25 Mayıs 2022

Private Eye

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Part One: Virgins Need Not Apply

Kimi sent me the Craigslist ad over Facebook. ‘Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.’

I wrote her back after checking out the ad and the rather generous hourly wage. -Ha ha, looks like just the job for me.-

-Are you going to apply Matt? You have a camera and you have that car.- My truck, passed down through three older siblings already, was more rust than vehicle. But it was, by definition, a working car.

I typed back: -Maybe! I could use the money.-

There was a gap in the conversation as I browsed my friends’ Facebook pages. There were a lot of pictures of parties: red cups, dark rooms, girls posing for the camera. I tried not to feel jealous. My Facebook page was entirely photographs of trees, of birds, of the trails surrounding campus. It was my third year at college, and I still spent more time pointing my camera lens at nature than at prospective dates.

Suddenly, a message from Kimi popped up: -When are you coming home?-

Now this was interesting. I was on my laptop in my room, and I could hear Kimi through the door watching television on the living room couch. But she didn’t know I was here! This was the perfect opportunity. My roommate and I had something of a prank competition going on. Yesterday Kimi had stolen all of the towels out of the bathroom while I was showering. I wound up holding the bathmat over my cock and a loofah over my ass as I ran to my room, right in front of Kimi’s friends. If you didn’t know Kimi and I, you might assume this was flirting. But I met Kimi through her girlfriend, Rose. Searching for roommates online, Rose had remembered me from a portrait photography class, and offered a room in the two-bedroom apartment she shared with her girlfriend. I lived with Rose and Kimi for a full year before they split up. It turns out Kimi’s name was the one on the lease, and Rose moved across town near the river.

I might have met Rose first, but over the last year Kimi and I became great friends. We both loved to watch weird old movies (my favorite: Repo Man, Kimi’s favorite: Top Secret), eat popcorn with hot sauce (me: Tabasco, Kimi: Mad Dog), and laze around in our underwear. Kimi was gorgeous, with long thick black hair, porcelain skin, and high cheek bones. But of course, she was a lesbian, and I had absolutely no chance with her. So to me she was like one of the guys. We hung out constantly, so much so that my other friends blamed Kimi for my lack of dating.

“No girl thinks she can compete with Kimi!” said my friend Rodrigo. “They assume you’re together. By the way, are you together? Is she bi, or totally lesbian? Is she into me?”

This, by the way, is how all my conversations about Kimi went. Even my mom said she was waiting for the day that Kimi fell in love with me. It was embarrassing. But worth it, for the friendship.

I took some time thinking up a reply to Kimi’s message. For all the ways she tried to be badass, Kimi had a jump reflex like no one else. If she saw a spider, or heard a creaking floorboard, or didn’t know you were behind her when you said hello, she would jump about three feet into the air and scream. I knew now how to pull the perfect prank.

I replied: -I’m up at the library working on an assignment. I won’t be back for a while.-

In the living room, Kimi laughed at something on the TV. I decided to wait a bit before I lept out of my room. It was hard though to not laugh and spoil the surprise. Honestly, the suspense before the prank has to be the most rewarding part of it.

Meanwhile, I opened a stealth tab on my laptop and quickly flipped through my various online dating profiles. Last night I’d felt desperate and sent out about twenty or so messages. There were no replies. I stared at the portraits who popped up as my matches. Beautiful women, in tank-tops beneath redwoods, in tight pajamas snuggling their dogs, in bikinis at the beach. I’d been on some first dates recently, but nothing promising.

Oh, I wasn’t lacking in social skills. Just this past weekend, I’d met a psychology major at the 24-hour Thai restaurant. She was a short but tight-bodies girl with a cropped brown pixie cut. She had these amazing green eyes, I couldn’t stop looking into them all night. We’d talked, we’d flirted, we walked out into the parking lot bumping shoulders… and then as we said a lingering goodbye, and she tilted her chin up to receive a kiss-

I left.

I didn’t want to leave!

But there was this voice in my head warning me that a first kiss leads to a date with a second kiss, which could lead to an invitation to her room, which could lead to sex.

And here was what I hadn’t told even my best friend Kimi.

I was a virgin.

