My Neighbor Barry

Another stifling June day and it was so hot and muggy in my apartment that I almost couldn't breathe. The first thing I did in the morning was to completely give up on wearing normal clothes (again) and just put on another set of the Nike Pro spandex shorts and sports bra that had been my style for the last week. It might not be haute couture, but if sitting indoors was going to be just as sweat-inducing as a run, I might as well dress like I'm running.

It was about 3 in the afternoon when I just couldn't take being indoors anymore. There had to be a breeze outside, I thought, and maybe my apartment just wasn't getting the air through all the open windows. I thought that maybe if I just bit the bullet and gathered up my energy to go for a run I would feel better.

As soon as I put my shoes on and went outside I knew that that wasn't going to happen. The sun hit me like a wall of heat and it felt so good on my bronze skin...it made me feel too tired and lazy to go on. I didn't even have to start my run to know that what I wanted to do most of all was just sit in the sun and work on my tan.

Just about every day that week I regretted not signing the lease for the apartment complex three blocks north of here that has a pool. Not that I love to swim, but it's just a more appropriate place to sunbathe than on the lawn. It didn't matter though...I couldn't think from the heat and couldn't just stay inside all day. In any case, I had my blanket, my book, and my sunglasses all in a pile from the last few days...all I needed to do was slip into my bikini.

I stood in the mirror to admire myself for a minute or two after I had gotten it on. I absolutely loved the way I looked in this top, and the bottoms were pretty good too. My boobs are only B's, but they need a little support or they just get kinda squashed. The sports bra does that to them. That bikini though...light as a feather, skimpy without being too trashy, and supportive in all the right spots...this wasn't a suit designed for swimming, it's a suit designed for admiration. The razor-thin spaghetti straps attached the top of each cup over my shoulder to the string tied tight in the back. If I felt like I needed a little more support I could just tie it tighter. It was an off-peach color, slightly lighter than my skin, giving me a sort of exotic look that I liked. The cups themselves were triangular and covered just enough to not be indecent. The original bottoms that came with the top were a little too tight--I had to buy them both as a set and my ass is a bit larger proportionally than you'd expect given the size I need for my top. The bottoms I put on were about a size larger and clung tight to the sides of my hips. The fabric covered everything though, so I didn't feel any weirder than I needed to going outside in them.

I laid my blanket out in the sun on the slope in front of the balconies from my complex. I don't think anyone had any windows or doors open. All the other tenants had probably bought air conditioning units, but I'm a grad student and I can't afford that right now. I propped myself up on my elbows and began to read where I'd left off yesterday. The sun felt so good on my curving back.

It wasn't long before I started to get sleepy lying in the sun, so I put my book down and turned over to lie on my back. Gravity pulled at my thin waist and I could feel my stomach sink in under the sun's rays. My ribs were probably beginning to stick out, especially as I breathed in. I concentrated on relaxed breathing and soon fell asleep.

I woke up slowly, raising my arms to the sky to check for burns. God knows how long I'd been out there, but the sun was still up and it was still unbearably hot out. No breeze yet either. I heard a shuffling across the grass to my right after my eyes had closed again. I opened them and tilted my head to see an older man, maybe 60 or so, walking towards me and dressed in a white t-shirt, white shorts, white tennis shoes, a red visor and sunglasses. He looked like your average older guy. And he was carrying two little cans of coke! That was so cute!

I smiled at him and waved lazily as he approached. He looked like he'd come from the building next to mine. The old guy had probably been watching and wanted to make a move or something. I laughed internally. Men never really grow up.

But he came up to me, and in a really, genuinely kind voice he said, "I'm glad you're still alive, I thought you might have had a heat stroke! Why don't you have this?" and he handed me an unopened Coke can. I thanked him and sat up...he kept standing, but he probably didn't have the knees to sit down on the ground anymore. We talked for a little while as I sipped the Coke. His name was Barry and he lived alone in the building next door. He was a professor at another local college, so he had some friends and he had his students. I guessed he was used to seeing young women. He really seemed genuinely nice.

