The Arms

The Excelsior Arms is a mid-70's apartment building in the crumbling downtown district. Its rooms are poorly insulated and frequently drafty, but cheap. Therefore, there is a frequent turnover, and more than an occasional incidence of drama. It's the perfect existence for Brady Cobb, a twice-published poet and author of a number of unpublished novels, as it affords a view of many different lifestyles and personalities. The new neighbors on the floor immediately below his, though, are very different from what he has become used to. And, very intriguing.

It was hot in the laundry room, as always. Brady had his shirt unbuttoned, fanning himself with an old magazine as he waited for the buzzer on the washer to go off.

"Why the fuck they had to put this in the basement, I'll never know," he muttered to himself. "There ain't no way to vent the heat from these machines. Hell, the humidity alone is practically unbearable!"

He had this conversation with himself every week, when he washed his clothes. He supposed they were lucky to have this; people in other buildings downtown had to lug their stuff to the laundromat. 'Now, there's a fun thought. Finding somebody else's clothes thrown in with yours, to save a buck twenty-five,' he thought. At least it wasn't usually busy down here. He wondered if half the residents even washed their clothes.

When the one working washer finally cycled down and the buzzer went off, he got up to move his laundry to the dryer. 'It's about time,' he thought, 'maybe I can go get a bite to eat while these things dry.' As he opened the dryer door, however, he was surprised to find a load of dried clothes already inside. Sighing, he began to pile them on the folding table.

"Fuckin' people just leave their stuff here," he said loudly, "like they think somebody else is gonna come along and fold it for them?"

As he piled the clothes up, he noticed a few pairs of tiny thong panties among the other clothing; shirts and trousers and such. Temporarily intrigued, he held one of the pairs up, noting its small waistband. It was a racy zebra-striped pattern, with a lacy crotch.

'Somebody's daughter must be a fuckin' stripper,' he concluded, 'or else the heat got to these and shrunk 'em down to nothin.' He pulled two more pairs out and added them to the pile. They were equally skimpy; equally racy and frilly, with nothing but a tiny band of doubled-over material running up the back.

"Damn. Shit like this'll give a man a hard-on," he said aloud. He tried to imagine who they belonged to. No one in this place that he could recall could do justice to these things! He'd have to keep an eye out; see who had recently arrived. That, or someone from the outside had found this room, and was using it instead of the laundromat down the street. Shrugging, he moved his clothes to the now-empty drier.

As he was putting his coins in the slot, he didn't hear the tiny Asian woman come in through the doorway. As he whirled around to leave, she was standing right behind him. He found himself face to face with a middle-aged woman of about five feet; pretty, in a far-Eastern sort of way. Her skin, he noticed, was flawless.

"Whoa! I didn't hear you come in, darlin'," he said. His arms already out, he placed his hands on her upper arms to keep from stumbling into her.

She looked down at the floor.

"Sorry," she said in a soft, halting voice.

Brady stood for a moment, staring down at her. "You okay?" he asked. "Did I hurt you?"

Still looking down, she mumbled, "I'm... I am okay, sir."

"Sir? Damn, I haven't been called sir in a long time," Brady laughed. At 71 years old, he didn't get much respect from most of the younger people he came into contact with. He waited for her eyes to come up to his. At last, she glanced upward, then quickly looked back down again.

"You live here?" he asked.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "Yes, we move in recently. Apartment 3-C." She slowly dragged her gaze up to meet the tall stranger's again. "I am Sue Lin," she told him. She spoke in English, but her manner was heavily Asian.

"3-C, huh? So that's you, directly below me. I thought I smelled fried rice last night. Welcome to the Arms. Hey," he said suddenly, is that short little fella your husband? I thought he was delivering take-out or something."

"He is 5'-4," she said defensively. "He is software designer." The man's hands were still holding her arms, and she felt slightly uncomfortable in his embrace. Still, his hands were strong, and his manner was confident, almost cocky. That appealed to her in many ways. She had a thing for dominant white men.