I was a virgin on a college campus surrounded by beautiful, interesting, powerful women. I was a virgin with a sexy roommate who brought even more beautiful women into our apartment! I was a virgin with no good excuses casino siteleri except for the fact that I was embarrassed to be a virgin, and I knew the first time would be awkward and unsexy and…

Well, honestly, I was probably still a virgin because I thought about it too much!

Closing the dating websites, I noticed that Kimi wasn’t watching TV anymore. I listened for footsteps- the floorboards of our old house are as creaky as they are drafty- and heard none. In fact, I heard nothing from behind the door. Kimi had to be on the couch still, probably with her headphones in, watching something on her laptop.

I snuck silently to the door. Slowly, slowly, I turned the knob, trying to not make a single noise. Inch by inch I opened the door, peeking through. Perfect, Kimi’s back was turned to me as she lay on the couch. Just as I thought, she had her laptop on the coffee table and her earbuds in. She was totally captivated by what she was watching, which seemed to be a romantic movie. Two women were kissing, grasping at each others’ bodies. They were… naked. One of the women, a brunette, started kissing down the other girl’s body, taking her nipple between her lips. Her hands swept down the girl’s taut belly, over her thighs, then took a handful of her pert ass.

Oh my god.

Kimi was watching porn!

Oh, this would just be too embarrassing.

How perfect!

I was about to leap out to scare Kimi, when I noticed that my roommate wasn’t just watching porn. Her hands were moving down her body, over the thin white t-shirt she wore and down to her pink pajama shorts. One hand kneaded her small breast through the fabric, and the other slid below the shorts’ waistband. I could see that Kimi was breathing heavily, her shoulders and breasts rising and falling. She still had the back of her head turned to me. I could see the shape of her hand in her shorts rubbing in circles. On the laptop, the brunette had her face between the thighs of the other woman. Her mouth was pressed firmly against the girl’s pussy, grinding her lips and tongue against it. On the couch, Kimi moaned. Within her shorts, her hand moved back and forth. I could only imagine her fingers entering her wet pussy, rubbing at her clit. My own cock was throbbing against my pant leg.

Wait, what was I doing? I blinked, took a deep breath. I needed to close the door, give Kimi her privacy. No wonder she asked when I was coming home. She was horny and bored and- oh my god, she was now removing her pajama shorts.

Beneath, Kimi wasn’t wearing underwear. She kicked off her shorts, and spread her knees. From where I was, I could see her pale thighs, the patch of black pubic hair carefully trimmed into a small triangle, and her fingers wet with pussy juice. Kimi popped her fingers into her mouth, then rubbed wet circles around her clit. Her hips bucked the air as she slipped two fingers into her pussy, and rocked her hand back and forth. Meanwhile, she grabbed her tit beneath her shirt, squeezing and pinching. On the laptop, the brunette lay down with her legs spread wide. Her blond lover, ass in the air, bent down to her pussy. The blond’s lips and tongue made careful circles around the swollen pussy lips, then dove in. Every once in a while, the blond rose to give the brunette a sloppy, pussy-soaked kiss.

Kimi groaned in pleasure. She crossed her feet- still in cute little red socks- above her head. With one hand she reached down between her legs and continued to rub her clit. With the other hand, she reached down around her ass and started hammering her pussy with her fingers. She was audibly gasping, rubbing her bare ass against the sofa. I would have to sit on that sofa later. I wondered if I would be able to smell her body there, her pussy and ass and juices.

Now on the laptop, the two lesbians 69’d. The porn cut back and forth between their gorgeous faces pressed deep into each others’ pussies. Tongues lashed out, lips pulled at flesh, and saliva and pussy juices dripped down their chins.

I suddenly noticed that my own hand was pressed against my cock through my jeans. My cock was trapped in my pant leg, and my hand slowly moved up and down my shaft. I yanked my hand back as if I were touching a live wire. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. And yet, I had not closed the door.

On the laptop, the brunette started squirting all over the blond. She rubbed her clit furiously, covering the blond’s mouth, chin, and tits with her juices. Like a starving woman, the blond lapped up the juices, shuddering as she herself climaxed.

Kimi groaned again and thrust her hips up into the air. Her spine arched, she scooted back so that her shoulders pressed on top of the couch arm, and her head fell back, her black hair dropping like a waterfall at night. I gasped, realizing she now faced me, staring openly at her masturbating on the couch. But luck was still with me- Kimi’s eyes were closed.

