The Singer by Jan M.

The Singer

Well, it was a rainy night. The type of setting one sees in the movies. Rain pouring down steadily. Not cold, just wet. And the gloomy darkness engulfed man, concrete and machine in its clammy shroud.

I knew she was there, because I've seen her tracking my steps many times before.

It intrigued me, almost to a point of annoyance. She was like a chilled breeze on a summer's day, a sudden squall on a calm sea - an enigma. I had no idea who she was. Where she came from, what her name was, why she was out there watching me.

She was pretty, very attractive. She glided along in the shadows with a slow gait, sensuality in motion. Was she a cop? Why not walk over and ask her, one could ask, but somehow something held me back from doing so - something eerie-like.

I suddenly spotted her. In the shadows. Following me. Well, not following me as such, but keeping pace with me as if she wanted to let me know of her presence. Almost as if she wanted me to saunter over and scold her for being my second shadow.

But why, I desperately wondered, why me?

She wore a long, black coat, buttoned down to just below her waistline. I could see the pale gleam of her legs as she walked. It incited me and I could feel an involuntary stirring in my loins. Her dark hair was partially covered by a scarf - a blood-red scarf. One could perhaps blame my next move on the two beers I have had after work, but I suddenly had a strong urge to see her eyes - to talk to her. To find out.

She could be a serial killer for all I knew. Prowling the streets, looking for men to quench a deeply rooted hatred, stemming from a bad experience she had had in the past. I shivered at the thought, but I had to know. Tonight.

I hesitantly crossed the street, afraid she might be scared off by my action. The rain had stopped. She stood in the shadows underneath a street lamp. And yes, she actually waited for me to catch up! As I approached her, I could feel my pulse quickening, my hart beating faster. Excitement bubbled inside me like the frothing head of a freshly poured beer, but there was also a nagging feeling of something close to fear.

But, she carried a sensual aura of such magnitude, that my legs kept on walking - my eyes glued to her shadowy figure there on the corner of Fagan and Bartlett Streets. My apartment was barely thirty meters away.

A tiny smile greeted me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she immediately raised a gloved forefinger to her lips, silencing me with that simple gesture. She took my hand and spoke only three words.

"Take me home." Her voice was soft and musical.

I was unable to think of a sensible reply and started walking again. She hooked her arm through mine. I could only just see her profile in the streetlight's glimmer. Full lips, delicate nose, sculptured eyebrows. I noticed her legs again as they were periodically revealed by her coat flaps. Beautiful legs. The urge to slide my hand up them towards her womanhood, was overwhelming.

She kept her silence. I unlocked the front door - a thousand questions raced through my mind, but I was unable to ask a single one. It was as though I was thunderstruck, almost mesmerized by this enigmatic figure beside me, by her aura of sheer womanliness, sheer sensuality. She spoke again as we entered the hallway.

"No lights, please. A candle is enough."

I found one in the kitchen and bumped my head against a cupboard as I bent over to light it. The blow jolted me from my stupor.

"Who are you?" I blurted out as I entered the living room. "Why follow me? Why did you choose....?"

"Shh... So many questions, so many answers, so little time. My name is Shannah Wilken," she interrupted. "No more questions, please. Come to me," she invited softly and held out her gloved hands.

The candle threw playful shadows over her upturned face. She was striking. Her eyes were blueish-green and once mine locked with hers, it was as if all my questions and fears just faded away. All that remained was the knowledge that this woman, this beautiful stranger, offered me her body - the utmost gift any woman can ever give to a man. I didn't know why she chose me, but I didn't care anymore.

Her lips were full and moist. She darted her tongue into my mouth when my hands found their way inside her long, black coat. Her legs felt like warm silk. My hands moved slowly upwards and it came as a slight shock to realize she only wore a bra and panties. They were of the old-fashioned type, not as small and revealing like today's.

Her lips acquired a new urgency when I removed her coat. She gave a slight moan. Her bra dropped to the floor and I took hold of her breasts. They were full and firm. I broke the kiss and moved my lips down the side of her throat - downwards, until they reached those magnificent breasts. She unbuttoned my shirt as I slowly licked her cherry-like nipples. They stiffened from my gentle administrations. I bit down slightly on the left one and she gave a small cry of pleasure.

Her fingers tugged softly at my own nipples. I felt pleasure ripple through me. My jeans became too tight for my, by now rock hard, penis. I kept on smearing her breasts with saliva. My hands moved downwards again, over her flat tummy, down to her panties - inside her panties.

Her pubic hair was soft and already wet from her secretions. I slid my hand over her vaginal lips. It was like touching soft and warm butter. Her breath was hot in my neck - almost ragged from desire.

I dropped down on my knees and gently tugged her panties down. My eyes were used to the light now and I gasped as her swollen labia emerged. I stared in awe at those pink petals and my own desire became almost unbearable. Her clitoris stood erect and I moved my forefinger in circular movements over it. She opened her legs even more. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled it towards her womanhood.

I smelled her slight muskiness as my tongue came in contact with her folds. I slowly traced those lips, up and around and back again to her clitoris. I pressed my upper lip against it and pushed my tongue inside. Her legs buckled slightly as sheer ecstasy shot through her body and she cried out loudly. My tongue snaked back and forth and by now she was soaked. My penis was so swollen, that it felt like bursting from my jeans. She suddenly broke away and pulled me upwards. In a flash my pants and underpants were lying on the floor, releasing my swollen member like a coiled snake. She took it in her mouth. She moved her head backwards and forwards, sucking as she did so.

My legs trembled and I realized that an orgasm was close if I did not stop her in time. I pushed head away, took her shoulders and lowered her onto the thick carpet. Her body gleamed like ivory in the candlelight. We were both breathing in gasps as I moved down onto her soft, yielding body. Her eager hands took my penis and guided it home. I slid up all the way and she moaned loudly. It was like dipping it into a heated furnace. Her vaginal muscles contracted around my shaft as I rammed it in as deep as I could.

Our rhythmic gasps were almost in unison as I slid my penis back and forth in its oiled sheath. She was wildly kissing me, groaning and making other strange little noises as our bellies slapped together. I felt her body tighten.

She screamed at the top of her voice. Her legs locked behind my back and she arched backwards as a massive orgasm shook her entire being. That was enough to trigger my own. A few seconds later my sperm shot in hot, sticky jets into her pussy.

We rested for a little while and then she got up. She said she wanted to take a shower. I was still glowing in the aftermath of our lovemaking and remained where I was. She was fully dressed when she came out again. I protested, asking her not to leave, but she was adamant. I even detected a sense of restlessness in her.

"OK, but please, can I see you again tomorrow?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not."

"Why perhaps..?"

"I'm a singer and do not always have the time. Don't worry, I will find you again, Lover."

With that she gave me a lingering kiss and went out the front door. As the door closed, I suddenly felt cold - almost afraid. And there was a faint smell in the air of something I could not place.

A few days passed without a trace of her. Each night I patrolled the streets, cursing my stupidity for not having asked her address. But Shannah was not to be seen.

I desperation I phoned a friend of mine who was a music critic at a newspaper and asked him if he had ever heard of a singer called Shannah Wilken.

"Oh yes. She was destined to become a major star," he replied. My gut tightened as he spoke.

It was then that I smelled something strange again. The same odour as when she left me that night.

"Why speak in the past tense," I asked haltingly.

"The poor girl died in a car crash in 1965. My God! Now that I think of it, it was close to where you stay! On the corner of Fagan and Bartlett Streets. Is there any reason for your asking?"

"Never mind." I put the phone down, trembling violently as I did so.

I recognised the smell for what it was - the smell of death!