Baring Souls

The blonde's hands reached down, running through her lover's thick hair. She pulled his head down toward her sex even as she lifted her own, opening her eyes to watch as his mouth descended on her pussy. Oh, how I would have loved to be that man at that moment!

She squeezed her eyes shut, her lips parted around clenched teeth as she breathed in. He was licking her, that much was obvious. And she was thoroughly enjoying it. The blonde lifted and spread her legs wider, her little bare feet touching his broad shoulders. He shook his head back and forth between her legs, and the blonde grinned. She bit her lip, rolled her hips outward toward him.

But then he raised his head, and it seemed he was saying something. My neighbor's face drained of passion, and she opened her eyes. She looked down to him, and I saw her lips move as she spoke. She looked questioning. She frowned, then nodded. Her lover lifted up, getting on his knees on the bed. He began unzipping his jeans even before the blonde curled her body forward and started pulling off his shirt.

Soon, the man's shirt was on the floor and his jeans were pushed down. His body was all but covered in tattoos. He had a stiff penis, rather average in length, but quite thick. The blonde looked up to his face, which gave me a clear view of her expression. She spoke again, and it seemed to me she was striking some sort of bargain. Her hands moved to his cock, stroking it slowly, fondling and massaging his testicles.

The man nodded vehemently, but the expression on the blonde's face was one of skepticism. I could deduce the tenor of their conversation: "Do me, and I'll do you." She wasn't convinced. Still, she ducked down, her naked legs spread wide around his thick thighs, and took him in her mouth.

I watched for the several minutes the blow job lasted. The man, thankfully, tilted his head back, his face contorted with pleasure, giving me an unobstructed view of the blonde's bobbing head. She obviously had no trouble taking him all the way down. Her lover held onto her head, pulling her face deeper into his groin, and I could faintly hear his moans and some rather rude comments – "Oh, yeah, suck it, bitch!" – as she serviced him.

After several minutes, he gripped her head in both hands and began thrusting toward her face. She accepted his movements, keeping his cock locked between her lips. Finally, he grunted, then cried out – "Fuck yeah! Eat it, baby!" – and his entire body trembled. The blonde slapped her hands to his hips, tried to push back, but he held her in place as his spasms ran their course.

Finally, his hold loosened, and the blonde slipped her mouth off his cock. It was wilted and shiny as it fell from her mouth, and a little bit of grey-white fluid dribbled from between her lips and down her chin. The man looked down at her and I heard him laugh. She glared up at him, sucked her bottom lip, wiped her chin.

With an expression of disgust, she swung her right leg over his head, and jumped up, darting for the bathroom while cupping her hands over her mouth. Her lover turned around and fell back on the bed, his broad, round face grinning with satisfaction. He looked so smug; he had gotten what he wanted. I suddenly hated him, even as I envied him for the pleasure he had enjoyed.

I scampered to the bathroom, pulling up the tile there and looking down as the blonde was splashing water on her face, staring at her reflection. In the mirror, I could just see her lips moving as she spoke to herself. She was obviously unhappy, and seemed to be arguing with her reflection. Finally wiping her mouth, she headed back out to the bedroom. I followed.

She started yelling at him. I could make out some of the words, enough to understand that she was upset that he had already lost his load. He became irate, sitting up, and pulled up his jeans. He looked for his shirt as they argued. I heard him use the words 'bitch' and 'slut' and 'whore' over and over. She glared at him, snapped back a few times, and finally indicated the door.

He headed out of the bedroom, jerking his shirt on, and she followed. Their angry voices retreated. I heard a door slam shut. She came back a minute later, and sagged down on the bed, still naked. She buried her head in her hands and began crying.

Despite how hot the sight had been of my downstairs neighbor giving a blow job, I could feel no arousal. My cock, which had been hard the entire time, now became soft as I vicariously shared her torment.

***

Obviously, it was not difficult to find out which apartment my little blonde neighbor lived in. I was in 7F, so she would be in 6F. But knowing where she lived did little for me. What was I supposed to do? Knock on her door?

"Hi. I'm Will, I live right above you, and I think you're a real sexy woman. Care for a beer?"

"Oh, sure. I was just getting ready for bed. Mind if I change into something more . . . comfortable?"

Cue cheap porno music.

