Haunting Exhibition

This is a 2013 Halloween Contest entry. Please vote. If this story seems familiar, you may be recalling a story I submitted in the 2010 Halloween Contest with a different title. I recycled a few plot points for this new story in the same sense "West Side Story" recycled plot points from "Romeo and Juliet". I believe my writing has improved, and I hope this story is the proof.

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Anne graduated and found an entry level job across town, but I needed two more classes to complete my degree. We dreaded imprisonment in dormitories, so we scoured town looking for alternatives. A friend of a friend described a promising vacancy. He said a girl renting a nearby apartment disappeared without explanation. The landlady elected to find a new tenant.

When we saw the apartment, it suited us better than others we considered. It featured two bedrooms and one bath on the ground floor of an antique house two blocks from campus. Rent presented a problem. Even with her job and my small contribution from savings, we couldn't quite afford it.

"This apartment won't be on the market long," the landlady cautioned. "There's another party interested. If you want it, tell me as soon as possible."

"Can we sleep on it?" Anne begged.

"I have another appointment now, but I can meet you here at 8:00 tomorrow morning. I'll bring a rental agreement you can sign if you decide you want the place."

That night, Anne and I discussed our options. I resigned myself to settle for a worse place further from school, but Anne suggested we find another roommate to help with rent. Neither of us wanted to risk loosing the opportunity. We excitedly planned for me to go back to the house in the morning and sign the lease. Anne couldn't be there because she had an early meeting scheduled at work.

First thing in the morning, I stood outside the house admiring its architecture as I waited for the landlady to arrive. I checked the time and wondered if she might be inside. When I knocked on the wavy glass centered in the front door, the silhouette of a girl appeared. She fumbled one handed with the lock from the inside while struggling to balance a large box with her other arm. Old houses often have sticky doors and rusty locks. I called through the glass for warning and attempted turning the handle. It creaked and resisted but clicked, and the door swung open across the threshold.

To my surprise, the shadowy figured resolved into Kristen. She didn't recognize me at first, but she smiled when I said my name. Kristen and I dated right after high school graduation four years earlier. It didn't last because of Kristen's depressive moods. Her extreme neediness and aggressive sexuality scared me to death back then. Most of our dates ended with her tearful accounts of real or imagined social traumas. I suffered through our liaisons horny as hell, but I refused to make out with a sobbing girl even if that's what she wanted. I broke up with her after an incident when she invited herself to my parent's house: She attempted to suck my dick while my mother talked on the phone across the room.

"Kristen, what are you doing here?"

"I'm moving in," she explained.

My stomach sank. I was too late. Kristen must have snagged the place right after Anne and I left the previous day.

"Let me help you with that box," I offered and clutched it when it tilted beyond her control. "Anne and I toured last night and loved this place. I came back this morning to sign the lease."

Kristen looked impassive and said nothing.

Half joking, I asked, "Do you want two roommates?"

She appeared to consider the offer seriously and nodded with a "what the hell, sure" expression on her face.

"Really?" I asked, and she continued to nod.

I hadn't thought everything through before I asked Kristen, and I worried Anne wouldn't like the idea of living with one of my ex-girlfriends.

"Ah, I'll have to call Anne and make sure she agrees," I hedged while setting the box on the floor in the room Kirsten indicated.

We exchanged small talk for a while longer until I excused myself to call Anne at work.

Anne sounded just as excited as me on the phone. She knew about my past relationship with Kristen, but if Anne cared at all, it wasn't apparent to me. I assured her there were no feelings lingering between myself and Kristen. Anne said it wasn't too awkward, and I allowed Anne's optimism to convince me.

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A few days later, the three of us shared our new apartment. Anne and I took the larger bedroom. Kristen took the small one across from the bathroom. A comfortable routine developed. Anne woke up by 7:00 every weekday morning to get to work by 8:30. My classes met in the afternoon, so I often slept until 10:00 or later and worked on assignments before walking to campus for class and a bite to eat. Kristen showed zero interested in school. Most days, I left for school before Kristen was out of bed. On weekends, I often cooked a dinner, and the three of us sat around the small kitchen table.

