How I Paid The Rent

In recent week's I've read how the economy is getting better, how jobs are becoming more plentiful and how overall things are turning around.

Sometimes what you read in the newspaper or see on television just doesn't ring true closer to home.

Having been out of college two years, my psychology degree hasn't been put to good use, unless good use is being able to analyze that a large woman can't fit into a size 8 dress without bulging out all over. To say nothing about that excess weight bursting fabric at the seams. But such is the life of a 24-year-old woman who needs to support herself.

School was so much fun. The classes weren't all that bad, the guys were constantly around looking to get into our panties, and whether getting on stage for a dramatic scene in a play or on display before thousands Saturday night at the stadium as a cheerleader there were ovations.

Graduation brought forth the reality of a cruel, real world. Oh there were still dates, but working two jobs to pay the rent, insurance and necessities didn't leave much time for casual fun.

My name is Kimberly, and I'm the subject of this little story. Sitting here at my computer, typing away about what has happened over the last 14 months, is a way to get things off my chest and tell others to beware.

If something is too good to be true, it probably isn't. And that one must look for the motivations of others when making decisions for yourself.

Geez, I guess I am putting that psychology degree to work.

After college I moved to a nameless city, wanting to live downtown where the action was. Plans for a good job, friends and all kinds of excitement were denied when scores of resumes didn't attract attention.

Having to scale down expenses, I moved into a studio apartment that was, well, tiny but livable. I began working at a department store by day and a coffee shop in the evening to make ends meet. Generally it was six days a week of leg-hurting work, and at least I could pay the bills and not ask the folks for a handout.

But when the economy went further into the tank the department store cut hours, and although I wasn't making much there it really, really hurt the pocketbook.

It began a sequence of robbing savings, and then robbing Peter to pay Paul. I'd pay the rent and then be forced to skimp on food or frayed clothing replacement. When the car insurance came due, I was late on my rent payment which totally pissed off the property manager, Mr. Albert, and the owner, Mr. Orvis. The latter was my landlord and had this way of inappropriately leering at me. The guy must have been used to women in burkas in his homeland or something, because he always looked at me with a strange set of eyes.

"You must pay the rent on time," he's say when I finally scraped up the money to get back to even. "You must!"

He was harmless, and actually a nice man deep down, or so I thought. But more on that story later. In the meantime I'd do my best to stay financially afloat by working, doing surveys and other work online, and generally living frugally. I'd date, but generally wasn't looking for a guy as anything other than a (paying) dinner companion.

I kept sending out resumes with no better results, and began thinking I was the biggest dummy in the world. I even gave thought to abandoning the city and heading home in embarrassment.

For weeks Mr. Orvis could be seen arguing with his property manager, Johnny Albert. The two never saw eye to eye, and the arguments came to a boil when Albert vanished suddenly. Somebody saw him packing his belongings late at night and leaving, saying he couldn't take the abusive boss any more.

That was sad, because I didn't want any more interaction with Mr. Orvis that I had to. He was just spooky. Oh, harmless, but spooky nonetheless.

Over the next few weeks Mr. Orvis interviewed a number of candidates, and he didn't like a single one. I dropped off my rent, two weeks late, and he scolded me but spent more time lamenting about his lack of help.

We talked for a bit, me being the big listener that I am, and the light went on in my head. While I knew nothing about property management, I was organized and I did get along well with people. And when you think about it, a PM needs to make sure things are working okay, contact people when they aren't, handle basic problems and make sure the rents are paid on time. How hard could that be?

Mr. Orvis said it was a whole lot harder than that, but he was getting desperate. I really believe the short skirt I happened to be wearing helped seal the deal, as I caught him stealing glances at the lily white thighs I had on display when my skirt ran up my legs, sometimes showing above my stocking tops by accident.

I always knew Mr. Orvis has a little lust in his heart when a pretty girl went by. I saw him staring longingly at several ladies, and rumor had it that Mrs. Easton in 4C had him over from time to time to fix this or that. These visits generally occurred when her husband was on a business trip, but what did I know? Mr. Orvis had never made any untoward or inappropriate moves on me.

