Cleaning Time

I live on the 13th floor in a tall apartment building in Manhattan. A really tall apartment: Forty stories. That works out well, because I'm tall – 6' 4". Bad joke. Never mind. Anyway, there are tradeoffs to living like this, good and bad.

For example, I don't have a backyard, or a front yard. On the one hand I miss not having the greenery, or the chance to sit with a cold beer and listen to the crickets chirp as the summer sun sets – but then again, I don't have to drag out the lawn mower.

Then there's the crowds. There more people in my building than in some towns – a crowded jumble, for sure. On the other hand, so many people need services, so there's a front desk on the ground floor with a concierge who signs for packages, sends out the dry cleaning, and makes the place run. I travel a lot on business, and that's a huge help. Yuuuge.

One of the other important differences is the garbage. That's right, the garbage.

Before my wife and I separated, I used to live a white-bread suburban life, picket fence, kids, dog, and everything. I would take out the garbage every night, my ex helpfully reminding me no matter how late the hour or the weather.

There I'd be in the rain, snow, ice, in a pair of shorts or sweats and slippers and boots or some other ridiculous thing, dragging a smelly bag to the can, then dragging the cans to the curb twice a week. And don't even get me started about the raccoons. They must have had a degree from some bandit university in "Advanced can tipping and scavenging."

Which brings me to another advantage to living in Manhattan in a tall building – on every floor there is a refuse room, with a garbage chute. The garbage chute itself has a big stainless steel door on it – the kind you might find on a submarine, with handles and seals.

At the end of the day you just pad down the climate-controlled hallway, turn the latch, pull back the spring-loaded door, and drop the whole mess down the chute. You'll hear it clang and bang against the sides of the chute as the bag falls and bursts open, as things come out, and then it will land at the bottom with a dull echo-y thud. Recyclables go in little plastic bins next to the chute, and some nice guy from the building takes them away each day.

Every now and then you might run into your neighbor at the chute...talk a bit, complain about the building management, whisper about Air BnB rentals, exchange pointless neighborly chit-chat, and then return to your ridiculously small apartment. Seeing how I live alone, I don't generate a lot of garbage, but every time I drop my stuff down the chute I reflect for a short moment on the convenience of it all.

Just as I did last Friday.

I had been travelling so much I hadn't been home enough to generate any garbage. I had just gotten back from Central America that night and was exhausted, but too keyed-up to sleep. I didn't have any food in the apartment, so ordered Chinese take out, another New York staple.

It is amazing – you barely hit the "Place order" button on the restaurant web site, and a guy is knocking at your door with your food – I think he has a wok and a can of sterno on the back of his bicycle and he cooks with one hand while steering the delivery bike with the other, like an acrobatic act. "Artisanal, hand curated pork lo mein." AKA number 6 with egg roll.

I put my feet up, poured a couple of shots of tequila, and dug into the white Chinese food container, feeling the miles I'd travelled, and week's tension start to leave my body. By the time I cracked open my fortune cookie I was feeling better, even though the little white slip of paper said "Your Fortune: Eat Shit and Die." Some angry people working in that paper-slip factory! No, no, it didn't say that at all. It really said 'Destiny Awaits." Whatever.

I didn't want the apartment to smell like lo mein in the morning, so I gathered up the paper containers and napkins and leftover bits, wrapped them in the paper bag in which they came, and walked down the hall to the garbage chute. It had gotten late, and was quiet – even on a Friday in New York.

I turned the big metal handle on the stainless steel door, pulled it back, let my bag go...but as the door swung shut on its pneumatic tubes I thought I heard something – voices. The garbage clanged as it fell down the chute...I couldn't tell for sure...and then it hit bottom. Everything went quiet.

I opened the door's chute again, held it steady, and stood there silently. Definitely voices. I know tequila can do that to you sometimes, but my own issue, personally, was more often with mescal. These voices sounded real.

Then I thought I heard laughter. Faint music. More voices. I walked out of the refuse room, and listened – maybe one of the neighbors was having a party – but the sound wasn't coming from behind any of the apartment doors.

