"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.
Her next moan was louder, drawn out this time; she found her erogenous zone. The same zone that her partner couldn't find with a GPS and tour guides. I stroked a little faster, trying to catch up to her passion. She was clearly turned on, a sexual siren calling out for release. My breathing quickened, my eyes squeezed shut as all my focus was on her voice.
I was fully involved, my stroking reaching fever pitch, hips raised up as if I could penetrate her through the walls. I gasped aloud as a jolt of lighting hit me in the pelvis; I was ready to explode. She let out another wail, piercing my ears, driving right into my core. I felt my own build up and let it fly, a long strand of semen flying to targets unknown. I grunted, then let out a moan of my own, cock jerking in an orgasmic conclusion.
The splattered dribble of come on my upper chest and neck, sliding down my sides, brought me back to reality. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. I lay there, breathing heavily as I wiped up the spent seed. I heard the bed creak once, then nothing. I let my breathing return to normal before going back to the bathroom to clean up, again.
I heard nothing else as I returned to the living room, logged in and began work. I would have just brushed the notion off if not for the knock on my door about an hour later. I took my time answering it; I wasn't expecting packages and religion solicitors were a real pain to get rid of. By the time I took off my headset and plodded over, whoever was knocking was gone. I smelt the aftermath of sweet cigar smoke, Black and Mild.
Why would she knock and then leave after only thirty seconds? I felt nervous as I realized that as easy as I could hear them, they could probably hear me as well. Did she hear me, listening to her? I don't recall saying anything, being so caught up in the moment, I could had said anything. I stood there for another minute, wondering how to proceed when the phone rang. I closed my door and answered it. It was somebody from work with a tech question and after a few minutes of walking someone through a rather difficult procedure, I forgot about my ghost knocker.
That night, when I was ready to go to sleep, the thumping started again. This time it was earlier in the evening, but just as obvious. I reached for my iPod, plugged in the ear buds and went to sleep.
The next day started like all the others. He left in his irritating state, the slamming of the door announcing his departure. I didn't feel like running, but had a new car battery that I had to install. I stepped outside and popped the hood, tools in hand and began to work. I heard the balcony door sliding open again. I turned towards the sound to look. She stood there, unlit cigar dangling from the corner of her mouth. This time, she wore a red satin robe, cinched tight in the middle, but her nipples waved hello through the thin material.
I gave her a little wave with my wrench, she returned a subtle nod before reaching into her robe pocket. Pulling out a gold Zippo, she lit her smoke and took a healthy pull as she looked at nothing in particular. I stuck my head back under the hood. Even though she said nothing, I knew she was still there, the odor from the thin cigar gave her away. I peeked up at her every few minutes, she was still there, stealing glances at me. I finished with the battery, starting the car to make sure. I unconsciously looked up towards their balcony. The door was still open, but she was inside.
I went into my apartment, kicking off my shoes and stripping off my shirt. I didn't get into my bedroom before I heard her. She was moaning again, louder and directed.
"Fuck me." The walls echoed with her demand. I instantly hardened. This was insane. The first time was happenstance, now it seemed like she was waiting for me.
I listened to her panting, bed creaking ever so slightly, wondering what she was doing. Well, it was obvious what she was doing, but, why was she doing it and was she talking to me?
"Please," She moaned a little louder. "Fuck me."
"Okay." I surprised myself by answering. There was no question that I was aroused, but did I still want to do this? Another moan confirmed by inquiry.
I walked to the control panel of the central air and turned it off, making sure that there was as little noise pollution as possible. Still sweating from the rising sun and my internal temperature, I stepped into the closet, directly to the back. Putting my fingers against it, I tried to stare through it. She had to be using more than her fingers, the rising octaves of her voice as she pleasured herself.
