Meet the Neighbors!

This story is written by a Black, transfem person who just wants to indulge her dark fantasies :)

Triggers: Rape, transphobia, racism

(For those who are impatient, I get it. The sexy stuff starts like 2/5 of the way through with a paragraph that starts with "Imani turned and looked to Jackson")

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There was truly no reason for the city of Casper, Wyoming, to exist- not in the year of our lord, 2024, at least. Nearly every single person who lived there wanted out. The only ones who cared enough to stay were those who came from old money from the mining and oil industries that had long since dried out. For the rest of the poor rabble, it was a different story. Most talked on and on about plans to move down to Colorado, while the ambitious few set their sites on California or New York. Although, anywhere would be fine, as long as it got them out. Most people had the means to leave, hence why Casper should no longer exist.

And yet, the wretched little town persisted. Its denizens didn't scatter to the wind. Something kept them there. Something more than the empty space, constant snow, and shabby storefronts. Something hung in the air, like a miasma that dragged people back in before a single hope or dream could take form. Everyone talked about leaving, but few ever did.

Imani wondered what could possibly keep people in that freezing hell hole as she gazed out of the window adjacent her desk. Had she not inherited her current house from her late father a few months ago, she never would've bothered stepping foot in the state of Wyoming. The state itself was basically a bunch of empty space occasionally interspersed with White people. As a trans, Black woman, Imani obviously felt out of place everywhere she went in the small town. Stepping out of her house would attract countless stares as if the people had never seen melanin before.

But hey, she didn't have to pay rent. At least, not until she finally managed to sell the place and get the hell out of there. Ridding herself of the property was a slow process, however. Thankfully, her job as a writer allowed her to work from home, meaning she could do as little socializing with the locals as possible.

Most days passed by as blandly as this one, with Imani typing away at her desk, sipping from her 5th cup of coffee, and gazing out the window as if some eccentric money mogul would pull up to buy her house at any moment. She minded her business and kept to herself. The neighbors didn't seem keen on getting to know her, which was just fine by her.

One neighbor in particular, however, seemed to be oddly nosy. Jackson, Imani's next door neighbor, could usually be found sitting on his lawn in a fold-out chair, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Every day, he would stare down the other houses in the neighborhood, not with malice, but with the frustrating curiosity of someone who didn't know how to mind their damn business.

Jackson knew about every marital squabble, sordid affair, and family fight on the block and even had a front row seat to some of them. Occasionally, he would holler out to one of the husbands who'd been kicked to the doghouse before rightfully getting cussed out, to which he'd respond with his own colorful series of curses.

Never once, though, did Jackson call out to Imani. Maybe it was because there was no drama to be witnessed from her home, but she couldn't shake that there was something more. She'd introduced herself briefly when moving in, to which he simply muttered his name and stared at her with a speculative look. It wasn't the first time she'd received "the look". Many people around there had never met a Black person before, let alone a trans girl. Whereas most of the neighbors had grown accustomed to her, however, Jackson continued to eye her with that same odd look over the months. Whenever she left the house he would just stare her down until she returned his gaze, which made him quickly turn away.

Imani stared out of the window, at first focusing on her own reflection. Her dark brown eyes stared back at her through the window. Looking herself over, Imani followed the flow of her braided hair that draped past her shoulders and rested lazily on her hips.

She wore nothing but a pair of mid-length denim shorts and a white tee, exposing the light brown skin of her arms and legs. The shorts fit just a little too tight and she shifted uncomfortably. They hadn't always been so small on her, but her thighs and her butt had been growing recently, which made it hard for her to fit into her usual wardrobe. She was usually thankful to her mother for blessing her with a skinny waist and wide hips (something most trans girls don't get), but damn it made shopping difficult sometimes.

Looking past her reflection to the neighborhood outside, Imani noticed Jackson wasn't in his usual spot on his lawn. Usually, by this time in the afternoon, he'd have downed at least one six-pack of beer. Thinking nothing of it, Imani was about to return to her writing when, as if on queue, Jackson's front door slammed open and the man came stumbling out.

