Stir Crazy Ch. 01

Jake never wanted to touch someone so much in his life.

Here he was in his second month of social distancing, doing his civic duty by staying home, trying to help bend the curve.

He knew it was the right thing to do and in truth he didn't begrudge the sacrifice at all. At least he had a home to be confined to. Whatever it took to save lives. What he didn't expect though, and what was really starting to get to him, was how horny he had become as a result.

He had been in a bit of a dry spell before the health crisis anyway. He had broken up with his girlfriend about three months before. Work had been pretty demanding over the winter months and he was looking forward to getting out more in the springtime. Now, with the whole lockdown, he had all the time in the world, but he couldn't go out even if he wanted to.

And what made it worse was the woman on the third floor.

She had moved into the apartment right below his just two months earlier. She was, quite simply, a thing of beauty. Charcoal hair with skin as pale as a winter moon. A lithe body that seemed to float up and down the stoop of the brownstone they shared. He had first seen her when she was moving in, carrying boxes from a van, looking elegant even in jeans and a plaid workshirt. She had delicate features with intelligent green eyes that flashed with curiosity and humor. He was drawn to her at once.

He had first spoken to her when their paths crossed in the lobby. They were both checking their mailboxes.

"All moved in?" he said to her with a friendly smile.

"Still living amongst boxes, I'm afraid," she smiled back.

He detected an accent. French?

"My name's Jake. I live on the fourth floor."

"I'm Juliet. I ... live in a forest of boxes."

He laughed.

"So I've heard," he answered. "I noticed an accent. Are you French by chance?"

"Yes, I am. Have you been to France?" She sounded genuinely interested.

"I have. Several times. I love it there. Paris is amazing."

"Ah, that's my home. I find New York amazing too."

She was nice. Complimenting my city and all.

"You know," Jake said, "Riverside Park is two blocks that way and it's really beautiful this time of year. I mean, it's not the Luxembourg Gardens but...if you need to escape those boxes."

"I'll check it out. Thanks for the tip," she said with a winsome smile.

Later, he kicked himself for not asking her out right then and there. At least offer to show her around the park. But he didn't and now, with the lockdown, there was no chance of spending any real time with her.

Jake had moved to Manhattan two years before and rented an apartment on the Upper West Side. He worked in Chelsea as a visual designer at a tech startup. He'd come to New York after breaking up with his longtime girlfriend. They'd each gotten job offers in different cities and decided to go their separate ways. Not that they didn't care about each other. It just felt like the right thing to do. They were living on separate coasts and wanted to be free to live their lives. Jake had gone out with a few women during his time in New York but he was single now. Single and searching.

In the City, Jake felt like a kid in a candy store. Every party he went to, every bar he visited, even the office he worked in was filled with attractive women. Especially now that Spring had sprung, as New Yorkers ventured out after the long winter, the mood in the city had changed. Women in skirts and sheer blouses striding down the avenues. He'd smile at them and usually they'd smile back. It made him feel the world was full of beauty and possibility. Now, housebound and socially distanced, that part of New York's charm was nowhere to be seen. People would take wide berths when passing each other in the street, often times wearing a mask, and always averting their eyes. No, he was feeling socially isolated to the max. And he was horny as hell.

Then, one day, something remarkable happened. He had just gotten out of the shower when he noticed something on the floor -- someone had slipped a note under his front door.

"Jake -- I took your tip and strolled Riverside Park. The crocuses were lovely! Just what my soul needed. Merci bien, Juliet"

At the bottom of the note, there was a postscript:

"212-575-1212 -- in case you want to compare notes on urban parks"

He slapped the paper against the palm of his hand. Good things come to those who wait.

As Jake dressed, he thought about his next move. Should I wait to call her? Not come off as too needy? Nah, she took the first step, it's up to me to reciprocate.

He found his phone and tapped in the number.

"Allo," she answered with a lilt in her voice.

"Hi, it's Jake. I got your note."

"Oh Jake. Comment ça va?"

"Glad you enjoyed the park," he replied.

"The flowers were beautiful," she said. "It felt so good to get out in nature for a bit."

"Tell me about it. It feels good to actually talk to the someone from the outside world. I've been feeling a bit like Robinson Crusoe."

She did a short intake of breath as if to say "Oui."

"D'accord," she said. "I was feeling like Tom Hanks with his volleyball."

