"Can I help you?" The voice, metallic and vaguely feminine, issued from a silver grill set flush into the blank concrete wall. George was a little taken aback. He'd dropped in to check on apartment vacancies. The building looked nice from the outside, over twenty stories of concrete and glass thrusting like the Tower of Babel from the hills below Washington Park. He imagined that the view must be incredible, overlooking the entire cityscape. A small sign attached to the façade discretely announced "Sinclair Towers Adult Apartment Homes." It looked classy, sounded inviting. The entryway, however, was daunting, and whoever guarded the door wasn't exactly rolling out the red carpet.
"My name is George,"" he announced a little too loudly. "I'm looking for an apartment and wondered if you have any vacancies." He could hear his words bouncing from wall to wall in the small entry. He mentally added, "I'm tired and my feet hurt and I only have a couple more days before I have to start moving, so right now a little patience and charm would go a long way towards selling me on your building."
"One moment." The reply was almost abrupt. The silver grill clicked loudly and fell silent. George examined the entry while he waited: olive green walls, forest green carpet; wide, strong-looking steel door painted some version of teal; one silverish grill, perhaps six inches wide and ten inches high, mounted flush into the wall next to the door, with a large black button underneath and a plastic label directing 'push to call.'
George tried not to slouch, because it made his back ache. He really was tired. He'd come to this neighborhood to look at apartments that were advertised in the local paper, but found nothing suitable in his price range. What he wanted, what he needed, and what he could afford seemed to bear no relationship to each other and didn't appear particularly interested in getting acquainted. So he'd wandered on foot, loathe to give up the one parking spot he'd found within a half mile, looking, talking, touring. The advertisement that brought him to this part of town promised cheap living in a good neighborhood. And the place was affordable, but too much like a Navy barracks: similar construction, similar design, similar paint scheme. As a retired Navy helicopter technician, George had seen enough cinder block to last him three life times.
Others with 'vacancy' signs displayed were attractive but expensive. Some older red brick buildings offered affordable room but no parking or laundry facilities. This building was his last stop before trying a different neighborhood. It looked nice, it appeared to have a parking garage, it was probably sky high rent or even condominiums that sold for seven figures, but he decided the only guarantee was that if he didn't ask he'd never know. So he looked at the olive paint and tried not to slouch while waiting for the intimidating steel door to open. Instead of opening it buzzed, a long, loud, obnoxious note so irritating that he reflexively grasped the handle and pulled just to stop the noise. The heavy door resisted his tug until he planted his feet and pulled hard. It finally gave and swung smoothly toward him, granting his first ever view of Eden.
The green motif of the entry was carried through here in living color, for George gazed on an indoor garden with lush greenery, winding paths, meandering streams and a small waterfall in the distance. His cheeks were caressed by cool air that hinted of flower beds and sunshine. Glancing up, George noticed there were indeed skylights and mirrors, bringing natural sunlight into this indoor paradise. Then a small figure stepped into the path to his left and drew his attention.
The first thing he noticed was the dress, a bright Hawaiian print that seemed to belong in this garden. The tiny, exquisite woman wrapped within certainly did justice to her surroundings. Her five and a half feet left her still a half foot under George, and several of those inches were heels under her perfectly formed feet. She was dark in all ways: long black hair, black almond eyes, skin like dark toast. George immediately pictured melting butter, and his mouth began to water. Dark red lips and crimson nails completed the package. George guessed her as a Phillipina-Hawaiian cross, combining the incredible exotic beauty of both.
"Hi, George." She smiled, showing dental poster teeth, and offered him her hand. "I'm Leilani, it's good to meet you."
Never much of a socializer, George's meager skills had all but died during twenty years of sweaty labor on Navy ships. He grasped Leilani's hand, squeezed lightly, gave it a single, too-effusive shake, and snapped a quick bow from his waist. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled. His mind was already retreating out the teal steel door, because this woman was too gorgeous and this place was too luxurious and there was no way the rent he could afford would pay for this lifestyle. He saw a cloud pass behind Leilani's professional smile. 'I'm out of my league here, and she knows it,' he thought. 'I won't need to find the door, she'll show me the way out in about thirty seconds.' He released her hand and stood upright and smiled despite himself. He felt like he was ten years old again, staring at his Christmas bicycle, but he couldn't help it. The smile was just there.
"You're looking for an apartment?" Leilani inquired.
"Yes," George explained, "I've been looking for several days now. I was in the neighborhood looking around, and thought your building looked nice." Her smile brightened, and so did his in response. "It is very nice, but from what I see here it's probably well out of my price range," he continued. "I'll need to stick to a strict budget for the next few years, so I wasn't looking for this kind of luxury. I'm sorry if I've wasted your time."
