It was dawn Sunday morning. The air was cool and damp. She was out for a jog before her shift at the library. Too early for chaos, the streets were barren except for a handful of fellow joggers. The water in the bay rippled and glistened flecks of orange as the new day’s sun struggled to burn the grey from the sky. With a deep breath she welcomed salty air into her lungs. Beneath the piano thumping of Moby’s “Honey” she could hear her feet pounding the ground in rhythm with her labored breathing. And as she felt the earth under her feet she was reminded that she was a body and not just a soul drifting through time and space, though the energy of that particular morning seemed almost ethereal.

A thick fog surrounded Alcatraz, making it appear more abandoned and colder than usual. She squinted harshly as the lighthouse pulsed its beam into her eye. Every morning it delivered the same stabbing pain straight through her retina, but she couldn’t look away. A fortress like her it was, safeguarding dark secrets and harboring a desolate spirit. She shuddered again as a cool gust enshrouded her, blowing pieces of her smooth copper bangs into her eyes, making it impossible to see.

Suddenly her body jolted to a stop and a force pushed her backward. She was falling to the ground and though gravity pulled her body down swiftly she felt as if she were falling in slow motion as she blindly clawed the air in front of her, reaching for anything to stop her fall. Her bottom hit the pavement with a silent thud and her ear buds flopped out of her ears.

“Whoa.”

She heard a voice from overhead. Pushing the hair from her eyes she was finally able to see. There in front of her was an open hand eager to help. She looked to the sky but submerged in his umbra she couldn’t see his face. “C’mon,” the voice prodded. She reluctantly accepted help and as he swept her from the ground she felt something she’d never felt before from human touch. Like an electric shock, energy blazed through her body setting every cell of her being on fire.

“Sorry, miss.” She heard the voice again.

“Sorry?” Her own voice echoed around her. She felt as if she were locked in a dream. Why was he apologizing? “Please, it was my fault. I—I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,” she stuttered as she blocked the haze of the sun and dared to look at the stranger. She could feel fire in her cheeks as she stood exposed, deflagrating in front of him. Finally she saw a face. Eyes as deep blue as the Pacific gazed at her from underneath a thick mass of dark, messy hair. A camera was hanging around his neck. Catching her studying the device his lips immediately morphed into a cryptic, cunning smile.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Um...yeah. Yes, I’m fine,” she squeaked. Suddenly her knees were weak and she was unable to remember a single word from her vocabulary.

Before her brain could produce an incoherent stutter, proving she’d regressed to a Neanderthal state, he released her hand and an assaulting chill swept over her as if someone had viciously ripped the blankets off her slumbering body. She was rendered paralyzed.

Noticing her discomfort, he smiled. “Well, as long as you’re okay.” His chuckle felt insincere and she knew that it was when he turned toward the water and raised his camera to his eye.

His indifference toward her felt harsh and, oddly, it bothered her. She quickly thanked him for the hand, gave a small wave, then retreated before her face could change from red to purple. After she’d crossed the street, she nestled her ear buds into her ears as a soulful voice proclaimed “I’m gon find my baby before that sun goes down”. She turned the corner and glanced over her shoulder. The photographer was standing where she’d left him; only he’d done a one-eighty and was watching her. Though she tried to fight it, a grin spread across her face. He smiled back and waved just as the building she was rounding blocked her view of him.

Who was he? She wondered as she pushed herself up the hill that separated her apartment from the marina, too distracted to notice the usual burning in her legs. She imagined touching his lips, finger-combing his hair, feeling his hands on her body and his weight on top of her. Contradictory for his build his features were understated and boyish. He towered over her even when she was on her feet. She pegged him at six-feet-five, for he was at least an entire foot taller than she. His large hand devoured hers and she suspected he could easily cover her ass with his palm. She decided she was more than willing to be his ragdoll—someone he could toss, flip and spin. And given their polar sizes the possibilities seemed endless. She quivered with giddiness. By the time she reached home, she was lost—lost to her compulsions, which, like her shadow, followed her relentlessly wherever she went.

Once inside her apartment, she locked the front door and immediately went toward her bedroom. As she walked down the hall, she peeled off her running shorts and tank. Cool air caressed her goose-pimpled skin but all she felt was the warmth of her body awakening and making fluids. In her room she lay down on her back so that her head hung off the side of her bed. She ran her hand down the front of her body, past her breasts, across her hips and down between her legs where she felt moisture brimming. As she used her hand, she imagined it belonged to him, the man with the camera. Reaching under her pillow she found the toy that had satiated her hunger the previous night. As she pushed it gently inside herself, she imagined she was being watched by him. Though she didn’t know his name, the features of his face had been etched into her brain. She saw him stroking himself as he watched her and he promised he would paint her bare skin as she climaxed before him. The thought of lying still in anticipation, his blank canvas ready to be transformed into a Pollockian masterpiece, sent her over the top and soon her body was convulsing harder than it ever had as her muscles tightened around the object inside of her. As she caught her breath, she was relieved she was alone. She had learned to seek pleasure in her ideations, not in strangers, for it was only in her own head where she had complete freedom. But as she lay relaxed her placid state began to ebb. Sure, she’d had her fix but, just as always, she knew this relief was temporary. Her only hope now was for this new fantasy to open her mind to utter organic intoxication before it staled like all the others.