The Condo Upstairs

On June 1st, one month ago, I was boarding my plane to Hawaii, excited to move in with my long-distance boyfriend after two long years of being away while finishing school. I had to finish my B.A. by thirty; it wasn't an option. It had been on my to-do list since finishing community college five years earlier. Since my boyfriend was always working anyway, I'd left Hawaii, gone to New York to attend an expensive journalism program, and successfully graduated exactly five days before my thirtieth birthday. Now, properly degreed and returning to Hawaii and my long-term partner, I felt like I was about to embark on real adulthood. He'd rented a studio apartment right on the beach at a condo called Mauka Luna. Complete with a swimming pool surrounded by palms and plumeria trees, it would be our own piece of paradise. I couldn't wait to start our life together.

But unexpectedly, that life was short-lived. A week after I arrived, my boyfriend, who was still always working and who'd seemed distant and preoccupied since the day I got back, dropped the devastating news on me that he wasn't sure how he felt, it wasn't what he'd expected, and that he just didn't feel like investing in our relationship anymore.

"I'm sorry, Danielle, you deserve better," he'd said, packing his suitcase. "Stay here as long as you need to while you figure things out."

He left and I cried for days. The emptiness of our bed amplified the aching void in my heart. The last thing I'd wanted to do was live alone; I'd spent our two long-distance years alone, and lonely. But here I was... again.

At least my rent was paid up until October, and I didn't have to worry about that for a while. I hadn't come financially prepared to support myself right away. I was doing editing work part time, working from my laptop, and writing part time, trying to get myself established as a freelancer, but work was sporadic, and clients were few and far between. I tried to focus on my career instead of the gnawing loneliness in my middle. Some days, after hunching over my laptop for eight hours straight, I'd remember that the ocean was in my backyard and go sit outside to watch the sunset.

Mauka Luna is part long-term rentals, part vacation rentals. The vacation rentals are the ones with the patios and balconies looking out on the beach. My studio's windows look out at the parking lot. But, hey—free rent.

The front lawn, overlooking the ocean, is always dotted with tourists enjoying their summer vacations. They are here to have fun, let loose, and soak up the sun, lying out in their bikinis and swim trunks, getting sunburnt, drinking beers and grilling up steaks on the barbecue. Some are businessmen, mixing business with pleasure, making calls and looking at paperwork on their balconies. Personally, I'm the resident nerd, always reading a book or scribbling in a journal under the umbrella at the far end of the yard.

Sometimes, though, I just take a day off to relax—like today. It's a Saturday and I've decided I need to catch up on my own summer sunbathing. I've put on my cheeky new bikini (one I bought because I knew my boyfriend would love it) and my polarized sunglasses, and I'm lying on a lawn chair in the 11-AM sun. I'm enjoying the feel of its hot rays on my already mocha-colored skin (the skin tone I inherited from my Middle Eastern father), and I stretch out my slim-but-still-curvy 5'5" body. I've put my long, thick, dark hair up in a messy bun, and I've rubbed coconut oil all over my skin to maintain its moisture, so I'm smooth and shiny and smelling like the tropics. My C-cup breasts, softly rounded, are tucked inside the jewel green triangle top of my bikini. I've just gotten to the point where I'm totally relaxed, listening to the sound of the ocean waves and feeling a gentle breeze, unable to keep a little grin off my face because it feels so good— when a man's voice startles me.

"Would you like a drink?" the voice says.

I look over and see that one of my neighbors has settled in at a table near my lawn chair and is holding a sweating glass of something cold; maybe a mojito or a margarita.

Unlike most of the tourist vacationers who are perpetually attired in their swimwear, he's dressed in a white linen, button-up shirt with a collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and gray cargo shorts. His face is pleasant; he's a bit older—I can tell from the gray around his temples—but he's well-built and rather handsome. Though he's seated, I can tell he's tall—probably about 6 feet. He has broad shoulders, a healthy tan, and his eyes are clear and blue. He has a subtle smile on his face.

I'm immediately shy. "Oh, I don't drink much..." I begin.

"How about a small one then?"

He lifts a bottle from an icy cooler by the table, pours a small glass of the yellow-green liquid, and offers it to me.

I accept it with a bashful, "Thank you."

"Enjoy," he says, and his smile is more in his eyes than on his lips.

