My neighbor is a young, good-looking white guy. He wears converse sneakers, plays the guitar, but looks corporate. Maybe he's in finance or real estate. Late at night when I come home from work (I bartend in a posh bar in the lower east side) I can hear him playing tunes from Gun 'n Roses. We've exchanged quick glances and shy smiles with each other on a few occasions. He's over six feet tall, tanned, and casual. I have a weakness for men who look good in casual clothes, fuck preppy; give me loose jeans and a clean, simple cotton t-shirt.
Each floor has four doors; all studios, so proximity is confined and you can hear each other watching television, listening to music and fucking. Usually, I can hear a girl groaning indecipherably from his studio but the voice sounds different each time. I think he lures them in with his good looks and plays the guitar to impress. I can hear laughter and his low voice asking questions. Once after coming home drunk, I stood by his door to eavesdrop.
"So, you model?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm from Belgium. I make good money but I don't like it."
"So, you speak French?" he asked. When she started to speak French, I walked away.
It was a usual night of work, lots of men in suits and silk ties buying me drinks, looking around to pick up silly drunk trendy motherfucking chicks wearing cowboy boots. I'm not tall but I have a pretty face, my body is curvy with nice athletic legs, perky tits, and I have a nice ass. Men who like simple girls or other boys like me but not many suits; they only buy me drinks as to be polite, and in return, I pour them stiffer drinks.
When I'm not working, I'm usually walking around my studio in my panties because summers are hot and I have no AC. Sometimes I smoke a cigarette with my bare legs dangling out of the window or dance in my living room not caring if people can see me; I tell myself it's part of the natural voyeurism of New York City.
Anyhow, it's not too often that I bump into anyone in my walkup, especially around four in the morning. About a week ago I saw my neighbor again, I call him "guitar boy," but he was with a girl so I politely ignored them.
"Hey you, you play the guitar, right?" he asked as I was walking up the last flight to my studio.
"Huh," I said, "Yeah," feeling embarrassed that he might've not been talking to me but who else would "hey you, you" be and if he wasn't, I would have said something like, "didn't your mama teach you not to refer people to 'hey you'?" The girl was obviously annoyed because she grabbed at his hand, but he didn't seem to notice her.
"We should play sometime. I like what I hear coming out of your studio," he said with a charming smile.
"Yeah. I'm sure we can teach each other some stuff," I said walking in and shutting the door behind me. I didn't know what he meant by "I like what I hear" because I have a few lovers and when I fuck and it's good, I'm loud. Perhaps that's what he meant but maybe, possibly, the way I play the guitar.
The building's super is an old guy; very friendly but never gets shit done. Four out of the five floors have no hall lighting so walking the stairs at night can be challenging but most of the tenants here are young so complaining seems irrelevant and we make due by holding unto the handrails.
The last several days we've had major thunderstorms but I forgot to buy an umbrella, it doesn't matter, I rarely mind getting wet. When it rains in the summer, I like how my clothes cling to my skin. It so happened, as a co-worker and I were coming off the train the rain was relentless; bouncing itself off the pavement like an image of a thousand scattered marbles being dropped from god himself. I took off my light sweater and stuck it in my bag so as to not soak it.
"Wow, heavy down pour, eh?" he asked me as he put his cigarette away.
"What are you, Canadian?" I mocked not laughing but smiled.
"Do you have an umbrella in that big bag of yours?" he asked, and with subtle concern, I pretended to look defeated as I said no.
"Hey, I should walk you home since it's late don't you think?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's a good idea. I hear there have been muggings lately."
I hardly knew him since he just started a few days ago as night manager at the bar. I knew he was from San Francisco, engaged and studied music at Julliard. When I met him I thought he had beautiful dark brown eyes with thick eyebrows, sharp features, and nice facial hair, basically a younger version of George Clooney.
We were five blocks from my place, the moon was shining through the thick clouds and in a few hours the sun would rise but I was wide awake and wanted company. I offered him a cigarette when we reached an awning. As he lit my cigarette I looked down at his pants and noticed they were pleated; hopefully it was job mandatory. I moved in closer to shield the wind from the flame. We stood there asking each other polite questions avoiding anything too real or having to lie. Once done, I told him I was close to home and continued walking. A few building from my own he pulled me into a doorway.
"You're soaked," he told me with rain dripping from his mouth.
"Dry me off then," I said.
He pinched my shirt with the tips of two fingers, pulling it away from my skin. It created an air pocket in the middle of my chest and with his palm, he pressed on it, smoothing it out around my breasts. He looked at me and smiled and did it again, but lower around my stomach, sculpting my shirt like wet paper mache against my skin. He bent down slightly to kiss my breast and I nearly fell over when his tongue pressed down and circled my nipple. He grabbed me from behind pressing me into him, with his hands he spread my legs around his crotch and let out a small whimper. A few taxis were driving by but they couldn't see us, or they merely expected such behaviors at this time of the hour. With one hand he started to touch the inside of my thigh and found his way up to my panties. He rubbed me with his index finger, back and forth, lubricating me until my lips spread. My groans grew louder as both of our centers engorged, penetrating a heat that dulled the rest of my body. Pulling my panties back around his wrist, he fingered me with his pale fingers.
