Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Quiet. (c) copyright 2003 Trash Diva
I’ve lived in this apartment for a couple of years. I see my neighbors come and go, but I don’t have much to say to them. I guess most apartment dwellers are like that.
It’s an older building, no elevator, but I have a nice view of the picturesque street, so the walk up is okay.
I don’t talk to people much. It’s probably why I don’t have more boyfriends. Most days I’d rather read a good book than have to deal with another person. My last boyfriend, Max, was always around, and it made me a little crazy. Even when he was leaving me to my books, he made so much noise that I couldn’t concentrate and I couldn’t escape. Right in the middle of a good sword fight, or a great seduction scene, there’d be a yell as his team scored a goal, or curses for an unfavorable call.
That relationship ended badly. I ended up throwing him out after he invited three friends to my house to watch the Superbowl. I spent the entire time hiding in my room. It was hellish. When the game was over, I asked him to take all his stuff with him.
“I just can’t take it, Max. You’re just too much. Sometimes you are fun, but most of the time, you’re just too loud, too intrusive. You make me uncomfortable.”
“You seem to like me sometimes.”
“Less and less, Max. Let’s just end it before it gets really stupid, okay?”
“You seem to like me in bed,” he said, trying to be the slightest bit suggestive. It was the last straw.
“In bed? When’s the last time we were in bed together, Max? How about right around the start of the football season?”
“Well, I’d be happy to…”
“But I wouldn’t. Go, Max, go now.”
He grabbed his things, including his stupid giant TV, and left me. I cried for a half hour, but felt far better than I had in months.
But this left me with a void. I may prefer to be alone a lot, but a girl likes a companion, at least some of the time.
Then a new neighbor moved in. My apartment is at the end of a hallway. It’s pretty big. I make good money as a corporate librarian, so I can afford a pretty nice place. More room for books.
Anyway, the apartment next to mine faces ninety degrees away from mine. I can just see its door from my peephole. I watched him move in.
Maybe I’ve read too many spy novels, but the man has an odd collection of stuff. I saw very little furniture go in. A bed, a kitchen table, a couple of chairs. A couple of unmarked boxes. A couple of cases that made me think of guns. A laptop computer. That was it.
He himself was as spartan as his apartment must have been. Perhaps six feet tall, short dark hair, dark eyes. Dark slacks, and a blue windbreaker. A button down shirt in light blue. No jewelry, no watch. Mr. Average. But something about the way he carried himself was striking.
The first time I got a good look at him was a few days later. I was coming home from work. He was sitting on the front steps with his computer, dressed in shorts and a red t-shirt. No logos. As I walked up the street, he closed it and stood up, stretching.
When I turned to go up the steps, he smiled.
We both pulled our keys out at the same time. He smiled when he saw me note that.
I checked my mail, temporarily blocking the way up the stairs, but he waited patiently. He then followed me up the steps. If I hadn’t know he lived next to me, I’d have been a little creeped out.
The name on his mailbox was Jones. Just Jones. I found that sort of interesting. I may have been attributing more to him than was justified, but I get my fun where I can.
I looked at him as I struggled with my lock. He looked concerned for a second, but I got it, and he smiled, and went into his own apartment.
He looks pretty good in person, better than through a peephole. Strong but not over built. Graceful. I’d guess he was mid thirties.
I saw him any number of times after that. He was often on the steps of the building with his computer. The few times I saw the screen, it showed an editor of some kind. Perhaps he was a writer. Other times, it was a solitaire game, and once in a while, some sort of design program, I think for electronics.
One weekend I decided it was too nice to spend indoors, so I did what I usually do on those occasions, which is go down to the little cafe down the street and drink coffee and read. Except this time, I couldn’t stay there, because their kitchen caught on fire. I grabbed my paper cup of fine Costa Rican brew and went back home.
He was sitting on the steps. For whatever reason, I decided to sit down there too, and continue my reading.
I sat on the other side, leaving room for people to get up the stairs. It was wide enough that someone could move a refrigerator between us, and we wouldn’t even have to lean away.
After a half an hour, I decided that my coffee was too cold, and the steps too hard, so I got up. He closed his computer and followed me up the stairs.