I sip the drink, and it's cold, slightly sour, and sweet at the same time. I can taste the alcohol, but it's not too strong—it's refreshing, really. It's definitely a margarita.

"Mmm, it's good!" I remark.

"Glad you like it." He takes a sip of his own drink, then inquires, "Are you on vacation?"

"No, I live here. I've been here for a few weeks."

"Welcome," he replies, "I've been in my condo for a few years now. But this view—" he gestures to the ocean—"never gets old."

"I'd imagine not!" I agree. The sky is a stunning, cloudless blue on this midsummer morning, and the surrounding neighbor islands show up green and lush across the channel. As if on cue, two white doves fly into view and across the yard, stopping to inspect some crumbs in the grass under one of the other tables.

"You're a writer?" he asks.

"Oh! No. Well... sort of," I respond. "I do write, but nothing steady... yet. I'm also an editor." At first I wonder how he guessed my work so closely, but then it occurs to me that he's probably seen me before, propped up in the shade, scribbling away.

"Ah, an editor. Very interesting. What do you edit?"

"Oh, mostly newspaper stuff, magazine articles, stuff like that," I reply, "I'd like to start editing books too but it's slow going."

He nods, as if familiar with the ups and downs of the freelance industry. "I've done some photography work myself; I know it can be hard to get your foot in the door sometimes."

"Nice! What kind of photography?" I ask.

"Oh, all kinds. Nature. Cars. Models," he shrugs a bit, turning his glass around with his fingers, again with a subtle smile playing over his face.

I can't help smiling, too, sneaking glances at him sideways. He has such a nice profile. I have to admit it to myself, I'm super attracted to this stranger who also happens to be my neighbor.

We continue chatting, small talk and get-to-know-you questions. His name is Curt, and he's originally from Pasadena, California. He's been a businessman, but retired early. Now he mostly does consulting when he feels like it, photography when he feels like it, and divides the rest of his time between cooking gourmet meals, restaurants, reading, surfing, swimming, and traveling.

"Sounds divine," I murmur, having finished my short drink and allowed him to pour me a second. "I can't wait to be established and successful and be able to travel, too... and of course the fine dining."

"Why wait?" He smiles. "Join me tonight. For dinner."

I feel elated and embarrassed at the same time. I've longed to spend time with someone and hated my endless loneliness since the breakup, but was I really ready to start dating again? I'd been out of the dating scene for a while—four years since I'd started dating my ex. Would I know what to say? What to wear? All of that ran through my mind in just a moment or two, and if he noticed my hesitation, he didn't let on.

"I'd love to!" I replied, suppressing any squeamishness. It was time to take the plunge.

"It's a date," he said with satisfaction, clinking his glass against mine, and smiling that subtle smile in his clear blue eyes.

-----

The date went well. I wore a light blue, satin dress and some strappy heels, and we dined at a fancy, white-tablecloth restaurant. Curt wore a white dress shirt with khaki dress pants. His aftershave—or was it his cologne—smelled heavenly. Our conversation flowed easily, and between the delicious food—I had lobster—and the wine—I chose rosé—I felt flushed with happiness. It had been a long time since I'd felt beautiful, attractive, flirty, even. This was fun.

We continued talking for hours after the last bite had been savored, and I tapped out on the wine after my third glass. I couldn't handle much alcohol, and a third glass was unheard-of for me. I was definitely tipsy at this point. Luckily, Curt was fine, and he drove us back to the condo. It was around 11 PM, and as we disembarked from his Ferrari I noticed that a full moon was shining brightly in the sky.

"Look at that," I gushed—I do tend to gush when I'm tipsy. While looking upwards, I swayed a bit and began to lose my balance, but then I felt Curt's firm hand on my back and another on my arm, steadying me. Automatically, it seemed, I rested my head on his shoulder, and we gazed up at the luminous moon together. It was a comfortable, gentle silence.

After a few moments, we stirred. "I'd better get you inside, Danielle," Curt said playfully. He continued to hold my arm and guided me on the walkway leading into the entrance of Mauka Luna. We started to pass the pool, which was gated, with a high trellis fence around its perimeter. I noticed the way the milky moonlight was reflecting on the water's surface and stopped to admire.

Suddenly—I'm sure it was the wine—I was possessed with the urge to jump in.

"Have you ever swum in a pool in the light of a full moon?" I asked.

"Not this pool under this moon," Curt replied, smiling slowly.

"Let's do it!" I exclaimed. "It's so magical."

