"I need you," He paused to blow out the cigarette smoke, "to stop fucking my lady."
This is rarely the first words you hear from a new neighbor. No request for a cup of confection or a bottle of condiment or even advice on the local school district from this one. This was a request to cease infidelity, not so subtle request either.
"Do you understand, stop fucking her."
I took a pause, mouth agape, my brow wrinkled as I heard the request, a strained demand, from my next door neighbor. He stood there, nostrils flared, hands by his side clenching and releasing in a rapid motion. He was a dirty sort, wood shavings sprinkled generously throughout his hair and shoulders; I figured him to be in construction or carpentry. The name patch sewn into his shirt said Rudy. I had a good foot and about fifty pounds on him in advantage, plus a Louisville slugger behind the door jamb, hidden just out of sight.
"What are you talking about?"
I was curious in just how much he knew, thought he knew, or if he had any idea what level of my involvement was.
"Let's not play dumb," He was a doing a terrible job of controlling his rage, voice breaking over each vowel. "I know what you're doing, right under my nose."
He was right. I was fucking her, and she was enjoying it. I've never seen her nude, smelled the aroma of her aroused libido, couldn't tell you if the carpet matched the drapes, but I've fucked her. She didn't know my name, never seen me naked either, nor felt the pleasure of my bulbous head pierce her walls, but she fucked me back.
Our strange affair began about three months ago, when the long vacated apartment next door was finally let.
I heard them well before I saw them. The thumping echoed through the walk in closet, rhythmic cadence of bed spring and groaning frame. The first time I heard it, I dismissed it as pressure in the pipes; a flush of the toilet would correct it.
In my half-slumber, I realized that the noise wasn't any pipe or bass from a speaker. The groan of a bed spring, the sudden shift of the frame against the wall, the errant moan. My closet door left ajar, I never bothered to shut it, connected to their closet next door. The aged drywall gave good acoustics.
They haven't been moved in a week yet, but I was getting their daily routine down. The man would leave about nine in the morning, a fit of grumbling and bumping around until the thin door to the apartment would bang close with an echoing shudder.
It would stay pretty quiet till noon, when she would get up. Nothing dramatic, just the vacuum or the dishwasher. I worked from home, thinking I'd be more productive, but I just became unknowingly nosy. I didn't leave home too much except for the occasional trip to the grocery store or a movie.
Around eight, he would return like he left, just as frustrated. More slamming and bumping, an occasional exclamation, breaking the muted barrier. The thin walls in this cheap apartment complex gave no privacy, everybody's business becoming the neighborhood's. I started wearing headphones to stay more focused.
That night, I got to bed later than usual. I did more tossing and turning than actual sleeping. Just I was beginning to enter that phase of deep slumber, it started. The clock on the nightstand read a little after two. It started off slow, a bump or two every few seconds. I tried to ignore it, but as the gaps closed I became enamored. They were having sex and the cheap frame was whispering the news to the walls, which gladly passed on the information to everyone else. I couldn't imagine what the elder Jewish couple downstairs were thinking, was there a word in Yiddish for "fuck"?
About five minutes passed when the bed groaned, there was a brief silence before the thumping started up again. Position change; probably mounting her from behind. As annoying as it was at first, my intrigue segued into arousal. I felt myself harden, penis thickening, nosing it's way towards my stomach.
Another voice, a groan from him. I imagined him on his knees, hands gripping into her hips as he plunged deeper inside her, moving one hand to a silicone packed tit for humping stability. She was probably face down, half smothered into the pillow, a golden cascade of hair clumped away from her neck, clawing at the sheets, braced for the sexual onslaught. Her lack of passion invited me to think that she wasn't enjoying it, maybe just accepting of the routine.
I was fully engorged now, absentmindedly running a thumb around the blossoming mushroom of my head, feeling slight guilt for using their intimacy for my pleasure. The thumping increased; he was nearing the end. Another bump and groan from the bed springs, silence, then the sound of a toilet flushing, another future president buried at sea.
I still had unfinished business. I turned on the TV and loaded the DVD player with something from my stash. The pout lipped Asian on the screen quickly brought me to my own conclusion and allowed me to finally get to sleep.
The next morning, I heard the slam of the door as I was leaving the bathroom. I still had two hours before logging in to work so I went for a run. I was stretching outside when I heard the slide of the balcony door above me. I tried to be nonchalant, turning my torso in a stretch to get a look. She stood on the balcony, adjacent to mine, smoking a Black and Mild cigar. She wasn't the blond sex symbol that I envisioned; very plain by comparison, but strikingly attractive.
A brown mop of close cropped hair sat on her head, supported by a thin neck. She wore a simple tank top, no bra, no silicone either; barely a pronounced b cup, but with outstanding nipples that poked out through the thin cotton. She could have weighed about a buck and change, but with a nice set of hips tucked inside her jeans. She took a look around the parking lot, glancing at me once or twice before flicking the stump away and returning inside. I stood up and started jogging down the block.
About a half hour later I returned from my run, a little out of breath, t-shirt soaked through. I sought refuge in the confines of my air-conditioned abode. As I peeled off my shirt, grabbing a towel to wipe off the excess sweat, I heard her moving next door, the clatter of dishes in the sink and an episode of Maury blasting away on the television. I thought about her appearance, totally throwing away whatever fantasies I held the night before.
I felt extremely grimy that morning, the pollen count was high and there was a smog alert broadcast. I jumped into the shower, scrubbing off the morning dust and any trace evidence from last night. Foregoing the towel, I dripped dry as I padded to the kitchen to get a glass of juice. Returning to the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed, draining the rest of the glass in three gulps.
A moan echoed through the wall. Soft, wanting, and lovely, it rolled into my ears like a whispering angel. I cocked my head to the sky, not sure if my mind was playing tricks on me. When the central air clicked off, I heard it again, more audible. She was definitely moaning, not in pain but pleasure.
At first, I thought he might have come home, but their parking space was empty. Just her. I began to harden as she continued, staring into the darkened abyss of my walk in closet. I instantly began to harden as she continued, her cries of self pleasure becoming more manic.
I lie back, grabbing a handful of myself, running fingers up and down the increasing length. I closed my eyes, pictured her on her bed, legs propped up in an erotic vee, fingers pinching at those thickening nipples. My imagination ran away as I saw a gigantic dildo in her firm grasp. It was one of those expensive models, spinning beads and the little extension to flick at the clitoris.