"Oh, not at all," Leilani reassured. "Come have a seat and let's see if we can find something that would suit you." She turned and led him along a side path a few meters, then stepped aside and indicated a table and several chairs on a tiny flagstone platform. "Would you like a drink?" she inquired. "Coffee, chilled water?"
George was suddenly aware how dry his throat had become while walking the streets. "Cold water would be great," he said. He watched as she turned and disappeared behind a dwarf palm. The flowered print dress clung and slid enticingly about her hips. He wondered how that smooth cloth would feel under his hands as she turned and moved. If they were dancing, would he be able to keep his hands on her hip bones, or would they fall to cup that delectable ass? No, he wouldn't allow himself to feel her ass on the dance floor because once he got his hands under those cheeks he'd be lifting her up and into himself, spreading her thighs so they could wrap around him and start a different dance altogether. How would her breasts feel? Hard to tell the way the dress hung, and so much depends on the bra anyway. But the size wouldn't matter as long as there was something there to pull against his chest, to press on him softly yet strongly, to promise delights to come, to make his mouth water and his blood rise and his balls grow heavy.
Shit, he was still waiting for the divorce to become final, but the old lady had cut him off almost a year ago and he was going fucking nuts here and this was a business meeting so he'd better be all about business, and his cock was swelling and shifting in his pants and this woman was so gorgeous she'd probably been hit on so many times that saying "NO" was like stepping on ants to her and then his pee hole caught on a seam in his underwear and he damn near jumped out of the chair from the pain. He squirmed, trying to adjust his cock without reaching inside his pants, but it wasn't working. It fucking HURT, but it didn't make the swelling go down. He felt like he was fourteen again, being called to the front of the class but he's sitting there with six inches of pink marble in his pants. The curse of the teenage years still visiting over twenty years later. It almost made him long for old age, when his cock would stay reliably limp for at least most of any given day.
George broke into a nervous sweat, glancing around to see if he dared to adjust himself. No one in view -- make it quick and it'll be okay. He slouched in the chair to ease his access, pulling his waistband out with his left hand and snaking his right hand inside his trousers to grasp his tumescent member and free it from the seam.
"Here you go," Leilani said with her Island lilt. George's head snapped up as she placed a bottle of spring water on the table before him. Their eyes met, then hers dropped quickly to his lap where his right hand was inside his pants, wrapped around an obviously engorged penis. Barely pausing, her gaze bounced back to his eyes. She blinked. George blushed so hard he feared the skin was going to explode off his face. He yanked his penis to the side, dragging his pee hole across the offending seam and sending bolts of pain through his lower body. He gasped and reflexively twisted his hips to change the angle of his dangle, then lurched his hand out of his pants and onto the table top. His left hand released the waist band of his pants and underwear. The elastic slapped into place with an audible 'snap,' trapping the delicate head against his abdomen. Leilani blinked again, her smile frozen in place but her eyes both startled and quizzical.
"I.... Uh .... Sorry .... Binding," George stuttered. He dropped his gaze to the table, then to the obvious bulge in his lap. He pushed himself erect in his chair, shifted his weight, crossed his legs and drew his arms into his lap to hide his condition. 'As if,' he thought ruefully, 'she hasn't already caught me with my hand down my pants holding my fucking hard on.' He could feel the burn in his face. Sweat seemed to explode out his pores.
"Well," Leilani said. George swallowed noisily. Leilani swallowed gracefully, her throat pulsing like an exotic dance between delicate lines of muscle, and George pictured those throat muscles massaging his cock and if it was possible for a middle aged man to become harder or more embarrassed he pulled it off between two ticks of the clock. Leilani stepped back and seated herself across the table from him. George wanted desperately to just stand and leave, but that would mean giving Leilani a one gun salute because his pants wouldn't hide his condition when he rose. In fact, with her seated and looking at him, his crotch would be at her eye level when he rose. 'So,' he wondered, 'is this Eden, or is it the vestibule of Hell?'
"You're, uh, looking for an apartment?" Leilani asked. George nodded. He didn't trust his voice after the attempted explanation, desperately needed a drink but didn't dare remove his arms from guard duty over his crotch. He watched the tiny pool of condensation gather at the base of the bottle. Luckily the table top was beaded glass, there would be no ring on fine wood. No doubt she'd expected he would hold the bottle and drink as they talked.
After several seconds of silence, she said "So how did you hear about Sinclair Towers?"
George cleared his throat. He looked longingly at the water, then met Leilani's gaze. "I was in the neighborhood looking at other places, but couldn't find anything suitable," he said. "This looks like a nice building, I thought I'd give it a go. I realize you don't have a sign out for vacancies, but I figured if you never go, you never know. Right?" He gave her a weak smile. She raised her eyebrows in response.
"So you don't know anything about Sinclair?" she asked.
