Faulty Logic

William "Bill" Barnes would be the first to admit he wasn't smart but his looks and personality more than made up for the lack. He had dark brown hair and light blue eyes; was six foot one and athletically lean. He'd been in the track team all through high school and college. At thirty-two, he kept in shape by jogging, playing in a standing basketball game with longtime buddies every Sunday, and the heavy lifting sometimes involved in his work.

Nine years ago, he inherited his grandfather's apartment. The only downside to living there, in his friends' opinion, would be the neighbors, almost all of whom were elderly. But since Bill had been close to his grandfather, hence the inheritance, Bill didn't mind his neighbors often stopping him for loud and lengthy chats and knocking on his door, asking for help with broken appliances and whatnot. As a sculptor, he was good with his hands anyway. Plus, the old ladies paid him in home-cooked meals, which was fortunate since he was so easily distracted that he was a hazard in the kitchen and so never learned to cook.

Ever since the day he moved into his apartment, he had never seen anyone under the age of twenty living there or come to visit. So when he saw the girl, it was understandably remarkable.

He'd just come in from a garbage dump run, his arms full of odds and ends he'd picked up for his latest project. He realized too late he should've put them in something to carry in, like the mostly empty bag he had on his back.

He headed for the building's only elevator, struggling to catch up to the closing doors. With the heavy and precariously balanced load, he knew he wasn't going to make it. But then he saw movement inside the lift and called out to hold the doors.

Too late, they closed all the way just as he reached them. He frowned at the call button, wondering if he could safely press it. He was a little worried that if he moved his hands, everything he was carrying would fall.

He was still processing the thought when the doors opened and it took a moment for his mind to shift gears. All the while, he stared blankly at the girl holding the doors open but not really seeing her. Then came the surprise at seeing someone that young in the building. He realized next that his staring was making her uneasy. Last to register in his brain was that she was waiting for him to get in.

He hurried inside and, forgetting his earlier worry, moved to reach for the button to his floor. One of the irregularly shaped blocks of wood fell to the floor but not before a sharp edge caught his knee. He hissed wordlessly and lengthily, as drawn out as the number of curses running through his mind since he couldn't say them out loud with a lady present.

When he calmed down, he saw that the girl was cowering in the corner. With the staring then the snake impersonation and probably looking and smelling like a garbage man, he had totally freaked her out.

Smiling sheepishly, he explained, "I'm kind of absentminded today." With a self-depreciating laugh and shake of his head, he added, "Actually, I'm absentminded everyday. And obviously clumsy too. The only time I'm not is when I'm working. I'm a sculptor by the way. That's what this is for." He glanced pointedly at the pile in his arms.

She didn't say anything or look any less tense; she just kept her head bowed. The silence stretched and it was his turn to be uncomfortable and feel stupid for blabbing when he'd only been trying to put her at ease.

He cleared his throat, about to ask her for help replacing the piece of wood on the floor but, faced with her indifference, thought better of it. Instead, he finished lamely, "Sorry I made you uncomfortable."

He shuffled towards to the floor buttons, kicking the block along. For every step he took, she took one in the opposite direction. She was clearly trying to get as far away from him as possible in the small space. He frowned at her overreaction as he elbowed the number five button, idly noticing the lit six.

During the rest of the ride up, slowed by the elevator's old gears, he often glanced at her reflection on the warped metal doors. She was probably at least a foot shorter than him. She had waist-length mousy brown hair with bangs, the thick mass hiding her face. She was clutching a thick book to her chest, her hands tucked in at the sides. Dressed in a baggy sweater and an ankle-length skirt, not a single patch of skin showed.

Not that he was checking her out, not with that appearance. But even if she was groomed and dressed better, he still wouldn't. She was much too young, probably no more than sixteen.

To his relief, the elevator finally reached the fifth floor. He got off, forgetting the cursed block of wood in his haste to escape the tense situation. Then, standing in front of his door, he sighed, wondering how to get it open.

Luckily, one of his next door neighbors, Mrs. Edwards, the biggest gossip in the building, came out of the apartment she shared with her husband. After he explained his problem, he asked, "If you're not in hurry, would you mind helping me transfer some of this stuff to my bag so one of my hands will be free?"

