All content copyright 2012 Ted Szabo
This is part 5 of a longer work, "Brick House."
Chapter 5
I didn't see much of Kate over the course of the next couple weeks, as we were both pretty thoroughly weighed down by other commitments. She spent about half of her weekends visiting her folks in Valparaiso, a routine which I both vaguely hoped and vaguely dreaded Kate might invite me to join. On one hand, meeting her folks would have cleared up any boy-friend-yes-or-no-is-he-or-isn't-he questions that were still floating around, but on the other—well, I would have to meet the parents. An assault on the rhetorical bastions of the grandchild-craving alliance's grand fortress of rectitude was something I just wasn't up for. I was pretty sure they'd had about ten good years to dig in around that fortress and I wasn't breaching the battlements.
During one such visit Kate gave me a call, cheerfully catching me on her doings. It sounded like she was doing well—hanging out with cousins with names like Nalech and Mo. I wasn't quite sure what was up with Kate's extended family, ethnicity-wise, but they seemed like a pleasant-enough bunch. After an hour or so Kate signed off, indicating that she was going sunbathing with some girls she had known since high school who had happened to roll into town.
The day Kate returned, a Sunday, we met for lunch. Her tan was a shade darker and she'd had a haircut, bringing her glossy mane up around shoulder length. Kate wore a short, loose skirt and a low-cut sleeveless top that showed off the top halves of her breasts in a wonderfully exuberant manner. We sat side-by-side as we ate, brushing up against each other in that cute, cuddly, goo-goo eyes way the other restaurant patrons must have found disgusting (I know
I
find it disgusting, when it's not me doing the cuddly thing goo goo thing, anyway). After I paid the check Kate kissed me on the cheek, just below my ear, and breathed "Your place" in a slightly hoarse whisper.
As we approached the apartment entrance, Kate and I were greeted by strains of recorded music. As it was muffled by the relatively thick outer door, almost all we could hear was the regularly timed thump of base notes. It was soulful, romantic stuff—what the guys like to call a "slow jam." I had learned that when a slow jam filled the air there was a better than even chance that one of my rommates had company, as tunes of this sort were employed strictly for purposes of seduction. The song echoed throughout the concrete stairwell, mixing, in irritating fashion, with faster-paced top forty stuff coming through an open doorway on the lower level.
Once we reached the door we were able to hear moans—one voice low, another high but husky, coming from the room. The music had been loud enough to cover the vocalizations from a distance, but at this point everything was coming through pretty clearly. As I moved to open the door Kate gave me a pensive look.
"Should we... go somewhere else?" she said.
I shook my head. "No. Remember, that's not how we do things here. In fact, Sam--that's who it sounds like, would actually be offended if he found out I did such a thing because then he'd have to start worrying about who might need the place to themselves when he wants to go in, and our whole system would be screwed. Also—remember, if there is something going on, don't look away or act embarrassed—if you do, that'll just make them embarrassed too and mess up their vibe."
Her expression uneasy, Kate nodded her head as I opened the door and we walked through. We were immediately greeted by a rather explicit tableau. Sam was stretched out naked on his bed and his girlfriend, Yolanda, was on top of him. Yolanda's bare hips rolled rhythmically in time to the music as she rode him, concentration and pleasure mixing in equal parts on her pretty, expressive face.
Yolanda had the mocha-hued skin tones that often accompany mixed parentage—one aspect of a remarkable complexion that had no truck with moles, freckles or any other sort of blemish. I had seen her nude before, but never more than glimpses, and was finding the view thoroughly acceptable. With a twinge of jealousy I wondered whether Kate was having an equally enjoyable time checking out Sam who, I had to admit, was no slouch in the physique department.
I looked over at Kate and had to stifle a chuckle that threated to sneak out of a traitorous rib cage that was clearly not completely on board with my romantic aspirations. Her mouth was gaping a bit, and her eyes looked huge. "Um, um well..." she mumbled. I took Kate's arm, intending to lead her over to kitchen so we could sit and pop open a couple of beers, but she seemed rooted to the spot, mesmerized. She glanced toward me but I could tell she was still not really able to shift her attention away from what was transpiring before us. She mumbled again, eyes moving back toward the bed. "Yes, ah, we should... we should..."
Yolanda's pace had quickened a bit, her breath escaping out in little bursts. She pulled Sam's hands to her breasts, which were definitely more than a handful, and he fondled them enthusiastically. I thought I heard him mutter something like "Freakin' awesome" under his breath.
The song that had been playing when we entered the room completed and the next one on the play list began, this one even more romantic and slow—some sort of duet. The plodding melody was jarringly inconsistent with the increasingly hectic pace of Yolanda's movements as she neared climax. Sam's face had that glazed look that told me he was trying to keep from ejaculating before Yolanda was done.
I leaned close to Kate and murmured "I think they're going to come pretty soon—if that's going to be a little much we could go sit in the kitchen." We started to move toward the back of the apartment, though Kate was still obviously having trouble looking away from Yolanda and Sam.
Once we entered the kitchen area Kate and I were a bit farther from the lovemaking but the view was, if anything, more graphic. Yolanda's bottom was fully visible, bobbing up and down, with a foot folded under each cheek. Sam's balls were prominently displayed, and the base of his shaft became visible each time Yolanda rose, her vaginal lips stretched out around it. Kate and I sat at the counter and I got out a couple beers. I took a swig from mine, but Kate left hers untouched.
The couple's moans became louder. Sam shouted "Oh—oh God" and started bucking his hips frantically. Yolanda shuddered and squeaked, raking her fingernails across Sam's chest. Their completion seemed to break Kate's spell and she turned to me.
"I think I need to go for a run. Want to go on a run with me?"
I nodded and gathered my exercise gear. We were soon on the way to the head of our favorite trail and, after dropping by Kate's room so she could change, spent the next half hour or so jogging around the north end of campus.
On a few occasions I tried to make conversation but Kate barely reacted. She didn't appear angry, or even really disturbed, just preoccupied. After one particularly long stretch of silence I asked Kate "You OK?" She took a moment to answer.
"I'm fine, it's just a lot, you know. It's not something I'm used to."
"I understand. It must have been a little shocking, with it being so abrupt like that."
