Tales of Hidden Erotic Desire and Pleasure in "apt 117"

apt 117 begins at 3:17 a.m. in a hotel suite. City glow through half-open blinds stripes her restless body. She can’t sleep, so apt 117 becomes her lullaby. Slow, almost lazy circles over silk panties gradually soak the fabric dark. In apt 117, she pushes them aside instead of removing them—impatient, perfect. Two fingers, then three, stretching, curling, until the headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall. When she finally comes in apt 117, it’s with a muffled scream into the pillow, whole body shaking so hard the mattress springs sing. Dawn finds her asleep in tangled sheets, panties still twisted to the side—proof that apt 117 worked better than any sleeping pill.