"Why don't I just get the key in your pocket and unlock the door for you?"

The idea of the sixty-something year old woman's hand and her long nails digging in his pocket just didn't sit comfortably with him. "Um, I'm not sure that'll be a good idea."

She arched a brow. "Really."

He nodded, thinking frantically of an excuse so as not to offend her. When had it, he grinned. "Mr. Edwards might come out, see you with your hand down my pants and think the wrong thing."

"Nice save, Billy." She cackled and slapped his arm, making him juggle to keep the pile from toppling over.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. E," he said with an innocent expression.

She snorted. "Sure you don't. Alright, alright, I'll help. Here, turn around." She moved behind him and unzipped his bag. "Say, have you met the new tenant in 6F?"

"6F? No, why? What happened to Rey?"

Rey had lived in the apartment directly above his, next to the stairwell like his and the other F-units. The day the guy moved in, Rey had given him his spare keys. When asked why, Rey said, "I don't trust the people on my floor with it."

"And you trust me?" Bill asked, beginning to doubt the other man's sanity. But Rey looked at him as if he was the crazy one.

"The people on my floor are old, man. Like, real old. They're home all the time. I bet they're so bored they'll snoop around my place if I'm not there. At least you look like someone who has a life. And, if anything goes missing, I won't feel bad calling the cops on you."

While he was thinking of how to politely reject his oh-so-irresistible offer, Rey was thanking him and making a quick retreat to the stairs. Bill had promptly forgotten where he dumped the set of spare keys. He was sure he still had it since Rey hadn't once asked for it. Most likely, Rey had forgotten about it as well. He made a mental note to look for it so he could give it to the new tenant, especially if he or she hasn't changed the locks.

Bill's hands were now mostly empty but Mrs. Edwards hadn't finished telling him about Rey's moving out. He patiently listened as she then proceeded to tell him all about the new tenant, a Ms. Abigail Miller. Abby, as Mrs. Edwards called her, was a sweet girl who was pitifully shy. Immediately, he thought of the girl in the elevator.

"I think I just saw her. Isn't she too young to live on her own?"

"She's eighteen, dear, and very responsible. She's well into her freshman year at the university. Apparently, dorm-life didn't work out so well for her. The way I heard it, her roommate was a total slut."

He laughed, surprised at the word "slut" coming from the old woman's mouth.

"What? That's what they said!" Mrs. Edwards grinned impishly. "Anyway, Abby came from an all-girls school so she's not used to having boys around. Her roommate's sexcapades" - at this he laughed again "- was distracting her so her parents allowed her to live on her own."

After that very informative conversation, Bill started to notice more of the little mouse, as he'd begun to think of her because of her hair and skittishness. She was always lugging books around and walked with her head down. Whenever they passed each other in the lot or the lobby, she went out of her way to give him a wide berth. Privy to her background and the way their first encounter went, he understood the reasons behind her actions but it irritated him all the same.

A few weeks after the first, he had another elevator encounter with little mouse. It was pretty much a repeat of the last time with the ride filled with tension and them standing on opposite corners. He hadn't come from the dump this time but she was acting like he had the plague. Every time he made the slightest move, she flinched, as if she expected him to hit her.

He didn't have much of a temper but her behavior was really getting to him. So the next time, he was unable to remain silent.

"Have I done something to offend you?" His speaking suddenly and the small space making his voice louder than it really was made her cringe and he pointed at her reaction. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Look, I know you don't know me but I'm a nice guy. Or at least I try to be. So I don't appreciate being thought of as an abuser or molester or whatever else you think of me that makes you flinch like that when I so much as twitch a finger. It's insulting."

"I-I'm s-sorry," she stuttered in a small voice.

Raising her head slightly, she peeked at him from beneath her bangs. Her big brown eyes were wide and her face red in embarrassment. She looked like she was about to cry. Forgetting for a moment that she was eighteen, he felt like an ass for blowing up at a kid.

"No," he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, an age-old stress-relieving habit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up at you."