As I fumbled with my door, he stood by, opening his. Mine was getting escort çankaya worse, I needed to call the superintendent about it. After a few minutes of struggle, I backed away in frustration.
He looked at me, and held his hands out for the keys. For some reason I didn’t hesitate to hand them over.
He inserted the key into the lock, felt around for a few seconds, and then opened it.
He smiled, and handed me my keys, touching my shoulder at the same time.
“Thank you,” I said.
He shrugged and went into his own apartment. I went inside.
Two days later, it happened again. To make things fun, this time I had an armful of groceries.
He must have heard me struggling, because he came out of his apartment and watched for a second. I looked at him, eyes pleading, and tossed him the keys.
He smiled, and repeated his performance. He put the keys back in my hand, and winked at me, holding onto my hand for just a second.
I smiled shyly. He touched my shoulder again, and left me to get my groceries in.
I found myself thinking about him a lot. Quiet, handsome, and adept.
And powerful, somehow. Not overpowering, just confident.
The next weekend was a fun one for me. I went out to see a movie. Dinner at my favorite cafe, reopened with a fresh coat of paint and a slightly burnt smell, their food was never the less as good as it ever was.
The movie itself was almost entertaining. It fell short due to bad acting, but not so bad that I felt compelled to leave.
It was late in the evening as I walked up my stairs. I got out my keys, determined to be through my door in no times, instead of having the usual struggle.
I guess there’s a reason I am a librarian, and not a mechanical engineer. Once more defeated, I pounded my door in frustration.
Suddenly his door opened. He stood there in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and gave me a wry smile as he glanced at my keys. I offered them to him.
He took them, and inserted the right one into the lock, and then turned and took my hand, placing it on the key. He then put his hand on mine, and showed me what his magic was. He turned the key slightly in the direction that would open it, and pulled out slightly, then turned the rest of the way. Suddenly it opened.
As happy as I was to learn the secret, I was happier to have him holding my hand, and standing so close. I turned around to thank him. Before I could speak, he took me into his arms, and kissed me!
At first I resisted, out of surprise, but I quickly melted. His gentleness and presence warmed me. He kissed me for several seconds before letting me go. He looked at me, to see my reaction. I looked away shyly, not knowing what to think, though I felt a smile creep onto my face, despite my confusion.
He pushed me gently into my apartment, and closed me in. I listened to him go into his own apartment.
What an odd moment. The kiss was a good one, on my scale. I would have loved another one. The fact that it came from someone who had never spoken to me was strange. I wasn’t threatened by it, though some part of me sort of wanted to be.
I didn’t see him for a week. I found myself looking for him.
Our next encounter was much more intimate, but just as odd.
He was sitting on the steps again, this time without a computer. He was just watching the street and enjoying the day. I sat near to him. I’m not sure what made me do it. But it felt okay, as well as dangerous.
Eventually, I got cold, so I got up. He did as well. He followed me up the steps. I got to my apartment door, and inserted the key. I looked at him as I felt for the right place to turn it, and opened the lock, giving him a look of triumph.
He pulled me into his arms again, and this time looked me in the eyes, smiling, and quite deliberately ran his hands over my derriere. When I didn’t protest, he kissed me and stroked my back and rear.
After a few minutes of this, I was panting. My mind swirled. All I knew about him was his last name, Jones, which I had gotten from his mailbox. Yet I was letting him fondle me in the hallway.
He pushed open my door, and pushed me inside. This time he followed.
I led him in, turning around when we were in the living room.
He pulled me into a kiss again. His hands moved gently over my body. I was getting hotter and hotter.
He suddenly pulled away and stood behind me. He cupped my breasts, tracing my already hard nipples. Then he started to unbutton my shirt. I was unsure what to do, so I let him. He moved surely, as if I had given assent to his actions, whatever they were.
He removed my shirt and laid it carefully over the back of a chair. He then removed my bra, tossing it onto the couch. He stood behind me again, and caressed my breasts, and nibbled my neck.
His hands moved down my belly, and opened my belt. Was I ready to have this happen? I shifted, but he held me in place, unbuttoning my pants and unzipping my fly.
That fleeting sense of danger came back, and I stood otele gelen escort still. He pulled down my pants and panties at the same time. I stepped out of them, at the same time trying to vocalize a protest.
