Outside of the occasional passerby that wanted anything else but to make eye contact with me, the walk to the field was mostly performed in solitude. There were others here at the field, hanging out in the stands, up near the announcement box where they could rend off the corrosive light of the day. Under the bleachers, though, completely empty. Not a soul in sight.
I walked deep into the underground seating area, taking note of the litter scattered and lost from their owner's overhead.
'How much of this trash was left intentionally and how much accidentally,' I wondered.
There were soda stains seeped into the dirt, discoloring the soil and the loose gravel atop it. I stopped my flight from the dorm rooms around the corner of the central most concrete stadium light foundation. I leaned back against the side directly opposite where I had entered beneath the stadium, where I was certain nobody would see me without following.
'What's happened to me?'
I looked again at my hands, each finger soft and slim. Whoever did the nails did such an incredible job on them. They weren't too long but shaped to have crisp edges specifically to accentuate the white polish dip and angles of each nail. I pressed all ten fingertips against my forehead, pushing in slightly to sensation, then alleviating. I repeated this process all the way down to my new jawline and chin. After conceding that the face was indeed real, I pushed the nails across the scalp and through my, now, long hair.
The nails felt good across my head. They sliced their way in between strands of hair before departing, lifting strands of hair alongside them. It felt nice. My hands then proceeded to investigate my neck, one on each side, scraping downward. The lack of an Adam's apple surprised me, pleasantly.
Then down onto the collar bones, jutting out boldly, little handlebars for my fingers to rest on. That's when the right hand let go of its anchor and departed onto the breast below. Its fingers traced slow circles around the outline of the compressed nipple, requesting signals be delivered up from the torso down the front of my spine, through the belly, and into the groin.
I closed my eyes and let them wander.
The left hand climbed its way back up to the base of my neck and grabbed hold while the right index followed the signals down between the valley of my boobs, across the sternum, taking brief refuge in the belly button, and slowly down to the elastic band of my skirt.
It raged to be realized, screamed to be seen, and telegraphed to be touched.
My right fingers crawled, finger over finger, hiking the hem up to my waist and allowing the attached wrist to pin it in place. Ever so carefully, the middle and ring fingers contorted themselves to graze casually across my boxers. Up the slit, then down. When enough pressure was applied, they instinctively started to make small infinite circles as they continued, becoming ever more concentrated toward the higher end of my pussy.
All of my health and anatomy classes were paying off.
As I applied more friction, I could smell the smoke of the potential energy starting to burn. No amount of moisture could prevent this kind of fire. The more aroused I became, the easier it became to identify the source of my primary stimulation. I couldn't handle the slow burn any longer. My legs divided as I crouched down against the light fixture's foundation. I had to add gas. I was so close to that fulfilling, explosive force.
My fingers dove through each dual windowed veil with a single, fiery purpose. To capture and exploit that little bead of heat. They accidentally slipped right into me as the environment had become slippery with humidity. I adjusted my patience and reapproached the mission. My fingers levitated along the outskirts of the hole, just beneath the lips, and slowly pulled themselves up toward the stomach. After about a centimeter, they hooked onto a hard, little ball and I knew beyond any doubt I'd found it.
They encircled it, dancing around the campfire, and chanting. My fingers were instigating it to burn brightly, fiercely, and begged it to become a bonfire like no other seen before. If they could start a wildfire, I wished they would. My hips began to dance involuntarily alongside the rhythm set by its conductors, and my left-hand clenched down hard around my throat, promising never to let go.
Each repetition pushing the boundaries of acceptable social behavior and public indecency. Each circle marking new territory on the floor, dots pooling on the bottom, growing in weight and drip, drip, dripping onto the rocks and substrate below. The campfire burst out, spirals of electricity running up through each thigh, down each calf, and out each of my toes. My ass planted itself firmly into the earth, letting the pebbles' penetration inject additional stimulation into each spasm.
Tingling jolts shot themselves into my hips, creating a whirlpool of sensation within and around my lower stomach. Drip, drip, drip. I couldn't stop. The ecstasy of each surge blasted needles of enforced smiles up into my face.
"Unh..." I let out an involuntary moan as my body finally relaxed into the floor and the sensations began to quiet.
'So that's what that's like, huh?' I asked myself, evaluating and comparing the differences to times when I'd wrangled my original one-eyed demon to completion.
'Kind of wish I could do that every single day.'
All of this, against my better judgement, and it still didn't answer what was happening to me. I leaned my head back against the pole, looking up at the underside of the bleachers and lending time for my undershorts to dry out. Could it be some kind of virus?
'That's stupid' I immediately berated myself.
Then what was the common denominator? I sat in thought and worked my way back through the events of the day.
'That fucking business card...' I suddenly realized.