Let's introduce a few new characters here, and get on with the story of Ken Hawthorne, the man who likes to watch, as he learns a few other things he doesn't mind...
As always, remember that I don't go for realistic stories, aiming instead for a narrative that is plausibly ridiculous. Enjoy the romp.
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Sylvan Courtyard -- Two: Settling In
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"God damn that fucking Professor Thames! I'd fuck that woman up," I said, frustratedly slamming the tiny desk in the also tiny, and very crowded grad student office I had been assigned as I began my doctoral studies. I, and four (four!) other grad students/instructors had to share the cramped confines to house all our personal items and research materials. We also had to each hold office hours in there. At the moment, I was almost alone, with only Petey Wilson for company at the moment.
Petey was occasionally funny, and almost never helpful, as he proceeded to exemplify. "Fuck her, huh? You could try that. She might just go for it."
I glared at him. "Not helpful," I growled.
Inwardly, I actually found myself considering the idea. Amanda Thames was... very doable, to be honest, even if she was forty-two. I would have bet that when she was my age she had been at the Oh My God Please Who Do I Need To Kill level of attractiveness. The thought was still quite unhelpfully distracting at her current age.
There are pretty few actual traditional classes you have to take to earn a doctorate, but Professor Thames's was the last such that I did have to have. She was quite demanding in terms of time for her class, and inflexible about deadlines. Neither of these traits were helpful for a doctoral candidate who has his own over-burdensome teaching schedule, a need for as much time as possible to do his own research, and the imperative to suck up to his actual mentor by doing lots of work for him.
Thames did have a pretty sweet, MILF-type body...
I shook my head. A few hours' free time lost here and there were not worth the career-threatening risk of trying to fuck a professor, especially one who is not at all an ally of your mentor! Dr. Thames really demanded only a few more hours than was reasonable, and only occasionally. I could deal with it.
Petey was still looking at me and laughed. "You are thinking about it, aren't you?" he accused, unjustly but accurately.
"I tell you what, Casanova," I snarled agreeably, "you fuck her, and ask her to get off my back while you have her on hers."
"Like I'm in her league," Petey snorted. "'Course, you aren't either, so I can see your problem."
I bristled inwardly at that thought.
But getting Petey to shut up once he got going on something usually required insincerely agreeing to whatever stupid and ridiculous idea he had, so I shrugged in implied acknowledgment. Sure enough, it worked, and he went back to whatever worthless mathematical research he was pursuing.
I just wanted to get on my way a little earlier than usual that evening, because later we were having a Friday night pool party at my apartment complex. I looked at my watch and set a timer for 50 minutes. I could buckle down that long, and still be able to get home, get changed, and be down by the pool before anyone could make much of a dent in the keg that our landlords Jesse and Josie were promising for the night.
*
I had only been in the Sylvan Courtyard as a resident for two months now. This was to be the first general party that management had put on since my arrival, and the first major pool event since the weather had finally started to get really nice. They had told me they worked at events to create a social environment at the complex when I had signed the lease, but I hadn't actually believed it would be all that important. I was beginning to so believe. The clubs and stuff were great, way better than the larger, on-campus equivalents. And word from the long-term tenants was that pool parties were usually pretty successful.
Back at my apartment, I looked at myself in the mirror, and liking what I saw, because I am arrogant that way, I smiled and decided to forget about a shirt. If it cooled down later, my apartment was right there, overlooking the pool, and was just a close flight of stairs away.
Sylvan Courtyard was in a remote wooded area, the only road in led straight from campus, and there were nothing but one-bedroom units, so almost every resident was young and directly connected to the university. There were a bunch of wealthy, older undergrads, and a few adjunct professors, while the majority consisted of nursing or grad students like me. All that meant that my neighbors included an extraordinary number of hot women my own age, or near enough. I hoped the women would be attired similarly to me that evening.
No, I don't mean topless. The owners, Jesse and Josie, were actually pretty conservative about appearances. I just was hoping for my share of bikinis to check out, plus a few more beyond my share.
I could hear a good crowd already down around the pool as I swiftly slid down the steps to the ground level. I looked around in the dying sunlight and saw that indeed, most everyone had dressed appropriately for a pool party.
I had been seriously blessed to have discovered this place just as my old roommate was getting us evicted from my prior digs.
In addition to having lots of hot women for tenants, the owners were around my age as well, and since they both worked day and night, the complex was their only social life as well. That meant they did their best to provide lots of opportunities for residents to meet and share interests. I knew a lot of the men and women around the pool pretty well already.
