The Girl Upstairs

Kevin was fascinated by the girl upstairs. She rented the apartment above his, and from the moment that he first saw her, he fell in lust.

He watched her come and go, heading off to work, returning home. Once they arrived at the main door together and he held it open for her, gaining as a reward a smile that made his heart lurch into a faster beat for a few moments and seemed to squeeze his breath fast in his windpipe, then she was gone. She could have taken the elevator but she was young and nimble, and chose to trip lightly up the stairs as he stood in the hall, watching her short skirt jiggle against the backs of her firm delightful thighs, until, just as the angle was almost right for him to catch a glimpse of the imagined delights of her underwear, she turned the corner onto the next flight, and although he broke out of his frozen stupor and followed her she was too quick for him, vanishing up the last flight to her apartment before he reached his own door on the floor below.

In his small sanctuary, he stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, and stared with dismay at his reflection. The thick glasses, lank hair, skinny chest and sallow complexion filled him with self loathing, and he turned away in disgust.

He looked round the living room of the apartment, at the two computers, the large monitors, the piles of books and discs, the scattered unwashed dishes from yesterday, take-away cartons still littering the table.

"Is this what I've come to?" he thought. A surge of anger and self pity went through him, and with a burst of energy he tidied up, throwing cartons in the bin and dishes into the sink. He worked at the keyboard for a couple of hours, then went to bed, but although he felt drained sleep eluded him.

He imagined her in the room above, sleeping serenely, her face peaceful on her pillow, her breast rising and falling, her dreams tranquil and pleasant. Did she dream of him ever? Of course she didn't, she never even noticed him! He was nothing, a nonentity, too far below her existence for her to be aware of.

He masturbated frantically, her radiant face floating above him in the dark, her soft body imagined in his arms, her lips warm on his. Afterwards he found no relief, no peace. His mind raced like a motor with the throttle stuck wide open. Only toward dawn did he find a few hours of feverish sleep.

In the morning, he dressed and went out. He found a hairdresser and asked if they could give him a modern, stylish look. They did their best, but a lock of lank hair still flopped over his brow. He stared into the mirror and thought that he looked like a young Hitler, without the moustache, and in thick glasses. He sighed as he paid the hairdressers, knowing that it wasn't their fault. "Can't make a silk purse out of a pig's ear." He told himself wryly.

His next stop was a local gym, and he signed up for a year, thinking "In for a penny, in for a pound." He had no gear, but he bought some shorts and a T shirt at the gymnasium shop and changed into them.

He found that he had no idea what to do once he was in the main gym, he hadn't exercised since school and even then it had been reluctantly. Under the guidance of an attendant he tried pumping a little iron with some light weights which still felt like lead ingots to him, then a session on an electric treadmill. The sweat rolled off him in waves, and he was glad he'd bought a towel so that he could shower. His heart felt like it was going to pound clean out of his ribcage, and his head swam. This wasn't going to be easy!

Later, sitting at his apartment window, he watched her as she walked up the street and through the front door. Did he really think that he could turn himself into the sort of guy that a girl like that would give a second glance to? He was just fooling himself, the voice in his head told him.

He heard her footsteps pass his apartment, going towards the stairs up to the next floor. He ached to open his own door, to stop her, talk to her, tell her how he felt, but he never could, he had no social skills, no way with words, no technique for approaching girls. He wasn't exactly a virgin, there had been that drunken fumble at college with a girl in his class, when she had taken him back to her room after a party where all the good looking trendy guys were already taken. He had been so scared at the thought that he was about to have sex for the first time that he couldn't get an erection, and when he finally did after much coaxing from her, he ejaculated seconds after entering her and she pushed him away in frustration and disgust. She never willingly spoke to him again. It was the limit of his sexual experience so far.

Sitting alone in his darkened room, he heard the girl upstairs open and close her door, putting yet another barrier between them. He stared into the shadows in silence.

The shriek rang through the building like an electric charge, a sound of pure terror, a lost soul being pursued through the caverns of Hell by flame eyed demons. A door slammed open, back against the wall, feet clattered and stumbled on stairs, a hand hammered on his door, hammered and hammered. He sat frozen, stunned with shock, then he ran to the door and flung it open, not knowing what to expect.

