Many Day Stands

One day she saw him in the window.

He had someone bent over his bed and their skin glowed a brilliant deep orange as the setting sun shone directly at the window to illuminate them in their rhythmic coupling. Veins popped up from his neck as he tucked his chin down to watch his hips driving himself into the flesh before him over and over again. The figure in front of him curled their back and she could make out a woman's face underneath a curtain of mussed hair, her mouth open in a moan. She lifted her body, showing hanging breasts shaking with each thrust from behind.

Rachel thought she could hear them through the shut window and across the garden. That was the excuse she told herself as she stayed, watching, her ears trying to pick up the tell-tale sounds of flesh on flesh. Before her embarrassment caught up to her, she was caught. She spotted her neighbor staring back at her. His pace in fucking the messy haired woman did not slow in the slightest as he flashed her a grin as if he had been waiting for her.

Now she was sure she could hear them. He continued to look at her as his pace increased and Rachel could hear the muffled squeals of his female companion. He hunched forward, hands gripping on the woman's hips as he almost glared at Rachel, daring her to look away. Rachel bit her lower lip and glared back.

No, this man was the degenerate and a pervert for doing what he was doing in the open. Why should she be embarrassed?

He opened his mouth and she heard a muffled shout. Her neighbor screwed his eyes shut and seemed to bottom out inside the woman in his bed as his body became freakishly rigid. Rachel swallowed and watched her neighbor pump every drop of his ejaculation into the woman - the first time she's ever seen something like that in person. It felt like it lasted forever.

It was perhaps after a whole minute of staying rooted at her spot when she realized she was still staring and that her whole body felt hot. Legs shaking, she turned quickly back to take the dirt path back towards her family's house.

--

In the otherwise silent kitchen, the evening news delivered its content from the small TV that sat in the corner near the dinner table. Rachel tried to concentrate on the plate of pasta in front of her, or of the anchorman droning on about stock markets, but her head still felt light. She forked pasta noodles idly, but the utensil slipped from her fingers and clattered to the table, splattering tomato sauce everywhere.

"Rachel," her mother snapped at her, immediately ripping out a piece of paper towel to mop up the mess.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. She finished her dinner, being sure to hold on to her fork firmly.

The sky was dark now, not like the bright orange it was earlier. She wondered who that woman was to her neighbor. She didn't recall seeing her before, so she probably didn't live there. Was she a girlfriend? Rachel rinsed off her plate, popped it in the dishwasher and sulked upstairs. Both her parents giving her no mind as she did this. They were both watching the news.

The desk in her room faced the window and from where she was seated, she could just see a corner of the neighbor's house from between trees. They lived in a relatively isolated area where houses were surrounded by ridiculously large plots. It was just how they built houses thirty years ago. While her parents scattered a decent amount of bushes and trees on their property, the neighbor had a veritable army of trees between their house, as if it was trying to hide the house in a man-made forest.

Rachel snorted to herself - apparently it didn't give him sufficient 'privacy'. She looked down at her laptop at her half-written essay and the dozen tabs of research on fluid mechanics on an Internet browser. She tried to get back to the project due in a few days, but espied a glimmer of light through the trees from her neighbor's house.

Were they not finished? Was she still there, in his room, getting pounded? Rachel scowled and forced herself to look back at her essay, her eyes not really reading the words there. It's none of her business. What two consenting adults do is none of her business. Besides, the guy was like in his forties and talked sports with her dad when they run into each other on the street. There was no reason to keep thinking about it. About him.

She closed her eyes and gave a few deep breaths to try to refocus but she could only see illuminated people at a window, fucking. It had been burned into her brain, her witness to ecstasy imprinted into her being. She opened her eyes to still partially see light coming from her neighbor's house. She squeezed her thighs together and forced herself to close the gray blinds, then returned to the essay.

