Our New Neighbors

Author's note: My previous stories were inspired by a modicum of truth, but this one is wholly fictional. Never, in my entire life, have I lived in an apartment building (except once, briefly, in Ohio).

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"Ve are de Yohnsons," the tall Viking roared as he and his tiny wife stood in our apartment doorway. "Ve liff yust upstairs!" he added.

My bewilderment must have been writ large on my face, because he waved a topless photo of Louise in my face.

"Ve got dis letter dis morning. Ain't you de Bromfields?"

Ah, so that was it. Louise and I had responded to an enticing couples ad. Normally, swinging contacts begin cautiously, as this one had, with a letter responding to an advertisement. But such contacts are usually followed by a guarded telephone conversation, often, although not invariably, leading to a meeting in a public place -- a restaurant or bar where the participants size each other up and decide whether to continue.

Lars Johnson had looked us up in the phone book, and when he realized we lived in the same apartment house, decided on a more direct approach. Aware that he had breached the protocol, he added somewhat apologetically, "I doan talk so gud on de telephone."

Belatedly aware that my surprise had submerged my good manners, I urged our guests into the living room. Louise solemnly shook hands with Lars, and exchanged hugs and kisses with Irma. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, so I thought, to fix drinks. Lars followed her.

Irma and I sat uneasily in the living room, making light conversation, waiting for our mates to return. They were gone a long time. Frankly, I needed the ritual of a drink to help me bridge those first awkward moments when you're trying to get acquainted with someone you expect to be fucking within the hour. Damn, where was Louise? I smiled uncertainly at Irma. "I can't imagine what's keeping them," I said.

"I can."

Now I knew where our mates were. "Does he always move this fast?"

"Well, it depends on the woman," Irma said. "Not many women are as open as your Louise, and I'm sure Lars responded to that."

"Does that embarrass you?" I asked.

Irma laughed. "I think you're the one who is embarrassed. If you need a drink, get one. I don't need anything."

She was right. I was embarrassed. I wasn't surprised to find that the kitchen was empty. Somehow, they had gotten into the bedroom without our seeing them leave the kitchen. Unless, of course, they never went into the kitchen in the first place.

Louise's loud moan of total surrender coming from the bedroom erased any question of their whereabouts.

I mixed my drink and hurried back to rejoin Irma in the living room. I was surprised to see her barefooted and dressed only in a half bra and panties, as she stood near the couch, neatly folding her skirt and blouse over the back of the easy chair.

"I thought I might as well get ready," she said matter of factly. "Save us some time, and besides," she looked at me sideways and grinned; the first time I had seen her smile, "I'm curious about what you've got to show me."

They were both blondes. He was a lusty Scandinavian Johnson, through and through. If he hadn't worked for the telephone company, he might have been a logger in the north woods, or possibly a sea captain in the stormy North Atlantic. He had that kind of big, capable, physical presence.

Irma Johnson was a tiny woman. When you saw them together, you thought he was the father of a 12 year old daughter. But when you looked closer, you realized that Irma was as old as he.

I stared for a moment at her petit body. She was tiny; there was no doubt about that. But any illusion about her being a child immediately vanished. This was a mature woman in miniature.

Later, when I was close enough to see the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth, I guessed she was around 35 or so. But earlier, when I watched her reach behind to unfasten her brassiere and saw how shapely and firm her breasts were, I thought she must still be in her mid 20s. In either case, she was no child.

"Shall we go some place where we can be more comfortable?" I suggested.

"Sure. Lead the way," she said.

I led her down the short hallway to the back bedroom. I quickly stripped the covers off the bed and dumped them on the floor.

"You shouldn't do that," Irma said reproachfully. "It takes only a minute to do it right. Here, help me fold these." She handed me a corner of the blanket, and we solemnly folded the top sheet, blanket and bed spread. Then she stripped her panties down and jumped up on the bed like a 10 year- old, except 10 year-olds don't have breasts or patches of golden hair covering their mons. "That didn't take long, did it?" she asked.

I struggled out of my clothes as quickly as possible without actually ripping buttons off. Watching me, Irma covered her mouth with her hands and began to giggle.

"What's so funny?" I asked somewhat defensively.

"You men are all alike," she said. "You want women to undress gracefully and seductively. But all we have to do is show you a bare tit or a little ass, and the buttons start popping off your shirts, and you're trying to pull your pants over your shoes. Anything goes.

"Don't you think women are equally interested in grace and seduction?" She sighed. "But you have such a lovely thing to show us when you're naked. I guess that makes it worth while. Come closer."

Still wearing my shorts, I stepped next to the bed. She seized the waist band of my shorts, and gently tugged them down, being careful to lift the elastic over my erection, which was throbbing and fully erect.

