The morning after it happened, I got up, went to class, went to the gym, had lunch, went to class again. It was a completely normal day. It wasn’t until I was halfway through my studio class later that afternoon that I heard the little voice in my head.

...what the hell did I do last night?

I pushed the voice aside and focused on my painting. My edges were coming together, but I still wasn’t happy with the red. Too bright, too lively, too…

...I’m not the kind of girl that does things like that...

I clenched my jaw and leaned in to break up a glob with the end of my brush. I needed to get lost in my work, to get in the zone. I didn’t have time for voices.

...I would never just flirt with some older man and then take him into a closet and let him put his hand up my skirt. I mean…

I felt my cheeks turning red and the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I glanced around nervously. Everyone else was busy with their canvases, but I seemed frozen. I didn’t want to think about what had happened last night - at least, not yet - but something in the back of my mind was insisting. I thought that if maybe I just acknowledged them, the voices would let me get back to work.

It did happen. I did do that. I flirted with an older man - a married one - and then... we kissed in the supply room. He pulled me into him and ran his hand up the back of my thigh, lifted my skirt and, and... I came. I came harder than I'd ever cum before.

I could almost conjure up a tiny remnant of that light and airy flutter in my chest that I had felt last night. I squeezed my thighs together and felt a warm flush of pleasure. The room tilted a little as I indulged the sensation, remembering his lips on my neck and his fingers in my pussy. I could still smell him, still almost taste him. I could still feel the hardness of his cock when he pressed against me. What would it be like to feel it in my hand, to take it in my mouth?

I stared at the tip of my brush, hovering over the canvas, ready for the next stroke. It was quivering. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on not letting the room spin. My cheeks were burning and my panties were definitely wet. I felt like every eye in the room was on me, but I couldn’t turn to face them because I knew they’d be able to see in my eyes how badly I was burning for that man.

In a huff, I got up to rinse my brushes. Pretending to paint was pointless when all I wanted was for some forty-something married stranger to fuck my brains out. What on earth was wrong with me? I mean, I'm not a bold person. I don’t make the first move. Hell, I rarely make the second move. And yet, I led him to the closet and basically threw myself at him. I washed the too-bright red paint from my brush and my fingers before packing up and leaving.

On the walk home, I tried to reason it out.

...okay, when did I first see him?

He was across the room, standing near my painting, but he was looking directly at me. I remember wondering if he had worked out that the nude woman in the painting was me. And I remember being turned on at the thought. Plus, he had those big, beautiful, brown eyes. And the way he was looking at me! Guys of my age don’t look at me that way. So... knowing, so penetrating.

...so, is that why I talked to him?

Maybe. I mean, it was supposed to be a marketing event, and he was looking at my painting, so it was the perfect opportunity.

...okay, then what?

Then he said I was beautiful. I mean, he said the woman in the painting was beautiful. And strong. And brave. And then he looked at me again, and it was like I was standing in the middle of all those people, completely naked, but it was okay because he was the only one who could see that I was naked. That’s when I knew I wanted to fuck him.

Guys my age are fine. I mean, I’ve only been with a few. They’re fast and frantic and rough and careless, and that’s fun sometimes, I guess. But what Alan did was… so, so different. It was calm but intense, fun but… intimate all at the same time. He knew what he wanted and he knew what I wanted and he knew how to do it. It was awesome.

I climbed the steps to my apartment, trying to not let my art bag get slammed in the screen door like always. I was feeling a little better. Maybe a little calmer. Maybe I just liked older men. Is that so bad? I mean, some girls do, right? I walked into my tiny apartment and threw my stuff onto the chair by the door.

“Jessica, you home?”

No answer, and probably for the best. I needed some time to sort this out. I put on some music and started filling the sink to clean my roommate’s dirty dishes. The water felt unusually cold on my skin. I left my hand under the water to wait for it to warm up, and my thoughts automatically turned back to last night’s encounter.

...when he put his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet and basically pinned me to the wall and I completely surrendered because the only thing I wanted in the entire world was for him to fuck me...

Believe it or not, this was a new experience for me. The few times I’ve had sex, I’d never… fantasized... about it afterward. I didn’t even think about it afterward. It was just a thing that happened, and it was fun or sometimes maybe not, and then it was just over and life went on.