I’ll admit, I still didn’t close the door right away. I looked at the upside-down slot oyna face of my roommate for a split second longer. Her lips were pursed open and red. Her cheeks, normally pale white, were flushed. Her dark eyebrows, scrunched up in furious bliss, were smooth and beautiful. I had an urge to kiss her. Or to unzip my jeans, take out my cock, and slide it between those red lips. Fuck her throat. Cum on her chest.

Oh god, what was I thinking? I stepped back into my room and silently closed the door. I just prayed she hadn’t opened her eyes in time.

I scanned my room for an escape plan. Kimi still thought I was up on campus.

The window of my room opened on a little side yard maintained by our landlord, and then the sidewalk and street where my old beater of a truck was parked. I grabbed my laptop, my backpack, and my camera. I gently placed my goods outside the window, then squeezed out myself.

My truck was infamous in our neighborhood. Its peeling red paint left rusty patches like some sunburnt cow. Its engine started with a gunshot, whined like an injured buffalo, and coughed like a starving artist with tuberculosis. It was, in other words, not a great getaway vehicle.

Instead, my legs shaking and my balls aching, I scurried down the sidewalk. There was a coffee shop I liked a few blocks away. I’d spend some time there and then walk home. As I walked down the sidewalk, I practiced the neutral face I’d have to keep up when I came through the front door. But I kept picturing Kimi’s face instead. Upside down, flushed with erotic energies, her lips pursed as she climaxed. I shook my head. I would have to calm down before I reached the coffee shop. I could still see the outline of my hard cock in my pant leg.

I’d gotten things under control by the time I reached Coffee & Pie, a coffee shop and bakery I’d been visiting since I’d first moved in with Rose and Kimi. It was a real local’s joint, visited by families and retirees rather than college students. Other than myself, of course.

Coffee & Pie was hidden in a strip mall in between a Brazilian Jujitsu school and a private dental practice. I guess if you got your teeth knocked out in Jujitsu you could get fixed two doors down, then celebrate with a slice of home-baked pie. The coffee shop was an unassuming little square of a place, just a glass counter filled with pies, a couple of tables and a single lumpy couch. But it had great wi-fi, it was quiet, and I was in love with a girl who worked there.

Well, I should amend that.

I wanted to be in love with her. The truth was, I’d hardly talked with her. She had braided black hair and a round, freckled face. Large glasses with bold black frames perched on a cute, upturned nose. She wore these patterned button-down shirts that stretched over her large, round breasts. She had a tattoo of a walrus skull on her right forearm.

I didn’t even know her name.

Here’s the limit of our conversation each time I come into the coffee shop to relax or work:

“I’ll have an Americano and a slice of pie.”

“The pear pie is especially good right now.”

“Sounds good.”

“That’ll be $5.50.”

“Here you go.”

“Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Then I sit down and eat my pie and drink my Americano and try not to look at her.

Once- just once- there was a variation to the conversation. It was the first or second time I’d brought my new camera with me. I’d scrimped and saved for this camera, foregoing coffee for two months. I was very proud of it, and brought it everywhere to show off. When I asked for my Americano, the girl behind the counter said she hadn’t seen me in a while. I told her I’d been saving for this camera, and that segued into a little conversation about photography. She said her father was a photographer, but she had no talent for it. Instead, she was going to the local community college to figure out what she wanted to pursue in life.

All the while my heart was beating out of my chest and I kept thinking, ‘Ask her out, ask her out, ask her out!’

I finally got up the guts to introduce myself. I said, “My name is Matt.”

And just as she took my hand in hers, a customer walked through the door. The loud ringing of the bell above the door covered the sound of her name. And before I could ask again, the customer was ordering a carafe of coffee and a dozen pies for their office. It was too late.

So now I fell back on the old conversation, all business, too embarrassed to introduce myself again.

I opened my laptop and noticed the Craigslist ad was still open. ‘Photographer needed for private investigation firm. Must own camera and working car. Virgins need not apply.’

Well, I had a car and a camera. And that last sentence had to be a strange joke. I had some time to waste, so I decided to apply. I opened up my resume, added a few updates, and selected some good photographs to go with it. Thinking of the old detective noir films my mom had loved, I selected black and white photographs canlı casino siteleri with heavy shadows. Many of them were of Kimi, my usual subject. There was one of her standing against a blank white wall of our apartment. The sun was low in the sky and casting these incredible dark criss-crossed shadows from the picture window at the front. She was holding a white sheet against her bare chest, and the shadows of the window frames and the shadows of the sheet intermingled into a sort of rorschach test ink-blot. Her pale skin, her black hair, all played into this chaos of light and dark. She looked pretty sexy, too.