My friend Felicity Cramer, whom I knew from the workout facility and who lived down on the first floor but near my apartment, was among my favorites. Felicity is funny in the sort of way that makes you think she probably has a dirty mind, but if that was true, she kept it to herself. She has a cute face, but in the gym she always sported the kind of baggy sweats worn by people who might be in shape but don't have a body they are proud of. "Hey Ken," she said in greeting, waving at me idly as I bounded down the stairs. "Jesse has the keg down at the end of the pool near his apartment," she pointed helpfully.
She was wearing a swimsuit for the party, but it was a one-piece Speedo, the racing kind that mashes any chest less than watermelon-level down flat. Moreover, she wore baggy cargo shorts over that suit. Nice girl, but I figured she was a friend, not a prospect. I had plenty of other fish in my little sea. So I just thanked her and sauntered on around the poolside.
Jesse was hovering protectively over the keg. I like the guy a lot. He does a tremendous job keeping the place up, in an easy partnership with his younger sister, and he goes wildly above and beyond with social activities like this one. But he is painfully paranoid about appearances and responsibilities. Both Jesse and his little sister Josie had loved the uncle who raised them and left them the apartment complex. They both took honoring that bequest seriously. Jessie moreso, and sometimes to an amusing extent.
I already knew Jessie well enough to be sure that he would spend the first two hours hovering over the keg to make sure everybody behaved themselves. Then he would finally get bored and move off to tentatively have fun, right about the time people got drunk enough to want to try doing keg-stands or some other shit... Great guy, but a doofus.
We exchanged a few pleasant words as he drew me a beer, and he asked me to help him keep an eye out for things getting out of hand. The guy somehow had gotten the idea in his head that I was super responsible or something. I was not going to disabuse him of the notion. I mean, I do try to always do the right thing, but...
The idiot had not even poured himself a beer yet, and I made him rectify that so we could toast to the way he had arranged perfect weather for the evening. I even got him to admit that he was happy with the two-legged scenery that had resulted from the warm night. But he would not think of hitting on any girl there. It wouldn't be right, with him being the landlord and all... He wouldn't even let one of them hit on him, probably, which was too bad, Jesse was tall and a wiry bundle of muscles.
I excused myself as a couple of dudes I knew only casually descended on the keg.
I stepped around the pool and bent down to speak to Heather Vandross, who was in the water. I knew Heather from book club at the apartments, and from a political club on campus. Participation in the political club was more or less a vestige from both of us of our undergraduate days. The two of us spent a lot more time at meetings quietly making fun of the almost mindlessly earnest majority of the younger members and their antics than we did actually contributing anything ourselves. I figured it was a race between us to see who stopped going first.
As I squatted down beside the pool to talk with Heather, I found that she was just deep enough in the water that I could keep both her eyes and her submerged torso in view at the same time. Her sleek tits were floating nicely in the bright yellow bikini she wore. We commiserated about the dud of a book we were reading this month in Book Club, and shared some laughs about the latest email from the illustrious-in-her-own-mind president of the political club.
Unfortunately, Heather was then swept away by her frequently present boyfriend, who I neither knew nor liked well enough to jump in and follow. The only good to come from this turn of events was the chance to briefly check out Heather's ass. It was nice, but it was much deeper under the water, and thus harder to get a good look at. Also, while it was nice, it was not nearly as nice as the sweet handfuls that adorned her chest.
If she ever dumped Henry, I'd be at her door (which was next to my own) the next day...
I stood up and looked around for a bit to see if I could spot my other best book club friend, Susan. Susan was possibly as funny as Felicity, definitely hotter even than Heather, and had the excellent habit of occasionally parading around her apartment, which was right across the courtyard from my own, with her tits out and proud. The evening she had discovered I was able to watch her do this from my own balcony, she had revealed a severely gratifying kinky streak. Alas, this evening, she seemed to be out on a date with one or the other of her boyfriend or her girlfriend. Since that first encounter, I had not yet been visually invited back to her place even once. It was not going to be a common occurrence, even if blowjobs, titfucks, and fingerbanging were apparently not cheating in her book...
Can't have everything.
I wasn't even looking to find a hookup this evening anyway. Not really. Should one come my way, I'd happily accept, but this seemed like a good night to just enjoy the scenery and see which of my neighbors warranted closer attention for later...
Speaking of enjoying the scenery but without any ulterior motives, I found myself enjoying a nice conversation with one of the few married couples in our complex. I knew Jane and Rhonda from the apartment's wine and beer club. We shared the same tastes in the grape, and in the gender we wanted to have sex with.
The two spouses were each the sort of lesbians I characterize as Tragic Fucking Shames. And having two such attractive women taking each other out of the pool of available candidates was just a fucking disaster for the entire male race.
Both women were drinking from polycarbonate wine glasses filled with something light but red when I approached them. "The beer is free," I observed with a smile, lifting my cup in a sardonic toast.
Jane reached out to click her stem to my cup, then back to bump her wife's in turn. "That would be great, Ken, if either of us much liked beer."
