Shady Waters is a cool dark oasis for those who like to watch. In this first chapter you will meet the hero and heroine - a middle aged man and a younger woman. If this doesn't 'float your boat' this story may not be for you. All players are consenting adults over the age of 18.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SHADY WATERS
Built in the early seventies, the tackiest of all decades, Shady Waters boarding house was once a top-class hotel.
In the good years, it catered to all sorts of famous people. Burt Reynolds lived there for a while, Barbra Streisand rented the whole place for two weeks (when she toured the east coast) and Mel Brooks lived in 4C for nearly three years! Wrote Blazing Saddles there.
But that was forty years ago. Since 1990 Shady Waters has become a boarding house, with the occasional shorter stay... maybe a family on a cheap holiday or a businessman going to a conference in the city.
The cheap flats for rent are the ones at the front of the building, on the main road. Over the years the old hotels beautiful manicured lawns and gardens have given way to the highway so it's pretty noisy. In fifty years the once quiet, tree-lined avenue has grown into a four-lane highway. Cars and trucks whiz by all day.
At the back, the accommodation is much grander and caters to a more affluent clientele. The apartments all face wide green lawns and gardens, as well as a sweeping view of the St Laurence River where willow trees grow on the bank. There's even a swimming pool. George lets it go green in winter but manages to get it back up to scratch for the summer months. The caretaker loves a woman in a bikini.
From the outside, the building is a red-brick cube. Aluminium windows have corroded in the salty air and air-conditioning units stick out all over like a nasty skin condition. Inside, the foyer takes up the ground floor and the four levels above are apartments, one suite in each corner of the floor - 1A, 1B, 1C, 1D, then 2A, 2B, 2C, 2D, and so on, up to level 4.
These days the old hotel is as about as shabby and rundown as it can get - but if you look real close you'll still see hints of a more affluent time. A time when Shady Waters was a posh hotel and not the shitty boarding house it is today.
The tall glass entrance doors have SHADY on one side and WATERS on the other. They open into a foyer where once a magnificent glass chandelier glowed over luxurious furnishings - thick afghan rugs, deep easy chairs and ottomans.
Now it's lit by track lighting - fluorescent tubes that cast a stark blue-white light from 6am to midnight. All the opulent rugs and luxurious armchairs are long gone, replaced by dozens of straight-back wooden chairs, lined up along the walls like a skid row medical clinic - dotted about, here and there, with those floor-standing ashtrays you see around sometimes... the sort on chrome stands, where you push the black button on the top and the cigarette butts fall into the chamber below.
The carpet hasn't been replaced since the 80s. It's still a deep rich blue around the skirting boards but over the years it's been trampled down into a faded goat track that leads from the front door to the once bustling reception area. The front desk is tucked into a nook between the lift and the stairs. Even though George gets the clanky old elevator serviced every year or so it is generally considered unsafe by the permanent residents who mostly use the wide marble staircase.
To your right, you'll see an arched opening into a large once opulent ballroom - but it hasn't been used in twenty years. There's a proper timber bar along the back wall where there used to be six beers on tap and complicated cocktails were concocted. But there's no alcohol anymore and if there was, there's nobody to serve it. Nowadays it's just a great big, high-ceilinged room full of dusty ghosts and bric-a-brac.
George Carter is the caretaker/manager. He and his wife have lived at Shady Waters for over thirty years... in apartment 2D, the second floor at the back overlooking the river.
They'd moved in as a young married couple feeling like they had the world at their feet. Shady Waters was only ever going to be a temporary stop on their way to money and success. He was on his way up as a go-getting young sales representative at the local Ford dealership and she was going to have three children... two boys and a girl.
Years went by and no children emerged. Apparently, George was shooting blanks. He plugged along in his dead-end career for twenty boring, predictable years until he lost his job to someone younger and hungrier. After that he was unemployed for a year before he landed the caretaker gig at the sad little hotel they'd promised they would be out of in six months. At the time he felt lucky to get the job. He couldn't find work anywhere else and the Carter's were just about broke.