As he stood up, he ran a hand up the front of my legs, grazing the cleft between them. I started to say “I don’t think…” as the sensation hit me. He wrapped himself around me again, teasing my legs open with one hand, as he caressed me with the other.
He stroked me for several minutes. I grew wetter by the second. He pulled his hands up my body, cupped my breasts again, and spoke to me for the first time.
“Don’t move,” he said.
It was an order, though a quiet one. It held the smallest amount of threat, but otherwise was just an instruction. His hands left me, and I listened to him disrobe.
A minute later later, his hands returned, and he pressed himself into me. I could feel his erection along the valley of my derriere, a feeling which gave me a thrill. His arms wrapped around me, and caressed me, his hands finding my mound again, as well as my breasts.
He pushed me forward, to the back of the couch, and bent me over it. I heard a package tearing, and then one hand touched my back. The tip of his penis found its way between my labia, and pressed forward slowly. I gasped at the feeling. He slowed a bit, and stroked my back and rear. Then he pressed in farther, eventually burying himself inside me.
The feeling was divine. I was slightly disturbed at how turned on I was, considering that this man was still a stranger to me.
He began to stroke in and out, moving slowly at first, and then faster. I felt his hand leave my back, and a few seconds later find it’s way to my anus. It was slippery, I presume from saliva. He pushed it in, which increased my ardor. Soon I was gasping on every stroke, my insides starting to writhe.
I felt him come. He hesitated for a few seconds, trying to regain control, and then continued stroking. He pressed his finger farther into my anus, and his other hand reaching around to stroke my breasts, and then swirl around my clitoris.
This sent me over the edge. I moaned loudly, and bucked, impaling myself deeply onto him. He kept stroking my clitoris until I stopped him.
After a few seconds he pulled out, and let me up. He hugged me, and kissed me again. I wanted to say something, but my mind was spinning.
After a few minutes he dressed, throwing the used condom into my toilet, and kissing me one last time he left my apartment and went into his.
I couldn’t believe it. Two hours later, it seemed like an odd dream, and the next morning, it was even more dream like, until I noticed the condom wrapper on the table next to my couch.
It came back to me then full force. A man I barely know made love to me, and the only thing he said the entire time was “don’t move.”
I didn’t know what to think. Part of me wanted to be outraged, part of me loved it.
It made me hot and bothered.
I was distracted for a day, but then work intruded, and I got back on track, the incident moving to the back of my mind.
I wondered a few times if it would happen again. Perhaps it was one of those one time things. His movements and actions weren’t normal. I fantasized that he might be some sort of underworld type, a hit-man perhaps, and had picked me for his last moments of pleasure before an assignment that might get him killed.
Perhaps it was the case. If so, he was successful, because two days later, there was a knock at my door. I looked through the peephole, and he was there. Eerily, he was looking right at me. Not looking in with one eye as if trying to see in, just focused on the peephole, as if he knew I would be looking.
I opened the door. For some reason, I just looked at him, without saying anything.
He gently pushed open the door. I backed in, letting him. He shut the door, pulled me to him and kissed me. Oh those kisses. How can I describe them. Velvet steel. As gentle as feather, as inevitable as an iceberg. In them he possessed me, but inside them I was as free as a bird.
His hands grasped my derriere and stroked it. Then one came up to my neck, and grasping it, he pushed me down on my knees until my face was level with his pants. I looked at his face, but I knew what he wanted. I unzipped his pants, and uncovered his erection. His penis was long and thin, it’s head turning purplish. I kissed it, licked up and down it’s length, and took it into my mouth.
I swirled my tongue around the head, and along the underside. Holding my thumb and index finger in a ring in front of my lips, I moved up and down on him, tasting his skin, and feeling the texture of the veins on it.
He wasn’t long in coming. His hand gripped the back of my neck and he pressed into me. I kept my tongue moving even as I felt the semen hit the back of my mouth. I swallowed, the movements making him buck. A movement of his hand told me to stop. I kneeled there for while, holding him in my mouth etlik bayan escort as he softened.
Finally he pulled out, and pulled me to my feet. He kissed me again, squeezed my ass, and brushed my hair out of my eyes. He then turned around and left.
