Authors: Lola Remy
Your Darkest Desires
Erotic Short Story Compilation
Copyright © 2014 Lola Remy
Cover art by Lola Remy
Kindle Edition, License Notes
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Three days ago, an unprecedented heat wave had rolled in from out of nowhere, sending temperatures soaring into the sky. In my little cul-de-sac, the residents were mostly amused on the first day. Reno was pretty toasty on a good day, so when we had to break out our flimsiest clothes to keep our skin from chafing, none of us really stopped to wonder what was going on.
Truthfully, most of us were more concerned with checking out our neighbors. I spent most of the afternoon alternatively staring at the way Charlie – one half of the gay couple across the road – kept bending over in the middle of his driveway. At some point, I realized his boyfriend, Sam, was as hypnotized as I was; we caught each other’s eye and tried to tamp down the hysteria when we laughed.
On the second day, people were less amused and more frustrated. Heat had a way of bringing out the crazy in folks, and excessive humidity only added gasoline to an already raging fire. Nerves frayed and tempers flared, leading to out-and-out screaming matches between previously friendly neighbors. Rosa and Dave from the end of the block smashed Mrs. Greenberg’s lawn ornaments – I didn’t think they knew why, either – and in retaliation, Mrs. G walked up to Rosa’s parents and told them that their fifteen-year-old daughter liked to have loud, filthy sex with Dave when they weren’t at home; the last I heard, Rosa was grounded until her funeral.
By the time the sun set on the third evening without respite from the blistering heat, we were all going a little insane. Every window and door on every house in the neighborhood was wide open, but there wasn’t a lick of breeze circulating anywhere. Almost everyone had stripped down to his or her rattiest underwear, and our sense of shame seemed to have evaporated during the day.
People lay sprawled out on their lawns, dousing their faces with water every once in a while. Nobody in our neighborhood seemed to have central air, and even though most of the people who lived here couldn’t afford it, we all fervently agreed to have air-conditioners installed as soon as the heat let up. With that decision made, we went back to staring at the sky in a daze.
I’d almost become used to the feeling of sweat dripping down between my shoulder blades, when the unthinkable happened: the power went out.
All at once, every single streetlamp blinked off, the lights in the windows died, and the neighborhood was plunged into darkness. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the startling lack of light, when I heard it – or more accurately, when I stopped hearing it. The faint hum of electronics running in the background was gone, and I groaned when I spotted the blades of the table fan behind me whir to a halt.
This sucked monkey balls.
Evidently, the rest of my neighborhood agreed vehemently, and I dropped my head against the backrest of the patio chair as cries of outrage echoed through the night. People yelled and shrieked up and down the street, cursing everyone from the President of the Free World to the little Southern boy who usually came to check on our electrical lines; when someone discovered that the cell towers were down, as well, all hell broke loose.
The drama of the situation would have been incredibly amusing, if I hadn’t been so miserable about the layers of sweat that had fused to my skin. The muggy air felt like it was wrapped tight around my body, and every time I thought about how the fan wasn’t running and how there was no air circulating, the feeling intensified, magnifying and spiraling out of control until I was sure I was going to turn into Sophie-roast, right there on my deck.
Someone smashed a bottle into the gravel sidewalk, and I flailed, snapping out of my funk. This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman. I had a full-time job, a house that I could afford to live in, and my own car.
Granted, my days at work involved beseeching angry customers to hold off on reaching into the phone and strangling me for not fixing their kitchen appliances with a flick of the wrist; my house was a fixer-upper that the landlord had never gotten around to fixing, and the rent was astronomically high considering the hot water tended to be brown and every second step on the staircase creaked ominously; my car was a fifteen-year-old piece of shit that stalled more often than it started, and one of these days, the passenger side door was going to fall off.
But, I was doing okay for a twenty-five-year-old woman with a degree in liberal arts. I knew – from my college friends’ Facebook updates – that it could have been so much worse; at least I hadn’t ended up back at the free-loving, nudist commune that my parents called home.
I could survive a heat wave. Even if it felt like my blood was boiling in my veins, it would all work out. The temperature had to let up sometime. It would rain, maybe, or there’d be a day of amazing winds, and it would all be –
Son of a bitch. I was so stupid. How had I forgotten about the house beyond the wall?
I’d discovered the mansion attached to my backyard three years ago. I’d just moved in, and I’d been exploring my new digs – and trying not to whine too much – when I’d spotted the wooden fence that ran across the yard behind my house. There were gaps between the slats, and having had no respect for another person’s privacy, I’d stuck my face – well, my eye and half my nose, to be honest – into one of the spaces, and I’d been stunned speechless.
I was pretty sure whoever designed our part of town had been high at the time, because there was no other explanation to putting the noisy, borderline poor neighborhood right next to one of the most affluent communities the city had ever seen. Casino owners and hedge fund managers lived on top of cashier clerks and mechanics, and that first day, I’d seen first-hand just how huge the divide was.