The living arrangement encouraged casual intimacy. One bathroom meant sharing occasionally. A few days after arriving, I enthusiastically savored a shower when Kristen knocked loudly on the door.

"Let me in. I need to use the potty. Hurry!"

I reached from behind the shower curtain and unlocked the door. She burst in, dropped her pants, and squatted on the toilet. From behind the curtain, I studied her silhouette and listened to her steam of urine splash. She unrolled a generous length of paper to rub herself dry. With her pants still around her ankles, she stood, turned, and tossed the paper in the bowl. Then she pulled up the pants, zipped, and flushed. The shower water instantly turned scalding. I leaped from the flow and screeched.

"Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed, but she sounded amused.

She pulled the door closed as she left, but the door didn't latch. I waited a moment and then reached out to lock the door before I resumed jerking vigorously.

From then on, we shared the bathroom regularly. Anne often left the door open while she peed or showered. I made excuses on occasion to enter while Kristen showered. Kristen once spent twenty minutes brushing her teeth while Anne and I soaked together. I hardly waited for Kristen to leave before I pushed Anne up against the tile wall for a quick screw.

One Saturday morning, Anne went shopping while I stayed home to work on a large project. Anne returned after lunch and announced she bought me new clothes. She wanted me to try them on right then so she could return items I didn't want later in the afternoon. The interruption annoyed me, but I went into the bathroom and tried the first pair of jeans.

I heard Anne call through the door. "What are you trying?"

I called back, "The jeans."

"Do they fit? Come out and let me see."

I made an audible sigh of exasperation as I buttoned the pants and zipped the fly. When I returned to the room, both Anne and Kristen sat on the hastily made bed I shared with Anne. I gave them a theatrical twirl, and said, "what do you think?"

Both girls judged the pants a good fit, but I complained, "They're tight."

Kristen said, "You must be getting fat."

Anne said, "I like the pants tight."

The girls sent me back to the bathroom several times to try other pants and a pair of shorts. I enjoyed my amateur modeling debut enough to become semi-erect. Anne surprised me when I turned toward the bathroom one more time; she told me to just change in the bedroom. I made brief eye contact with her to detect if she teased me, but she looked serious. After a moment of hesitation, I turned my back to the girls and dropped the shorts. I reached behind to accept the next pair from Anne and slid them on with my back still facing the girls. For dramatic effect, I turned around and swiveled my hips in a ridiculous little dance.

With the ice broken, I stripped to my underwear right in front of the bed facing my audience. When I dropped the shorts to my feet, I stepped out and kicked them to Anne. Again to my surprise, she didn't give me any new pants to wear. Instead, she handed me a shirt to try. By now, my penis tented my tight white briefs. I feared getting excited enough for the tip to climb out of the elastic at the waistband.

I must have blushed or looked reluctant, because Anne and Kristen both encouraged me to get on with the show.

"You're almost done," they chorussed.

With a hint of titillation, I pulled my old shirt past my head stretching my torso and pausing for a moment with my arms raised. I tossed the shirt at Kristen who ducked and giggled. Anne appraised each shirt before handing me another.

The clothes must have cost at least $250 even at the discount store, so I insisted on paying.

Anne refused and suggested, "You can pay me back with services rendered."

She hugged me briefly with her arms over my shoulders and her wrists crossed behind my neck. I enjoyed her perky breasts smashed against my bare chest and achieved full erection.

Anne stepped back and gripped my shaft through my briefs. She stroked it a couple of times until the tip made its appearance. She stood to the side allowing Kristen a peek and said, "I think he enjoys modeling."

Kristen's silence through most of the ordeal broke, and she gazed into my eyes lamenting, "Poor boy, you're dressed for a party with no where to go."

To divert the conversation, I said, "Don't worry. I'll have a quick 'party' in the bathroom and take care of things in a moment."

The girls smirked. They laughed, and then Anne said, "I'm enjoying the show. Why not continue here?"

I blushed from my forehead to my shoulders assuming Anne planned to halt things before they went further. Kristen continued to stare at the head of my swollen dick intensifying my self consciousness. When Anne attempted to peel down my briefs, my hands flew to cover my crotch.

Anne struggled to pry my hands away for a moment. She offered to take care of things for me, but my hunger for exhibitionism evaporated. I escaped to the bathroom and locked the door.