--

Rachel scraped back her hair and threw on a hat. It was probably greasy but she had five minutes before missing the bus and she could not be late for the lab that was scheduled unbelievably early that morning. The laptop was thrown unceremoniously into her backpack along with an overpriced textbook and a notebook. She slammed the front door shut, locked it and pelted down the side pathway between houses towards the street that boasted a single bus stop for a bus that passed once an hour.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her neighbor coming out of his house, waving like a friendly neighbor would. She waved back without thinking then immediately regretted it. She wondered if he thought she was watching him or his house, wondered if she waved back too quickly, too eagerly. Could he tell how often she thought about that evening a week ago? Then suddenly the bus she was supposed to catch roared past her, spewing out puffs of exhaust behind it. The driver didn't even see her as he sped past to the next bus stop that would be a ten minute jog away.

"Motherfucker," she spat, staring at the disappearing tail end of the bus.

"Does your dad know you use such indecent language?" an amused voice jokingly said from behind her. She glared over her shoulder at her neighbor who stood a few feet from his front door.

She shot back before she could stop herself. "You are lecturing me on indecency?"

Rachel expected some perverse remark, some cocky smile, but instead he looked... sheepish. "Yeah... well, I actually meant to want to talk to you about that. Not talk, actually. Apologize. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You... you were looking straight at me," Rachel scowled at him. Was he playing at something?

"I got caught in the moment," he shrugged. "Kinda realized afterwards that it was probably inappropriate. So... sorry."

"It doesn't matter," Rachel found herself muttering. For some reason she felt annoyed he had apologized. "We should both forget about it."

"Hey, look, did you just miss your bus? Do you need a lift?"

Immediately, Rachel returned to glaring at him. "Are you serious? You think I would get into a car with you?"

He threw his hands up defensively. "Nope, yeah, sorry. Wasn't thinking. Hope you get to school alright."

Rachel walked the rest of the way to the bus stop, resigning to wait there until the bus graced her with its presence again, all the while feeling heavy. He probably thought she was some naive, stuck-up bitch who leeched off her parents.

He probably didn't like women like her.

--

The marathon of classes, of discussion groups, of labs came to an end at 5:00 p.m. and Rachel hurriedly piled her things into her backpack to catch the goddamn bus again in order to get back in time for dinner. In contrast, her peers grouped together in the lecture hall, now devoid of a professor, some of them chattering about getting beers at a pub.

None of them invited Rachel as they all knew she wouldn't say yes. Rachel only cares about school and grades, she knew they would say about her. It was true - she would only talk to them about projects and lab reports. There was no room for anything else.

She managed to make it to the right bus, but road work lengthened the trip back home by twenty minutes. While stuffed on the bus, waiting for traffic congestion to finally free up, her phone started buzzing in her jacket. She didn't even need to look to know it was her mother calling her. That was the only person who ever called her. It was well dark in the evening when she freed herself from the bus and she ran home, an apology spilling out as she opened the door.

Her mother never shouted, yelled, or screamed. Instead she would let objects around her do the screaming. Her father was presumably finished dinner and reading the paper in the living room so her mother slammed a bowl of food onto the empty dinner table. It hit the wooden surface a little too hard and it smashed into pieces, ceramic mixing in with the stir fry. Then her mother left the kitchen.

Only the lonely light above the dining table was lit as Rachel wordlessly cleaned up the smashed bowl and scattered food. Scrubbed the table so the grease stains came out. Then she took a shower, went to her room, did her homework, then fell asleep hungry.

She woke up starving and groggily check the time to see it a quarter past late yet again. The second day in a row she would be late for something. Perhaps she was already primed to be late, to be a failure. Perhaps she was just way too hungry. She tiredly tied her hair into a ponytail, gathered her stuff and wandered out the front door towards the bus stop again.

On her way, like deja-vu, she saw her neighbor again. This time he was standing with his back to her, stack of mail in his hands. He didn't even notice she was there until she called out to him.

"Hey."

"Hi," he reflexively said, then raised his eyebrows when he noticed it was her. "Good morning."

They stood in silence for a moment as she studied his face. "What's your name?"

"Kirk," he smiled. "And you're Rachel, right?"

"Is your offer to drive me still available?" she asked.

"It is, but as you pointed out, I sound like a creep. Maybe you want to tell your parents or something -?"

"It's fine. Can you drive me?"