Curt laughed and opened the gate. I tripped a little on the cobblestones and he caught me.

"Woah there! Why don't you sit down so we can get those hazards off of you."

I sat in a chair at one of the poolside tables, and Curt knelt down to remove my shoes. His fingers lightly brushed my legs and ankles, and I felt a delicious shiver run down my spine. I closed my eyes. He really did smell sooo good.

"Thank you," I said, purring a bit.

"Now tell me you're not planning to swim in that nice dress," he said, his tone reflecting mine.

I stood up, slightly wobbly but much better now that I was in my bare feet, and pushed the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders. The gown was loose and drapey, so in one movement I had dropped it to the ground and stepped out of it, revealing a white strapless bra and black lace thong panties.

Curt's eyes flashed for a moment and then moved slowly over my body, silently. He just stood there, obviously admiring my slender curves and silky skin, kissed by the moonlight. The same moonlight enhanced the silver-gray in his hair and although I already knew he was old enough to be my father, something about having him gaze at me, in my bra and panties, with understated lust, stirred something hot inside of me. The sensation swirled and then centered between my legs, and I looked down for a moment to hide my fluster.

"What about you?" I finally managed to say, playfully.

He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt. Then he removed it, revealing a toned, tanned chest. In a moment he had also removed his pants, and stood with his hands on his hips. He wore navy blue boxers, and I noticed a bulge underneath them, though it was only a furtive glance before looking away. With the moonlight outlining his handsome figure, he looked like a movie star or some kind of Town & Country model. My arousal increased.

I moved to the edge of the pool, sat down, and gently lowered myself into the water, Curt following me in. The water was only slightly cool, the perfect temperature. I laughed delightedly and splashed some droplets into the air to watch them glisten in the moonbeams.

I felt him come up close behind me and I purposely pressed myself back against him, feeling the bulge in his shorts respond by growing harder. I felt his hands moving around onto my stomach, and I turned to face him.

There was an intensity in his eyes as they gazed into mine. The moonlight reflected in them like the water of the pool, and I was mesmerized. We drew closer and closer together, until suddenly we were kissing. The moment his lips touched mine, I felt a deep thrill of pleasure, and a fountain of desire welled up in my core. This was like nothing I had ever felt before. I kissed him passionately, and felt both of his wet hands grip the sides of my face. Then they moved to my ass, squeezing, rubbing, and then up to grope my wet bra.

We must have kissed for a full five minutes. I was insanely turned on, but when he reached behind me to begin unfastening my bra, I pulled back. Despite my body, my mind was reminding me that I had just met Curt that morning, and this was our first date. And I'd had too much to drink. I didn't want to rush into anything.

Curt's breath was heavy, but he allowed me to pull away.

"I..." I started, not sure what to say.

He waved it away. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he quickly apologized.

"No, you didn't... I was really enjoying it," I laughed. "I just... don't want to get too carried away."

"Of course," he said, his tone genuinely warm and understanding. I moved back into his arms, this time facing away from him, and we gazed at the moon in silence for another several minutes.

"Thanks for such a beautiful night," I said.

"No, thank you," Curt replied, his soft voice right by my ear. "I'd love to do it again."

I smiled. "Me too."

--------

Curt and I had dinner together almost every night that week, and every night ended with a make-out session like the one in the pool. Sometimes in his car, sometimes against it, sometimes right in front of the door to my condo. On Friday, he invited me for lunch instead.

"I have to go away for the weekend," he said over our panini sandwiches, "Just hopping up to California for a photography gig."

"Oh, sounds fun!" I said. "What kind of gig?"

"My friend is selling a yacht and he wants some nice pictures. And he offered to take me for a run on it, so why not?" Curt smiled.

"Sounds like a good deal to me," I said. "I still haven't seen any of your work, but I'd love to!"

"I'll show you some today," he replied, "after lunch. I have some portfolios up in my condo."

As promised, when we got back to Mauka Luna, he invited me up to his place. He was on the second floor. When we entered the front door, I gasped at the view. Directly across from the entrance was the balcony, looking over the ocean. The afternoon sun was streaming in now.

"I thought only the vacation rentals had the balconies," I said, stepping out to take in the panorama.

"Usually that's true, but I managed to wangle one for myself," he said. He was placing some leather folders on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Ooo, are these your photos?" I asked, coming inside and seating myself beside him.