Then an idea hit me. I ducked into the stairway, and walked up a flight, to the 14th floor. All the floors in this tower were identical, each and every one. I merged from the stairwell and listened. Nothing in the hallway. I popped into the refuse room...opened the chute...and heard it again.

This was getting weird. 2am, and a party in the garbage chute? Now I was really intrigued. I had to figure this out. I jumped on the elevator, and rode it up fifteen flights, to the 29th floor. The elevator made a soft "ding," the doors whooshed open and I stood and listened. Nothing. I walked into the refuse room, opened the chute...and I could hear it distinctly now, loud, almost so I could make out individual voices.

I ran out, into the stairwell, and went up to the 30th floor, into the refuse room. I tugged on the chute door...and it wouldn't budge.

That's when I noticed the small sign taped next to the chute door, on the wall. "Chutes from floors 30 to 40 closed for maintenance. Please hold garbage until tomorrow." Maintenance? What kind of maintenance gets done on a big hole in the wall? And at 2am?

The sound had grown louder as I had gone up, so I jumped on the elevator and rode it to the 40th floor. I ducked down the hall, into the stairwell, and then went up, along an open metal staircase, one usually only used by the building's maintenance crew to work on the elevators and access the roof.

I could now hear music, loud music, and it seemed to be coming from the other side of the steel door at the top of the staircase.

"ENTRY PROHIBITED. NO TENANT ACCESS. STAFF ONLY." The message was clear, and a large metal chain, with a padlock, hung from the door handle like an exclamation mark. But...the door was propped open...with a sneaker...and the cool night air was rushing through the opening, upon which rode the sounds of music and voices, traces of cigarette smoke...and the slightest hint of weed.

I peered through the cracked door onto the roof of the building, but couldn't see too much. It was dark, and a roof like that is full of stuff – electrical equipment, lights, pulleys for the window washer's rigs, elevator counterweights, which is exactly why they didn't want tenants up there watching the 4th of July fireworks...somebody tripping over a cable might do a header off the ledge.

I pushed the door a bit...my view was impeded by a small shed, but I could see work lights and moving shadows. I snuck out the door, crept around the shed, and then ducked behind a half-high skylight that provided light for the mechanical space in the loft over the 40th floor.

There were about ten people – small people – all dressed in black, clustered around a small tower, at the top of which was an open hatch. "Chute access" was spray-painted on the tower. On the top of the tower had been mounted a winch and the thickest cable I'd ever seen. And, to my amazement...they were lowering the small people into the hatch. I looked more closely...they had eye protection...respirators...and the black clothing they were wearing seemed to have Velcro-like bristles.

They were cleaning the garbage chute, like chimney sweeps of old! Unlike the chimney sweeps of old, they had a boom box, a small bar set up, and they seemed to be having a grand old time. They'd lower one down...yell down to him...pull him up...lower another...all supervised by a very, very large black women with a booming voice and a thick NYC accent. "C'mon Simon, get yo' smelly ass back up here, we got to shut this thing down before the people in this building start waking it. It's Saturday already!"

As she said this she walked over to the door that provided access to the inside, propped it wide open with that sneaker, and they started breaking down their job site. I was trapped.

I'd have to wait it out, and hope they didn't padlock the door when they left. It was chilly up here, with the wind blowing and the tequila wearing off.

I didn't want to get spotted, so I dropped below the line of site, sat on a ledge, and looked out over the city. Manhattan is best from this point of view, I thought. No crowds, no dirty sidewalks, no blaring taxis, just a magnificent skyline, a faint schmear of stars beyond the light pollution, the twinkling light of jets landing at JFK, and, as I started thinking about all the people and lives in the city I was jangled from my reverie by a booming voice.

"Who the FUCK are you and what are you doing on MY job site?" It was the very large black woman who seemed to be in charge.

Uh oh. I had to think quick. I was still dressed in my work clothes, dark creased slacks, a button down shirt.

I stood up as fast as my creaking knees would allow. "I'm with the NYC Department of Buildings. We're making unannounced, blind inspections of chute cleaning operations."

"Oh yeah? Where's your ID card? Where's your clipboard? And I ain't NEVER heard of no unannounced chute inspections at 4:00am." 4:00am? Time had flown. "You ain't no inspector."