He told me not to quit my part-time job, but that he's try me out for a couple months as his assistant property manager. He'd give me half off my rent and a small salary. My immediate assignment, collect several late rent payments and successfully get under lease the three available units of his 16 unit location.

Do that and he'd consider hiring me on full-time at a higher salary with free rent. Gone would be the part-time job and the financial headaches. I was jazzed and knew I could make it happen.

Of course, the glass always is greener on the other side. Getting people (like me!) to pay on time was a chore. And renting the vacant units was difficult. The economy was tough, the units were the worst in the house, and Mr. Orvis didn't allow me to discount the price. "Give it to one, and you have 15 others that want the same discount."

He was insistent on that.

Still, I got all but one of the rents up to date and did rent one of the vacancies in the first month, so I felt a sense of accomplishment even though Mr. Orvis told me I was walking on thin ice and not doing all the job that he wanted.

Of course, I realized early on that when he was coming over to either wear something low cut, showing heavy cleavage, or his favorite skirt. I realized early on he liked gazing at my legs, so I always wore stockings around the building. I think he liked when I sat and he'd get a change to check out my legs and see if I was wearing pantyhose, stockings, thigh highs or what. It was cute, and in any event, he didn't fire me.

Getting those last two units rented was a real chore, one made harder when Mr. Cohen in 4A was transferred. The good news is his employer paid two months ahead for him and I put the unit on the market immediately. It had a nice view of the park across the street, and I actually rented it in less than a month.

But those last two awful units were a real problem. Mr. Orvis did say he was sending a man he met at a bar my way, and to get him into one of the units. "If you want to keep yourself employed, you have to figure it out, get it done," was his demand.

The guy called and set an appointment, flirting on the phone I believe, and I figured I'd give him the cute girl look to provide the candy look to get him interested in the unit. Not slutty, but I figured a cute tee top and knee length skirt wouldn't hurt.

He was a pug nosed guy in his 50s with a buzz cut. Jeans and denim shirt, he was so casual I bet myself he didn't own more than one suit. We met in the lobby and walked the building, observing such necessities as a common room, laundry room, storage and assigned parking. We trudged up the stairs to 3D where he immediately went to the window to check out the view.

The good news is this apartment actually had a little bit of a view, unlike its neighbors who had a view only of an alley way. The A side of the building were the good views as they overlooked the park across the street and on spring and fall days one could even see the pond where kids and adults alike would play with their small motorized toy boats. Pigeons were abundant, squirrels too.

The B, C and D units were not the kind people stood in line to rent. Still, on this day, the guy turned and looks directly into my eyes: "How much?" he grunted.

Mentioning the number, he gave a little look around the living room before dragging his way into the small bedroom. He looked at the closet before slipping out and over to the bathroom. "Mind if I use the facilities?"

Nodding, I turned and walked into the living room and sat on the window seat. A few minutes later there was a flush of the commode, water running in the porcelain sink, and he reentered the room drying his hands on his pants. "I like that toilet, not too loud to as awake you but efficient" was all he said. "I like things which are efficient and do the job."

Wondering about that statement, I watched him enter the living room which was adjacent to the kitchen, someplace I surmised he hardly would ever visit except to grab a beer or set down a pizza box. He surprised me by looking into and inspecting the faux maple cabinets. Once done, he looked at the refrigerator and asked if the dishwasher worked. He took his time, fiddling with this and that.

Inspection done, he gazed around the entire 850 square foot apartment. Forming a question in his head, he sort of lifted his head and took a deep breath. Looking at me, he got to the point. "So you've been having difficulty getting tenants? A pretty girl like you shouldn't have any problems attracting people, especially looking as nice as you do," he said with a smile. "It's priced too high. It's above the market, believe me I know."

Mumbling something about it being refurbished, clean and quiet, the man cut me off.

"Look, I grant you that, but it's overpriced. I'd move in tomorrow, but it's priced too high. I'd have to cut out necessities to take it, and sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. I have to pass, sorry miss."

Thinking about Mr. Orvis, his ultimatum, and my financial predicament, I desperately asked the man to reconsider. We spoke for a couple minutes about the pros and cons of the place, its location and charm. He spoke mostly of the price.

