<div class="floatright">(http://i183.photobucket.com/albums/x111/Lammy519/Untitled-11.jpg?t=1259939097)</div>"Unh... oooh... fuck," was all all that could be heard from an apartment high above the city. It could be considered a safe haven to the girl generating the sounds, as the zombies had either been killed or had left since there were no brains to be found. With that fact came the matter of having something to do and after an hour of absolute boredom, an idea popped into her head. Now the soccer starlet laid on the carpeted floor, her clothes discarded on either side of her save her bra and panties. Well, those articles of clothing were barely on her, as the cups were pushed down to expose her modest chest to the chilled air; her panties pushed to one side so her fingers could do their work. She was sure not to get complacent, though, as her .45 ACP Colt pistol was within reach.<br/><br/>Not trying to think about zombies, guns, or dead teammates, Michelle focused her attentions back to her body and was rewarded when a fingertip met the tiny hidden pearl that crowned her flower. Her back arched in ecstasy, a small coo left her lips until her body came back to rest. This was going to be a well deserved distraction. Going slow, trying to excite herself beyond anything healthy and to make this last, the recently turned twenty year-old (as far as she could tell the dates) took both of her breasts in their respective hands, kneading her woman flesh and their sensitive nubs between her fingers. Her moans were getting louder and more frequent as she knew that no one was ever going to catch her, be it human or dead. Besides, her logic was that the thrill of actually meeting someone again who is not selfish or crazed would be fantastic and the danger of being eaten alive while masturbating would only make it that much more of a climax. That's what two years of looking after yourself did, apparently.<br/><br/>Minutes went by and Michelle pleasured herself as best as she knew. She recalled her first fling in high school, the lovely nerd turned horn dog at her fingertips. The sweet college boy with the biggest dick she had ever seen. The lonely nights that became not so lonely and boring when the captain of her soccer team called. That's what she thought of the most during these sessions - the image of the older girl's tongue running along the length of Michelle's slit nearly sealed the deal. Now with one and rubbing vigorously at her clit, the other hand along her lips with a finger gently probing into her sex, it took just a few seconds to reach a reality shattering orgasm. The girl's mind went blank for several minutes, her thoughts doing nothing more than drifting in and out of conscious thought.<br/><br/>She really, really needed that.<br/><br/>Sitting up, Michelle looked out at the balcony to see that the day was more or less just starting. For her, anyway. Cleaning her hands with her tongue, enjoying the sweet taste of her arousal despite the terrible post-apocalyptic diet, the girl put her panties back into place, her bra again supporting her firm, perky breasts and then stood up to put on the rest of her clothing. A white-tank top covered her torso, which was then covered by a small sized, female designed, Arsenal Jersey that she had been wearing when the crisis first started. Over her legs and nethers she slipped into tight, dark blue jeans, with brown leather boots that had a three inch heel and reached up to the bottoms of her knees. The last article was her thigh holster that held the one thing that she attributed to keeping her alive for so long: her gun. It was a beauty, as shiny and maintained as she first got it. It reminded her of her brother, who she hasn't even tried to contact in Detroit. Michelle couldn't risk being lost in the middle of no where without resources so she hasn't even thought about making the drive over desolate, broken roads.<br/><br/>Satisfied with her sleep and especially her own personal wake up ritual, Michelle gathered her bright yellow leather jacket before making the trip downstairs to the apartment lobby. The one thing about the modern world that she didn't appreciate until it all went to hell was handicap ramps. Now, it was a handy 'Hide your motorcycle inside the building' ramp. Standing by the elevators was her 'borrowed' pride and joy, a Honda VFR 800. The year escaped her, but nowadays it hardly mattered. Not like there was anyone around that could even chastise her. It did wonders for her as it was a big bike, quick on its wheels, quiet, and had enough space to store clothes, food, ammunition and another borrowed item: a shotgun. Being a red bike, Michelle affectionately named it so, being far too worried about staying alive to think of anything significant. Checking her 'saddle bags' to ensure that all the cans of food, boxes of ammunition and tightly packed clothing were all in place, Michelle put the key into ignition and Red roared to life.<br/><br/>"Ready for some cruising, body? Maybe we'll find you a nice Jerry can and we can get out of this shit hole of a broken city, mm?" As if to amuse herself more than anything, she revved up the bike as if it were a proper response. With the front doors long gone, Michelle burst out of the apartment and onto the street to begin her little journey for... something. Anything.