It was his turn to study her face. He then nodded, opened his front door to drop his mail on the floor and reached around until she heard the jangle of keys. "It's Lannerd University, right? I wonder if the highway would be busy right now - "

"No, take me to McD's," she blurted.

"Wait, what?"

"Food. I need breakfast."

--

Kirk took them to the nearest McDonald's and they sat in a corner of the dining area that was populated with elderly couples sipping on open cups of coffee while doing crossword puzzles. She devoured her breakfast sandwich in record time, almost choking on the english muffin.

"Okay, maybe slow down," he pushed her coffee cup towards her.

"Sorry," Rachel let the food settle with a gulp of coffee and ate the hashed browns at a normal pace. He chuckled at her and offered her his hashed brown which she eagerly accepted.

"When does class start? Do you want another sandwich?" He woke his phone to glance at the time.

"Started 10 minutes ago and yes," she said, smearing ketchup on her hashed brown.

"I'll grab you another sandwich and you can eat it on the way," he said, starting to gather their garbage onto the tray. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him. He froze.

"I'm not going in today," she said. She had decided right then and there. She let go of his hand.

Kirk slowly sat back down, brow furrowed. "Look, I know I don't know you that well but your dad tells me you're a good student. Also you don't seem like the type to skip class. What's wrong?"

"I... Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I'm just a little burned out, I think," she raised her head and gestured to the empty wrappers. "And you said you wanted to apologize, well, apology accepted."

"I'm glad, I guess. About you accepting my apology," he said. "Sorry to hear you're burned out. University's tough, I get it."

In commiserating silence, she finished her hashed brown and Kirk got up and bought her another one like he promised.

"Let's finish this and I'll take you home and you can get some sleep, how's that sound?" he said. "Maybe you're burned out because you're not sleeping well?"

"Maybe," she mumbled. She bit into her second sandwich as he settled back into his seat, nursing his coffee. He didn't look like he was in a hurry to leave. Chewing on the bite, she found the balls to ask a question. "Who was that woman you were sleeping with?"

Kirk nearly did a spit-take of his coffee and covered his mouth with a hand while spluttering. "I thought we were going to forget about it."

"Hm. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Not sure what you young people call it these days. Tinder date? Booty call?"

"Oh. So she's not your girlfriend."

"No, we're not dating," he took a drink of coffee. He still had a 'I can't believe we're talking about this' look on his face.

"But you sleep with her."

"Slept. It was only once."

"Don't you like her?" Rachel took another bite of the sandwich.

He stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "I.... I guess? I found her attractive."

Of course he would find her attractive. If she remembered correctly (and she most certainly did), she had long beautiful hair and huge breasts. It would be nice to be attractive. To swim in that attraction, to be...

To be loved, even temporarily.

She finished her sandwich, wiped greasy fingers on the last napkin and let him drive her home. Parked in his driveway, she retrieved her bag from the backseat and flung it over her shoulder as she slammed the car door shut. Over the roof of the car she thanked him for the food and drive.

She turned to return home, her very gray home situated just on the other side of the crowd of trees between their houses. Rachel clutched the strap of her backpack with a white-knuckled hand as she stopped just at the edge of his driveway, still within his earshot. "Would you... would you sleep with me?"

Silence. She turned to see if Kirk had heard her and spotted his startled expression. Of course. She shook her head and waved a hand carelessly as if to swat away her question.

"Never mind. Forget it." He probably didn't like women like her. How many times did she need to tell herself that before it stopped hurting?

--

When the frost arrived, Rachel discovered she failed her first midterm. It had never happened before, but since she skipped week's worth of classes she wrote the test in a haze of panic and blanked confusion. The entire week afterwards, she felt a heavy lump in her stomach that only grew worse after finding out her mark dipped below passable. She's heard people in her lectures brag about bad marks like a badge of honor but this she kept like a shameful secret. For some reason she felt her life had ended and for someone who only ever went to school and returned home, perhaps that wasn't far from the truth.