"I... I d-didn't m-mean to i-insult you. I-it's j-just that -

"You're not used to men, I know," he finished for her. Seeing her tense, he smiled ruefully. "This place is a lot like high school and you, new kid, are front page news. Everybody knows by now what you told the one in charge of the school paper."

She frowned in confusion. "Who?"

"Mrs. Edwards."

"Oh. Oh no!" She clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She was probably thinking about the things she said about the slutty roommate.

Sparing her the humiliation, he dropped the subject and introduced himself. "I'm Bill Barnes, 5F, nine years resident."

"I'm Abigail Miller. I, um, I just moved in... two months ago."

He grinned, teasing, "I know."

A surprised giggle burst out of her. Again, she covered her mouth. A chime announced that they've reached the fifth floor.

Holding the door open, he told her, "It was nice meeting you, Abby. I'm sorry about the misunderstanding before."

She shook his proffered hand. The touch was light and brief but he unconsciously took note of her baby-soft hand. "No," she said. "I'm at fault too. It's just... I guess I have to start getting used to meeting new people."

After that, whenever they saw each other, he'd smile or gave a neighborly greeting. She would timidly return them, usually accompanied by a blush, before quickly walking away. It was kind of cute.

Before long, they were having short conversations about nothing. He'd ask about school. She'd ask about his art. Safe topics. They weren't friends exactly but at least they weren't strangers anymore. Still, she was shy, stuttered from nervousness and blushed constantly around him.

It was around then that Bill remembered about Rey's spare keys. After an extensive search, he found them in the far reaches of the junk drawer in his kitchen. Set in hand, he ascended the stairs to the sixth floor and knocked on her door. Half a minute later, he knocked again. When there was still no answer, he thought she might be in class or at the library. He'd heard those two were the only places she regularly went to.

He decided to try and see if the keys would work. He figured if they didn't, he'd just throw them away and need not bother her about it. He first tried the deadbolt then the knob and both easily unlocked. Luckily, no alarm sounded. After relocking her door, he went back down to his place.

That night, perhaps instigated by having nearly been inside her domain or the whole metaphorical key in her hole, he dreamt about her. His subconscious supplied images he hadn't actively thought of before.

In his dream, little mouse had pale skin due to always being covered up. Her breasts were small, a result of being pushed back by the books she clutched to her chest all the time. She had a full bush because she'd be too shy to touch herself. Her nipples were the same color as her eyes and hair. And speaking of her eyes, she was wearing big geeky glasses, which a part of him found weird while the rest of him thought it made perfect sense since she read a lot.

Kneeling on the carpet, the same one he caught a glimpse of in her apartment, little mouse said, "Please, Mr. Barnes. Teach me to touch." She flicked her eyes down and finished, "Your penis."

"Jesus!" he whispered in the dream and echoed it in reality as he abruptly woke up.

He was sweating, his breathing labored and his cock a touch away from bursting. He glared at his tented boxers then dropped his head back down on the pillow with a gusty exhale. A second later, he was out of bed. He didn't want to go back to sleep and tempt a continuation of the dream.

He went on a jog to clear his mind. It was a good thing it was so early that he was able to avoid the few joggers already in the park. It would've been awkward with his hard-on otherwise.

His pants were back to normal and he had mostly forgotten the dream when he returned to the apartment building. He was about to go in the elevator just as somebody walked out and they collided. He steadied the other person with his hands on narrow shoulders.

Seeing who he was holding, scenes from the dream flashing behind his eyes, he quickly let go. They exchanged hasty apologies and, without their usual friendly banter, went their separate ways. Little mouse seemed to be in a hurry and he wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. Alone in the elevator, he adjusted himself and thought it might be a good idea to avoid the elevator for a while.

To his relief, work and the date he'd arranged that night succeeded in occupying his mind and obliterating the uncomfortably lewd images from it. Two nights later, however, he had another dream. Then another. And another.

In all of them, she was naked. In one, her hair was in pigtails and she had a sucker in her mouth. In another, she was crying and struggling to free herself from forced bindings. In the next, she was tied up again but enjoying it.