Immediately, she could tell something was off. Jackson was constantly drunk, but she'd never seen him this drunk. He was stumbling heavily, as if being shoved from side to side by invisible attackers. His arms swung in the air for balance, spilling most of what looked like a bottle of whiskey over himself and the ground. This performance continued until he finally tripped and fell face first into the tree in the middle of his yard.

Imani winced as she saw the impact. She continued watching, seeing if he would move, but nothing happened. Springing to her feet, she rushed to the door and slipped on her shoes before running outside. She might not have been particularly fond of the man, but she wasn't so cold as to stand by and do nothing when someone had a potentially fatal accident in front of her.

When she reached Jackson, Imani quickly knelt to see if he was okay. His was thankfully intact with only a little bit of blood dripping down a cut on the left side.

"Hey! Jackson, hey!" she shouted his name as she shook him. He responded with a drunken grunt, but his eyes remain closed. Imani sighed in relief seeing he was still alive.

It was at this point that she noticed other details about the situation, most notably the smell. It smelled like whiskey mixed with sweat and depression, a description which could also be used to describe Jackson's appearance. He was in a light gray T-shirt drenched in liquor. Even through the wetness of the whiskey, however, Imani could see stains of unknown substances littering the shirt. He also sported a pair of cargo pants that looked like some kind of animal had chewed it to bits before realizing it would have a better tasting meal if it drank bleach. His facial hair somehow always seemed to stay at the same scraggly length. It was a reddish-brown peppered with gray, just like the medium length mop of hair on his head.

Sighing again with disgust more than relief, Imani stood and pulled at his arm to try and get him to sit up. She couldn't tell if Jackson was exceedingly heavy or if she was really just that weak. Jackson was, by no means, skinny, but he wasn't too heavy set either. He had something of a dad bod, the kind where one could assume there was a fair amount of muscle under the fat. After struggling for almost a minute, she only managed to flip him over onto his back, which revealed a confederate flag design on the front of his shirt.

Imani rolled her eyes, wondering to herself why exactly she was helping this piece of shit. There was no way she'd be able to lift him herself, so she darted across the street to one of the neigbhors' houses and knocked on the door. A moment later, a man she knew as Derek opened the door. He was a White guy with light brown hair, green eyes and just a little scruff on his chin. He was about her age, around 25, and seemed about half a foot taller than Imani, so he must have been around 6' tall.

"Oh- uh, hello?" he said as if it were a question.

"Hey, sorry. I don't mean to bother you," Imani responded. She explained the situation, gesturing to Jackson's unconscious body as she did.

Derek sighed and agreed to help, sounding just as reluctant as Imani. Together, they were able to hoist their drunk neighbor from the ground and half carry, half drag him to the front door. Jackson woke up from his stupor as the two sat him down in his foyer.

"Huh? Wuzzuh... Wuz goin' on?" he mumbled, blasting his helpers with the stench of his breath.

Derek, visibly wincing and rapidly losing patience, berated the man, telling him in no unclear terms to "stay his ass inside" if he was going to drown himself in liquor. Jackson either didn't care or didn't hear any of it. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on Imani the whole time.

"You got that?" Derek yelled, ending his tirade.

Jackson muttered something that sounded like a "yes", which was good enough for his neighbors. As Imani and Derek left the house and shut the door behind them, Imani couldn't help but feel unsettled and Jackson's eyes stayed locked on her the entire time with that same odd look he always gave her.

Shaking the feeling off, she said, "Thank you for that."

"No problem," Derek replied. He glanced at Jackson's house, then back at Imani. "He does this every year. I mean, he's always drunk, but he damn near drinks himself to death around this time. This is about the time of year when his wife left him and took the kids a few years back. He wasn't always this shitty."

"Oh... shit. Really?" asked Imani.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, he's always been shitty. He just wasn't this shitty before. After his wife left, he basically made it his job to be a pain in everyone's ass." Derek chuckled and Imani laughed along with him.

He opened his door and stepped inside, turning to Imani before he closed it.