Really, George is caretaker in name only. He does the barest minimum of actual work - collecting enough rent to keep the owner happy and maybe even some simple maintenance if you're lucky. The rest of his time is spent in an orgy of hedonistic self-gratification, jerking his big cock to the bazaar goings-on in the hotel.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
PASSAGES
If you ever manage to get behind the reception desk, and through the heavy, usually locked timber door, you'd find yourself in George's small windowless office. A big old desk takes up most of the room along with a filing cabinet, an iced water cooler, and a big black leather lounge where George sleeps when he argues with his wife... which is often!
Like just about every room at Shady Waters (except the white-tiled bathrooms), his office walls are lined with dark timber paneling from the floor almost to the ceiling. The molded oak would be considered an unheard-of luxury today but when the hotel was built there was no expense spared.
In George's office, these decorative panels are covered with photographs of earlier times. There are a bunch of big long pictures showing the staff from bygone years - fifty or sixty people in rows like a school cohort or a football team - right down to smaller portraits of a particular manger or a maid, or a busboy, famous for doing something or other.
Just about every bit of wall space has a picture hanging on it except, if you're real observant, you may notice a panel that is conspicuously empty. If you look even closer, as George did one day, you may discern a fine line, a break in the wood-grain...
Back in the day, Shady Waters Hotel boasted service that was second to none. They had cleaning staff, busboys and bellgirls galore, as well as a maid for every room - an amazing extravagance.
The guests rarely ever saw any staff thanks to a rabbit warren of hidden service corridors. Maids and cleaners could access any apartment through a little door perfectly disguised like a portion of the timber wall paneling and, above each door, is a camouflaged spy-hole that the anonymous employee could use to check if there were any occupants in the room. These little openings are placed at eye height and covered by a timber slide. Cleverly positioned in the elaborate timber moldings, they are all but invisible from the other side.
Ten years ago, when George found the secret door in his office, he became the only person alive who knew about these service corridors. He found he had access to every room in the building. Nobody but him knew about the hidden spiral staircase that wound up to the other floors or the winding maze of corridors that snaked through the hotel.
It was a dream come true for a man like George. He could think of nothing better than to spend the rest of his life in the dark, jerking off, peering through the cracks into people's sordid lives. He was born to it you see because, for all the shit life had dealt him, the balding, potbellied man has been blessed with three things.
Firstly, his cock was well over a foot long and too thick to get his hand all the way around. Huge as it was, it was unusually responsive - especially for such a big one. A passing horny thought or an accidental bump would have him achingly erect in seconds. He liked to jerk it off with both hands, rubbing and teasing the fat, super sensitive dome head with one hand and pumping the base with the other. Thick, gnarled and ridged, like an old baseball bat, George could play the massive tool like a virtuoso violinist.
Second, the Gods (or evolution depending on what you believe) gave George the ability to cum dozens of times a day. He could cum once and then within fifteen minutes easily jerk off a second big load. At an early age, he had discovered that the more he did it the more he could do it and it hadn't diminished one bit as he got older. Over the years of jerking off so much, he had developed remarkable upper body strength and had bulging muscles in his upper arms and wide shoulders like a gorilla. He found applying a thick industrial-strength moisturizer to the shaft before bed counteracted the friction of so much jerking.
The third thing was maybe the best thing. The degenerate wanker had a very rare condition where his body produced copious amounts of sperm when he orgasmed. This meant that every orgasm was around thirty seconds to a minute of delirious heart-stopping pleasure. He shoots off like a water pistol, spraying cum everywhere... enough to fill a brimming teacup full of warm thick jitz. It was no wonder he masturbated so much.
So, if you ever see the BACK IN 30 MINUTES sign on the front desk, you may as well come back the next day. George will be a lot longer than that. Stripped down to his white Y-front underpants he'll be moving like a ghost through the web of secret hallways - on his way to his next voyeuristic rendezvous.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
ALISON COLEMAN
Alison lived with her mother and older brother.
The Coleman's were a tight-knit, working-class family who'd been doing it tough ever since Ali was a little girl. Her father had left before she was born so the two children relied completely on their hardworking mom to feed and clothe them.
Eve Coleman worked as a cleaner or maid from early morning to late at night most days, cleaning up after wealthy people who treated her like dirt... people who didn't care about the sacrifice she was making for her family. It meant she left her children to their own devices a lot of the time.
There was rarely enough money for school books and uniforms, let alone the nice clothes her friends were wearing. She didn't go out unless it was to a friend's house and only then if she could persuade her mother. Eve Coleman was extremely protective of her children, especially Alison.