Anyway, those days went by pretty monotonously the whole month long: I'd get up early, go for a run in the muggy cool(er) air, take a cool shower, and do my research on my laptop dressed in some clean running outfit until about 3, when I just couldn't take it anymore and had to go outside. And as soon as I was about ready to pack up, Barry would come over with a Coke and we'd chat about life and ourselves and our work and our travels. I really thought that I'd finally made a friend--after two years--in this otherwise relatively unfriendly town.

It turned out Barry was a bit of an artist-creative type, even though he was employed in the sciences. I'm not at all creative, so I left it up to him to impress me. He told me one afternoon during our daily chat that I should stop by his apartment, number 2232, and he'd show me the spare bedroom that he'd made into his studio/gallery. Of course I said I would, and he told me to come on over around eight that night.

A few minutes before eight, after having showered and put on a sufficient amount of clothing, I went over to his apartment. I wore a pair of jean shorts--not Daisy Dukes!--and a loose-fitting crop top; the latter showed off my slender waistline very nicely I thought, although I obviously wasn't trying to score with a 60-year-old man. Barry greeted me with the same loose informality I was used to, like a moderately close friend. Like I said, I hadn't gotten any friends in this town yet, so that felt nice. He placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me in and shut the door behind me. His apartment wasn't clean, per se, but it was tidy. It was also lightly air-conditioned, and it felt like a less humid version of my 7 AM running weather.

With an abrupt change of tone, from welcoming to excited, he said, "So! Let me show you what I've got!" and began to head off towards the other room. I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

In the spare bedroom were a pair of watercolor paintings, left to dry completely on a table, held down on the corners by heavy books. And everywhere else were stacks and stacks of supplies, papers, and of course, paintings, sketches, etchings, engravings, and a few clay models. It was a disaster area, but the work was really very good. Clearly it was something that he enjoyed, even if his main profession was separate.

After I viewed his works, which I was very much impressed with, he asked if I had had dinner yet. I replied that no, I hadn't, although I think he knew that I didn't really eat dinner so much as I had a small second lunch after our afternoon chats and a small before-bed vegetable/fruit affair around 10PM. It was almost 9PM by then and I had plenty of time before I had to go to bed, so I obliged him. He seemed happy to have someone over to cook for, as it seemed to be another of the arts he enjoyed so much. However, I think he hadn't made the recipe for more than one in a while, so it was a rather small amount of soup; he saw how it came out and apologized, but I only laughed and reminded him that I had had a little something before I came anyway (which wasn't true, since I had had to shower and change and do a bit more on my research before I went over), and that I had food at home. He poured me up a little soup, then gave me a small glass of the last of his cheap wine. We had a good time for about an hour, but when I stood up, the room started to spin. I felt empty...again, I hadn't eaten my second lunch and then had had only a small portion of soup for 'dinner'. I stumbled and caught myself on the counter. I told him that I was feeling like I was having a low blood sugar episode, and that I should get some fruit in me before I went home. He searched through his cupboards for something sugary, but apparently his usual grocery hour was that night, like right then, and he didn't have hardly anything. He was even out of Coke! I told him flat-out: I just need sugar, anything with sugar will do. He poured me a tall glass of a new bottle of deep red wine, and I drank it. I knew it would mess with my head, but I was having a bad time of it and I trusted him.

"Can I walk you home?" he asked a few minutes later. I had my head in my hands. I was so dizzy. I nodded yes. We left his apartment, my arm around his neck and his hand firmly along the curve of my waist, right on the bare skin. He probably didn't have too much trouble carrying me like that: he may have been older, but he wasn't weak, and I weigh only 105 pounds. We got to my door, 1251, and he helped me inside quietly.

It was a studio, so the bedroom and living room were the same thing. He brought me in, closed the door, and laid me down gently on my back on the bed. I didn't move. He tucked his arm under my smooth, thin legs and scooped me up so I was fully on the bed. All the lights except the one above the stove in the other room were still off. The sugar had hit my system, so I had stopped shaking, but I was feeling marvelously drunk and stupid. I had had a full glass of wine, right up to the brim, on a basically empty stomach. Of course I felt weird. I didn't usually drink anyway and I'm a rather petite girl, and those only compound the problem.