"Right," he chuckled. "Cast Away, wasn't it?"

"Ah, tu aime les films? Are you a movie fan?"

"Big time. Before the lockdown, I'd go to the movies all the time."

"Moi aussi. Me too. I miss them a lot."

We have things in common. Keep it going.

"Seen anything good lately? Anything you'd recommend?"

"Let's see. I saw 'Portrait of a Lady on Fire' on streaming. Je l'aime beaucoup. I like it a lot."

"I saw it too. Fantastic. Great visual storytelling."

"Exactly," she agreed. "The two women were wonderful in it."

"I'd say 'let's go see a movie sometime' but it's not in the cards."

"Tant pis. Maybe in a few month."

"Yeah, maybe in a few month."

There was a silence.

"Listen," he said, "I'm heading out to the store. Can I get you anything."

"That's sweet. Where are you going?"

"Zabars. Getting a loaf of bread and some cheese. I'd be happy to pick something up for you."

"I love the Greek olives there."

"The black ones or the green ones."

"The black."

"You sure that's all you want?"

"Olives would be heavenly."

"You got it," he said.

Jake headed out wearing his mask. There was a bounce in his step as he strolled down West End Ave. For the first time in a while, he felt optimistic. Like there was something better waiting for him around the corner.

When she opened the door of her apartment a couple of hours later, Juliet found a small white box with a 3x5 note card leaning against it. On the card, filling the entire space, was an intricately drawn, old-fashioned movie ticket, complete with "Admit One" in vintage block lettering. Along the bottom, the fine print was written in perfectly-formed hand-written letters:

"Redeemable for a film of your choice anywhere in the city and state of New York to be viewed in the accompaniment of your neighbor Jake at a mutually agreed upon time and place. Includes an assortment of popcorn, beverage, movie candy, and of course -- kalamata olives."

She laughed as she headed to the kitchen. She placed the box of olives on the counter, still studying his drawing closely. She took a banana shaped magnet from the refrigerator door and used it to affix the card at eye level. She looked out the window, thought for a moment, and then looked back at the card. Then she reached for her phone, tapped Recent, and selected a number.

"Hello," Jake answered.

"I accept," she said, simply.

"Excuse me?"

"Your invitation ... I accept."

There was a sweet intimacy in her voice. She sounded ... touched.

"I'm glad," he answered. "Of course, we'll have to wait 'til things ... get back to normal."

"Yes," she said. "We'll have to wait."

After a moment, he broke the silence.

"How were the olives," he asked.

"I haven't tried them yet," she said, picking up the box. "They smell good. So, how much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," he answered. "Consider it a belated housewarming gift."

"Merci, monsieur."

She plucked an olive out of the box and took a bite.

"Mmmmm, they taste great. I'd invite you to share them with me but..."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "We'll have to wait on that too."

"Yes," she said quietly.

There was another pause. Then, they both started to talk at the same time.

"I was wondering..." "It seems like..."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You were saying?"

"No, you go. I didn't mean to..."

"No, I was just saying," she continued, "it seems I've been doing a lot of waiting lately. I should be used to it. But I'm not. It feels like it's getting harder, not easier."

"I know, I feel the same," he said sympathetically. "It's weird -- here we are on this island packed with millions of people and yet we're totally isolated."

"Exactly," she agreed. "It's not natural for me, you know? I'm European, we live to go out, we socialize. We kiss each other all the time, when we say hello, when we say goodbye. We have dinner, we talk, we kiss some more. This feels like a science experiment in sensory deprivation or something. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'll go crazy."

Her words came tumbling out, like she had a lot to get off her chest. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You and me both. It's not the way we're wired to be. We're social beings for god sakes. Look, I'm sure there are millions of people, maybe billions, who feel exactly the way you do. We have a saying in English -- to go "stir crazy". It means to go haywire when your cooped up, imprisoned. Stir's slang for prison."

"Stir crazy," she repeated. "I like that. That's exactly what it is."

"Listen, I have an idea," he said suddenly. "You say you miss having dinner with friends? OK. Have dinner with me tonight."

"I'd love to, but we can't..." she interrupted.

"I know, I know we can't break quarantine. Just hear me out. You have a laptop, don't you?

"Yes." she answered.