"Um... look," he said. "I know we haven't talked much, but if you run into any more trouble with him, just let me know and I'll see what I can do."

He turned his gaze downward and looked slightly embarrassed. "I've... well, we've all seen the way he stares at you. That shit even creeps me out, so I can't imagine it makes you feel great." He opened his mouth and closed it again, trying to search for words without looking directly at Imani. "We don't really have a lot of people... like you here. We're not all like that asshole, though."

Imani smiled slyly. It was kind of cute, the way he stumbled over his words. Still, she wasn't looking for anything to tie her down to Wyoming any longer than she needed to be.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," she said as she stepped away from his door. She waved goodbye and made her way back to the warmth of her home.

----

A couple weeks passed by with no incident. Imani spent her time as usual: writing and playing phone tag with prospective buyers for her house. The only difference seemed to be that Jackson wasn't outside being a menace as much as he used to be. He'd only been out a few days over the past couple weeks and something felt off about him. Imani couldn't place it, but something about his demeanor was different.

She shrugged it off, however. As long as she didn't have to smell that bastard's breath again, she couldn't be bothered to give a fuck about him. That is, until evening when she watched him collapse drunk in his yard once more. At first she shrugged it off. He hadn't hit the tree this time, just fallen to the ground. He looked fine, so she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

What must have been at least an hour passed and he still didn't move. Part of her was worried, but the other part groaned internally as it lamented that she might have to help him again. Then, the snow started to fall. It was light at first, something Imani could've attributed to exhaustion or a trick of the light. But then the wind kicked in and clumps of snow began to pelt the ground like falling stones.

Jackson remained unmoving.

"Son of a-" Imani cursed allowed before rushing to her door. She was wearing nothing but Adidas booty shorts and a sports bra, so she threw on a sweater baggy enough to fit like a dress on her. Slipping into a pair of winter boots without bothering to even tie the laces, she was out the door.

Not bothering to try on her own, she went straight to Derek's house and knocked on the door. A moment passed and no response came. She knocked again, only to be met with silence. Only then did she look over to realize Derek's car wasn't in it's usual spot in his driveway.

"Fuck... oh fuck," she cursed under her breath. Shivering now in the few layers she'd decided to put on, she dashed to another neighbor's house and knocked frantically on their door.

Nothing.

She tried another house, then another, but no one was answering the door. With no options left, she dashed back to where Jackson laid still and began shaking him by his collar.

"Jackson. Jackson! Wake up! Hey!" She shouted, shook and slapped him for what felt like minutes until he finally opened his eyes.

He grunted something incoherent, but Imani was too damn cold to ask him to speak up. On her feet now, she began pulling at one of his arms, trying to get him to stand up.

"Come on, fucking move!"

With some effort, she got the man to stand tenuously on his feet. Even though he wasn't upright, he towered above her in height. He must've been about 6'4" with broad shoulders, short brown hair and a full face of stubble that somehow always seemed to remain the same length. Now that she was that close to him, Imani got a better idea of his figure. He was hefty, sure, and had something of a beer gut that almost poked out through the bottom of his red flannel, but she could tell his was the type of fat that hid a lot of muscle underneath.

If he wasn't wasted, he would've been quite imposing. It didn't help that his dirty blue jeans looked on the verge of falling off at any moment because he was apparently too drunk to correctly fasten his belt. Unable to keep his balance by himself, Jackson leaned on Imani for support, though she felt he might crush her under his weight before they made it to the door. Imani couldn't help but notice the scent of alcohol wasn't as strong as last time. He still smelled like shit, but not like he'd lost a fight with a distillery.

She lugged him along until they crossed the threshold into his house, at which point she unceremoniously dropped him to the ground so she could close the door behind them. The inside of his house smelled almost as bad as Jackson himself, but the respite from the cold made it tolerable.

Sighing, Imani turned around to look at her neighbor's condition. He was groaning and slowly picking himself up off the ground. Well, he was alive, so as far as she was concerned, he wasn't her problem anymore. Just as she was bracing herself to face the cold again, she heard Jackson mumble something behind her.

