The Uninvited Guest

I only have around half a mile to go now. As my feet hit the ground one after the other, I feel the stress of the day melting away. These days running is about the only time I don't obsessively worry. I like the meditative aspect of it - getting lost in the music, the feel of my heart beating in my chest. And most of all, I love coming home from a run in the icy rain and jumping into a hot bath.

Tonight was one of those wet and cold evenings. The rain was lashing down hard, freezing my bare arms and causing goosebumps to spring up. I could feel myself wearing out. It was only 5 miles, with a measly half a mile left. Usually, a run like this is effortless, but not today.

I glance down at the ground, trying to steady my mind and focus on one foot in front of the other. Damnit! My laces are coming undone. I better sort this out now before I trip. Spotting a bench a short distance away, I head toward it, slowing as I approach.

A woman is sitting on the far side of the bench, bundled in a thick black winter coat, her red hair poking out. She turns her head as I approach, cocking her head and offering a warm smile. I smile back, raising my foot to the bench to fix my quickly unraveling laces. With that job done, I decide to have some water. Or at least that was the plan. Even using all my strength, the cap won't budge. Why is it that when you think something is easy you have a lukewarm investment in it, but now that this cap appears welded to the bottle, I feel thirstier than I ever have before.

"Here, let me help." The stranger's voice rings out. It's deep but still feminine.

I hand her the bottle, and she opens it like it's the easiest thing in the world. I feel slightly embarrassed by this. Am I that weak? Is this beautiful woman freakishly strong? Wait, did I just call her beautiful? I mean she is. Extremely beautiful. Too beautiful to be sitting all alone in this eery park at dusk. Should I ask her out? No, that would be weird. What woman wants to be asked out in a park at night? And while I'm all sweaty from my run. No, I needed to get back on the apps. I’ve been single for way too long; so long I’m thinking of approaching strangers in parks. This won’t do.

She smirked at me, her eyes boring into me. Suddenly I felt caught out, like I'd been saying it all out loud. Clearing my throat, I took my water bottle back, our fingertips grazing in the exchange and sending a jolt through me. I gulped some water and turned away to compose myself, hoping I didn't look too awkward. I should ask her out. What's the worst that could happen?

I took a steadying breath and faced her. She was gone.

Synaptic Adjustments

I snapped awake, the morning sun slicing through the half-open blinds in sharp, golden beams. I lay still, feeling an odd sensation coursing through me. This feels weird, I thought, my mind instantly alert—none of the typical sluggishness I usually felt in the mornings. Is this what being fully awake feels like? I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so focused and full of energy, if ever.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I looked toward the front door of my studio apartment. My running shoes were there, exactly where I’d left them after my last evening jog around the park. Everything looked the same. So why does it feel so different?

Getting up, I noticed a strange disconnect. My body moved smoothly, obediently, but it felt like it wasn’t quite mine, like I was a stranger in my own skin. Did I eat something strange? I don’t think so, and this didn’t feel like any physical ailment I’d ever experienced before. No, I'm not ill.

I went to start my usual morning routine but stopped when I’d only made it a few steps out of bed. Usually I’d need to get caffeine into my veins before I could do anything else, but today I decided to skip the coffee altogether.

But that didn’t mean I was without need. As I paced around the kitchen, an odd craving struck me. Oranges. Why oranges? I don’t even like them. Yet the desire was unrelenting.I pushed it down and got ready to leave my apartment. Everything seemed a little easier. My hair, usually unruly, went up into a perfect bun, my hands seemingly knowing where to place every strand.

Walking to work, the world around me seemed to sharpen into hyper-focus. The distant hum of traffic, the rustling leaves, the murmur of the city—everything sounded clearer, more distinct. It was too intense, too present. And I couldn’t get oranges out of my brain. It felt like my body would unravel if I didn’t satiate this violent want. I’d never much cared for oranges. My aunt used to make Duck à l'Orange for every Sunday family dinner, thinking it was more sophisticated than a traditional roast. Since I was about ten years old, anything orange flavored just reminded me of suffering through those dinners.

I passed a small street market stall and finally gave in to the bizarre craving. Picking up an orange, its zestful aroma hit me like a wave. My body started shaking with need, a craving on a level I’d never experienced before. Handing over some change with shaky hands, I wandered back onto the street. As I bit into the orange, the flavor exploded in my mouth, shockingly vivid. What is happening to me?

After eating it, a strange calm washed over me, like indulging in the fruit had somehow set things right. It was just in time too, I’d reached my office building.

Creative Horizons was the best place I’d ever worked, and much less stuffy than my previous job. It was a boutique events planning company with an offbeat approach to corporate and private events. It might not be the kind of place that would have me earning six figures in a few years, but it was a place I could leave my own mark, and that felt important to me. I’d always been someone who’d faded into the background, who used my clothes and hair to impart some hint at who I was because my voice struggled to do the same.

I settled at my desk, my own little corner filled with colorful sticky notes, sketches of event layouts, and a potted succulent. It was my island of creativity and chaos. As I planned my day, sifting through emails and jotting down tasks in my planner, I started to feel stressed about the upcoming gala. It was an important event for the city, and I couldn’t afford to mess it up.

Lauren approached my desk, and I looked up, ready to fill her in on my plans, but I froze. Lauren—sharp, confident, and always poised—had always been someone I admired. But now, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her lips, wondering what they’d feel like pressed against my neck. My breath hitched before I could catch myself.

Fuck, she looks hot...does she always look this hot? No, she’s wearing the same loose magenta suit she wore last Monday. I didn’t think she looked hot then. Her hands would look so pretty parting my thighs. Wait, what am I saying? I don't have a crush on Lauren. I could recognize Lauren was attractive, but I’d never felt attracted to her. Before today it had always been more of a casual appreciation. Now, it was an intense longing.

Feeling my face heat up, I fumbled with my pen, my usual poise slipping. It fell out of my hand and bounced on the wooden floor. I jumped.

“Jenna, are you okay?” Lauren’s voice held concern, her brow furrowed as she studied me.

“Y-Yes, I’m fine,” I stammered, my heart racing. This was new and confusing.

Lauren gave me a long look, still not entirely convinced, but nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just let me know if you need anything.” She placed a coffee on my desk. It had become our morning ritual, and I think more than anything it was Lauren’s way of saying she was a nice boss.

As she walked away, I bolted up from my desk, needing a moment alone. In the bathroom, I leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths. What is happening to me? Since when do I react like this? The world outside my office, and now within, felt intensely amplified.

My core felt tight, and a familiar throbbing began to take hold. As the moments passed, I couldn't help but focus on the sensations. Lauren's full lips and curvy figure popped into my head, and a low groan escaped my mouth. I could see her nipples through her bra—maybe she was wearing a mesh one? Something with very little padding. If only she wasn’t wearing her blouse, I’d know for sure. The image of Lauren’s engorged nipples just inches from my mouth sent a surge of arousal straight to my clit, which began to throb intensely.

I can't work like this. The ache in my pussy was intensifying with every second. I gripped the sink, my knuckles going white with the force I was exerting. No, get it together. You can't masturbate in the office bathroom. Are you crazy? My legs began to shake, and I clenched my thighs together. Oh, that feels good. The pressure of squeezing them tight and the friction of my clothes took some of the ache away for a moment, offering a little relief as my pussy started to get what it wanted. Could I come from this? No, surely not, I've never had an orgasm from such little contact in the past...NO. I NEED TO STOP THIS.