Shit, I'm homeless, I thought.
Here's what happened. About a month ago, I graduated from college in New York City. It was great, I was ready to take on the world ... I just didn't have a job or a place to live yet. I had been living in student housing, which was great and cheap but unfortunately ended the day after graduation. I couldn't go back to my parents' house - or rather, I didn't want to, because they were living in the suburbs of Houston, Texas, and I was looking to build a career in television, which unfortunately is still a business that only really exists in two cities in the country. So I wasn't ready to call it quits on the city quite yet. Luckily, I had a few friends who already had apartments of their own, and who were willing to let me couch-surf for a little while until I got a job and a place of my own.
I had been staying with two former roommates, Pete and Javy, in their tiny place on the Lower East Side. I didn't have a key, as their building had one of those weird blocky keys that you couldn't make copies of, and I was only going to be with them for a short time anyway. Anyway, I had left town for a night to visit an aunt and uncle out on Long Island. Javy told me he was going out of town for the weekend, too, but Pete was going to be home. So there I was, on a hot summer Saturday afternoon, ringing the buzzer and wondering just where the hell Pete was. I called his cellphone.
"Hey, man, where are you?" I asked when he picked up.
"Shit, dude, I went to Boston," Pete told me.
"Boston? Fuck, man, okay. What you doing in Boston?"
"Drinking, mostly. Smoking weed. Hitting on B.U. girls. Can't Javy let you in?"
"Javy's in Jersey, dude, he won't be back 'til tomorrow."
We were all really, really good communicators.
"Oh shit, man. Shit, I'm sorry."
"No, it's cool, don't worry about it. I'll find a place to spend the night. Have fun in Boston!"
I had no idea where I was going to spend the night. All I had on me was a backpack with my swimsuit (my aunt and uncle had a pool), a paperback book and my cellphone charger. I could always get back on a train for an hour and a half and go back to my relatives' place, which would beat sleeping on the street, but wasn't optimal. The girl I was seeing still lived with her parents, so I couldn't really stay there - not without getting stared down by her giant, construction-worker, strict Catholic father, anyway. Again, better than sleeping on the street, but just barely.
I went through my contact list. It seemed like most of my friends had gone home for the summer. I was screwed.
If it weren't for Amanda, that is.
Amanda was a firecracker from New Orleans. We'd had a bunch of classes together, and there was nothing she couldn't do. She was funny, she was smart, and she was sexy as hell. She had been living in Brooklyn since sophomore year, much too cool and way too independent to stay in student housing. I remembered a Christmas party she had one year, where she had dressed as Sexy Santa in a sheer red nightie with her bra and thong panties visible underneath. She was gorgeous and she knew it, and I think everybody who knew her had a little crush on her. I sure did!
Anyway, I was sure she had left New York as well, but apparently she was still around. I told her my tale of misfortune, and she laughed at me.
"That sucks!" she said, with her cute Southern accent. "I'm apartment-sitting for a girlfriend in Manhattan. I'm watering all her plants and feeding her tropical fish, and in return I get air conditioning and cable for a week. Come on up! Bring beer!"
She told me the address, I bought a pair of six-pack longnecks, and I went up to her friend's apartment. Now, summers in New York are generally nasty, and this one was shaping up to be a record-breaker. By the time I got to Amanda's friend's apartment, my shirt and even my shorts were completely soaked through with sweat.
"Damn, look at you!" Amanda said as she opened the door. "Come in, get cool!"
Amanda was amazingly beautiful. She was short and slender and athletic, with a tight, firm ass and full, C-cup breasts. She had full lips and a button nose, bright blue eyes, pale skin and long, jet-black hair. She could have very easily been cast in a movie as Bettie Page. Across her face she had a smattering of little freckles, which she usually covered up with makeup but wasn't wearing any that day. She had a blue rose tattooed on her left shoulder, a pin-up-style mermaid on her right, and a Louisiana fleur-de-lis just over her tailbone. (She hated the term "tramp stamp," but there it was.) Amanda was dressed for laying around in the air conditioning: striped boxer shorts and a white tank top over a lacy green bra, and that's about it. I was sure she had only put the bra on when I had rung the bell.
She took me by the wrist and pulled me into the apartment, shutting the door behind me. Inside it felt like icy cold, air-conditioned heaven. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and took the grocery bag of beer out of my hand.
"You're soaked!" she said, taking two beers out and putting the rest in the fridge.
"Yeah, well, it's freezing outside," I said.