"I'm Brady," he said, "Brady Cobb. As in, rough as a..." He smiled at her, the edges of his eyes crinkling like an old cowboy's. He'd spent a lifetime working outside, and it showed in his face, and in his rugged build. "So, what does Mrs. Lin do?" he asked, still smiling down at her. She was, he noticed, more than casually pretty. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. He studied her body as he held her there, unwilling to let her go, just yet. He hadn't been this close to an Asian since Viet Nam. Most of those were underage hookers and housegirls. This woman was in her late 30's, he decided. Slim and toned, with the prettiest almond eyes he'd seen in a long time. She wore a dark tank top that did the small mounds of her breasts proud, and a pair of snug-fitting white shorts. Her body was tanned and her legs looked shapely.

"I do accounting work," Sue told him. "At home. I write a little, too."

She didn't know why she told him that, but she could tell that the fact interested him by his sudden raising of eyebrows.

"Yeah? What do you write?"

She lied and told him she wrote romance novels, failing to mention they were, in reality, erotic stories. She published on an erotic story site, and had a faithful following of horny men, but she worked hard not to get too close to any of them. 'That way lies trouble,' she reminded herself constantly, knowing full well the weaknesses of her past.

"I do a little writing myself," Brady said. "Maybe sometime we can swap stories."

Sue suddenly shivered. The very idea sent a bolt of nervous energy straight down her belly, into sensitive territory. This man, and the way he stared directly into her eyes, made her breath catch. She told herself she'd have to be extra careful around him.

"I... clothes need folding," she said tremulously, trying to draw away from his grasp. He held her a moment longer, then loosened his grip on her arms.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "I took your stuff out, only because there's only the one drier. I hope you don't mind."

Sue noticed a number of pairs of her panties lying on top of the pile, and felt that quick nervous twitch in her belly again. "Uhm... Is okay, I guess," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She quickly scooped the clothing into her basket and hurried upstairs.

"Fuck! That guy looked through my undies," she muttered in the stairwell. She grinned, in spite of her distress, enjoying the dark fantasy building in her mind. 'I should mind,' she thought. Her grin lasted until she came out onto her floor.

That night, both she and Brady were entertaining thoughts they shouldn't. For her, it had been four years since she'd acted on these kinds of urges.

The first time she'd cheated on Gary had been with a co-worker from his very first job, a year after they'd married. There had been a company party; a cookout. She'd gotten into a discussion with Steve while Gary was off ingratiating himself to his new bosses. Steve had made the statement, in passing, that he understood Asian women and their needs. She'd laughed and said she doubted that, but she was intrigued by his words. What he'd meant, he told her, was that a lot of them were submissive to an alpha male; a man who saw them as someone to conquer. She had argued, but later that evening, behind the separate garage, he'd forced her onto her knees for a quick blowjob. Then, even as she was still digesting his cum, he pulled her to her feet, spun her around and roughly fucked her. Sue was, herself, amazed at the ease with which she'd given in to him. She tried to blame it on the alcohol she'd consumed, but she knew it was more than that. It had to do with an age-old hierarchy that placed women beneath men in the social order. They met once more, at his insistence. Then she discovered she was pregnant with her first child. Thankfully, it was Gary's.

The second illicit hookup had been brief and tempestuous; an older biker named Cliff that she'd hooked up with at a bar one evening when Gary was working late. Their two kids were at her mom's and the timing had just been right. He fucked her over his bike the first time, then wherever she was able to meet him after that. She realized she was falling for the guy, and she realized how wrong it was - the way he made her do bad things; things no married mother should ever do. But, oh God, did she ever enjoy those things! Sadly, Cliff had called it off after his 'old lady' had gotten jealous of Sue and threatened to put a knife in her belly.

These memories came flooding back after meeting Brady. The man exuded old-world confidence. With his long hair tied back tightly, he more resembled a cowboy or a surfer type - the kind of man who could be romantic, but would probably prefer their women to be just as physical as them. Sue had never surfed, but she worked out regularly. That served to keep her sex drive alive, too. Gary was often too tired lately to attend to her needs, but she had a 'friend' in her bedside drawer. As Gary slept beside her, she listened to Brady's footsteps above, pulled the zebra-print panties aside and toyed herself as quietly as she could. In her mind, she wished Brady could see her.