"Tell you what," he said with a smile. "You are a nice girl. You are sounding a little desperate to rent the place....probably the boss isn't pleased about the vacancies here. Am I right?" I just nodded.

"Okay, here's the deal. I'll take it...but on one condition."

"Oh, thank you sir, thank you Mr., uh, Mr..." "It's Morley, my name is Phil Morley. And don't get yourself excited. There's the condition." "Whatever you need, I will make it happen."

We sat on the window sill in the bare apartment and he gave me a look over. "It's simple. Take off your tee shirt. You can leave on your bra. That's okay. Then sit down next to me and jerk me off. That's the deal. It's non-negotiable."

Aghast, I simply stared.

"Look, I have needs. Every couple weeks I visit one of the ladies at the bar. The nighttime delight ladies are willing to take care of my needs for a price. Now you are not one of them, but I have needs. And I have to give them up to pay the rent. So you, young lady, have to help keep Mr. Happy really happy, say once a month, with your pretty hands. Do that and I can afford this place, and you get your building another renter. Your boss is happy. Look, I know it's a shock but it's efficient and gets the job done."

There's that saying again. He wanted me to be a whore, and I nearly slapped him. The nerve this man had to even think I would consider such an offer. Words couldn't leave my lips, but I was shaking and wanted to spit in his face and tell him to get the hell out.

But then the reality of my current situation entered my mind. Mr. Orvis wasn't taking me serious; I wasn't getting the job done in the way he wanted. I had vacancies and the last guy was fired after doing a decent job. Mr. Orvis gave me a break, and I needed to show I could get it done. I thought of my situation, the need of the job, the financial problems, you name it.

I thought of being a failure, about getting fired and then thought about how hard it was to work two jobs to merely get by. With this job and the perks of an apartment paid for as part of the deal, well, it couldn't get much better than that. It was only a hand job, not real sex. I took a deep breath.

"Only my hand, right, nothing else involved? I am not a whore."

"Well, maybe in your underwear, but yes. Just helping a horny guy in need and nobody will know. It's like a little incentive, nothing serious.

"You've probably don't it a lot to your boyfriends, and a whole lot more. Now, take that top off and let's get a preview." The name reached for his wallet and pulled out crisp $100 bills. He counted out the first and last month's rent and handed it to me. "Do we have a deal?"

I could not believe it, but I shook my head yes. "Just be nice to me, I don't normally do this," I said, and then reminded him again that I wasn't some lady of the night available to put out for a buck.

"Of course you aren't, dear, you are an angel. An angel of mercy like a nurse at a hospital, helping out a wayward soul with a special need. It will be our secret. Nobody will know except you and me. Now, let's get on with it and seal the deal."

Definitely not proud, and knowing my mother would not approve, I stood and turned away. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the tee top off and slowly turned toward the man. Immediately I was startled, because his trousers were now at his knees and he was sitting in his polka dot boxers. There was a tenting in the middle of them and I knew why.

"How do you want to do this," was my simple question.

He smiled and told me to take my time, be careful because he's sensitive. Then he said I was in charge and could handle things. He sat back against the window and waited with a look of anticipation on his face. He intently watched as I stumbled around, delaying the inevitable. Sitting next to the man on the window sill, I took another deep breath and reached over and fondled his boxers, feeling the hardness inside.

Slowly I slipped my hand around the slit in the front in an attempt to snake my fingers inside. It took a little work to get my fingers inside, but soon I felt hard man flash pushing against me.

It would have been easier for him to take it out, but that would have ruined things I am sure.

Instead I fiddled around, blindly trying to get my hand in or his manhood out of its confines. Ultimately I was able to slip the hard thing out of the slit and into the open air. I couldn't help but stare at the cock.

Look, I wasn't a virgin. I'd handled four cocks of past boyfriends and three of them in me. I'd wanked off one guy in high school, and then sucked the three others at various times and locations. While I wasn't dating anyone at the present, I had slept with two of those guys in the past, losing my virginity uncomfortably in the dirty back seat of his old man's Ford.