"Seriously," she said. "Well, you can take a shower, if you want. I've got a clean t-shirt you can put on. It fits me like a dress, but I think it'll fit you like an actual shirt. I don't know what to do about shorts, though. I have a skirt that might fit you, if you're comfortable enough in your masculinity to wear it."
"Sure, that's an option," I said. "Or I could just not wear anything, freeball it all over your friend's apartment."
"Yeah, nudity party! Woo!" she cheered. "Oh my god, if you weren't here, I would totally be naked right now, you have no idea."
"Well, don't sacrifice your comfort on my account."
"Right, you wish!" Amanda laughed as she opened the beers. "No, no nudity party, sorry. I guess you could just wear a towel until your clothes dry out."
"It's okay, I actually have a bathing suit in my bag, I can wear that."
"Oh, okay, that's perfect then. Although you really would look cute in my skirt." She handed me a beer, and we cheersed and drank. "I'll get you that shirt and a towel, and you just hop into that shower. I was thinking of ordering Thai food, too. Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, that sounds great."
I picked something off the takeout menu, took the shirt and towel and my beer and went into the bathroom. It felt so good to strip out of my disgusting, sweaty clothes and get under the water. As I showered, beer in hand, I found I couldn't shake the mental image of Amanda lounging around completely naked. I pictured her bare breasts, full and firm, pink nipples standing up in the air-conditioned chill. I wondered what her pussy looked like, whether she shaved it completely or if she kept some hair. I didn't think she would leave it natural; but she might have it trimmed into a thin, black landing strip or something like that.
Thinking about Amanda naked left we with a raging hard-on in the shower. I gave my cock a few gentle strokes, and it stiffened even harder. The thought of rubbing one out really quickly with Amanda just outside the door was actually kind of a turn-on. I ran my fingers over the tip of my cock, caressing the head, soaking in the pleasure.
Then suddenly, there was a knock at the bathroom door, and I almost jumped out of my skin.
"Sorry, I don't mean to rush you, but I actually kind of really have to pee. So, I'm rushing you, I guess? Sorry!" Amanda called through the door.
"No worries, I'm all done," I said. I turned the water all the way down to cold, freezing away all the sexy thoughts and causing my dick to shrink back down to a more manageable size. I quickly toweled off, got dressed, and let Amanda have the bathroom.
We spent the rest of the afternoon just hanging out together, drinking beer, watching movies on cable. Amanda's always been a fun person to spend time with, and a fun person to drink with. The longer we hung out, the more we had to drink, the closer we got. Her friend's couch was pretty big, but we sat pressed right up next to each other, drinking and joking and laughing. At one point, she said, "Do you mind if I take my bra off? It's not very comfortable."
"No, go ahead," I said.
She unfasted the clasp and pulled her arms through the straps, without ever taking off her tank top. She pulled the bra out from under her top and tossed it aside. Her breasts were so perfect and firm, even with the bra off they hardly drooped at all. Only now, her nipples were much more visible, poking through the tank top.
"Much better," she said. "Enjoying the view?"
"What? You accusing me of staring at your boobs? Do you think I'm uncouth or something? I am the pinnacle of couthness. I am Joe Couth."
"Why wouldn't you stare? My boobs are amazing."
She did a little shimmy, shaking her tits in her tight white tank top. I tried to pick up my jaw from where it had hit the floor, and she laughed again.
"More beer?" she asked.
"More beer!" I said.
We kept drinking, and found a shitty B-movie to watch on cable. It had bad computer-animated aliens, and the hero was a former child star who was now over-the-hill and had had a lot of plastic surgery, and he had three assistants who were all big-titted models, and the dialogue was atrocious and nobody could act and it was hilarious. About fifteen minutes into it, the blonde big-titted research assistants snuck off into a quiet corner with the tough-as-nails marine played by a Calvin Kline model.
"I never got a chance to really thank you for saving our lives back there," she said.
"Oh, she's gonna get nekkid now," I said.
"Show them tits!" Amanda shouted.
The girl took of her shirt, and Amanda and I cheersed. Then her bra came off too, and we both screamed in horror.
"Oh shit!" I hollered. "Someone got the discount boob job!"
"Why are her nipples THERE?" Amanda asked, aghast. "Why are her nipples THERE?!?"
The guy took his shirt off, too, revealing his chiseled pecs and abs to the camera.
"Ooh, we've got a waxer," Amanda observed.
"You don't know that," I said, "he might have a genetic condition. Male pattern chest-baldness. It's a serious thing, there's like research grants for it and shit."
