*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
*.*
Venice Apartments had a sign out front, with the name 'Venice Apartments' in black against a background of the Italian flag of green, white, and red. Encircling the name was the silhouette of a gondola and gondolier.
The complex was comprised of four separate buildings arranged in a square. Each building faced inward, faced the pool and small courtyard. The first building, the northeast building was three floors, with five apartments on each floor. Apartments 101, 105, 201, 205, 301 and 305 were two bedroom units. The three units in between each two bedroom unit were one bedroom units. The southeastern building had apartments 106 and 107 on the ground floor, each a two bedroom unit. The second and third floors had four single room efficiencies on each. The southwestern building was a duplicate of the northeastern building, each floor with a two bedroom unit on the corners, separated by three one bedroom units. And the northwestern building was a duplicate of the southeastern building, a ground floor of two units, each with two bedrooms, then eight one room efficiencies atop. Behind the northwestern building was a large laundry room and an exercise room.
Across the parking lot in front of the northeastern building was the rental office. And on top of the rental office was the apartment building's clubhouse. Each tenant had the right to reserve the clubhouse for parties, but they must notify the apartment manager of the desired time that they planned to use the clubhouse.
Often, the manager, a heavy-set African-American woman found an excuse to invite herself to whatever function was being held in the clubhouse. More than one tenant soon discovered that it would be wise to hide the good liquor and food until the manager stumbled out of the clubhouse, drunk and happy.
#103
Maureen Eastman stepped out of apartment 103, checked that she had her key and closed the door. She sauntered to the small gate that stood very nearly directly in front of her apartment door and punched her code into the keypad. With a soft 'ding' the gate unlocked and she pushed it inward.
There were two young men already in the pool, obviously friends. The two splashed about, swam, traded insults with one another, then swam some more.
Both young men looked over when they heard the gate chime. Then they looked at each other and one of them actually giggled.
Maureen paid them no attention as she put towel and cloth bag onto a chaise lounge. She then stepped to the deep edge of the pool and dove in.
Vigorously, she swam ten laps of the pool's length. Then she swam five laps at a slower pace. Her heart hammered in her chest as she then did a five lap repetition of a backstroke.
The fifty three year old woman knew she was large. She had passed 'big boned' nearly fifty pounds earlier, now tilting the scales at two fourteen. When she had weighed one eighty nine, much of that weight had been in her breasts and buttocks and heavy thighs. But after her husband had unceremoniously dumped her for his twenty nine year old secretary, Maureen had packed on another twenty five pounds of self-pity. That self-pity weight had settled in her belly and her hips.
Maureen was sure she would pass out, possibly even have a heart attack, but kept pushing herself to complete one last set of breast strokes. Then, flinging her blonde hair back, she climbed out of the pool. Gasping for breath, she flopped onto the chaise lounge and lay, facing the afternoon sun. The pool's water had been cool, almost cold when she'd dove in. Now, afternoon sun beating down on her, she felt quite warm.
She now heard the two young men whispering and giggling to one another. Still, she paid them no mind. She'd not worn her red bikini to get their attention. She'd not pushed herself to swim that vigorously to earn their praise.
She would be going to the complex's exercise room after a few moments, not to garner their praise, but to try to shed these unwanted pounds. She would get on the slightly broken stationary bike and put in ten miles to firm up. She would then use the ten pound dumbbells to try to firm up her triceps, to rid her arms of the flab she could feel forming at the backs of her arms.
Nearly dry, Maureen groaned slightly and sat up. She then rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pair of shorts. She clearly heard the dark haired boy say the word 'bikini' and heard the blond headed boy giggle again.
"Yeah, I was pretty surprised they had a bikini in my size too," Maureen said, now regarding both young men as they dog-paddled in the middle of the pool.
"I uh..." the dark haired boy said, clearly embarrassed.
"Just thank God it's not a thong, huh?" Maureen smirked at the young man's discomfort.
"I uh, sorry, ma'am," the blond haired boy said, face flushed.
"Haven't seen y'all around before; what apartment do you live in?" Maureen asked, pulling the shorts up her flabby legs.
"I uh, we're in two oh nine," the blond boy said, pointing toward the second floor efficiencies.
"Two of y'all? In one of those efficiencies?" Maureen asked, now wearing a knowing smirk.
She again checked that she still had her apartment key, then strolled out of the gated courtyard. From the pool, she went into the exercise room.
Forty minutes later, Maureen made her way to her apartment. Her blonde and silver hair was wet with sweat and her thighs and underarms felt chafed from rubbing together. The two young men were now out of the pool, drying themselves off.
"Hey, uh, lady," the blond boy called out as Maureen was unlocking her door.
"Yes?" Maureen gasped as both young men exited the pool area.
"Listen, I, we're sorry. That was very rude and insensitive of us, talking about you like that," the blond boy said.
"Yeah," his friend agreed as they now stood in front of her.
The blond was around five feet, seven or eight inches and had a slim build. He wore a pair of black swim trunks that showed off his body very well. His face was a round face, with deep brown eyes, a slightly large nose and slightly crooked smile.
His friend had dark brown hair, worn long, even as it was noticeably beginning to recede. He had a chubby body and stood a few inches shorter than his friend.
"Apology accepted," Maureen said graciously.
"I, I'm Ryan Welton," the blond said, holding out his hand.
"Maureen Eastman," Maureen said, giving the young man a firm handshake.
"Tommy," the dark haired boy said, giving no last name.
Nor did he extend his hand. Ryan noticed this and glared at his friend.
"Well, Ryan, Tommy, have a good evening," Maureen said and let herself into her cool, dark living room.
She dropped her bag next to her leather recliner, made sure her apartment door was securely locked, then staggered to her bedroom.
Entering her dark bedroom, Maureen wobbled to the bathroom. Directly in front of her were the closets, and the doors of the closets were made of mirrored plexi-glass. Even in the dim lighting, Maureen could not help but wince at the sight of her bloated, flabby body.
"Uh huh, but the girls are still looking good, huh?" Maureen asked herself, cupping and lifting the bikini covered breasts.
She did have a pretty face. Everyone had always said she had a pretty face. But years of over-indulging her passion for rich food had taken its toll on her body. She turned from her closet mirror.
Inside of her bathroom, Maureen closed and locked the bathroom door. It was an old habit from her years of marriage. Anthony Eastman had no sense of privacy, of boundaries. He saw nothing wrong with barging in while Maureen was using the facilities, even when there were two other bathrooms in the house.
Securely inside the locked bathroom, Maureen undid the back strap for her bikini and let the top flutter to her midsection before catching it. The small mirror over the sink showed Maureen that the girls were indeed looking good. Each was a large pale white globe capped with a dark pink areolae roughly the size of a silver dollar. The nipple was a fat thimble sized point.
Wiggling out of shorts and bikini bottom, Maureen stepped into the shower and turned it to a scalding temperature. The apartment manager's boyfriend, a short Latin man had claimed that the twenty five gallon hot water heater was turned up to full capacity. Maureen had smirked, staring intently at his bland face. But he stuck to his claim; the hot water heater was at its hottest setting. A crescent wrench and a flat head screwdriver had pushed the small unit beyond slightly above lukewarm to a more suitable setting.
Maureen lathered her long hair, then scrubbed her chubby body. Passing the washrag over her hairless mound, she did pause long enough to slip a few fingers inside of her pussy.
Twenty five gallons of water was used up in short time and Maureen determined to finish her masturbation in her bed, rather than in the shower.