But this was different. There was no love, or even feigned love. This wasn't romantic in any way whatsoever, it was a transaction. It was an incentive for him to take the apartment. And I thought to myself how wrong it was. But with his dick in my fingers, it was a little too late to moralize

Slowly I began stroking the dick. There needed be little foreplay, he was already well into the hand job. I couldn't look at him, so I looked at his dick and watched my hand stroke it. It was bulging hard, a little reddish at the tip, and he really liked when I started at the base and slipped my hand up and then back down a couple times before playing with the mushroom top.

"Oh, you are an absolutely angel. Do it girl. Make Mr. Happy very happy. Jerk it off."

I did, I stroked his six inch dick off. Slowly at first, and as I heard him grunt and groan I moved a little faster. His was one of those thin, missile like cocks. It was sensitive, hard as a rock, and liked my touch. It was a lot like Hank, my second lover and the guy who took my virginity. We'd park by the lake and I'd jerk him off after dinner and a movie.

Later, dinner and a movie and a hand job advanced to dinner and a movie and a blow job, which advanced to my losing my virginity in the back seat of the aforementioned Ford.

Thinking of those bygone days I remembered how the guys liked me to stroke them and I accelerated the action with Mr. Morley as his rock hard dick pulsated in my hand and it wasn't long before he began mouthing directions.

"A little faster, yes, just like that. Oh yes, that's it. Don't stop. Just like that. Just like that. Jerk me off baby, stroke my cock. Oh yessss."

Honestly, his cock shot at least five spurts of man sauce, the first hitting my tummy and another volley made its way to my skirt. The last three ended up on my hands, the sticky stuff feeling warm. I continued to slowly stroke him and he stayed hard for a bit before his dick began its comedown from its orgasmic state.

Looking at the guy, all I could see was a smug, satisfied look. His eyes were closed, he looked relaxed, and I simply held his cock a little before wiping it off with my tee shirt and tucking it back into his boxers. A minute or so later he moved, pulling up his pants and standing to get them right.

Looking at me, he simply smiled. "Thank you," was all he said, before leaving the room and the apartment. At the door, though, he turned and said, "That was incredible. I can't wait to move in."

For me, I scurried to the sink and washed my hands. There wasn't any soap, so I alternated hot and cold water before trying on my scum laden tee shirt. I wasn't going to put it on, but knew I'd run into someone getting to my apartment and didn't think property manager clad in a bra was the look I wanted. So on went the tee shirt and I quickly made my way home where a shower washed away the dirtiness of my actions.

Mr. Morley moved in the following day, and never even gave an inkling of what had happened in the apartment the prior day. He kept his side of the bargain, I was the property manager, and he was a tenant.

Still, I was embarrassed at what I did, and knew it was wrong. But I was satisfied that the place was rented, and even Mr. Orvis congratulated me on getting a full price deal. At the same time he reminded me of the other vacancies and told me not to rest on my laurels.

The feeling of cock in my hand had other effects on my mind. Once I got out the idea that I was whoring myself, it was quite exciting. I would masturbate thinking of that cock in my hand, stroking it, having it cum off.

The following week saw me rent one of the vacancies, allowing for a little discount in that there was some delayed maintenance the person pointed out. Below list rent, but, the lady's husband would paint and repair several problems. I thought that was a good deal.

Every time I saw Mr. Morley I'd grimace a little, because I knew our arrangement was wrong, but he was the perfect gentleman. And when he overheard Mr. Orvis admonishing me on a couple problem things I hadn't taken care of he was very sympathetic. He also mentioned he knew a guy whose lease was expiring at the end of the month and might have an interest in renting.

He gave the guy my number and sure enough the following day I had an appointment to meet with a Mr. John Thornton. This guy was a talker, and I couldn't get him off of the phone. Sounded younger than Morley, and I envisioned him as being overweight and with a mustache. Boy was I wrong.

Thornton was another guy nearing 60, a physical fitness nut who wanted to know where the nearest gym was from the apartment house. He asked that before even seeing the apartment. Like Mr. Morley, he gave the building the once over before visiting the vacancy. All the time he was talking, though, and I had to thing that's the reason he had been divorced three times as he told me.