It was her. She fell against him, sobbing, shaking, and instinctively he put his arms around her and held her close. Her hands clutched and scrabbled at him, clawing, her mouth open and gasping for air, ashen face with wide eyes close to his. He drew her into the room and sat her in a chair, not knowing what to do, what had caused this.

Gradually she stopped shaking, looked at him, gasped "The bathroom! The bath! Oh God help me please!"

He ran out of the room, up the stairs to her apartment, visions of disaster flowing through his brain. Did she have a room mate he didn't know about? Had she come home to find a wrist slashed corpse lolling out of the bath, blood rivering along the floor tiles? He ran into her rooms, into the bathroom, to the bath, and.......

And, nothing! The bath was empty and dry. Empty except for....

A spider!

Not a big spider. Not really a small one either, just a long legged house spider, the kind that spins webs in the corner of rooms and sits there for days waiting patiently. Kevin scooped it into a toothmug and carefully opening the window he tipped it out. It was light enough to survive the fall and with luck it would find somewhere else warm to hunt in.

He went back down to his own place. She was still sitting there, hands clenched in her lap, trembling slightly.

"It's gone." He said

She nodded slowly, stood up.

"Would you come back up with me please? Just for a minute?"

"Yes, of course." They climbed the flight of stairs together slowly. She entered the small apartment, glancing round quickly, checking everywhere.

"I put it out of the window." He said, "It can't get back in."

She finally relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly. She turned to look at him, colour coming back into her face, the hazel eyes wide and deep.

"Would you stay for a while?" she asked "Have a coffee with me? Please."

He nodded " O.K."

She sat him in an easy chair while she made coffee. He looked around, at the furniture, not expensive but tasteful, the shelf of books, mostly on psychology as far as he could tell. She brought his coffee and her own and sat opposite him, the short skirt riding up her legs. He looked away, embarrassed, tried to think of something to say.

"My name's Kevin." He eventually managed. Oh boy, that was sure going to impress her! What a stunning conversationalist he was!

"I'm Lindsey." She replied, smiling.

"Have you always been frightened of spiders?"

"PLEASE! Don't even say the word!" She was trembling again.

After a moment she looked down at the floor. "You must think I'm crazy. People who don't have real phobias never understand. It's not just being afraid, it just blanks out your mind. You can't think, you just go haywire, total panic. I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you. You're the only person I even vaguely know here. I just needed help."

She sipped her coffee, then spoke again, her voice low, almost a whisper.

"When I was little, a very little girl, my father would shut me in a small cupboard. He would tell me I'd been naughty, shut me in for hours. They were in there. I could feel the webs. I would think I could feel them crawling over me. I would scream and cry and kick the door but he'd leave me there for hours. Sometimes I'd wet myself with fear, then he'd think of some suitable punishment for that too. He did other things as well. You can probably guess what. My mother knew but she did nothing, just turned a blind eye. It went on for years, until someone noticed. They took me away from my parents then, I never saw them again. I don't even know if they are alive or dead, and I don't care. I spent the rest of my childhood in a care home until they threw me out at sixteen to sink or swim. And here I am. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you. You can't know. You can't understand."

Kevin looked at a spot on the carpet. Let it fill his head, blank out his thoughts, soothe him.

"I do know." He said.

"No, you can't know. Nobody really knows." Her voice was on the edge of breaking.

He put down his cup, rubbed his eyes for a moment under the thick lenses.

"When I was a kid," he said "my father would hit me and my brother. Not for any good reason, just because he was a drunk. He'd just lash out for no reason. He never held a job down for long because of the drink, he was always getting sacked. My mother had to work just to put food on the table, and he drank half of what she made too."

She was staring at him now, her eyes soft.

"One day my little brother was sick, couldn't go to school with me." He went on "My mother had to work. She left him with my father. I came home after school, the house was quiet. I couldn't find them. Then I went into the bedroom I shared with my brother. I found him there, he was lying on the floor, I couldn't get him to wake up or answer me."

He stopped, emotion choking him. She reached out, put her hand on his. "Please, go on."

"I ran to a neighbour's house. They came and tried to revive him, but he was gone. They called the police. When they came they searched the rest of the house. They found my father in the garage. He'd hung himself with a length of electric cable from a roof beam. They reckoned he'd hit my brother too hard in one of his rages, then realised what he'd done and killed himself."