"Well, let's have dinner together -- over Zoom. We'll set up our laptops—yours at your dinner table, my laptop at mine. We can each make our own dinner..."

"Et voila, we can have a real conversation over dinner!" she said excitedly. "C'est merveilleux!"

"All we need to do is synchronize the time."

"Eight o'clock?" she asked.

"Perfect," he replied. "Dinner at eight. Oh, one more thing. When you set up your laptop, put it on a stack of books so the camera's at eye level. And then light a candle and set it to the side of your laptop. I'll do the same. It'll be perfect."

"Aren't you the clever one," she said with a playful tone.

"Make yourself a cocktail, a little dinner, and I'll do the same. See you at 8."

"I look forward to it, Jake. À ce sôir."

"À bientôt, Juliet."

Several hours later Jake was getting ready for his first "date" in months. He dutifully shaved and showered, and even stood in front of his closet trying to decide what shirt to wear. He felt a little silly going to such lengths since they were only going to see each other on a screen. You don't even have to wear any pants, truth be told, he thought to himself.

He took care to make a dinner he could be somewhat proud of -- pasta with garlic, onions, mushrooms and broccoli, a salad, and a decent bottle of red he'd been saving. Again, he wondered why he cared so much when he was the only one partaking of the meal. Well, it IS my first date in a long time. Even if it's only a virtual one.

He hopped on the video chat a couple of minutes before 8pm. He didn't want her to have to wait for him. At exactly 8pm, her image popped onto the screen. When he saw her, he felt his pulse quicken. She looked absolutely gorgeous. Bathed in candlelight, she was wearing her hair up, with tendrils tickling her shoulders. She wore a cotton blouse with the top two buttons open. A gold necklace adorned her collarbone.

"Well, hello again," he said warmly.

"Bon soir, Monsieur. Tu es très beau."

"I'm sorry but I used up all my French earlier, I'm afraid."

"I said 'Good evening, sir, you look very handsome.'"

Jake smiled.

"Well, you look absolutely amazing," he replied. "But then you always do."

"Thank you, kind sir. Cocktail?"

She was into it and he was glad she was.

"What are you drinking?" he asked.

"I'll have a margarita with no salt," she answered, and turned to her side to pick up a glass. "Well, look at that! The service is excellent here!"

"I'm having a glass of red wine," he said picking up his glass. "Shall we drink a toast?"

"Yes let's, what shall we drink to?" she asked.

"Let's drink to new friendships," he said.

"Oh, I like that. To new friendships!"

They each tapped their glass against the camera in their laptop and took a sip. He watched her tilt her head back and take a healthy swig. She drank with gusto, like someone having their first glass in a while. He liked that too.

They began their meal with small talk and soon the conversation veered to every aspect of their lives.

He learned she was a writer and an editor. She'd moved from Paris to work for a publishing house in New York. She had a brother Pierre she was quite close to who also lived in New York. She grew up in Paris and spent her summers at their family's beach house in the southwest of France. He imagined she looked fantastique in a bikini.

She learned he was a designer, from California originally, and that he worked in high tech. He had dreams of owning his own design firm one day. He was athletic -- she had noticed his broad shoulders and muscular legs when she saw him in the lobby that day -- and loved the outdoors. He was in a relationship when he was in San Francisco but had been single for a while now.

By the time they'd finished their meals, they'd talked about a whole host of topics: movies they loved, movies they hated, their favorite parts of New York, their families, and even what they looked for in a mate. They were thoroughly enjoying each other's company and just a little bit tipsy.

"You know what," he smiled, "I feel lucky to have such a beautiful woman under me."

She looked at him, flirtatiously.

"Well, that's very sweet," she said. "I'll be honest -- I've often wanted a handsome man on top of me."

Jake laughed. She smiled and took a sip of her margarita.

"Of course," he said, "I would also like a beautiful woman on top of me. On top, beneath, to the side. It's all good."

She peered at him over her glass, beguilingly.

"Ah, but which one do you like the best, I wonder?" she said playfully. "Do you ... have a preference when it comes to being with a woman?"

Jake stroked his chin, thinking.

"Let's see. I suppose what I like most is variety," he said.

"A variety in women, or a variety in what you DO with women?"

"No, I meant the latter," Jake laughed. "I'm a one-woman kind of guy."

"OK, so what's the variety you like to DO with women?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "I guess I like to try a little of everything. See which one ... catches fire."