The way I was laying, my eyes were staring up at the dark ceiling and my arms were by my side. I hadn't the energy to keep my stomach strong against gravity; I was still dumbly wondering when it would get its workout over the toilet. Barry was just standing there. Stupid, drunken me thought it would be cute to have someone take care of me, dress me for bed and wait while I fell asleep safe. I told Barry, not moving anything but my lips: "hand me pj". He held up a piece of cloth on the floor. My nightgown. He held it over my face so I could see. I smiled, "yesh..."

I guess he got my hint that I wanted to be treated like a little girl one more time. He put the nightgown down and lifted each of my arms carefully over my head. My flesh-colored bra had to be visible now; my crop top had ridden high, probably above my breastline. My ribs were sticking out sharply, without a doubt. I had always been a light eater, and coupled with my running, I was thinner than most people I saw walking around. He began to pull up on the edges of my top. I didn't help him. He got it over my head, then seemed to have trouble getting my hands out from it; it was all bunched up. I didn't know what the struggle was, but I was so dizzy and out of it that I just let it happen.

I think I blanked out for a moment after that, because the next thing I knew, I could feel something soft snaking its way around my ankles. I was going to help Barry do whatever he was doing, so I tried to move my arms...and felt them stuck. I suddenly realized, even through molasses-like thoughts: he'd tied me to my headboard with my own top! I tried to kick my feet, but they were tied down too, by my nightgown. I started to freak out, breathing harder. He took off one of my socks off and stuffed it in my mouth, so that all of my hyperventilation was happening through my nose.

I was struggling though. In a soft voice, Barry urged me to be a good girl as he shut the windows and the porch door, then bolted the front door. I started to groan a little, and he was over me in an instant, left hand plugging my nose, right pushing down on my already concave belly. As I writhed to get free and reclaim some oxygen, he began to rub my body up and down with his hand, feeling my soft curves and the run of my ribcage all the way down to my sharp hipbones and the curves of the sides of my ass. He fondled my breasts, squeezing the nipples tightly. I wanted to make a noise, but there was no air left in my lungs. I started to tremble. I didn't know what was happening. My vision started to get foggy. He must have seen my brown eyes begin to roll back in my head because he let go of my nostrils a little bit, just enough for one gasping breath, before he slammed his right hand onto my throat and cut it off halfway. It went like this for what felt like forever: I'd get right to the verge of passing out, he'd let me have a breath, and then he'd interrupt it. He even took the sock from my mouth to keep playing this game for longer and to listen to the gasping sounds I made every 30 seconds when he'd let me have some air. My brain was melting, my lungs were screaming...I had to pass out, I had to just let him do whatever he wanted to with my petite body. He switched to his left hand on my throat at some point, and his right wandered down, pressing against my diaphragm, pressing his fist right into the center of my tiny stomach. I couldn't care. I didn't feel like I had the brain cells left to care. His hand followed the bridge of my hips and slipped under the gap they made with my shorts, down to my shape-fitting briefs. He began to rub my clitoris back and forth while keeping my breathing cycle for me. Between the manual stimulation and the erratic breathing cycle, eventually it was just too much. My soft brown eyes fluttered and everything went black.

But when I woke up, it wasn't over yet. Barry was still standing over me, left hand around my throat though not squeezing, right hand dancing over my clit underneath my shorts. I don't know if it was just from the lack of oxygen in my brain but his hand felt so good...and I had to have more. I knew I shouldn't encourage it, but I truly believe that I hadn't really recovered yet from all that choking and that it was purely my animal brain working. I needed more of that pleasure.

"Barry," I whispered. Realizing I was awake, he began to squeeze my throat again and rub me harder and faster. I let out a ragged gasp and closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation between my legs. He chose to let me stay conscious for a while, probably mesmerized by the look on my face. When he backed off my throat for a second I took the opportunity to take a huge gulp of air and say shakily, "Fingerssss, fingersfingers, pleaseee."