...and when he shoved his fingers up inside me and fucked me hard with them…

I could still hear the wet, slapping sounds. I remember glancing nervously over his shoulder at the door, terrified that at any moment it would open and we’d be caught.

I put a freshly rinsed plate in the drying rack but paused before picking up another. I just let the memory of him pressed against me fill up my entire body. I had never felt so much pure desire in my entire life.

I dropped the sponge in the sink and swept my t-shirt over my head and just stood there, enjoying the feeling of cool air on my nipples, enjoying the electric thrill of being exposed in an unusual place. I grazed one nipple with soapy fingers and surprised myself with a very involuntary moan. I pinched my nipple and moaned again, letting the hot, roiling lust flood upward from my toes. I turned off the water, unbuttoned my shorts, and let them fall to the floor. I pushed my panties down, stepped out of them, and walked naked to the bathroom.

I needed water. I needed to feel something washing over me, consuming me, the way I had felt consumed last night. I swept back the shower curtain and twisted the faucet on. As I waited for hot water, I replayed the scene again in my head. I leaned back against the sink and spread my legs a little, sliding my middle finger along my wet pussy lips.

...ohhh, that feels good...

I was so incredibly wet that I had no problem immediately slipping in two fingers.

I’ve masturbated before, of course. But it was always a utilitarian, almost mechanical thing. If I couldn’t sleep, or if I was just bored and horny, I’d pull the covers up and make myself cum. It wasn’t sex; it was just orgasm. But this… this felt like sex. I was fucking myself and caressing my body, running my free hand around my hips and up to my breasts, squeezing and pinching, before moving further up to grasp my neck, run lightly over my lips and finally nestle into my hair. I bent my knees to try to get more of my fingers inside me, trying to mimic the motions he’d used, but I couldn’t quite get the angle right to ram into my clit the way he did.

Frustrated, I straightened up and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over every part of me. I pushed the wet hair from my face and went back to rubbing my pussy. I imagined Alan there with me, naked, his arms wrapping around me to cup my breasts. I could feel his breath in my ear and his lips on my neck. I put one foot up on the edge of the tub and slid my fingers back inside, clamping down on them with my pussy. I pulled out slowly, imagining that it was his cock, before pushing back up hard.

...why the fuck didn’t I go down on him last night. I wanted his cock in my mouth so bad...

I sped up, slapping my pussy with the palm of my hand as my two fingers slid in again and again. With a shriek, I felt the muscles in my legs tense as a small orgasm rippled through my body. It was good, but nothing like last night. I stood in the stream of water, panting a little, slightly disappointed. I told myself that it was okay, that I could try again later, but then I remembered Alan’s eyes watching me from across the room, filled with lust, wanting me…

...nope, not done...

I slapped down the little thing that turns the water from the shower back to the faucet and watched the strong rush of water that poured down.

...yes!

I sat in the tub and pulled myself down towards the water. With some effort - and more than a little awkwardness - I managed to get my legs up against the wall on either side of the faucet. I laid back and inched my pussy closer and closer to the water.

For the briefest of moments, I couldn’t believe what I was about to do. But I was out of my mind and in my body right now. The lust, the sex, was in control, and there was no stopping this.

I scooted one last inch and let out a scream when the powerful flow hit my pussy. I jolted away - it was way stronger than I had guessed. But then I remembered how hard Alan’s hand had been fucking me and I knew that I had to do it. Gripping the faucet with both hands, I eased myself back under the water and let out a long wail that I’m sure everyone in the entire building heard. I didn’t care.

The water pounded down onto my clit, strong, relentless. My fingers ached on the faucet as my back arched and every muscle in my body tensed. I had never felt anything like it. Within seconds, a creeping, expanding tingle swept from my toes just as a huge explosion of pleasure radiated from my pussy, spreading out and tensing every muscle in my body. It seemed to last an eternity, wracking my body with spasm after spasm until it finally subsided and I pushed back from the torrent, exhausted.