She avoided her neighbor Kirk. This wasn't difficult to do since she rarely saw him anyway, but to further diminish the chance meeting, she would walk the longer way around to the bus stop. It wasn't that she was embarrassed about the last thing she asked him - in fact she didn't really feel anything at all. In a way she was avoiding him for his own good.

But she would honestly give anything to see him again. Maybe sit at a McDonald's among a sea of old people and chat about stuff that made him choke on his coffee. She felt stupid and pathetic admitting that to herself.

She would sleep in well after her first classes start and watch the silver sunlight stream through. The quiet house would be even quieter with both her parents at work. Perhaps she would attend one or two afternoon classes, but mostly she watched videos in a study cubicle at the university library until she had to be home for dinner. She received an email from the Teacher Assistant about her dropping grade, an email which she could only read half of.

Of course she was failing. Of course she would probably need to retake courses. She didn't need a TA to tell her. Rachel just wanted to stop. She wanted school to stop, wanted her parents to stop, wanted the memories of Kirk, the scant memories of Kirk to just stop.

Somehow she found herself home - the bus ride blacked out as if she was on autopilot and somehow made her way home. No, not home. Rachel looked up and since it was still the middle of the day, Kirk's house looked to be bathed in bright illuminating light. Unlike her house, his had patches of wood facade of deep, warm brown. His lawn wasn't perfectly curated but it was kept cut. The only other decoration besides his army of trees was a modest patch of wildflowers next to the house, now looking quite brown and droopy from the impending fall weather. Rachel crouched down to inspect the dying patch of foliage, lightly touching a a brittle brown-white flower. It might have been a daisy.

She heard the door open and watched Kirk lean against the door frame, his arms crossed. She stared at him, wondering what to say.

"Did you want something warm to drink?" he asked.

"Please." She gently plucked the small dying flower and carried it pinch between her fingers as she followed him inside his house.

Compared to her parent's perfectly kept house that could pass as a model home, Kirk's house was significantly more in disarray. Unopened mail sat on the kitchen table, a few unwashed dishes sitting in the sink. An assortment of objects - vitamin bottles, empty beer cans, a post-it pad, snack bars, paper towel tubes scattered on the kitchen counter and the kitchen shelf. None of his bowls and cups matched, all of them different shapes, colors and sizes. The only thing that looked slightly in order was the vast collection of books and magazines shoved inside eight mismatched shelves that lined the wall to her right after stepping inside.

But what struck her the most was the sheer openness of his home. She stood at the doorway and could see everything - the kitchen, the television with the single leather armchair aimed at it, and yes, even his bed that was three feet or so from that window. Even the bathroom looked very open, besides the frosted window that covered where the toilet would be, the shower itself had a glass window that could be looked through at any point inside the house.

"This is the most bachelor thing I've ever seen," Rachel muttered.

Kirk snorted and proceeded to fill a kettle up with water. From the kitchen she could see the loft that overhung the front door with an open staircase that led up to it. "You can go up there too, if you'd like," Kirk said. "That's my office."

"What do you do?" Rachel eyed his shelves of books. Upon closer inspection, the magazines were not magazines at all, but comic books.

"Architecture. Tea or coffee? I think I have hot chocolate too."

Rachel spun around, her eyebrows nearly at her hairline. Kirk had not noticed, busy rummaging through his pantry. It would explain the... unique house layout. "Did you design this house? I'll have tea."

"Nope. It was a past project of a friend of mine. I bought it because... well just look at it."

Rachel scanned his bookshelf. It was sorted alphabetically by author. The primary genre was science fiction with fantasy coming in at a close second. Only one shelf had books on architecture. A tall, narrow, white shelf was packed full with comic books. On one shelf a funny bust of Batman made of plastic glowered at her. She opted to put the decaying white flower on his head.

"My vice," Kirk said, gesturing to the comics as the water popped. He pulled out two cups, filled it with hot water and popped in a teabag for her. Four barstools were kept on the other side of the kitchen counter and he pulled one out for her. "Here ya go. Now are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"

"You invited me in for a hot drink," Rachel held up her steaming cup. He'd given her a black mug with a thick, sturdy handle. She wonders if this is the cup he gives women visiting his place.