I was slightly astonished that I wasn’t mad at him, even as I masturbated on the couch. I didn’t feel abandoned or used exactly. Well, sort of used, but not like a tool, but more of a toy, a favored plaything. Loved. He was giving me as much time as he had for me. At least that’s how I felt.
Of course, that also felt like a rationalization. My devil’s advocate, my tiny cynic, was screaming that I had basically been raped. But no. I knew I could say no. I also knew I wouldn’t. His regard for me was far more than Max had ever shown, and Max had bought me numerous presents. But with Max I felt appeased, whereas with Jones I felt more important, somehow.
Jones wasn’t long in appearing again. The next time he showed up, I was in the middle of cleaning my apartment. I opened the door with a dust mop in my hand. He smiled at me in my charwoman get up, ratty old sweats and a kerchief around my hair. I opened the door and let him in.
He looked around. I had pulled the furniture out from the walls, and was cleaning behind them. He must have had a pretty keen eye because he spotted where I had left off.
“Keep going,” he said, gesturing to the spot.
I gave him a wry smile. I wondered if he knew how he affected me. I was already beginning to get aroused.
I picked up my dust mop and started in again. I could feel his eyes on me. It was nice to know he enjoyed looking at me. The few times I glanced at him, he was always looking, usually at my backside. Maybe it was his favorite thing about me. I thought it was too large.
I was most of the way done when I noticed that he was taking off his pants. I almost stopped, but he waved me on. I wasn’t sure what he was up to. It sure made cleaning a lot more interesting.
I started in on the bathroom. In cleaning the tub I had to bend over a number of times. I saw during one of those times that he was standing behind me. I straightened up to clean my sponge, and then started to bend over again. He stepped in and swiftly lowered my sweats. I don’t wear panties in them. I kept bending over, sensing this is what he wanted me to do.
I tried to play along as best I could and kept scrubbing even as he entered me and began the long slow strokes while caressing my rear. It was too much, and I dropped the sponge and put my hands on the edge of the tub.
Again he stuck a wet finger into my anus. This time he slid a second one in as well. He moved these in and out very slowly, which hurt the tiniest bit. This was more than offset by the feeling in my vagina. He knew how to stroke, and I was approaching orgasm swiftly. I think we may have climaxed together, because when I went over, I felt him stiffen as well. He pressed his fingers deep inside me, held on to my hip, thrusting in firmly.
He let me up a few seconds later, and kissed me. While I was recovering from that he washed his hands, and put his pants back on. Then he held me for a minute, caressing my back and hair and backside.
When I had cooled out enough to start moving, he kissed me again, and left.
I cleaned up a bit, and then finished cleaning. I caught myself thinking of him as my boyfriend.
But what was he? My lover? My assailant? Both of these were wrong. The intimacy we had was strictly sexual. I didn’t even know his first name! I had no idea what he did for a living, I knew nothing about him. He knew nothing about me, other than he probably knew he could have me at his will. At least I think he knew this. I couldn’t figure out how to refuse him.
When Max and I had sex, I was clearly in charge of the boundaries. He suggested things, and I accepted or rejected them. He tried things, to be sure. Every guy does. His first attempts to feel my breasts and to get his hand between my legs were clumsy at best, and ill timed. He wasn’t terrible, just average. I eventually thawed a bit, and we had some fun. But it was always a negotiation. It may have been the only thing we talked about that wasn’t contentious.
Max knew a fair amount about me, and I him. I knew his friends’ names, I couldn’t avoid knowing his favorite teams. While I had never met his family, as they were in a different state, I knew of them, and had even talked to a sister once. I knew where he worked, he had visited me at my job. He knew my favorite authors and movies.
I had never felt this way about Max. I spent a fair amount of time waiting for him to leave. Jones was so mysterious as to be almost frightening, and yet I couldn’t wait for him to come back. I had no idea what he might decide I should do, or how far he would take me, but I knew I was going.
The next time was a few days later. It was late at night, and I had gone down into the storage area to find a book in my boxes down there. The storage area is at the front of the building, about as far away from any outside door as you can get. You have to pass through the laundry room to get there. To make things more scary, the lights are often burned out, so I had the habit of carrying a flashlight with me when I was down there.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32