The initial dream he could somewhat explain away. These later ones he couldn't. First, he had never been and never will be a pedophile so he didn't get the little girl playact. Second, the thought of committing rape had never crossed his mind. The last and most important point was that although he was no prude and had enjoyed rough play and bondage, he didn't want to use those techniques on little mouse. He wasn't even remotely attracted to her!

Not that little mouse was ugly, although she wasn't beautiful either. She was, well, mousy. She was only eighteen and, anyone could tell, totally inexperienced. Not his type at all. His tastes ran more to women around his age who knew the score. And more often than not, they had full lips a touch too wide, just enough to take his cock with its average length of six inches but more than average girth. Little mouse's lips were full, sure, but narrow. And anyway, what did the size of her lips matter? It doesn't, he told himself with a sharp shake of his head.

For the next few weeks, almost every night, the dreams came. Then it wasn't just dreams anymore. Naked little mouse started appeared in his waking thoughts, often in the most inappropriate moments. If the problem wasn't so embarrassing, he'd have gone to see a shrink. He could just imagine himself saying, "I keep having wet dreams and a boner that won't go away." Yeah, not gonna happen.

Then one day, rationalizing his dreams didn't seem that important anymore. A large part of that insight was caused by what happened the last time he'd gone out with a woman. He had no trouble getting hard when he was involuntarily thinking of little mouse but there was this hot naked woman right in front of him and he couldn't fucking get it up! His body was rebelling! It wanted little mouse and nobody else.

He supposed he could've asked out little mouse on a date but she was the type to expect more than a night or two of sex and commitment was just something he didn't do. All the same, he should've done something any other person with a brain would do instead of what he did next.

Since it was summer and to save on electricity, he was comfortably dressed in only his boxers. Aided by all the beer he'd downed and since he was only making finishing touches on a sculpture, his mind wasn't fully immersed in the work. And like any other time lately when his guard was down, he was thinking of her.

He was recalling the days when they first met. He could see it differently now, months afterwards. He thought of the way she acted every time he was near, as if she expected to be manhandled. Was it because she was abused in the past? Or was it because she had fantasies of being taken by force? He thought of the mummifying clothes that all but begged to be torn off to reveal what was underneath. Lastly, he recalled her peeking at him from lowered eyes and her blushing cheeks. If it was any other woman, he would think she was being sly.

He sat up at the thought, grabbing the worktable to steady himself when he swayed. What if she was? What if she wasn't really shy but, like he'd assumed, being deliberately coy? What if all this time she'd been trying to seduce him? There's one way to find out, his little brain whispered as his cock twitched in his shorts.

He'd make sure she enjoys it, he promised himself. If she didn't like it the first time and she likely won't because of the whole virgin thing, there's always the second, third and so on until his body or hers gave out. He reminded himself to take Viagra just to be sure it wouldn't be his.

He'd wear her resistance down and make her enjoy it so much she begged for it. Hell, with the way she'd been acting, she practically was already begging for it. And if she does ask for it, then it wouldn't be rape, his alcohol-addled brain reasoned.

Decided now, he grabbed the spare keys to Apartment 6F. All this time, he'd been avoiding her so he never did get to return them. He hesitated at his front door. Not because of an attack of conscience but because he remembered seeing a security chain on her door. He turned back for the bolt cutters.

Again, he hesitated at the door as he thought she might struggle and turned back for rope. He went back and forth a total of six times and in the end, he had a backpack of supplies and he'd remembered to put on clothes. Finally exiting his front door, he was feeling a little proud of himself for planning ahead. After all, he didn't want his old neighbors getting a heart attack if they saw him in his boxers.

Actually, there was really only a very slim chance to be seen. It was past midnight and most of Bill's neighbors were already in bed despite it being a Friday night. Like Rey once said, most of the residents were old. Like, real old. As for little mouse, Bill knew she would definitely be home since she wasn't a party girl by any stretch.

Still, afraid to be caught, Bill surreptitiously made his way to the floor above and the apartment closest to the stairwell. He tiptoed and peeked around corners, hardly breathing in case his breath was too loud. Anyone looking would think him acting suspicious but he didn't know that; he only thought he was being very careful.