Yeah, right . . . .

I felt conflicted in my feelings about what I had witnessed. On the one hand, there was the pure, unadulterated eroticism of watching my sexy downstairs neighbor sucking a man to orgasm. But then, there was the sympathy and pity I felt for her. The act of what she had done was not what had angered her; it was the sense of being used. She had picked up some guy, brought him home with the intention of sharing something intimate and passionate and raw and carnal . . . instead, she was treated as little better than a prostitute.

My sexy little neighbor had issues, that much was obvious. I could see a pattern, or, at least, extrapolate one. She was pretty, sexy, and probably flirted a lot. She always seemed to attract the 'wrong' kind of guy, and in a self-destructive way, always went for them. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was just something she couldn't understand and couldn't help but to do.

And maybe . . . just maybe . . . she was waiting for her 'Mr. Right.'

***

It was a few days later. In that time, I had spied on the blonde, feeling both guilty and aroused as I did so, through various peep holes through the floor. There was one in every room, much to my conflicted delight. I just had to find them. I watched my neighbor as she went about some of the more mundane aspects of her life – watching TV, chatting on the phone, eating, playing Sudoku on her computer – and as she masturbated.

Now that I had the opportunity to watch her in any room of her apartment, I realized that the slender little blonde had quite the heightened libido. In her bed, in the shower, on her couch, and once in the kitchen, as she waited for her microwave dinner to heat up, she pleasured herself practically day. She always, without fail, awoke with her fingers pressed between her thighs, and true to my earlier assessment, slept in the nude. And she always licked and sucked her fingers or whatever toy or implement she used afterward.

Sometimes, I just watched, but more often than not, I masturbated along with her, usually holding back my orgasm until I could erupt with her. In a strange way, I felt like I was getting close to her. After all, aside from actually conversing with her, I knew all about her life. I knew what clothes she liked, what TV shows she watched, her favorite foods . . . and I knew exactly how she liked to be pleasured.

Still, I was invading her privacy. What I was doing was inherently wrong. But I just could not help myself.

Anyway, as I said, it was a few days later – after that fateful blow job with whomever her lover was – and I was in the laundry room in the basement. I was down to my last pair of socks and my last good shirt, so it was time to give the facilities a workout. Not sure of whether I could trust all of my fellow tenants, I remained in the laundry room, perched atop one of the humming washers as I worked on the USA Today crossword. I was fairly engrossed in the puzzle, and did not notice at first that someone else had come in.

I looked up, cracking my neck, rolling my shoulders, and saw her standing by one of the machines about ten feet away from me. For a moment, I just stared, and felt a moment of anxiety. Here she was, in the flesh so to speak, not seen through a lens, but with only my own two eyes. And damn if she wasn't more beautiful.

Not that she had done anything to make herself presentable. No makeup, and she had slight bags under her eyes – she had come home late the night before, I knew – and she wore baggy green shorts and a tight, faded yellow tank top. But still, the natural beauty was there, undeniable and simple. She could not have been ugly if she tried.

"Um . . . do I know you?" she asked.

I blinked, looked down at my crossword puzzle, then back to her. I felt my face getting hot. "Uh, no," I said. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

She sort of nodded to herself, closed the lid on her washer. "It's okay," she said. "I get that a lot."

I felt ashamed. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable," I said.

She let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Trust me," she said. "Where I work . . . you're definitely not making me uncomfortable."

I could not refuse such an obvious segue. "Where do you work?"

She hesitated a moment, looking at me. I noticed she had bright, amber-colored eyes, almost golden. They had always seemed more hazel through the voyeur holes, but the reality was striking. The effect of her eyes was both unnerving and arousing. What had that shaggy-haired man thought as he stared down into those eyes while she serviced him?

"Blue Velvet Lounge," she responded at last.

I frowned. "Is that a café or something?"

She laughed again, more genuinely this time, and gave me a wondering look. "You're not from around here, huh?" she asked.

I found myself smiling sheepishly. "No. I moved here on the first."

She held her gaze on mine, with an unnatural intensity that told me she was used to having her questions answered. "From?"

I slipped down, standing beside my washer. "Ohio."

