His name was Michael and looked about thirty five years of age when I first met him. At the time, I was nineteen, a college drop-out, daughter of divorced, dysfunctional parents who knew nothing about me whatsoever. They loved me of course, but we weren't exactly close; distance was more acceptable and far less uncomfortable than a sweaty hug from my old man and to feel my mother's tight breasts (operated, no doubt, though she denied it every time) squashed up against my own. My parents, even six years after the painful divorce, still had their childish way of starting a fight every time they laid eyes on each other.

It all began on the summer of '98, the morning dad came parading to the suburbs in his cheap, noisy car. I could hear the car as it trashed down the street, past the perfectly lined houses until it stopped outside our beautiful little house with its white picket fence and perfectly mowed front lawn. The engine shut off and dad suddenly exploded. His temper had always been unstable, but that morning, I feel he let out something he'd had stored inside for quite some time. He came storming up to the house and with two fists, not one, he banged the door like a lunatic. I left my room and crept to the landing; mom threw open the front door equally mad and all hell broke loose.

The fight led me to stay with dad at his apartment that entire summer. Apparently, he wasn't satisfied with the custody agreement and though I was no longer a child, he fought for me as if I were six, his pride and joy. Mom instantly agreed, much to his surprise. She couldn't stand the likes of me after having dropped out and she even helped me pack that same morning. She thrust the suitcase in the trunk of dad's battered car, slammed the door after I'd gotten in lazily and bid me farewell from a distance. I wriggled in my seat uncomfortably, sliding all the way down until the top of my head was barely visible from the outside. I wanted to avoid everything and anyone, especially the guy sitting next to me.

"Why'd you drop out?" he asked dryly, still staring ahead.

I shrugged. "I don't want to be a nurse or a doctor or whatever."

"Have you given any thought about what you want to be?"

I shrugged. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"You know, I dropped out of med school too and look what happened to me. I'm broke, I drive a shitty car--"

"You always know how to make me feel better, dad."

"I'm just saying you need to be a little more open minded. Think really hard, Kim, you have all summer."

He kept talking about his lifelong regret as I unpacked with my back to him, almost wishing I could block out the words. No matter what he said, no matter how much he insisted, I assured him that I was never going to change my mind about my decision. I never even wanted that in the first place. It was their selfish plan for me to go to med school, not mine, even if it cost them the world.

We got into a heated, typical father-daughter argument and he was quick to get out of there. This sort of behaviour resulted familiar: he left just like he did with mom, but at least he had an excuse this time. He had to go to work and it didn't surprise me at all when I heard the door slam. It was way past midnight when I decided to leave the apartment and look around for a bit. What drove me to explore the building was its rugged style, dark and almost in ruins, creepily luring in a way and I was a movie freak back then. The building reminded me intensely of the one in Rosemary's Baby. Strangely, I went down to the basement in search of the laundry room and what met me down there was the most unexpected, unreal predicament I had ever been in .

His eyes were closed and he didn't see me standing there watching him masturbate. It wasn't intentional, of course, but after the first second, I couldn't keep my eyes away. His hand moved fairly quickly, grasped around a thick pole of pulsing muscle and with each thrust he let out a soft grunt. This carried on for some time, until the man's breathing turned ragged all of a sudden, his jaw clenched involuntarily, and he quickened his pace, jerking himself desperately for release. He let out a loud moan and I stepped back clumsily when a load of cum shot straight at my shoes, missing me only by an inch. I backed into a washing machine, accidentally turning it on and his eyes fell upon me.

They were dark eyes, the blackest eyes I'd ever seen, on the whitest face I'd ever seen. For a second, I thought I was staring into the dead eyes of a ghost and I dared not move just in case I was right for a change. He stood up boldly, cock still in sight and approached me, eyes locked on mine. With nowhere to run, I pinned my arms to my sides nervously, in attempt to avoid touching him as he stopped right in front of me. We exchanged looks first, then at the same time looked down at his cock still hanging free.

"Did you like what you saw?" he asked calmly. It was a thick voice, hoarse.

"I wasn't spying or anything--"

"Then why are you still staring at it?"