I lay gasping in the tub for a long time, eyes squeezed shut, body sore, pussy tingling. Finally, I let out a little laugh and opened my eyes. Through a haze of wet hair, I looked up at the unusual perspective and laughed again. I would have made for a hilarious spectacle with my mass of tangled red hair sprayed in every direction, my face and chest bright red, my legs splayed up on the wall, plastic shower curtain stuck to one of them. And my toes -  jeez, my toes! I really should repaint my nails.

—————

Later on that evening, I was sitting on the couch in the front room, my phone balanced precariously on one knee, while I brushed another coat of polish on my toes. The shower had helped soothe this sudden spike in my sex drive - at least for now - but the voice in my head still wouldn’t leave me alone about Alan.

...I want to see him again, don’t I?

I did, even if it had nothing to do with sex. I wanted to know if last night was just a crazy happenstance - a chance encounter with a bit of good timing and chemistry. I wanted to know if we’d like each other in other ways, too.

...and what if I did? A relationship?

I smirked and wiped a bit of wayward polish off my little toe. A relationship was hard to picture: Alan here, on this crummy old couch, or the two us holding hands in public. No, that seemed pretty unlikely.

...so, what, an affair?

I cringed at the thought of sneaking around, ducking into sleazy hotels, or worrying about his wife coming home early. No, thank you.

In fact, I felt a little bad about helping him cheat on his wife. I mean, that was his deal to deal with, I guess. And it’s not like we actually fucked or anything. Still, I wondered what was up with that marriage. I knew who she was - she had helped me hang my painting for the show, and sometimes did guest lectures about industry stuff in our classes. She always seemed so confident, so in control. And she was beautiful, too, so I couldn’t imagine his sex life was all that awful. So, why on earth would he do something as risky as slipping into a closet with someone half his age while his wife was in the next room?

...because he said I was beautiful...

No, not just that. Well, maybe partly that. I did wonder if he really meant it, or if that’s just the kind of thing an older man says to a college girl when he wants to sleep with her. Even if it was, I can’t deny it had a profound effect on me. When a handsome, older man with brains and a decent eye for art tells you that you’re beautiful, I think you have to at least try to believe that he means it.

I glanced at my phone. Nothing. Before I left him last night, I'd put my number in his phone and told him to text me. But now, I was starting to wonder if he would. I mean, what if all he wanted was a quick hookup with a younger woman - and that was it? He really didn’t seem like the type. I kept going back to the way he looked at me. Those weren’t the eyes of someone just looking for a quick hookup.

The front door opened, and my roommate, Jessica, walked in. She said "Hi" and proceeded to dump her art stuff, her coat, and her shoes on the floor just inside the door. Despite the fact that she basically refused to wash any dishes, she was a pretty good roommate. We got along well enough, though we did have our differences. I was the quiet, studious one. She was the party girl.

...she’s the kind of girl that would have let a stranger fingerbang her in a broom closet...

True, but never with Alan. She was all for lots of sex, but of the more conventional, age-appropriate, one-night-stand variety. If I had told her about what had happened last night, she never would have approved. He’d be the old creep and I’d be the girl with “daddy” issues. No, there was no way I could ever tell her about Alan.

I glanced at my phone again. Still nothing. It was maddening how I was acting like a high-schooler waiting for my crush to text.

Jessica headed for the kitchen, but called out over her shoulder, “Expecting a big call?”

“No.” I could feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment at the lie. I leaned over and blew at my toes to help them dry, trying hard not to glance yet again at my phone.

“Um, Maddie?” Jessica called. “Why are your clothes on the floor in here?”

Oh, shit. I had forgotten to pick up my shirt, shorts, and underwear from the kitchen.

“Oh... I was washing some dishes and they got all wet.” It was a ludicrous excuse, but it was all I had.

“So you just took them off... in the kitchen…”

“Well, I had to take a shower anyway. I’ll come pick them up in a minute.” I heard her open the fridge, so I hoped that was the end of it.

“You’re so weird, Maddie.”

...you don’t know the half of it, Jessica...

My phone buzzed and slipped off my knee. I scrambled a little too fast to pick it up, nearly spilling blue nail polish all over the couch.

HIM: Hey. How was your day?

How was my day?

...perfect...