She chuckled softly. "'Ohio,'" she repeated, as if she had never met anyone from that state before. "Well, Mr. Ohio, the Blue Velvet Lounge is a gentleman's club. A strip joint. I'm a topless dancer."

I couldn't think of any other way to respond other than, "Oh."

She tittered. "They got strip joints in Ohio?"

"Um . . . a few," I said.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over. "But you don't spend time in those kinds'a places, huh? No, I bet you wear a suit and tie to work. Only time you go to a strip club is for some guy's birthday or bachelor party."

I managed a smile. "Guess you got me all figured out."

She gave me a sly smile. "You oughtta come in and see me some time," she said. "I'm there all the time."

My mouth was dry. I cleared my throat. "I just might."

She smiled flirtatiously. "First lap dance is on me," she said, then headed out through the door. The little wiggle of her hips was enticing.

***

For whatever reason, I stayed away from all the little peep holes in the floor for the rest of the week. I covered them up with rugs and furniture and tried to pretend that my attraction to voyeurism had been abated now that I had met the real woman who lived beneath me. I focused on my work, which naturally commanded much of my attention, and tried to put the sexy, skinny blonde from my mind.

But at night . . . at night, when there were no distractions such as the TV or work, when I lay wide awake in bed and staring at the ceiling, when I really wanted to be staring down through the floor . . . I would conjure up images, fantasies.

In my mind, my sexy blonde neighbor had not left me alone in the laundry room that day. Instead, she had stripped down to nothing and gotten atop one of the washers, masturbating to orgasm as I watched.

"Yeah, baby, you like that? You like watching me finger my wet little pussy? Mmmm, bet you wanna lick me, huh? Bet you wanna eat my cookie . . . ."

"Oh, God, yes, I wanna taste you . . . ."

Then she would give me the most incredible blow job in the world, and not be perturbed about it in the slightest. Or I would fuck her over one of the washers, neither of us caring if anyone might walk in on us.

I would lay in bed every morning with my hand on my flaccid cock and semen splattered on my belly. I hated the idea that I had become infatuated with the blonde woman below, but I had. I thought about her all the time, even at work during those rare moments which I truly had to myself. My emotions were conflicted about the nameless beauty who lived beneath me. How could I get to know her better?

And then, serendipity stepped in.

***

We had scheduled a conference call with our South American partners, but it had fallen through. Technical difficulties or something. After over an hour of trying, we eventually conveyed through email that the conference would happen the following Monday. I decided to take a half-day, and left the office at eleven-thirty.

My fellow officemate, a slight-bodied Hispanic guy named Ramon, suggested we grab a bite to eat. He and I had become fairly good friends, even though we were essentially rivals. I was sure that the time would come, at some point in the future, in which Ramon and I would be forced to stab each other in the back to get ahead. Such was the business world. Until then, however, he and I were 'best buds.'

"Hey, I know a great little place that has a steak and fries special for $5.99," he said as I drove through downtown traffic.

I looked to him dubiously. "Really."

He laughed. "I'm serious, man. Come on, wedo, take a chance."

I chuckled. "Yeah, okay, vato," I retorted. I knew only enough Spanish to respond to his jibe. "Tell me where to turn."

Ramon kept laughing as he gave me directions. He told me to park in a garage along one of the busier avenues of downtown. It was not far from where I lived, I realized, just about three blocks south and one east.

We took the elevator from the garage down to the ground floor, and I followed Ramon just up the street to a set of broad double doors, one of them open, that sat beneath a neon sign which, even in the middle of the day, glowed garishly. I stared at the legend above me, encased in deep blue light.

"The Blue Velvet Lounge."

"Hottest chicks on any coast, I swear to God," said Ramon. He clapped my shoulder. "Come on, man, I'm hungry."

I followed Ramon through the doors – the burly bouncer gave us a once-over but didn't ask for our IDs – and into smoky, blacklit darkness. There was a main stage and two smaller ones, one made out into the shape of a baby grand with a brass pole thrust through it, and about twenty tables and booths scatted about the floor.

The place was, perhaps, about half full. I saw several men in various uniforms. Couriers, hourly workers, obvious blue collar stock. I understood what the blonde had meant by me not being the type to spend time in a strip club. This was her world, and her world consisted of stocky, dark-haired guys who earned an hourly wage and treated her like a prostitute.

