Morning after morning I watch him from my balcony. He has been living across from me for almost three years now, and each morning him and I played the same routine. We wander aimlessly around our homes as we share two very different cups of coffee. Mine a home style blend brewed from a glass pot; his a fancy espresso brewed from what could have its own residency at 'Starbucks'. When my busy feet still upon my cozy balcony chair, we toast to our completed cups and he goes about his day.
I've never actually could tell if he's ever attempted flirting with me or if he was giving me the casual "Hey neighbor" facade, since he is constantly busy and usually in and out of his apartment before I can get into the shower for the day. Our neighborly passes include small exchanges in the mail center or as he is jogging, head phones blaring, out the building passed me as I return home from work at least 3 to 4 days out of the week. So besides our morning brew together and our casual, head nods and smiles we never actually divulge into full shared conversation.
What I have noticed over the years about 103 besides how nicely and perfectly chiseled of a man he is, he hardly ever turns his curtains closed and he likes to walk around shirtless. A lot. He is more of the spending 40% on his appearance and the other 60% coming naturally, type of man. from what I can tell, 103, lives alone and as of recently as do I. He is tall and athletic and from his expensive taste in coffee proceeds, he's a lover of fine things. He has the cutest head of brown and gold curls which usually he just messes with in the mirror on his way out the door, mostly as they appear to have a mind of their own every time I see them over the years. He is college educated, well spoken, nicely tanned, dressed very nicely, brownish hazel eyes depending on the time of day; and a smile that shows imagery of perfection. He has a script on his right arm and a dragon his left shoulder. One thing is for sure though he had a handful of friends and a plethora of women.
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When he does head back inside to prepare for his work day, my mind begins to wonder a bit. I wonder how lonely he must be in those twenty-two minute showers he takes. "Aah to be the hot water dripping down that sun-kissed skin of his, Swirling down the tattoo on his back and slipping down the crack of his firm muscular ass." I wonder what I would be like to be pinned up against the tile of his shower preaching in ecstasy as I come to a release. I wonder what it would feel like to taste his flesh flushed against my smooth caramel skin. I wonder what it would feel like to have him rip the buttons off my blouses and hear them dance across the floor. His face planted in my breast kissing uncontrollably up and down my neck. As I would have left traces of my nails down his sculpted back. I wonder about how it would be. My mouth watered at the thought of bite marks imprinted on his body for him to see days after we've finished. To engulf his penis in, quick, fast, and in a hurry. I want to be rampaged by him; all to be left gripping the sheets screaming. A part of me even wonders if he's even tasted sweet delicious caramel or even if he likes 31 flavors. Or is he a soul with the strict connection to vanilla? I wonder what it would be like to be one of those women he leaves giddy and clumsy. Just as my mind shifts back to reality 103 appears onto his balcony again and signals to me like, clock work, he says,
"Hey Neighbor!" With a smile and he wanders back inside and we go our separate ways.
Many of nights I've spent alone, I couldn't help to notice he never really was. I've seen the women that he parades throughout his flat. It was like a revolving door of bombshell babes. Mostly blonde, a spice of ginger here and there, all with ivory skin, beautiful and busty. The story was always the same; After a night of dinner perhaps, he invites the nightly bombshell back to his place for a nightcap. She probably played hard to get and swears she's never done anything like that before, when secretly she is more than thrilled to have her palate quenched.
The thirstiness pours through her skin as she is all to eager to jump his bones. Starting the rendezvous probably in the car ride home and into the foyer of the building. She's probably planting butterfly kisses on his chin and tugging at his earlobes as he fishes for his keys out of his pocket. Once inside it begins, the tearing off of one another's clothes at the entryway leaving a trail of breadcrumbs on the floor that lead to probably a stalk white wall to wall room with just an overly soft king size bed smacked dab in the center. The game of cat and mouse, she plays with him as she pretends to run away from him. The drunken stammer of existence in the moment just to seem a little bit more sexy. All of this before the two of them disappear into the darkness.
Not to reappear again until the next morning, where nameless number whatever is leaving with a 'Chuck-E-Cheese' style grin, slightly smudged make-up, and just fucked hair. 103 ever so politely escorts her to the door shirtless in his 'Calvin Klein' pajama pants, leaving the sincerest of kisses upon her forehead as she leaves with the promise that he will be calling her tomorrow. Its been like this for three years, across the courtyard from a man who literally has woman eating out of the palm of his hand. The man who I have never seen with the same woman twice. Inadvertently during all of those many wild nights, I have seen through my curtains more then I'd prefer as I am usually sitting at home most Saturday night watching "The Wonder Year's reruns in my sweatpants with my best companion 'Stella Rosa Black' wishing I was ever so lucky.
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There is a moment all women go through. That moment when women go just a little too long without sex. It's around this particular time when hormones overthrow the rationality of the brain and the only thoughts that are left are about rock hard penises slapping into every available hole in the female anatomy. A vital moment when even the 70 year old newscaster's voice drenching your panties wet. For even in that moment you briefly consider calling your cheating ex just to bust a nut.
I was definitely having one of those nights. I even picked up the phone at least three times considering calling that piece of shit ex of my own just so I didn't have to play with the little man in the boat alone.
*A brisk jog it is!* Good choice.
I filled up a bottle of water and laced up my sneaks and prepared to runaway the horny. All set and ready to go I hear a *tap *tap *tap at my door. It could be one of two people at this time of night the old lady with the thirteen cats that lives across the hall . Who seems to always misplace her remote control every Friday night and manages to only ask me to help her look for it. As always I come to her aide and walk over there to help her find it in her robe yet again. Or my mother, wondering why I haven't been home to visit, and telling me how conveniently she was just in the neighborhood and thought she should stop by. Always to phrase "Oh, I hope I am not interrupting anything." Just to obviously check if I am dating anyone again.
With an eye roll and a deep sigh, I turned off the faucet and paced towards the door and pretended polity to ask,
"Who is it..." while mumbling under my breath "this fucking time?"
By a force of a higher power I couldn't even believe who was on the other side of that door, to my surprise it was him. Words escaped my brain so freely and abandoned me for its own survival. All I could do was stare at him and had to remind myself to breathe. '
