sofa chatting as if nothing had happened—or, at least she did. As much as I tried to act nonchalant and collected, I couldn’t get the carnal scene from earlier out of my head, the imprint of her unblinking, orgasmic eyes burned into my memory. Nevertheless, I did my best to focus as Yasmin explained that she wound up boarding an earlier flight and had arrived a few hours before expected into JFK. Instead of hanging around the airport, she called Sofia, who gave her the building code and access to the apartment. It all made perfect sense, but did very little explain why she hadn’t turned apoplectic when I walked in on her. The more I thought about, the more I thought of Sofia in the same situation and resigned myself to idea that she most likely would have teased me in a similar fashion. She was after all the woman who just seven months prior had emerged from that same bathroom, practically a stranger, unafraid to demonstrate her ravenous sexual appetite. “It must be something in the Barcelona water,” I joked silently.


Yasmin and I arrived at Vinegar Hill House—a highly rated gastropub with hipster décor on the outskirts of my Brooklyn neighborhood—a few minutes passed our 8pm reservation. Normally, we would have walked, but the frigid January night dictated we take a car. We stepped out and as we shuffled through the old green and white rickety door, we immediately noticed Sofia, striking as always in her fitted black dress, sitting alone at a table. She jumped up when she noticed us and ran over, completely ignoring me, her love, and enthusiastically embracing Yasmin.”

Immediately, they broke into Spanish, brandishing a series of highly emotive gestures that seemed to say something like, “Oh my god, look at you!” “No, look at you!” “You look incredible!” “No, you do!” And, so on.

“Ahem, Ladies,” I interrupted. “I hate to break this up, but do you mind speaking English? I’m feeling a little left out here.”

“Ok, silly,” Sofia replied with a bat of her eyelashes. “Just remember, you’re the odd man out here.”

After my two gorgeous dining-mates finished their effusive reintroductions, we all took our seats at one of the four-tops; Sofia and Yasmin opting to sit next to each other, both with their backs to the wall. We quickly ordered a bottle of wine—an old-world, full-bodied, vintage Barolo—as well as a sampling of appetizers including their renowned cornbread and the seared Mediterranean octopus. Over the small bites, the girls continued to catch up with one another, both filling each other in on recent events and reminiscing over old anecdotes, which, as we worked through several more bottles of wine, inevitably led to uproarious fits of laughter. I did my best to interject here and there, but for the most part, let the two dear old friends enjoy each other’s sorely missed company.

Sometime between dinner and desert I felt Sofia’s toes reaching across the table and crawling up my thigh. I enjoyed the sensation, but didn’t think too much of it as this was something she was prone to do after a few drinks, a cliché trope she no doubt picked up after watching one too many movies.