Juliet arched her eyebrows.

"A little of everything," she said. "That's ... impressive. I don't know a lot of men with that kind of stamina."

"Well, you didn't know me before," he smiled.

"Oh, I see!" she said, taking a sip. "And how do you ... start this fire that you speak of?"

"Well," Jake said coolly. "I think it all depends on the parties involved. If they spark or not."

"Interesting," she said, leaning in. "And what about you and me, Jake? Do you think we would ... spark?"

Jake held her gaze in his.

"I have no doubt we would," he said.

"Je pense que oui, aussi. I do believe you're right," she said, losing herself in his eyes.

She liked his confidence. Sweet and strong. Such a sexy combination.

"And would you," she continued, "try a little of everything with me? On top, beneath, and to the side?"

"And more."

Now her heart was pounding. She ran her index finger along the opening of her blouse.

"And more, you say?" she whispered. "Comme quoi exactement? Dis-moi. Like what exactly? Tell me."

Jake leaned in, his eyes fixed on hers.

"Like kisses covering your entire body. On your face, your neck, the backs of your knees, your inner thighs."

Juliet shifted in her chair, taking a deep breath.

"Je I'aime beaucoup," she whispered. "I like that. I like that a lot."

"And I would use my tongue the way a painter uses his brush."

"To make a spark?" she asked, breathily.

"To make a fire," he whispered.

Her fingers were gently brushing the tops of her breasts.

"That only you can extinguish?" she asked.

"That we can try to extinguish together," Jake answered. "But I don't think we could. It would burn so hot, the embers would always be there. Try as we might. Again. And again. It would always be burning below the surface."

Her breath was heavy now. Her eye lids at half-mast.

"We would try though, doing it again and again?" she asked.

"Day and night, we'd try. Every which way. Making up new, wild ways. Like two artists."

"Artists of love. I like that. Do you think lovemaking is an artistic act?"

"I think it CAN be. With the right person."

"I think so too. With the right person. Mon Dieu, if fait chaud. It's gotten so hot in here."

She pressed her margarita glass against her cheek and neck. She took a deep breath.

"I must say," Jake volunteered, giving her a moment to collect herself. "This is the best dinner conversation I've had a long time. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Very much," she smiled. "It's a pleasure to talk with someone who has such a way with words. What a good idea this was!"

"To our first dinner together," he said, raising his glass.

"And not our last, I hope," she replied.

She noticed her glass was nearly empty.

"Un moment," she said, reaching for the pitcher on the side table behind her.

In doing so, she arched slightly and Jake saw her beautiful breasts pressing against her blouse. They were exquisitely shaped and her nipples were protruding, pressing against the cottony fabric.

She refilled her glass and then replaced the pitcher onto the side table.

"À beaucoup de diners ensemble!"

Jake laughed.

"I don't know what you just said," Jake laughed, "but I'll drink to that."

"I said, 'to many dinners we may have together.' I'm sorry, I forget myself. I speak French when I..."

Jake waited for her to finish her sentence.

"When you've had a bit to drink?" he offered.

She looked at him blankly for a moment.

"Non, quand je suis stimulée. When I am excited."

Her eyes widened and she covered her face with her hand.

"Mon Dieu, je suis une imbécile."

She looked up at him, embarrassed.

"When I get turned on sexually, I go back to my French. I can't help it. It's just something I do."

Jake raised his eyebrows.

"Really, that's ... fascinating."

"It's just, the hotter I get, the more it comes out. Je ne peut pas l'arrêter. I can't stop it."

"Wow. I find that ... incredibly sexy."

"C'est vrais? Tu l'aime?"

"Are you kidding? I love it when you talk French. I'll love even more now."

"So Jake," she said. "Now you know my secrets. I speak French when I'm hot, I like kisses all over my body. But what about you? What makes you excited?"

"You mean sexually?"

"In every way. What do you look for in a woman?"

Jake leaned back and thought a moment.

"Well, I like a woman I can banter with," he began. "Like you, for instance. Someone who can take it and dish it right back. I like a woman who knows what she likes, one who's willing to be adventurous, one who's my equal."

"Ah, so you're a liberated man," she said.

"I try to be."

"Well, that's my kind of man," she said matter of factly. "Now what about sex? What do you like most?"

"Well, I like to change it up," he started.