"What?" she asked as she turned to him.

"Nnnghh... ro-room," he said, pointing meekly with one hand down a hallway to the right.

"You want me to take you to your room?" Imani asked incredulously.

Jackson nodded, to which Imani scoffed.

"Do it your damn self," she said, amazed that he even had the audacity to ask. As soon as she placed a hand on the doorknob, however, she heard a loud thud behind her.

Jackson was splayed out on the floor behind her as though he'd been attempting to crawl across the floor.

Imani hesitated a moment, sighed heavily, and cursed under her breath as she went to pick the man up once more. This time he was easier to pick up and carried most of his own weight.

She walked him to the hallway he pointed to previously. "Where is it?" she asked.

Once again, he pointed, this time down a set of stairs that led into what looked like a well lit basement. Imani rolled her eyes at the thought of having to help that idiot down some stairs. She relented, however, and helped him down, one step at a time.

Thankfully, he didn't make it too difficult and before long they at the bottom of the stairs. A door to their right was ajar and she could see the corner of a bed inside. She opened it, guided him inside and flipped the light switch on to reveal a surprisingly well kept room.

Just as she was admiring the fact that Jackson was capable of keeping anything clean, the man's weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders just before she heard the bedroom door slam behind them and the lock click into place.

Imani turned and looked to Jackson, freezing in place as she did. He was no longer hunched over in a drunk stupor. Instead, he stood straight, slowly turning to her until their eyes met. His expression was calm, but not peaceful. There was a darkness in Jackson's eyes. A hunger. Imani recognized the look, having seen it countless times in the past from men at bars and clubs who didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves.

Her stomach turned at the thought of what the look could mean and she took a nervous step back.

"What... what are you doing?" she said breathlessly.

Jackson took a heavy step toward her. "I just thought you might wanna spend a lil' time together. You know, get to know each other." He took another step.

"N-no, I don't want to spend any time with you," Imani said with a sneer.

She stepped to the side, attempting to circumvent the man and reach the door, but he was quick to intercept her. Jackson was mere inches away and leaned over her with a sly smile. His hand drifted up, stroking her arm before grabbing and pulling her closer.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that. I know you want it, that's why you came all the way to my room."

Upon feeling his touch, Imani immediately recoiled and instinctively pushed him away hard enough for him to slam into the door. She tried backing away in fear, but he was on her in a flash, grabbing her and pinning both arms to her side as if he was trying to crush her.

Imani screamed. "Let go! Let g-" She was cut off as Jackson threw her back onto the bed hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. Before she could catch her breath, she felt the bed shift with a heavy weight just as a pair of gruff hands slipped under her sweater and began exploring upwards.

Without hesistation, she leaned up and smacked Jackson as hard as she could. Immediate regret and fear washed over her face when she saw the look in his eyes. He pulled a hand back and she tried to cover her face with her arms. She wasn't fast enough, however, and Jackson's backhand connected with her face so hard that her vision went to black.

Still conscious, Imani's vision slowly started to return as the world swam around her. She screamed internally for her body to move, to run, to fight, but she couldn't muster enough strength in the moment to lift her head up, let alone her whole body. Something wrapped around her ankles and she felt a sudden tug as she slid across the bed and onto the floor.

Imani fell to her knees on the carpet. Jackson said something in the background that she couldn't quite make out. Something about "learning a lesson". There was a metallic clinking sound a few inches in front of her. She tried to focus her vision to see what it was, but instead clenched her eyes shut in pain as the man before her grabbed her by the jaw with one hand and forced her mouth open.

Something thick and soft that tasted heavily of sweat was shoved into her mouth until her face was mashed against something in front of her.

As the realization of what was happening dawned on her, Imani snapped back to reality to find that Jackson had forced his cock into her mouth. She tried to scream in horror, but couldn't open her mouth much wider. It didn't help that her nose was practically buried in his pubes.

Jackson's hips jutted forward and he let out a low moan. "Ugh, take it all, you fucking faggot." He pulled his hips back and started pumping in and out of Imani's mouth.