Neighbor

I shared an apartment with three other guys for a few years. Most of the time, it wasn't so bad. But, when one of the guys brought a girl home, whoever shared a room with that guy was expected to vacate so the guy with someone could have a little privacy.

We even worked out a system. Each of us has his own color Post-It notes - one blue, one green, one yellow, one pink. I'm sorry to report that I was the one who had pink as his assigned color. Someone had to get that color and it turned out to be me. If you were planning on bringing a girl home that night, you wrote the time you thought you'd be home on the note and left it on the door on your way out. The guy who shared your room was expected to be somewhere else for about two hours from that time.

The trouble started when my roommate got a steady girlfriend and they were in our room regularly. I was paying rent for a bed in a room I seldom got to use.

Now, our neighbor across the hall lived alone. She was older than us - the four of us being just out of college at the time - and attractive in her way. She was not strikingly beautiful or possessed of the figure of a goddess or anything like that. She stood probably 5'3" - just short of average - and carried just enough extra weight to soften her edges a bit. I never asked her name or ethnicity, but her skin was brown-tinged, her hair true black, and her eyes a vibrant, almost electric green.

I was often sitting in the hall - waiting for my roommate to signal the all clear - when she got home from work. I greeted her and she greeted me. After a few days of seeing me in the hall, she asked why I was there. The story made her smile and she invited me to wait in her place. We sat at her table and I regaled her with stories of the sexploits of my flat mates.

She, for her part, told very few stories. I knew nothing about her work or family or anything else except that she had never been married, had not had many lovers, and did not enjoy cooking. She regularly came home with a bag containing a dinner she could put in the oven to cook while we talked and something to eat at work the next day.

One night, my roommate texted me with the news that he expected that he and his lady would occupy the room until fairly late - as in some time in the A.M. hours. I let him know that I appreciated the heads up, but started texting other friends to see if I could couch surf for a night. My neighbor came home while I was trying - to no avail - to find a place to crash.

"Wait inside?" she asked.

"Thanks, but I think that might be too long a wait to ask you for." I answered.

She shook her head. "Come inside and explain."

I shrugged, pushed myself up the wall, and followed her into her apartment.

She followed her usual routine of putting dinner in the oven and putting something else in the refrigerator for the next day. She set the usual glasses of cold water on the table and seated herself. I sat down across from her and sipped my water.

"Why would the wait be too long tonight?" she inquired.

I sighed. "The guy I room with brought his lady back to the apartment tonight and thinks they'll be in there until really late tonight or really early tomorrow, depending how you look at it."

She nodded her understanding. "Where will you sleep?"

I shrugged. "A few people haven't texted me back yet. One of them might let me couch surf."

"If not?"

"Dunno." I sipped my water again. "Maybe I'll go hang out at a Denny's or something. Just find some place that will let me hang around until I can go home."

She changed the subject and we chatted while her dinner cooked. The timer beeped and she removed the food from the oven, setting it on the counter to cool a bit. "In all the stories you have told me," she said, "I do not once remember hearing of your doings."

"Yeah...." I trailed off. "Nothing to tell." I raised a hand to forestall the objection I saw forming. "Sure, I've had a fling or two, but nothing on par with the guys. They're the kind of guys people write tell-all memoires about."

Her eyebrows drew together and she frowned. "You are young and not bad looking. Why do they have doings while you do not?"

I laughed without any real humor. "Because I'm terrible at chatting up women."

"You are chatting with me."

I considered that for a while before I answered. "It's not quite the same thing as chatting a woman up to try and get her in bed. I can chat just fine. I don't do so well when actually trying to get into a woman's bed. Or get her into mine."

She served some of the food and brought two plates over, setting one in front of me. We ate in amicable silence.

After the meal, I offered to help clean up. She sent me to the sink to wash dishes and we talked more. I came to find out that she was about ten years my senior, but I wouldn't have guessed it at a glance. I was paying more attention to our conversation and how good she looked than to what I was doing and managed to splatter food all over the clothes I was wearing.

She turned, took the whole situation in at a glance and shook her head. "You will have to strip so I can wash those."

"Strip?"

"Yes. Remove those clothes and I will put them in the machine."