Across the street a door guy came out for a smoke and saw us, he was motionless but the flame from his Zippo lighter bent and twisted with the wind, separating itself into small pieces. I raised my knees higher hoping my coworker would hit more areas of my vagina with his stern penis that was now sticking out of his pants. He kissed my neck and dry fucked me with the bottom side of his shaft; if he'd ask why I was giggling, I would've told him I thought we were acting like a couple of high school kids. But he wasn't aware of my presence, unlike the door guy who went inside and picked up the phone.
"I think we should stop," I said pushing him back without explanation. Barely glancing at the confusion mounting on his face, I told him I was close to home and added, "you should go home to your fiancée, she must be worried by now," so he couldn't really hold my sudden coldness against me. It was immature to spread the guilt but it secured me from any of his expectations.
"I see," he said but before he could continue I cut him off, "Adios, ha sido muy agradable. Hasta la proxima," I said not giving a fuck if he understood. He turned the corner by the time I unlocked the front door. The downstairs' dog was barking, which made me sad and irritated. Someone was smoking weed as I passed the second landing, silently cursing the super for the unfixed lights again. Suddenly, I heard a voice coming from my floor, he was on the phone, "I'll be there soon," he said through the receiver.
I gave myself a quick groom despite the fact that you couldn't see much in the dull light coming from a street lamp through the hallway's frosted glass windows. I did my best to ignore him, hoping he'd act the part too, regardless of the time. But walking up the last set of stairs I noticed he wasn't moving or saying anything, which made me feel more uncomfortable then if I were to say "hi". Anyway, as I was passing him I felt a pull at the back of my shirt. A gentle grab I could've easily escaped with another step but I didn't move. His other hand slid to my side and I found myself stepping backwards until I hit the wall. I dropped my purse as he whispered "hey you" and bent down to lift my skirt up to my waist. He pressed his face against my panties and breathed me in. He pulled my panties over to the side, twisting it tight so it pierced against my clitoris. I was once again filled with warmth. He pulled me down until my ass hit the cool marble floor and warmed me with his mouth.
He started to ask me questions I didn't want to answer because the dialogue seemed forced, as if we were some goddamn performers acting on stage in front of a paid audience.
"Do you like what I'm doing to you?" he asked.
"Yes," I paused, "it feels really good," I said hesitantly.
"Does the rain turn you on?" he asked as I rolled my eyes trying to focus on his fingers inside me.
"Yes, it makes me feel horny," I paused again as if I was forgetting my line, "and it makes me feel lonely too," but I viscerally meant that part. He pulled himself up until I saw his unfamiliar face, kissed me and said "I want to fuck you so bad." I unzipped his pants and with one hand I grabbed his cock, which felt like metal against my long slender fingers.
Like a whirlwind, in his eagerness to not lose the "moment," he hiked my left leg over his shoulder causing me to fall completely unto the floor, pulled down his pants and stuck his hard penis inside me as he placed his hand over my mouth. As he thrust his cock deeper inside me, his face directly above mine, he told me to smell my sweetness on his fingers. I licked them as he continued to fuck me on the fifth floor. I pulled up his shirt to feel the warmth of his body against my tits.
"Pin me against the wall," I said squirming myself out from underneath him. After he got up, he grabbed at my skirt that was still around my waist and turned me as my palms reached for the wall. I could feel the tip of his penis and part of his hand as he searched for way back inside me. His fingers were digging into my hipbone as he pulled at me. I turned my head to look at him but it was useless to watch without a mirror. He grabbed my hair towards him and sucked my neck; I could feel his cock so deep inside that it made me wince.
"I want to be in your mouth," he said. I nodded. Without any finesse, I filled my mouth completely with his cock, pushing it down my throat until my gagging seized and my mouth accepted him. "You really know what you're doing," he said as he pulled himself out and said, "I wanna come on your face."
"Okay, but you have to call me a whore,' I said, attempting to look naughty.
"You have a nice body, you little slut," he said unwavering, "I wanna fucking eat your ass out and have you finger my asshole. I wanna squeeze your tits because you're such a fucking hot piece of a whore."
With one hand resting around the back of my skull, protecting it from the wall, he pushed himself deeper inside me. "Finger yourself," he said without stopping, "This cock is yours, whore, it's swollen for you," he said in a whisper. "You're a sexy bitch aren't you and you probably get fucked all the time."
"But not like this, my pussy is wet for you."
"Ah baby, I'm fucking cumming," he said agonizingly, "I wanna fucking cum all over your face." He grabbed his cock in his hand and started to jerk himself off. I could feel my wetness against my Achilles heel.
"I want more," I looked at him hungry and horny.
"Don't worry, I'll give you plenty to lick off," he said.
Again, he placed one hand at the back of my skull and tilted my head back as his cum shot everywhere, in my hair, around my eyes, on my lips, and even up my nose. It seemed like a long endless orgasm that wouldn't stop dribbling, but once he was done he leaned against the wall still holding his cock that suddenly looked lackluster. Then he let out a sigh, buttoned his pants, grabbed my hands and pulled me up and swept my hair of my face. As I grabbed for my bag, he pulled down my skirt and swept off the creases. I stood there tired and ready for bed as he looked at me. I needed to sneeze and closed my eyes to concentrate. When I opened them, he was walking down the stairs whistling. I went into my studio sat on the couch in the dark, lit a cigarette, and smelled my fingers. My cell phone was ringing as I fumbled in my bag to answer the call; it was my best friend JP, "Hey hon, how was your day?" he asked me with a hint of grogginess in his voice.
"You know, same old shit."
Originally published November 2006 - "Simply Sexy"