This was my story, and I was sticking to it. I took a quick look around, and it seemed as if the rest of the crew had left. I could vamp without an audience. "Ma'am, your attitude will be taken into consideration when I write my report, and this isn't helpful, I must say."

"Not helpful? NOT HELPFUL? Honey, I been up here since 10:00pm with these half-drunk midgets and you are trying to bullshit me with 'not helpful'? If you are a real inspector what exactly are you inspecting? Huh?"

"I'm inspecting your chute-cleaning operation."

"And? Tha's it? Tell me the rest of it."

"The rest of it?"

"Yeah. Which company we are, how many in our crew, our safety history, y'know, all that shit you suppose to know."

"That's all on the computer back at the office."

"Fine. Where's yo' office at? I been doing this for ten years baby. I know where yo' office is. So you tell me."

She had me. "You got five seconds Mr. Smarty Pants."

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, just looking at me, looking at me up and down.

"Shit, you don't know nothing. I'm going to tell you what you supposed to know.

"We are the Dangling Bros. and Barnum Chute Cleaners. All my boys work in the circus in the summer as midget acrobats. They come up here from Florida in the Fall to pick up easy money cleaning these chutes for all you people that live in these fancy buildings.

"I manage the company and the crew. I keep them together. They got issues. Hell, you would too if you were a midget getting shot from a canon three times a day. I keep them in line – they need a strong hand. And I get their issues. People look right over my midgets like they ain't there. People look through me too – a big strong black woman makes people squirm."

"And you should be glad for it too." She took two steps closer so she could poke a finger in my chest.

"This fancy-ass building would stink like a homeless guy's butt crack if somebody didn't clean that chute once a year. We scrub it, inspect it, patch it. All so you can prance down the hall in your underwear and put your dainty shit down the chute."

I was amazed. Truly astounded. I had never imagined such a thing – heck, I had never even thought about it. "Wow, I am truly blown away. I didn't mean anything by spying on you guys – I just heard the music and followed it up here, like you were the Pied Piper or something." I saw her scowl relax, just a bit, into a half smile. I think she liked being called the Pied Piper.

I put my hand out. "I'm Bob. Nice to meet you...and thanks for taking care of things around here."

She looked at my hand a minute, like she wasn't sure she wanted to touch me, and then extended a big hand. "I'm Dee." She wasn't so angry anymore. "I should turn your ass in and report you to the building management. Tenants aren't supposed to be up here. You could get evicted."

"Look, please don't do that. You know how hard it is to find an apartment in NYC – not to mention the cost and the hassle of moving?"

"After all that bullshit you gave me about being a building inspector? You want me to just forget all that? Cause I ain't going to forget that."

Time to play hardball. "I suppose, Dee, that you want me to forget that your guys were smoking weed and drinking on a job site like this?"

"My boys are professional! They can hang from a harness blind drunk. Shit, ain't nothing to it."

"So I guess we both got something to forget we saw."

And then I caught her looking at me again, with that half smile. She just said "Yeah..." and then leaned in and kissed me, hard, her mouth on mine, and I felt her hand on my crotch. "Why don't you give me something else to remember instead of that other bullshit. I work all day as a Traffic Agent writing tickets...at night I do this...I ain't got no 'me' time in my life. Your ass is kind of skinny but it is the skinny ones that are the best chute cleaners...and I need my chute inspected and cleaned, Mr. Inspector."

I could feel her breasts against my chest, big and fleshy and soft, and she was unbuckling my pants even as she was asking, groping me through my pants.

I pulled up on her sweatshirt and one of her big breasts spilled out, and I instinctively put my hand on it. She was wearing a thick, well-structured white bra, and I pulled the cup down to reveal her dark nipple, which stood up as soon as it felt the cool night air.

"Why don't you start by inspecting these..." and as she said that she pulled her bra down over her second breast, and pushed my face down towards her nipples. I used two hands to hold up her heavy breast and started to suck her nipple, which was short, thick, and blunt, like she was herself.

