Allison lives in the apartment below mine. We aren’t friends, or even acquaintances, but I see her from time to time in the laundry room. More often than I should, really. She does her laundry every Sunday late in the evening when most people are winding down or already in bed, and I’ve picked up the habit of doing the same. I know a girl like her would never hang around with me socially but for a couple of hours every Sunday night we sit and chat about the weather or complain about people blaring loud music late at night, or whatever people talk about when they don’t know each other or share any interests, and for a little while I can pretend like we could be friends. It’s kind of pathetic, I know.
I’d like to be a lot more than friends with her, but I don’t even dare to pretend that could happen. I’m not all that attractive. Short and scrawny and uncoordinated, I have nothing that would attract a woman as gorgeous as Allison. And she is gorgeous. Even in her laundry night clothes, an old t-shirt and sweat pants, she turns heads. I keep sneaking glances at her body any time her gaze turns away. The room is small, with two rows of washers and driers along either side. There was some empty space at either end, but she stays out in the middle of the room in full view.
Her breasts are perfect. Perky and firm. She doesn’t wear a bra while doing laundry, although I’m sure she used to. Our building’s laundry room is in the basement and it gets cold down here. Her hard nipples poke against the thin fabric of the old t-shirt. She must not notice it because she’s never tried to hide them from view. The baggy sweatpants hang from her well-toned ass, gravity showing just a hint of the firm, round cheeks hidden beneath. I can’t keep my eyes off of that ass, imagining the supple flesh hidden behind those sweats. I move around to the side of a drier, trying to look casual leaning against it, to hide the thick hard-on pressing against the front of my pants.
Our conversation doesn’t matter. I pay half attention, and as far as I can tell so does she. Most of the evening she spends on her phone, occasionally showing me a funny meme she finds. I don’t mind. If she stays focused on her phone that means I can check out her body without being caught. When she bends down to change over her laundry those sweatpants pull tight and I’m treated to an alluring view of her perfect ass, the stretched fabric seeming almost skin tight across her cheeks, while being pulled taut over her the space between and maintaining the mystery of her most private areas. That little bit of mystery sends my imagination wild and I instinctively reach down to touch myself. My cock is throbbing by now, and it takes an effort of will to keep my hand away.
Another hour passes while our clothes dry. Allison has taken to leaning against the drier in front of me, facing away so I can look over her shoulder as she browses through memes. The angle gives me a view down the neck of her shirt, showing just a hint of the inner sides of her breasts. Not that her tight, thin t-shirt was leaving much to the imagination anyway. I now have my hips pressed against the side of the drier, keeping my cock hidden in case she looks over her shoulder at me. I carefully control my breathing so I’m not panting in her ear. With my focus split so many ways I forget all about the laundry, and I almost jump right out of my skin when the drier’s buzzer goes off.
Allison laughs at me before bending down to unload her drier. I watch for a moment, appreciating the view again, before coming around to open up my own drier and quickly stuff clothes into my laundry basket. Although my clothes were done ten minutes ago, I’d waited around with Allison until hers finished. She never waits around for me so I always try to get started a few minutes earlier, and pack up quickly, so we could ride the elevator together.
When I turn around she’s still there, watching me, with her basket of laundry on top of the drier behind her. I cock an eyebrow at her and she pouts, rubbing her upper arms.
“The gym was murder today. My arms are so sore, would you mind carrying my basket?”
She looks so cute, and of course I can’t resist being her big strong man. Even if my arms don’t really fit the role. I nod. “Sure, just stack it on top of mine.” I grab my basket and hold it in front of me, using it to hide my hard-on, then let her slide her own on top. The weight isn’t too bad, at least not for the short ride up the elevator. She leads the way out of the laundry room.
Usually I’d treat myself to a nice view of Allison’s ass while we walked to the elevator, but with her laundry basket stacked on mine I can’t see that low. What I do see is the pile of clothes she’d dumped into her basket, with her bras and panties on top. That most intimate apparel, fabric that hugged her breasts and that wonderful, perfect ass, is sitting just inches from my face. I want to shove my face into it and breathe deep, and find myself regretting that it’s clean. Maybe I can offer to carry her basket down next week.
The ride up the elevator is awkward. While walking down the hallway she was looking away from me, but now she leans against the wall facing me. I work to keep my eyes away from her piled panties and she doesn’t notice the tension in my face. Or, thankfully, the tension in my pants. I focus on the floor numbers sliding by. Her apartment is on the fifth floor. It only takes moments for the numbers to tick by but it feels like an eternity. Her eyes are on me the whole time, as if daring me to get caught staring at her panties.
Finally the doors slide open and she leads me down the hall. “Here I am. Five twelve.”
“Oh, you’re right below me.”
“Am I? Cool.” We share an awkward silence, then she nods at her laundry basket. “You can put that down now. Thanks for the help.”
“Oh. Of course, no problem.” I bend to set the laundry baskets down and separate hers from mine. I’m disappointed. The thought of seeing inside her apartment is somehow tantalizing. I knew she’d never do anything with me, but it’s a private space, almost intimate. Too bad I’m only seeing the door. As I’m bent down she starts to stretch, and I can’t help a sidelong glance up at her perky breasts when the already tight t-shirt is pulled taut across them.
“I really need to stretch more after the gym.” She says. Then she looks down. I shift my eyes quickly to her face, but I’m too late. “Enjoying the view?”
“Wha- no, I mean, uh...”
“No?” She pouts at me, swaying her chest a bit. “You don’t like staring at my breasts? Oh I know...” she turns around and slowly, so slowly, bends forward until her sweatpants pull tight against her ass. “This is what you like to look at, isn’t it?”
I’m flushing deep red now and stammering over my own words, not sure if I should deny it, admit it, or start apologizing profusely. “I just, that is I never, I mean you’re very attractive but I wouldn’t...”