I flushed and met with his eyes quickly. He was smiling. I shrugged, trying to feign my nervousness, but I guess he saw straight through me and put it away from sight and zipped up his pants.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you were this bashful. Why haven't I seen you before?"

"I'm just here for the summer," I mumbled. "My dad--"

"Your dad?" he said gravely.

"I'm not a kid. Relax, I'm nineteen."

"Oh," he nodded, noticeably relieved and hid both hands in his pockets. "Well, um, what's your name?"

"Kimberly. But everybody calls me Kim."

"Kim. Hmm."

"What?"

"My ex goes by the name of Kim too. Looks nothing like you though. You know, you don't look your age. I'd have sworn you were twenty three."

"Is that why you deliberately didn't put it away?"

"I'm sorry, but by the look on your face anyone could see you were enjoying it. Tell me, Kim, was that the first time you'd seen ...?"

"No. I've seen plenty of cock in my day, thank you."

"And do you tell everybody about each one you've seen?"

"Of course not."

"Keep the tradition. This isn't the first time I've been caught with my dick in my hand down here." he whispered close to my ear.

"Then why can't you do it in the privacy of your own home?"

"I have a thing for public places, even if they are deserted."

"Hey, it was deserted, I walked in just as you ... almost came on my shoes."

"I missed," he looked back proudly to view his own cum on the floor. "I sure as hell can't leave that there, can I? They'll know it came from me."

"Then clean it. Bye." I turned and headed for the door, grinning from ear to ear.

His laugh echoed behind me. "It was nice meeting you."

That night, I lay awake on the couch, unblinking and restless. It was the first night in a long time that I felt the need to stay this way, with not an inch of desire for sleep in me. Somehow, the stranger had gotten the best of me and he was all I could think about. His hair, dark, almost black was combed unevenly to the side and I still remember how his fringe stuck to his moist forehead when he was jerking off. He was about 6'1 and lean, not precisely strongly built like a body builder for instance, but I could tell he did his fair share of weight lifting occasionally. What struck me the most were the deep black holes of nothingness where his eyes were meant to be; somehow it felt as if I were staring into the abyss.

But his smile was reassuring. I wasn't so terribly freaked out when he smiled at me.

The next afternoon, I went to the park across the building and found that it was almost as neglected as the building itself. It was small, with spiked iron railings, a tree or two, bearing just a few leaves on each branch and a patch of withered grass and growing weeds. He was sitting on a bench, the only bench there, back facing me. I couldn't tell what he was doing, but I guessed he was reading. I guessed wrong. Once I looked past his shoulder, the previous night came back to me.

"This is a kid's park, you know. You could get arrested for indecent exposure."

"What are you, a cop?" he replied playfully and turned his head. "Besides, I haven't got it out. I was just rubbing."

"But you were about to start jerking off in a park."

"About to."

I took a seat next to him and crossed my legs at the ankles. He did the same. I glanced at his bulge. He wasn't at all interested in hiding it.

"You never gave me your name last night." I mentioned.

"Name's are not important." he answered.

"If you're interested in socializing, they are very important."

"So, you want to socialize with me? Is that why you want my name?"

"This hard-to-get bullshit isn't amusing. I told you my name."

"Michael," he put a hand out to me, the same hand he used the night before to masturbate. "It's nice to see you again, Kimberly."

"Kim." I shook it back. "So, did you clean up the mess in the laundry room?"

"That I did, though it would've been easier with an extra hand."

"Well, next time cum in somebody's mouth. That beats cleaning up."

"How about yours?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not? You obviously want something from me. You wouldn't be here talking to me if you didn't."

"I don't swallow."

"No? But you have the habit of looking."

I looked away, embarrassed yet again and he laughed at me.

"Don't worry, I like looking too. I find it an extreme turn on, as a matter of fact," he slid closer to me until our knees were pressed together. "Have you ever tried touching yourself outdoors?"

"No way!" I snorted through my nose, edged away from him slightly, but he pulled me back toward him. Our knees clashed against each other.

"All right, fine. How about in front of a camera?"

"No ..."

