The television homes the number of confirmed cases has surpassed 985,000. My eyes glaze over as the reporter drones on; I've heard it all before and it just gets worse each day.

The shit's inescapable, as frightening as it is; who knew the end of the world would be so fucking dull? Stay the fuck inside—that's all we had to do. 350 million people lying around for a month and it'd all be over, easy, right?

You're all alone in my apartment for six weeks now and still no end in sight—I'm going insane. The total includes; the TV goes black, and the silence in the apartment is deafening. Half-draped over the old couch, I slide to my feet, yet watch another minute of television.

I saunter to the window; a pallid reflection grows in the glass, my fumbled hair, glasses askew. I shouldn't stare out the window—it just pisses me off—but I do it anyway. Life sorta moves in a pandemic this evening; it's still the streets between my complex and the neighboring apartments, empty save the glow of windows.

I watch each window, a portal into another dimension. Through one, a young mother and two children try and fail to follow a craft project on YouTube. Then I hear a muffled shout, raised voices—I can't help but smirk, better drama here than on TV.

It's a young couple; they burst into their bedroom, screaming at the top of their lungs. I can't hear what, but I know this isn't their first argument. With a final yell, the man walks out, slamming the door. She storms toward the window and throws it open, her face flushed with heat as she takes in the air.

I pull away from the window—did she see me? Damn, black hair, a stunning figure which even her boring t-shirt fails to hide—I'm breathless. She's more than pretty; she's gorgeous. I step forward; she runs a hand through her hair, looking flushed, pissed, even more beautiful.

Like the anger has only painted her with the colors of life, the palette of love and hate. She is looking at me—fuck. He's still pissed, her dark eyes fastened on mine, and she isn't moving. Should I leave? My hand awkwardly rises—what the am I waving? God, damn it.

It didn't stop frowning but took a step away, never letting her eyes off me and definitely not waving back. God, I'm an idiot. Her arm moves behind her back and she watches me; I should look away—I'm a fucking creep, but I can't stop. She reaches a hand up into her sleeve, moving a bit, and from the shirt comes her bra, like a rabbit out of a hat.

I inhale; her shoulders arch back, chest extended as she looks down the street, an invitation like she wants me to stare. Through the thin material of her shirt, I see the dark circles of her nipples, erect in the cool air. She runs a finger across the fabric, edging up the center of her chest, drawing invisible trails over the swell of her breasts.

She takes one in her hand, the t-shirt wrinkling as she squeezes. I can feel my cock growing; a rush of blood numbs my mind and puts my body on edge. My sweatpants are loose but suffocating, and I want nothing more than to take my dick in hand, but this can't be real—she can't be real.

The girl grabs the bottom of her t-shirt, lifts it over her head, exposing skin pale and dusted with freckles—a treasure map, and X's mark all the spots. Her breasts are stunning, perfect, and calling to me. Finally, she turns back, those eyes, and places her thumb into the lip of her shorts. She moves them downward, exposing the curvature of her hips. She waits.

I say fuck; I place my hands on either side of my sweatpants and hesitate—is this what she wants? I exhale; slowly, I lower my sweatpants, my cock—a goddamn rock—stands erect as the pants slip past. Still, she waits. Fucking fuck, I grab my dick; it's hot, ready, I can feel a vein bulging down the side of my shaft. The head swollen and glistening. Slowly, I move my fist back and forth—it feels so good, those tits in the dusky light.

Shit, she lowers her shorts and thong in one swoop. I put a hand to the window frame to steady myself and rub my cock all the more, my mind vibrating—I want her. One hand caresses her breast, the thumb glides over the peak of her nipple, and the other comes down to her thigh, working her way slowly toward her pussy. She licks two fingers and explores, her eyes close; she bites her lip.

Yes, she wants this too; she wants me to watch. Sweat pools on my chest, and I pump harder—I could blow at any moment, but fuck, it's so good. I've never been so hard, my skin prickling with fire, doom, and the end of the fucking world, and her pulsing with life. The head of my cock swells, throbbing—I'm so close, the pre-come drips, coating my fingers, lubricating myself with each stroke.

I want to bury my cock inside her, feel myself inside. She throws her head back; I hear her moan as she fingers herself, vibrating feverish, the other squeezing her breast. I can't hold back; I groan, my cock swells and throbs as I come, molten lust. I stumble and finish in a burst that leaves me tingling from head to toe, muscles quivering. My chest heaves, and she watches that goddess across the way, a smile curves her lips, and I can do nothing but stare. This last glimpse of beauty before the end of the fucking world.