The next day she listened for his footsteps, and when she heard him leave his apartment, she ran to the stairwell, where she 'accidentally' encountered him. He was polite, but brief with her. She watched him go down the street from her window, her hand idly playing at the front of her dress. "He does stand out," she thought, watching his casual stroll through the hectic crowd, until she could see him no more. Sue masturbated furiously on her bed.

Two days later, they met in the stairwell again, entirely by accident. He was coming up as she was going down. He stopped as she descended, his gaze on her as intense as ever.

"I hoped I'd see you again," he said. He didn't move from her path, so she had to stop just above him. His eyes seemed glued to her small but prominent breasts at first, but they travelled down over her dark leggings to the place where her thighs met her abdomen. She had what his buddies would call a three-finger gap there; her mons prominent, her labia forming two little bumps under the nylon. He found it hard to look away.

Sue shivered, her heart rate soaring in a matter of moments.

"Uh, so you are seeing me now?" she asked.

Brady chuckled as he raised his eyes to hers. "Yeah, I guess I was," he said. "A man's gotta like what he sees, too."

His words had a definite effect on the pretty mother. "Are you... I mean, you want to walk a lady to the store, Mr. Cobb?" She didn't think she could stand there much longer without touching herself; this guy was just too damned confident!

Brady stepped back to let her join him on the same step. He put his arm around her as she did, and made a show of escorting her down the next two flights. "I don't mind if I do," he quipped.

His familiarity fascinated Sue; the way he kept his arm around her waist, as if he owned her already. The way their hips touched when he pulled her in to avoid someone on the sidewalk. Everything was sending little electric shocks through her. She recognized the signs. She'd tried to avoid these feelings because of her family, but she loved the way they reminded her of her past. This was wrong all over again, but it felt so right to her in this moment. She felt, again, the way she'd loved to feel - slutty. She liked where this was going. She leaned into him, putting her hand over his, on her belly.

Brady was impressed by the woman's taut stomach, and splayed his fingers out to cover most of her belly. She encouraged him to feel her flesh as he scrunched her top up under his fingers. He imagined her without clothes. 'I bet she's a little beauty, naked,' he thought. Too bad she had those kids, but she'd sure come through it in good shape. Absurdly, he thought of her husband; the straightlaced looking software designer. He didn't deserve this trim little thing!

He carried her few groceries for her in her folding basket, just as a good husband would. Brady could be charming when he put his mind to it. Besides, he wanted to see what their apartment looked like. The previous tenant had been a beer-drinking Polish man, who never took out his trash. For two years it piled up, finally stinking so badly Brady had called the landlord. That had left the apartment up for rent, and brought him Sue Lin. And her family, of course. The husband, and the two kids. He could hear them as they approached the door of 3-C.

"Thank you," she said softly, "I take them from here."

"You sure? I could bring them in," Brady suggested. "It's no trouble."

Sue put her finger to her lips, shushing him. "I will do that," she said. "My husband will be napping after working. He's very private. Doesn't bond well with American men. I am sorry."

Brady set the basket on the floor. "Okay," he said, "but I'll see you again. What time does your husband usually go to work?" He held Sue's gaze for a moment, letting her see the determination in his eyes, and she caught her breath.

Against her own will, she told him, "In the morning. Eight o'clock. He takes our children to school. Then goes on to work."

'Why did I tell him I was alone during the day?' she wondered. But she knew. Her tummy roiled inside, wondering when he would come to take her.

Brady didn't push it, but he thought of her non-stop. He remembered the whores in Viet Nam; the way they liked to tease before giving a soldier what they called the "GI happy face." They always gave it up, he remembered. They liked the money, but they were just as addicted to Americans. Asian women, once they'd been fucked by a thick American cock, couldn't say no.

In the evenings, he listened to the TV from downstairs, and to the sound of her kids playing. He never heard her voice. Once or twice, the husband raised his voice to her, and he felt the tension of their domestic quarrels. Three days after he had accompanied Sue Lin to the grocery, he stationed himself near the foot of the stairs. When the husband came down with the kids, he said hello, and attempted to engage him in conversation. He wanted to know more about this man, but the man answered curtly and pushed past him, anxious to get the kids to school on time. Brady watched them drive away.