"It's a thrilling pleasure, Kim, it's more thrilling than anything you've ever tried. Would you like to?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On the place you're willing to film."

"Is my apartment suitable?"

"I guess ..."

"You're unsure. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I've ... it's just ... I've never done that in front of a camera before."

"I know what'll boost your confidence," he fished from his left pocket his cell phone. He then took my hand and pressed it between his thighs. I urgently tried to pull away, frantic with the thought that a passing stranger would see me in that position. Michael kept his firm hand on mine. "Unzip my pants, Kim, and slip your hand inside."

"I can't--"

"It's not a hand job, Kimberly, I just want you to touch it."

"This is so embarrassing," I muttered feverishly to myself as I unzipped him. "What if somebody sees?"

"There's nobody around. Now, slip your hand inside."

I did it. I felt his hardened, warm cock with the tips of my fingers at first, (though losing my virginity almost two years prior, I was still incredibly shy when it came to sex) then, when he pressed my hand further against his groin, I took it in my hand and gripped it lightly.

"Was that so hard?" he asked, laughter dancing in his black eyes.

"What now?"

"Look."

I looked and fell straight into the lens of his cellphone. He either spitefully took a picture or was secretly filming the entire time. I frowned at him. "Is this supposed to be funny?"

"No, just practice," he sat up, pulled my hand out and zipped his pants. "You see what I did there? I was filming you and you didn't even know it. Would you like to give it a proper try in my apartment?"

Michael hung back as we made our way to the building and he filmed me all the way. Luckily for us, his apartment was all the way up on the fourth floor; dad's was on the second. He opened the door for me, allowing me to step inside first because he was probably filming my ass. The apartment was no different than dad's. Small, all the furniture cramped in a corner, including a bookshelf stacked with books which were accumulating dust. He led me straight to the bedroom where he left the door ajar. Sunlight was seeping through a small gap in the curtains and onto his double bed, revealing many stains which were obviously cum.

"You can get undressed now if you want. I'll be right back."

I got rid of the clothes hesitatingly, slightly nervous; I would've preferred the room to be dark and myself hiding underneath the filthy sheets of his, but this wasn't exactly what he had in mind. He came back barely a minute later, butt naked with a camcorder in his hand. His nine inch cock was stiff and pulsing.

"Lie down on the bed and spread your legs."

I obeyed, but he didn't have to tell me what to do with my fingers. I was already soaking wet by the time he set the camcorder on the bedside table facing me. He got on his knees before me and stroked himself as I did the same.

"Are we going to have sex?" I asked between moans.

"No. Today is merely a joint masturbation session. You'll enjoy it."

We continued this ... slow race if you will, for about five minutes until Michael got up from the bed and took the camcorder with his free hand, whilst the other was kept busy stroking his cock.

"Make yourself cum, Kimberly, now."

He deliberately used my full name on more than one occasion and I absolutely hated it. "What if I don't?" I said defiantly.

His eyes flashed darkly. "Then I'll have to do it myself."

Michael set the camcorder down again and sprang on top of me, spreading my legs with his knees and without sparing a second for me to escape, he thrust three fingers at once into my entries. I moaned aloud and bit into my bottom lip, running both hands through his hair, down his back and all the while, he pumped me again and again with his fingers. He asked to change places and now he was lying on his back. I took his stiff cock in my hand and moved it slowly at first. Michael shut his eyes and his breathing began to change pace as did my hand. He groaned, moved my hand to go faster, then reached for the camcorder. He held it over his head where nothing could be ignored by the lens and I continued to jerk him with one hand whilst the other cupped his balls. With his free hand, Michael inserted two in me this time and fingered me, rubbing his thumb over my clit.

For fifteen long minutes that included two orgasms I had forgotten all about camcorder, even though it was right in front of me. It was when Michael got up from the bed and handed it to me that I was aware of its existence again. He stood before me, before the camcorder and jerked off with his left hand. He was equally skilled with this hand as much as the right. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes a fraction as his hand sped up; he hissed through his teeth, a low, beastly growl escaped his lips and his juices spurted directly on the camcorder.