Both girls stood outside making cat calls. "Are you done yet? Need help?" they jeered.

I wanted an orgasm, but I was too timid to jerk-off with both girls standing outside the door. Embarrassment made me reluctant when alone with Anne. Performing in front of Kristen was out of the question, so I dressed and opened the door.

"Oh, spoilsport," Anne chided before departing to resume her shopping spree.

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A few days after my modeling debut, I overslept and decided to skip my first afternoon class. I climbed out of bed at about noon and wandered toward the bathroom. I paused in the hall for a moment and rubbed bleary eyes. The faint creak of Kristen's bed and distinct heavy breathing brought me to my senses. I turned to look through Kristen's wide open doorway and beheld her laying naked on her bed. Her face pressed in a pillow and her ass jutted up in the air. She masturbated vigorously. I followed her fingers sliding back and forth between engorged lips and over her clitoris. Fascination glued me in place until I sensed she approached orgasm. Without warning, she flopped onto her back. I jumped away from the doorway to avoid discovery.

My bladder threatened to explode, but her wide open door made passing unnoticed impossible. Even getting to the bathroom promised no cure for my inability to pee with a raging boner. I waited a few moments while I listened to her jilling-off. She emitted mousy noises, held her breath, hyperventilated, and then resumed the pattern. Finally, She gave an expressive slow sigh followed an animal grunt.

I chose that moment to lunge past the doorway with my back to Kristen. Locked in the bathroom, I started the shower to cover sounds of my own swift masturbation. Kristen closed her bedroom door before I finished my shower.

The spectacle I witnessed entranced me and captivated my imagination. Days later, Anne crawled on hands and knees across the bed to me. When I slipped into her from behind, Anne lowered her face to the bed innocently copying Kristen's lewd pose. I daydreamed about Kristen's most private moment as I pumped into Anne. The thoughts crossing my mind when Anne squirmed impaled on my cock revolved around Kristen.

The way Kristen pleased herself without detecting my presence made her performance genuine. On a couple of occasions, I talked Anne into rubbing her clitoris for me. It enhanced our sessions, but it just wasn't the same. She knew I was watching, and she put on a show. It didn't feel as candid as the sight of Kristen.

A few weeks elapsed, and routine in the apartment continued. I tried to surreptitiously catch Kristen again. I skipped more classes than prudent in hope of reliving events. Fantasies about Kristen catching me masturbating dominated. The scene entered my mental script every time I satisfied myself.

One morning, I awoke with an erection as usual prompted by a vivid dream involving Kristen watching me while she rubbed herself to climax. Breathing heavily and blushing, I knocked on Kristen's closed door.

"Enter," she called.

I sat on the edge of her bed wearing threadbare old sweat pants inadequate to conceal the bulge of my arousal. Between heavy breaths, I confessed the essence of my dream. "I'm really turned-on," I explained.

Kristen sat up in bed so I saw she wore a tee shirt and panties. She asked to hear more about the dream, so I rambled, "You watched me masturbate. I lay on my bed, and you sat next to me."

Concerns about offending her melted when she demanded more details. In an uncharacteristically bold maneuver, I told her, "I'd be happy to show you."

"Here on my bed?" she asked.

I already regretted my behavior, but I panted with desire. Speech required effort. I said, "We should go to my room," and I walked out of hers.

Kristen followed wearing a bathrobe concealing the shirt and panties. She pulled a desk chair near to my bed and sat. Her eyes twinkled encouragingly.

I slid a hand into my loose fitting pants to begin with slow strokes. I looked away from her in shame and mumbled, "Do you want to masturbate too?"

"It's my turn to watch you," she insisted acknowledging the earlier incident for the first time.

Even with my hand encircling my cock, her statement prompted another blush from me. My penis shrank to half mast in embarrassed shame, but I continued to jerk-off until I returned to full size. My pants slid over my hips exposing my hand traveling along the length. Hours elapsed in my subjective time, but it only took a couple of minutes before I ejaculated onto my stomach. Kristen and I locked eyes while the shiver of orgasm traveled my spine.

Kristen wordlessly stood and walked out of my room.