He obliged, slipping at least two fingers into me and doing things with them that I have never felt before. My stomach tightened, pulling me upwards against my restraints, and my jaw opened wide. He didn't even have to choke me for me to see stars this time. I couldn't cry out it felt so good, I could only let out little open-mouthed whimpers. I did my best to buck my hips into it to get his fingers deeper. I felt like a wild animal. Finally he pinned me down to the bed by my throat again, taking away most of my air for maybe fifteen seconds. With all of the exercise I was getting I needed that air and felt it harder and harder to buck my hips into him. Then all at once he released his hold on my neck completely, drove his fingers into me hard, and let me squirt all over his hands, my briefs, and my shorts. My whole body tensed up with the rush of blood back to my head, and I just held myself there, body bent upwards as much as it could be against the restraints. It was the single best orgasm I had ever experienced.

When I could get control of myself again I used my concentration to relax my abs and let myself lie again on the bed. My chest was heaving and I was so tired. After all, I still hadn't really eaten and it was late, though I have no idea how late.

My eyes were closed and I was just about to doze off when Barry spoke softly. I didn't open my eyes. "Alright darling, here's the deal. Open your eyes so I can make sure you understand. First off, I did nothing that would leave a trace, so if you accuse me of anything, there's very little proof. Second, I have a handful of pictures now of you in compromising attitudes. I can do a lot more with these than you think, so again, it's in your best interest not to tell anyone what happened tonight. I am going to take your cell phone for the night--it's easy to say you left it at my place--and I'm going to take your house keys too so that I can lock you in here. I will untie you though. The best thing for you to do while I do that is to stay still and go to sleep. Can you handle that?"

"Yes Barry," I whispered. He untied my legs first, but I was too tired to do anything but leave them motionless. Then he reached up and undid my arms. I just let them lie above my head too. I was so tired. He began to walk away, then thought better of it, and I could feel him move my arms closer to my body and put a pillow under my head. Then he left, presumably, but I was already asleep by the time the door closed.

I woke up sticky with sweat and my own juices. With the windows closed through the night the temperature in my apartment had climbed to nearly 90 degrees. I remembered what had happened last night and sat up, way too quickly...I looked at the clock after my dizzy spell had passed and realized that it had been 22 hours since my last real meal. I buttoned my jean shorts as quickly as I could, and holding on to the end table I made my way into the kitchen and ate a banana. I think my stomach was so empty by then that it had shrunk. That's the only reason I can think for that banana to have been enough food. I had a scoop of peanut butter too, for good measure.

I hopped in the shower to cool off and clean up after breakfast. There in the water I found myself reminiscing about the feelings Barry gave me...and then all of a sudden my face was pressed against the shower wall and I had as many fingers jammed into myself as I could. I masturbated like a teenage boy in there: complete abandon, and the only thing between me and the ultimate pleasure was that I didn't have fifteen fingers to cram into myself and I couldn't physically move them fast enough. I finally got on my hands and knees, laid my face in the soap dish so I wouldn't drown, and just went for it. It wasn't nearly as good as it had been the previous night, but wow was it an amazing orgasm. I just kneeled there for a good three minutes afterwards, blinking and panting and trying to recollect myself.

When I finally got my brain back I got out of the shower, put on my GymShark sports bra and Nike Pro spandex shorts, opened the windows to let the stagnant air out, and tried to concentrate on my research. By 2 PM my mind had gotten into a frazzled haze. I tried to do some yoga, but without my phone I didn't have my morning routine and I was too out of it to try to force myself to remember much. I thought about going for a run, but I knew I didn't have the calories on board to do that safely. I'd probably collapse in the road somewhere. I wasn't sleepy, and the room was uncomfortably hot anyway, so that wasn't going to be the solution. Putting on my bikini and tanning was an option though.

I brought all of my usual stuff outside and tried to relax in the sun. Maybe half an hour later I gave up on reading because my mind was completely blank. I had read the same paragraph three or four times and I still didn't know what it said. I was thinking about Barry a lot of the time. Would he come by with a Coke? How would I act if he did? At last I decided that if I was going to see him, it was going to be on my own terms. Plus I needed my phone back eventually.