The sauces from dinner were beginning to soak through my shirt and the sensation was enough to set me to removing my clothes before I realized what had happened. She gathered up the pile and walked down the hallway and around a corner. I heard the noises of laundry getting started and felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

When she returned, she was wearing a t-shirt that hugged her torso enough to tell me that she had modest, perky breasts with nipples that were erect at that moment and just a bit of a belly. The shorts looked like something that was definitely not meant for wearing out in public. When she sat down, I noticed that no panties peeked out the top. All of this information somehow made it into my mind and down to my groin before my conscious mind had even sorted one thing from another. I didn't disagree with my penis stiffening at what I saw, but it would have been nice if I had time to process first.

"My work clothes needed to be washed, so I added them." she said, explaining her changed attire. Her eyes drifted down to my growing (no pun intended) erection and back up. "I see that you approve the change." I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. She smiled.

Her expression seemed caught in a moment of decision. I could see that she was thinking abuot something, but no resolution was forthcoming. I sat down at the table so I could try to hide the underwear tent my prick was pitching. This seemed to help her decide.

She walked over to the table and seated herself on it in front of me. "None of your friends have been with an older woman in the stories you tell."

I shook my head. "They haven't, as far as I know."

"Then I make you an offer." she said. "You can be the first, but there are rules."

I think that time stopped. If time stops, is it possible to know how long it stopped since the unit we would measure it in is time? "Are you offering to have sex with me?" She nodded once. "What are the rules?"

"Rule one: you do what I tell you."

"OK. What's rule two?"

She shook her head. "I only have one rule."

"Agreed."

She skimmed her shorts off in a motion that was at once mesmerizing, graceful, and practiced. I learned later that women change in odd positions for no other reason than because they want to change in that position and would rather do clothing removal yoga than change position. There were no panties beneath the shorts.

"We begin now." she said. "You will bring your head forward until I tell you to stop." I began leaning forward and stopped when she told me to. "You will wait here until I tell you to do something else."

I found myself staring at her vagina. I know people call it her "sex" in these kinds of stories, but it was not sex I was looking at. It was a flesh flower; trimmed pubic hair that did nothing to conceal the labia that must have been able to feel my breathing at that distance. Her clit protruded a bit and I could see moisture gathering. The scent that filled my nostrils is variously described, but I'll just say it was the aroma of a vagina growing aroused.

"I want you to lick my lips." she ordered.

I leaned the last bit forward and extended my tongue to taste her. I ran the tip of my tongue over her folds, wetting my tongue and taking in her taste at the same time.

"Now suck on my clitoris."

I closed the last remaining distance and took her clit into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around it and sucked on it as though I hoped it might give milk. Her fingers ran through my hair and her breathing truncated to small gasps.

"Put a finger inside me."

I slid a finger into her with ease. Between my saliva and her own natural lubricants, she was slick as could be.

Her breaths came more rapidly and raggedly now and I thought she might have tried to give me instruction, but all that I heard were moans and mewls of pleasure. Her fingers tangled in my hair and held me against her as she orgasmed, her inner walls squeezing my finger gently.

She lay back, pulling her top over her head to reveal her breasts and drop her shirt on the floor. "Now you may do as you wish."

I nearly tore my underwear off in my haste to remove them. They hit the floor and I positioned the head of my penis against her lips. I wanted to simply ram myself into her and piston like a jackhammer until I came, but something urged caution, so I slid into her slowly.

I was glad that I did. The slow entry allowed me to savor her walls parting around my shaft and cradling it snug. I began with a slow removal and reinsertion, not removing myself entirely, but enough so I could feel that embrace again as I slid into her.

There is a handoff that happens in the mind when the conscious, deliberate mind cedes control to the animal brain and savoring of the sensation becomes the headlong plunge toward climax. I do not know when that handoff happened, but I remember being vaguely aware that I had stopped relishing the feel of her around me and was, instead, trying to empty myself inside her.

I tried to form words; to tell her that I was close. She silenced me with a passionate kiss. When she broke the kiss, she held her head near mine with an arm around my neck and panted. "I know. I feel you. Cum inside."

I did as I was told. When it was over and I could think again, I looked at her with what must have been a question in my eyes.

She shook her head. "Nothing will happen."

We walked on wobbly legs to her bed and curled up with one another. Some time in the middle of night, my roommate and his girlfriend spilled noisily into the hallway, shushing each other and trying unsuccessfully to not wake the neighbors. The neighbor stirred in my arms, wrapping one of my hands over her breast. My dick responded instantly and we enjoyed one another again before drifting back to sleep.

I lived in that apartment for another year or two and was always welcome to spend the nights I was without a room with my neighbor. I was welcomed into her apartment; into her bed; into her.

I wonder, sometimes, if my flatmates ever figured out where I spent those nights. But I doubt it.