Guilt overwhelmed me. I agonized speculating how I'd react if Anne masturbated for one of my male friends. I dreaded the consequences if Kristen exposed the secret to Anne. Unbearable remorse trapped me at the scene of my foolishness until Anne arrived home.

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Time passed. Either Kristen didn't tell, or Anne chose not to reveal her knowledge. The routine in the apartment resumed. I worked more than ever to support and satisfy Anne.

Winter turned to spring, and my own graduation approached. As always, I enjoyed the blooming of the bikinis when college girls attempted to get a little sun before spring break. I strolled home from campus horny from ogling so much flesh.

Anne lay on her stomach in a sunny spot on the floor of our bedroom. Direct light beaming through the window penetrated her loose fitting terrycloth shorts to accentuate sensuous curves. The fabric of the leg holes stood away from her thighs. My eyes scanned sexy long legs to spy half of her bottom covered by sheer pink panties. I rubbed her calves and massaged my way higher extracting coos and sighs of pleasure. My fingers tickled impossibly thin hairs on the back of her legs using only the lightest touch. Anne rarely shaved the blond hair on her legs because nobody could see it from more than a few inches away.

I planned to slip my hands under her panties when Kristen walked through the open door into the room. She settled onto the floor beside Anne. Feeling like a cad, I used one hand to massage Kristen's foot while I applied the other to stroke Anne's inner thigh. Giddy naughtiness swelled my libido while I groped two girls at the same time.

Neither of them complained when I attempted greater liberties. I managed two fingers in Anne and vigorously kneaded Kristen's left buttock. Anne writhed on my fingers. Kristen humped an invisible lover in rhythm with my squeezes. I could clearly hear the slurping and smacking sound of Kristen's lips opening and closing in response to my firm gripping motions. Part of me wondered what Anne must be thinking about the license I took with Kristen beside her.

Anne rolled over to push away her shorts and panties. "Fuck me now!," she moaned.

Anxious about the exhibitionist performance she commanded, I obeyed. After a blur of stripping and mounting my lover, I thrust franticly in missionary position while Kristen hovered inches away. I developed the strangest premonition. It's hard to explain, but the expression on Kristen's face hardened. Kristen broadcast waves of increasing irrational jealousy.

When I collapsed spent from an embarrassingly short session of rutting, Anne and I lay together on the carpet. Anne probably wasn't satisfied yet, but Kristen riveted my concern by openly sobbing. The ability to speak deserted me. Nobody forced or even invited her. Just like old times, Kristen's emotions became my problem. She stormed out of the room slamming the door.

I dragged my clothes back on my spent body. Anne gave me the look meaning I was going to regret something I'd done.

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Kristen embodied the word, "bitch." She stormed out of rooms when Anne entered and slammed doors like a petulant child. I tried talking to Kristen, but she cried whenever I asked her to explain her feelings. We argued constantly.

Kristen trespassed when I showered or changed clothes. She exploited every possibility to catch me naked. At first, her spacey expression staring at me through the shower curtain shriveled any hope of enjoying my usual playtime. However, as days went by without a moment of privacy, I started to relish the forced exhibition. Without any concrete desire or plan to engage sexually with Kristen, I nevertheless sprouted immense boners whenever she approached.

Anne worked longer hours returning home only to sleep. We cuddled, but there was no sex. When she announced her intention to move out, I begged her to reconsider.

"Do you have a place to stay," I asked?

Anne grimaced at me as if I had two heads. She said, "I need to get out of the apartment, and if you're smart, you'll get out too."

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A week later, I hired a cab to deliver me across town where Anne requested a meeting. I hugged her and held her hands while she introduced me to Erica, an "Interventionist", whatever that is.

"I was so excited when I first saw the apartment," Anne explained to Erica. "It's an old farm house built before the town grew up around it. Someone carved it into three apartments: one on the ground floor and two up stairs."

"It's a shame to see a beautiful old home butchered," I interjected, "but we could never afford to rent the whole thing."

"Bryan, please let Anne finish," Erica requested in a manner forbidding contradiction.

"As it was, the rent was almost too much," Anne agreed. "We talked about finding a roommate, but neither of us wanted to share our space with a stranger. I resolved to pinch pennies and make it work."

I squeezed Anne's hand for emotional support.