She made a long sound of satisfaction from between closed lips..."Mmmm...mmm...mmm" and then pulled my head away only to attach me to her other breast. I pressed my face hard against her chest to hold her breast in place as I ran my tongue back and forth and flicked her nipple, and as I did I reached for her wide hips to pull her body against mine. I could smell a trace of smoke on her skin as I felt her nipple grow even harder in my mouth, just like my own cock was growing hard.

"Mmm, that's good, c'mon, bring that in" and she half sat, half slid onto the ledge on which I had been sitting. She spread her legs and pushed my head down, and together we pulled off her sweatpants, pulling off her panties in one clean swipe.

I dove into her with a relish, her pink folds nestled between brown lips and curly hairs, and licked and nibbled and teaser her slit until she was crying out like she was in church with a continual stream of calls to Jesus and the Lord, and suddenly she started cumming, clenching massive thighs around my head so that I couldn't breathe or hear very well, lifting herself up off the ledge and grinding against my mouth as I ate her pussy, mashing my face down into her swollen and sloppy wetness.

Just when I thought that lo mein with a side of pussy were to have been my last meal on earth she unclenched her thighs. I came up for a lungful of air...and my cock was so hard it ached. I stood up in front of her as she looked at me, like she was going to eat me alive...I dropped my slacks, and then my boxers, freeing my cock.

"Get over here...I need some more 'me' time" she growled. I walked up to her, my cock bobbing in front of me, and she grabbed my shaft and pulled it towards her mouth. She ran her tongue over the swollen head, down along that sensitive spot on the bottom...she then pulled me in her mouth, put her hands on my ass, and moved me front and back like she wanted me to fuck her mouth.

Her hard nipples were glistening in the night air, I could taste her pussy on my tongue and lips, and I could feel her slippery juices on my face and chin. I started moaning as she sucked my cock, and as I started thinking about my white cum running down her brown chin I was afraid I would empty my balls – when suddenly she pulled me from her mouth with a plop. "Fill my chute, that's what I want!"

She came off the ledge and kneeled on her sweatpants, her big soft ass in the air, her face down on the sweatpants, and she shook like jelly as she wiggled her ass at me. "C'mon, fuck me!"

I tried to tease her...I rubbed that that big swollen head up and down her lips...making her push back with desire and need...but she was so soft and wet I was afraid I'd cum if I kept rubbing against her, so with one long push I buried my dick in her, balls deep, driving her forward when my hips hit her ass.

She said it again, this time almost like a complaint – "Come ON, FUCK ME!" I didn't need to be told again – I started pumping in and out of her like I was cleaning a drain, like I was trying to win a race, like my ass was on fire – which it was. She was tight and soft, that pink velvet vice every man wants to be in. The flesh on her ass rippled every time I hit bottom, shimmering in the reflected city light like a mirage, and then she started to whimper...half moan, half something else. "Slap my ass!" she cried – so I did, an open hand cracking her dimpled skin, and she ground back at me, "it's all yours, take what I'm givin' you baby!"

I slapped her a few more times and she started to cum, a low growl coming from her face pressed into the sweatshirt, and I felt her contractions as her pussy clamped my cock and tried to wring it out of me. I had to give in, even if I didn't want to...I exploded in her, pulling her big soft ass back on my cock, emptying my balls, spurting over and over and over until my jizz started to run out of her and down her thighs...I could feel my heart pounding...and I pulled out of her to lay alongside her.

We lied side by side in a post coital stupor, laughing and touching until we calmed down – realizing that the sun was coming up. She had to get to work, and I had to...do something, though I had no idea what. We got dressed, picked up the last couple of tools the crew had left, and came down the steps – my legs felt like Jello, reminding me again of her sweet ass.

We rode the elevator down together, and when we got to my floor she was back to her feisty self. "You're a good inspector. We'll be back next year for the annual maintenance, but you know that from your records, right, Mr. Smarty pants Inspector Man? I'd recommend another inspection...remember, I'm Dee with the midget crew. Short for Destiny."

I kissed her goodbye with a smile, and walked off the elevator. As I walked out of the elevator she slapped my ass, just the way she had asked me to slap hers to bring on her orgasm.

And some nights, after a few shots of tequila, I become sure that my ass has a tattoo on it, a plump, brown, sexy hand – I'm sure because I can still feel her hand right there, where she slapped me goodbye.