I noticed, suddenly, that the coffee shop girl was behind me looking at the screen. I closed the window, my face turning beet red. “Here’s your Americano and pie,” she said, bending down and placing the plate and mug next to my laptop. Her work shirt was unbuttoned at the top. In avoiding eye contact, I wound up staring straight down her cleavage, noticing she wore a sleek purple bra over her large, round breasts.

I blinked, yanked my eyes away, and mumbled a thank-you. I just couldn’t get anything right today!

I sent off the application, then read some articles for class while enjoying my pie and coffee. The articles were all about architectural photography. Different theories on how to shoot a building. We had a big architectural photography project coming up that I’d been procrastinating. And now I was even more distracted. I felt my eyes were magnets turning towards the curves of any woman I saw. I kept remembering Kimi touching herself on the couch. I kept thinking about how clumsy I was in staring down the coffee girl’s shirt. I decided I would never look at a woman again. I would buy thick sunglasses, the ones you wear during an eclipse. I would take a vow of silence, so I could never say something embarrassing. I would sequester myself in a monk’s cell in the most isolated monastery in the world. I would-

An e-mail popped up from someone named Danika Saint-Claire. It had a simple message:

‘I received your application. The job is yours if you want it. Meet me tonight at 8:00 at the office. – Danika’

There was an address and a phone number.

I immediately messaged Kimi online. -Holy shit, I got the job!-

-Detective Matt!- she replied. -Ready to take pictures of husbands fucking their mistresses?-

My face blanched white, then burned. I hadn’t thought of just what my camera would be pointed at. ‘Virgins need not apply,’ I thought. Kimi was probably right. Then again, I had a picture of Kimi with her fingers deep in her pussy seared in my mind. Maybe this job would help me get my mind off of certain other things.

-I’m heading home,- I typed to Kimi.

-See you soon!-

Part Two: A Job Well Done

With a shot, and a whine, and a desperate cough, my truck pulled into the office park. It was nearly eight, and the parking lot was empty. A single light shone in an office window up on a third floor. The whole office building was built Mission-style, with adobe white walls and odd, fortress-like roofs. I felt like a thief invading a castle.

I walked up the stairs and rang the bell at the door. A voice inside said, “Come in!”

Inside was less an office than a single room. Half the space was taken up by a long desk covered in piles of folders, binders, and loose papers. On the wall was a framed picture of Humphrey Bogart. And in the center, sitting in the only chair in the room, was Danika Saint-Claire, or Dany as I’d soon learn to call her.

Danika, I would learn, was a product of tragedy and survival. Her mother’s side of the family was dragged to America in the slave trade, but escaped into Indian territory. Her father’s side fled from the black trains of Germany to Mexico, then over generations bled across the border into the southwestern U.S. She had mocha skin, a proud European nose, the jawline of a 1950’s starlet, and the black eyes of a shark.

“Listen,” she said to me by way of introduction, “I was born able to solve a Rubix cube in thirty seconds flat, but I don’t deal well with people. I can hit bullseye with a revolver blindfolded, but I can’t promise to be nice or kind or even really very human. I’ll forget your name, but I’ll pay you on time. My name is Danika Saint-Claire. Do you want the job?”

There was one more thing I didn’t mention. Danika was beautiful. A cold, sculpted beauty, though she didn’t wear makeup or jewelry. She had an odd fedora placed cockeyed on her cropped hair. Her fingernails were chewed down to the quick. And yet her beauty could not be denied.

I nodded, and put out a hand that wasn’t shaken. “I’m Matt. I brought my camera and my car.”

I decided to not mention my virginity.

“Okay, Nat,” Danika replied. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Those black eyes bore into me. No wonder she was a detective, she looked like she could take me apart like a puzzle and put me together behind her back. “You drive, I’ll navigate. We have a job tonight.”

Danika grabbed a trenchcoat from the wall and led me out the door. I pointed out my truck. She stared at it for a while. “Not very nondescript,” she muttered, but she got in the passenger seat anyways.

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