"Oh my," she said. She touched it with her fingers. It twitched a greeting. "Can I give it a little kiss?" It really throbbed that time.

She leaned forward, opening her crimson lips, and took the head into her warm, wet mouth. "Ummmmm, ummm," she said, rolling her eyes up at me.

Reluctantly, I backed away from her. My stalk was stained by her red lipstick. "Keep that up," I said, "and the party may be over before it begins."

"You mean you're one of those single shot fellows?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know about that," I said defensively, "but you're not the only hungry person in this room."

"Oh, I see," she said, scooting back in the bed to make room for me. "How's this?" She lay on her back and spread her bent knees apart. Her hard little breasts formed tiny volcanos framed by her legs. "See anything there that looks good?"

"You bet," I said enthusiastically, "everything! I slid forward between her thighs.

I paused to survey the dinner table. Her fringe of blonde pubic hair enhanced rather than concealed her vagina, because her labia, already engorged and turning pink, was clearly, if somewhat indistinctly, visible. I even thought I saw a pearl of moisture at the bottom of her slit.

I felt her little hands on the sides of my face urging me into her. "Are you just a sightseer?" she asked.

I didn't reply. My tongue had better things to do. First, I licked the thin area on both sides, between the folds of her slit and her thighs. Then I gently touched the tip of my tongue directly on her crease, and ran it up and down like a zipper.

She was still holding my head between her hands, and she began tugging strongly, trying to force my head into her. I resisted, and continued touching and licking the outside of her womanhood. When her tugging increased, I pointed my tongue and penetrated her labia, hooking it upward, hoping to contact her clitoris.

I succeeded. Her little body shuddered, and her thighs replaced her hands, clamping tightly against my ears. I heard her say something, and I lifted my head.

"Hurry up," she shouted, "stick that big thing in me. I need to feel you in me RIGHT NOW!!" Her voice had risen in tone and increased in crescendo, so she was almost screaming. (Louise told me later they had heard her; and that she had asked Lars what they should do. He had just grinned and said comfortably, "She yust having a gud time.")

Eager to obey, I slipped over her tiny body. She said, "Let me on top." I was glad to accommodate her. While my equipment, by all accounts, is average, I was actually worried that I might hurt that tiny woman if I tried to force myself into her. Her being on top solved the problem.

I took her in my arms and rolled over so she was straddling me. She scooted down until her womanhood was poised directly above my rampant member. Then she worked the tip of it into her body, and gradually sat down on it. Watching my sword disappear, inch by inch, into that tiny woman made me feel incredibly powerful and wicked. Her mouth and eyes were wide open, and she wore an expression of intense concentration as she took me into her body.

When she completed that project, she rested for a moment, then began a gentle rocking motion. She wasn't screwing me; she was merely stretching herself, adjusting her body to fit mine.

The erotic sensations her motions caused in my loins were incredibly intense. I felt as if my cock had grown another six inches. That, mind you, was before she got really serious.

But when she became more comfortable with my rampant member in her, she slowly began rising and dropping, rising and dropping. I had a perfect view, and I enjoyed watching myself reappear and vanish, reappear and vanish. Gradually, she picked up the pace. Her face now seemed strained, almost reflecting an agony as she struggled toward her climax.

Her breasts were flushed as she writhed above me, impaled on my turgid manhood like a butterfly on a pin. Her eyes were closed, and her face wore an expression of supreme concentration.

Suddenly, she screamed, "Roll me over and FUCK THE JESUS OUT OF ME!!"

Deeply buried in her, I wrapped my arms around her and rolled to my left toward the center of the bed. She was on her back, her legs spread wide.

"Lock your legs around my waist," I croaked, and when she complied, I lifted her with my back and stuffed a doubled pillow under her bottom. Then it was my turn to soak and rock myself in her. She held her legs up and spread them wide.

"Fuck me hard!" she cried, spurring me on by scratching my back with her fingernails.

I forgot she was so small and light. All I knew at that moment was that I needed to bury myself as hard and as deep in her as was physically possible. The primeval urge to mate, to reproduce, totally controlled my brain. I was no longer Jim Bromfield, lawyer. I was basic man reproducing myself in a basic woman's body.

I pounded, I grunted, I sweated, and I fucked. At last, I released a flood of sperm into her ripe, fruitful body. I was so caught up in my feelings and emotions by this time that I scarcely noticed that she apparently had experienced two orgasms, while I was pounding into her tiny body. I sagged into her waiting arms. We rolled off the pillow, but remained locked together while we regained our breath.

I was afraid I was hurting her right leg that was under my waist, and I started to back away.

"Oh, don't leave," she said, "I like to feel you in me."

We laid like that for another ten minutes, when she coughed, pushing me out of her.