He opened the first one, which held a stack of prints, and on top there was a glossy photograph of a sea turtle inside a turquoise wave. "Very nice!" I exclaimed. The photos in the first portfolio were wildlife, scenery, and sunsets. In the second, he had a collection of sports photography: surfing, fishing, soccer. The third portfolio had photographs of beautiful women. "This is the work I've done with models," he said. They were all tasteful, showing women dressed in various outfits and doing things like eating an ice cream cone, riding a bicycle, and reading a book. In the back there were a few boudoir-type shots of women in stunning lingerie, posed seductively by a window or on a bed.

"I love these!" I exclaimed again. I laughed. "I've actually always secretly wanted to do a boudoir photo shoot."

Curt looked at me and smiled. "Really?"

"Yes! Let's just say it's a fantasy of mine."

"Well... it doesn't have to be a fantasy," he said, a subtle smile playing across his lips.

I knew what he was suggesting even before he said, "I'd love to do one with you as the model."

I laughed; I couldn't really imagine myself doing it.

"I'm serious. It would be fun," he encouraged me.

"Well... maybe I will!"

"Let's plan it for next week, when I get back," he said.

I cocked my head to one side and looked at the glossy photos of sexy women, their sultry gaze directed straight at the camera lens. I would need to buy myself some sexy new lingerie over the weekend. I smiled.

"Deal!"

-------

Curt texted me on Sunday night. "Back from Cali. Had a great weekend and hope you did too. Photo shoot tomorrow?"

"Yes! What time?" I texted back.

"How about 5PM? And then after we can do dinner."

"Perfect."

The next day, I took a long shower. I washed my hair and exfoliated every part of my body. I had gotten my regular wax over the weekend, so I was smooth and silky for the photo shoot. After I got out of the shower, I applied a face mask, and then applied makeup to my dewy skin. My cheeks were flushed with anticipation. I really had always wanted to do this, and I wanted to feel sexy and beautiful.

As planned, I had bought some lingerie over the weekend; some satin, some lace. One in particular I'd bought even though I didn't dare wear it for the photo shoot; it was a pair of black lace, crotchless panties. I wasn't even sure why I'd bought them, except that they were so titillating and I couldn't put them down.

I glanced at the clock: 4:55. It was almost time to make my way up to Curt's condo. I applied some fragrance oil to my neck, my breasts, my wrists, and my thighs, and slipped on a simple white linen dress. Then I grabbed my boutique bag of lingerie and headed out the door.

Up at Curt's apartment, I knocked on the front door.

He opened it, wearing a pair of khaki pants but no shirt. God, he was insanely handsome. He'd gotten a bit more of a tan over the weekend and was sporting a silvery five-o-clock shadow. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him while he was gone. His clear blue eyes lit up when he saw me.

"Danielle! So good to see you." He leaned in and kissed my cheek.

"Good to see you too," I replied, happily stepping inside. I was admittedly a little nervous about this photo shoot and wasn't sure I'd know what to do, but I was also excited. It would be fun!

"I was just getting my camera ready," he said. It was one of those fancy professional ones with all of the lenses, levers, and dials. "Hope you don't mind that I'm shirtless, but it gets warm in here in the afternoon and when I'm shooting I like to be unhampered."

"Oh no, it's fine," I murmured, secretly enjoying watching him as he painstakingly made adjustments to the equipment.

"If you want to change in the bedroom, it's right through there," he said, indicating a room off of the living room with the door partially open.

"Thanks!" I went into the room and closed the door behind me. Curt's bedroom was done in denim blue and white, and smelled like his cologne and the sea. There were framed photos on the walls, some of which I recognized from the collections he'd shown me on Friday. The room was clean and well-organized, and the brown carpet under my feet felt soft and lush. There was a full-length mirror by the closet, so I walked over to it and set my bag down, ruffling through it to decide which outfit to wear first.

I pulled out a burgundy lace affair, one that really enhanced my curves and complemented my dark hair and eyes. I put it on, then turned slowly in front of the mirror. I caught my breath. Standing there in Curt's bedroom, I felt like I had never seen myself like this before. I had to admit, I looked beautiful. Sexy. Seductive. The thought of walking out and letting Curt see me gave me a sense of naughty excitement. I thought of the way his eyes had roved lustfully over my body the night at the pool and I began to feel those same thrilling sensations. Oh, yes. This was going to be fun.