Midnight Series (camren version)

Chapter 2

butterfly

There I was, nearly twenty-four hours after the mysterious phone call, lying in bed with my favorite toy at my fingertips. I masturbated almost every night. Though I didn't always pleasure myself in the same way or use the same toy, I usually did it in my bed with my curtains wide open. I guess you could say I was a bit of an exhibitionist. I lived on the fourteenth floor of a large apartment building where the western wall was entirely made of glass. Now, I wasn't crazy. Though I liked to fuck with the curtains wide open, I kept my lights off. I could see out, but no one could see in. It was erotic, yet safe.

The first time it happened was an accident, really. I'd been sitting in the living room reading a romantic novel, and my hand slipped up into my shirt. My fingers lazily played with my nipple, rubbing and gently tugging while I read. I wasn't sure how long I was like that, but when I looked up, it had grown dark outside and I realized that anyone could see right into my apartment since I had the lights on.

I pulled my hand quickly from my top and glanced around nervously to see if any of the people in the apartment building across the street had seen me. As I scanned the apartments, I saw a man quickly turn and look away. There was an obvious bulge in his sleep pants.

I should have been upset, mortified even, but instead, I felt wetness gather between my legs. I ran to the shower to wash away my shameful response, but ended up pleasuring myself under the scalding water, imagining him jerking off to the sight of me masturbating.

For weeks after that, I'd imagine different guys watching me finger fuck myself while I was in the shower. I imagined being a stripper at a club where men would get aroused by my dancing. Hell, I even imagined being in one of those peep show rooms I had read about, where women have sex and men pay to keep the curtain open. I imagined it all.

Yet imagining wasn't enough, and though I didn't have the courage to actually do it, I compromised by masturbating with the curtains open and the lights off. I knew in theory that people couldn't see me, but I could see them, and that was hot.

I'd been doing it for over a year now, and I loved it each and every time. That guy I'd seen the first time had moved out a while back, but it didn't matter; it was the idea that someone—a complete stranger—could be watching me that got me off.

As I lay there thinking about all the people in the apartments across the boulevard from mine, I let my hand slip up inside my top. What if the call last night hadn't been a wrong number? My nipple got hard beneath my fingertips at the mere thought. What if there had been someone actually spying on me? I gave my sensitive skin a gentle tug. What if she was looking at me now? I tugged harder, moaning in pleasure.

It had been over two years since I'd had a boyfriend, and at that time, I had no idea what I liked in bed.

Since then, I'd learned a lot about what I liked from pleasuring myself.

One thing that I seemed to love was a bit of pain with my pleasure.

My other hand moved lower and slipped in between my slick folds. I groaned in pleasure. I wasn't surprised that my fingers found my clit slightly swollen, or that within a minute, it was throbbing. Like I said, I knew what I liked, and imagining that woman—my midnight caller—watching me was definitely helping.

My fingers picked up the pace, and the gentle rubbing of my clit turned to rapid flicking and finally to rough tugging of the over sensitive bud. I grabbed for my toy and turned it on. Without playing around, I thrust it into my dripping pussy. I began pounding it into myself, causing my back to arch and a light perspiration to cover my skin. I felt my climax start to build, and I slowed my pace to drag it out a bit longer. After a few more torturous minutes, I fell over the edge.

I lay there panting with a cheesy grin on my face, enjoying the post orgasmic high. Lazily, I glanced over at the phone. See, nothing to worry about. Just as the thought popped into my head, the phone began to ring.

I considered not picking it up, but I wasn't a coward. I took a deep breath, slowly picked up the receiver and brought it to my ear.

"That was beautiful, butterfly."

"Wait, who is this?" I yelled into the phone. I heard a chuckle and then a click. "Hello...hello?"

I sat there staring at the phone for a full minute before I moved. My mind, which had been numb, began to race. This was not a wrong number. It was too coincidental. Someone was watching me, or listening to me! I ran to my window and drew the curtain closed. My heart was racing in my chest, and despite the fact that I had always fantasized about someone watching me, now that it seemed like it was happening, I was scared. Yet it thrilled me, too. Much to my surprise, I realized that the wetness between my thighs had increased since my orgasm, not decreased.

Not knowing what else to do, I climbed back into bed, tossing and turning while sleep eluded me. There were very few times I wished I had someone, but this was one of them. There was some comfort to having a man in your house at night, but if I was being honest with myself, other than that, I really had no use for a man...not any man I'd ever met anyway.

At first I thought it was just the boys in the small town I grew up in. They were simple, juvenile, and interested in one thing: sex. It's not that I wasn't curious about sex when I was a teenager, it just wasn't my obsession.

I had dated, though my parents made me wait until I was sixteen. Having a marine for a dad will do that to you. I went out with a few boys, but Austin Mahone was my first real boyfriend. I dated him for about three months when I was sixteen and a half.

Austin had given me my first kiss at a bonfire in the spring. I waited to feel that spark, that electrical current everyone talks about, but that part never happened. On his seventeenth birthday, we went to a movie and he told me that all he wanted for his birthday was to get to second base. I'd been raised to please, so even though I didn't really want to, I allowed him to put his hands up my shirt. I wasn't sure what I was expecting from him, but what he did wasn't it. His hands fumbled while trying to unhook my bra, but when that didn't work, he just pushed it aside.

There were no tender caresses, no gentle stimulation. He squeezed my breasts with great force and pinched my nipples hard. I moaned in pain and he mistook it as pleasure. He whispered to me that I was the perfect girlfriend. Of course, two weeks later, when I wouldn't give him head, he called me a tease. That was our last date.

I had dated a few other guys in high school, including the man I gave my virginity to, Matthew Hussey. Matthew and I dated my entire senior year. We went to prom together, and following the after party one of my classmates threw, where I'd had quite a bit to drink, he took me to a hotel room. The room was very romantic—cheesy, but romantic. Neither one of us knew what we were doing really. I mean, Matthew wasn't a virgin, but he really had no experience. The entire 'event' lasted fifteen minutes. It hurt and I hadn't enjoyed it at all, but we thought we loved each other and would be together forever.

We had had sex a few more times before the end of the school year, and after promising to love each other forever, he headed off to Penn State while I went to Chicago. Our 'forever' lasted about three weeks before Matthew called and announced that he'd found his true love and had to let me go. I was devastated. The only consolation I found was when I heard from a mutual friend back home that Matthew had walked in on his new true love getting the shit fucked out of her by his roommate. Apparently, Matthew was a means to an end.

Life went on, as did my dating, despite me never falling in love and the death of my parents when I was nineteen. By the time I was twenty-five, though, I'd had enough. The men I'd dated were all plain, boring, and only interested in sex—bad sex, at that. I found that I enjoyed sex more when they weren't around than when they were. Once that fact sunk in, I never bothered with a boyfriend again.

I hadn't even thought about dating until I heard my midnight caller's voice on the phone tonight. There was something about it that shot straight through me to my core and made me tingle.

It was well after midnight when I finally fell into a restless sleep riddled with thoughts of my midnight caller.