The guy who lived on the other side of the fence had a palace that had been built with enough steel and glass to mimic a house, but it still gave off giant-swanky-mansion-lair vibes; three years later, I still hated that thing on sight, mostly because I knew I’d never be able to live in a place like that. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he also had a ginormous pool built into his backyard. In the night, lights would go on underwater, and I’d spent hours with my face pressed into that fence, just staring at the reflections dancing off the surface of the water, wishing I had the balls to climb over the fence and jump right in.
On the third day of the heat wave, I had no desire for balls, nor did I have any qualms about sneaking onto a rich asshole’s property to use his pool. If he didn’t want strangers using his stuff, he should have hidden it better; everyone in my neighborhood knew that if it was out in plain sight, it was community property.
Scrambling off my porch, I ignored the sounds of my angry neighbors raging on the street and stepped in front of the fence. I swallowed a few times to ease my dry throat, and even though my pulse was roaring in my ears, I clenched my fists and moved forward.
It was time to scale the wall.
Getting to the other side required a series of complex, never-before-tried maneuvers that I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to replicate again, but when my feet landed on the soft grass covering Rich Guy’s lawn, I wasn’t worried about how I was going to get back home – I was worried I’d never want to leave.
Even in the dark, the pool looked so much better when I wasn’t coveting it from behind planks of wood. The closer I got to the water, the more inviting it seemed, and the smell of chlorine in the air was like an aphrodisiac, propelling me forward until my toes curled around the edge.
There were no underwater lights this time, nor was the heating mechanism on – apparently, the blackout didn’t discriminate based on how much a person made in a year – but the sight of the water lapping against the railing still made me smile. I was finally going to be able to touch, after years of looking from a distance, and the thought sent a giddy thrill rushing through my veins.
It only took one more hit of that delicious chlorine scent to make me break. I spent five seconds checking to see if anyone was home, and when I couldn’t see or hear anything, I threw caution to the wind and my clothes to the ground.
Then, stark naked, I cannonballed into the pool.
The cold water was a shock to my system, one that I was more than eager to welcome. I let myself sink to the bottom of the pool, relishing the feel of cool, chemically-altered bliss washing away the grime from my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted tendrils of something red coiling my way, and it took a few, heart-pounding seconds to realize that it was my hair.
I waited until my lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen before pushing myself off the tiled floor. In an instant, my head broke the surface of the water, and I sucked in some much-needed air, feeling my head spin at the rush. But eager as I was to ensure I didn’t die or pass out in a stranger’s pool, I wanted to be underwater more. Staying topside long enough to gulp down a lungful of air, I held my breath and dove right back in.
That was all I did for a while, though how long I played sink-but-don’t-drown was anybody’s guess; time had lost all meaning the second I’d jumped in the water. I splashed around, gasping and wheezing when I forgot to breathe, but the noise I made was nothing compared to the din from the streets; people were still venting their anger about the blackout, but I was too blissed out to care.
Soon, though, I just wanted to take in the atmosphere, so I flipped onto my back and floated on the water. For a while, I was content to let the water move me around while I stared at the inky black sky. Without the ambient light from the city, the stars were clearly visible, and though I knew nothing about astronomy, I tried to map out a few constellations; when I failed at that, I made up my own.
My arm bumped up against the side of the pool, and without breaking my focus, I shifted around until my foot was pressed against the wet tile. With one small nudge, I was drifting across the water again. The stars and the darkness, the hush of the water and the yelling from the streets, everything tangled together and became the backdrop to my perfect evening – I didn’t even care that it had started so poorly.
A sudden burst of wind drew my attention to the fact that my breasts were sticking out through the water, but my modesty seemed to have gone the way of my sanity, because I made no move to cover myself. Even if someone was able to see me, what did it matter? Besides, I knew for a fact that I had nice breasts.
Another gust of air swept through the area, sharper this time, and the sensation of something blowing across my damp skin tightened my nipples to hard points. Goosebumps dotted my arms and the pool rippled around my body as a tremble shot along my shoulder blades. Moving with care, I flicked my wrist, sending droplets of water across my body, and I bit back a hiss at the sensation of lukewarm water on chilled skin.
I raised my arm above the surface of the water and paused, my hand hovering in midair. What I was thinking about doing was insane. It was senseless, more than a little bent, and pretty illegal, if I got caught; if I thought about it, the same could be said of my entire jump-the-fence endeavor. What possible reason could there be to take such a huge risk?
The answer came to me in a flash: because it was fun.
My lips curved in a smile as I brought my trembling fingers to my body, and a sound of pure joy hummed out of my throat when I tugged on my aching nipple. Not a moment later, the light pinch turned into full-on groping, and I closed my eyes, palming and squeezing my breast hard.
Almost on instinct, my legs spread apart, and instead of giving the neglected side of my chest some love, I trailed my other, wet hand down my abdomen, scraping fingernails across my pelvis before pausing between my thighs. I halted again, this time knowing that there would be no going back. If I let my hand go any further – if I let my fingers touch the aching, throbbing tightrope of nerves that begged for attention – I couldn’t dismiss it as an innocent, accidental touch. It would be intentional, and it would be a far cry from innocent.