Ramon lead me through the gloominess to a table about twenty feet from the main stage and sat down in a broad-backed chair that faced an identical one across a glass-topped table. There was a simple burner in a candle holder and an ashtray on the table. Ramon immediately produced a pack of cigarettes and lit up.

"Smoke?" he asked in a loud voice that I barely heard over the pounding music. On the elevated stage, a busty and fairly attractive brunette was groping her breasts while a man stood before her, watching.

I shook my head and looked around the place. I was conscious of the fact that I was searching for her. But she did not seem to be around, despite her proclamation that she worked six days a week. I had assumed that Friday was one of them.

Ramon and I watched a few girls hit the stage. He was a real outgoing sort, clapping, whooping, calling out to the dancers, going up to tip each and every one of them, even the average ones. He pushed a few creased dollar bills my way, but I remained where I was, eating my overcooked steak and warmed-over french fries. Still, for six bucks, I guess I could not complain.

I was startled as a slender, lithe, feminine form appeared from behind me and slid into my lap. I almost choked on my last bite of steak, surprised as I was. The woman who curled herself atop me wore a tiny red thong and a matching see-through top which revealed small, firm breasts adorned with stiff pink nipples. Her hair was slicked back with gel and her face glowed with glitter and glistening pink lipstick. She had thin, arching eyebrows, wore dangling diamond earrings and sported stiletto pumps on her little feet.

"Hi. I was wondering when you'd show up."

It took me a moment to recognize her, and when I did, I felt stupid for not having realized who it was. I finally smiled. "Well . . . it's been busy at the office," I said stupidly.

She smiled, her amber eyes reflecting the flashing strobe lights. "Isn't it always?"

I laughed at her comment. Such a simple statement, yet it seemed to me she meant far more than typical small talk. I nodded. "Yes, it is."

She grinned, her crow's feet wrinkling endearingly. If not for those minimal wrinkles, I would have sworn that I had an eager teenager in my lap. "Got a smoke?" she asked.

I quickly reached for Ramon's pack of cigarettes and his lighter, took one out for her. She kept her gaze on mine, even as she tucked the cigarette between her lips in a way that was more than a little seductive. I could not help but remember the sight of her mouth gliding back and forth on the stocky, long-haired man's cock as she worked him to orgasm. My dick twitched against her thigh.

"Oo!" she exclaimed, then giggled. "I haven't even given you a table dance yet!"

I blushed. "Sorry."

She laughed again, smoke trailing from her lips. "Hey, don't be sorry," she said. "That just tells me I'm doing a good job."

I looked at her pretty little face. I've seen you do a good 'job,' I thought. "You certainly are."

Her eyes glowed a moment before they darted down. She took my left hand, ran her fingers over mine. "Hmm . . . no ring," she said. "What're you doing wrong?"

I chuckled. "As far as I know, nothing," I said.

She smiled back. "Just haven't met the right girl, yet, huh? What are you? Twenty-nine? Thirty?"

I met her gaze boldly. "Try again."

Her eyes narrowed. Damn, she looked sexy when she did that! "Thirty . . . two?"

"Keep going," I said with a smirk.

Her eyebrows danced briefly. "Thirty-three? Four? Five?"

"Bingo."

"No way," she said, leaning back. She pulled on her cigarette, looking me over. "You're looking pretty damn good for thirty-five."

I smirked. "I bet you say that to all the guys," I said.

She smoldered a little, giving me a look that made my cock throb again. I knew she could feel it pulsing against the underside of her thigh. "Only to sexy older guys who live in my building," she said.

I breathed in, unsure of what to make of her innuendo. Was she just flirting with me because it was part of her job, or did she mean it? "So how much older are we talking about?" I asked.

She took a drag off her cigarette, blew smoke, seductively licked her lips. "A gentleman doesn't ask a woman her age."

I smiled. "You're right."

"Well, well, hey!" came Ramon's voice as he returned to the table. "Where'd this chica come from? Yo, baby, what's your name?"

She tilted her head in Ramon's direction, gave him a little smile and a look. Then she looked back to me. "Candace," she said.

I suddenly felt stupid for not having asked for her name earlier. Candace seemed to sense that, smiling cattily. "Not my real name, of course," she said softly. Her eyes bore into mine.