"Well, fuck him," he mutterred. 'No. Fuck her.'

Brady made himself wait thirty minutes. He wondered what the woman was doing in there as he walked to her door. When she answered his knock, he was pleased to see her in leggings and a sports bra, obviously working out. There was a mat on the floor.

Sue was embarrassed. She pushed a tendril of black hair away from her face, where it had escaped her pony-tail and stuck to her forehead. "I... I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I don't get company." She looked down, as was her custom, at the floor. "You... this is bad time."

He noted the sweat stains beneath her breasts, and the way her nipples pressed against the tight top she wore. The yoga pants were molded to her hips, her camel-toe prominently on display. His dick began to stir.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," he said, pushing the door wider. "I would have called, but I don't have your number. So, you need a workout partner? I'm not as stiff as I look. Or maybe I am," he told her, chuckling at his own joke.

Sue stepped back, moving with the door. His meaning wasn't lost on her, and she wondered again what his cock looked like. "No, I..." She pushed the hair away again; it seemed determined to stick to her face. "If you let me clean myself up, you can come in for a cup of tea... or something," she added in an almost breathless voice.

He chuckled. "Don't clean up on my account. I like a woman who's a little sweaty," he told her. "Or, as you ladies like to say, a little 'perspire-y.'" He pushed the errant stray hair away from her face, then cupped her cheek. Her face had a slight oily sheen that he found attractive, in a very primal way. He decided today was the day.

"I know what'll make you sweat," he said, looking into her eyes.

She immediately stiffened, forcing herself to think of her children; of her marriage. "No," she stammered, "this isn't... I mean, I don't mean to give wrong impression."

Brady immediately saw that she was in denial. She'd obviously been flirting before, but now she seemed to have taken the opposite tack. Her face, when she looked at him,was flushed, and not just from her workout, he suspected. It also held a little fear of him. He liked that. Was she trying to make him think she didn't want this? His hand gripped her chin, letting her know that he wasn't going away. He kicked the door shut behind him as she stared up at him, her mouth open.

"Please, Mr. Cobb..." Her voice sounded desperate, pleading. She staggered backwards as he advanced on her.

"Wrong impression?" he asked in a steely voice. "Was it giving me the wrong impression when you let me put my hand under your shirt the other day?" His voice, at once calm and menacing, chilled her to the bone when he said, "I want to feel so much more, you know. Sooo much more." His other hand moved around her waist and he pulled her to him, even as his one hand tilted her face up to kiss.

"I'm gonna make you my little slut," he told her, just before their lips met.

She received him eagerly; him naming her 'slut' had released endorphins that she couldn't deny. 'Slut! Yes, I am a slut,' she told herself, 'a cheating married slut!' As his lips closed over hers she opened her mouth to him, inviting his tongue. At the same time, she pushed against his upper arms, as if trying to fend him off. She couldn't let him take her that easily. 'How would that look?' she thought. She was in her own apartment, among her kid's toys. Under her husband's rule! 'My husband,' she reminded herself, as Brady's tongue invaded her mouth. 'He would...'

Any thoughts of Gary left her mind as Brady's thick tongue swept up under hers, wrapping itself in the heat of her mouth. Her resistance evaporated, her hands merely resting on the older man's biceps. She felt the hardness of many years of heavy work, and squeezed them appreciatively. Brady's right thigh had pushed itself between hers, and she felt a rush of electricity as it contacted her pussy. She squeezed her thighs around his without thinking.

Brady felt her resistance slip away as he worked her mouth with his tongue; the way she tried to make him think she wasn't into this, and then the way her mouth moved against his as her body conformed to his. He hadn't been wrong; this woman was conditioned to being used. He wondered briefly how her husband treated her in bed, and decided there was probably very little spark there. Not the way she molded into him and tilted her hips slightly upwards, against his throbbing cock. He noticed that, and smiled into her lips.

"You are a little slut, aren't you?" he asked. She didn't reply, but moved almost imperceptibly against his cock. "Aren't you, Sue?"

At last she met his gaze. She said simply, "yes."

Her arms went around his neck. She locked her hands together, feeling his pony-tail and the coarse skin at the back of his neck.