She squeezed his hand, knowing there was more to come.

"My mother went to pieces, totally broke down. The doctor gave her some tablets, sedatives, antidepressants, something like that. A month after the funerals she took the whole bottleful while I was out. I found her, too. After that I went into care. I was nine years old. They found me foster parents. I must have made their lives Hell. They never gave up on me, they never stopped trying to help me, but nothing could stop the dreams. When I was old enough they put me through college, and a month after I graduated they both died in a car accident. I've lived alone ever since."

There was a long silence.

She reached up and touched his face. "Broken birds." She said.

"What?"

"I went to a therapist for counselling. She called people like me, like us, broken birds. She said that they could see the sky but without a lot of healing they could never fly there."

There was nothing left to say. He sat quietly for a minute, then stood to go. Pain shot down his legs and he winced. She noticed and stood up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing really. I just joined a gym, I must have overdone it a bit."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Legs, arms, back, shoulders, everywhere!" He laughed.

"Then this is how I can repay you for your trouble. I'm a masseuse, it's what I do, I can help with the sore muscles."

"I don't know." He said, a little alarmed.

"Now don't be silly. It's the least I can do after you rescued me. Come here." She led him into a small bedroom, a double bed filling most of the space. "Take your clothes off."

"What? No, I couldn't!"

"Look, I've seen it all before. Wait." She went out, came back with a towel. "Wrap that round yourself when you're undressed, lay face down on the bed and call me. Now don't be shy, I'm not going to eat you."

"But....." too late, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. He stood in an agony of indecision, the thought of exposing his skinny body to her terrified him but at the same time he realised that there was something between them that he would kill in the bud if he backed off. Slowly and reluctantly he undressed. The towel seemed very small after he unfolded it, but he wrapped it around his hips as best he could and lay face down as she had said.

"Ready!" he croaked.

She came in immediately, she must have been just outside the door, waiting. He felt the bed shift as she sat on it beside him and his heart raced at her nearness.

"Now, just relax." She said, and her fingertips touched his shoulders and gently began to probe and stroke, kneading the aching flesh, finding the knotted areas and gently soothing them. Slowly he began to lose the tension.

The hands began to stroke down his back, long slow strokes, almost erotic.

"So, what do you do down there in that apartment Kevin? I know you don't go out to work."

"I write computer software," he said "stuff for small firms, websites, security stuff, so they can take credit cards over the net. It's what I took at college, computers are all I've ever really been interested in."

"Because they don't ask questions? Don't have emotions? Just do as they are told, not like people? Never want love, never expect it, never give it."

"Something like that."

The hands moved down to his thighs, kneading and massaging the muscles, loosening the knots, and down to the calves of his legs, gentle skilful hands, probing and stroking.

The hands left him for a few moments, and he felt her weight shift, heard a soft rustle of fabric, then they were on his lower back.

"Kevin, I really should massage your buttock muscles, they're a very important area if you're doing work outs. Would it be OK to loosen the towel?"

"I don't know!" he stammered.

"I promise you, I won't do anything to embarrass you."

"Well alright!" he heard himself say, amazed at his own daring.

Her fingers unfastened the towel where it was twisted into itself at his hip and folded it off him. Gently she began to pummel the muscles in his butt, kneading with her knuckles and chopping rapidly up and down with the edge of her hands. It wasn't so bad, felt quite natural. He tried to think of her as a nurse, someone who just did this sort of thing as a living, and it relaxed him.

Her fingertips began a circling motion on the inside of his thigh. It felt good, very good. The fingers worked up and down the leg, then almost so quickly he thought he may have imagined it, they gently brushed his scrotum. He blinked, surely it had been an accident, but the circling fingers moved up and brushed gently over his ball sac again, lingering slightly this time. He lay paralysed, not daring to move or speak.

"Would you like to turn over and I'll do your pecs and arm muscles? You can put the towel over yourself if you like."

He rolled onto his back, desperately clutching the towel over his groin. As he saw her, he gasped. She'd taken off her top and skirt and was wearing just a bra and thong. He goggled at her.

"I hope you don't mind, but I was getting hot with all that massaging." She smiled.

She kneeled beside him, and began to massage his upper arms and chest muscles, what there were of them, then she moved to his legs and began to massage the muscles on the front of his thighs. He watched her lean back flexing with the strokes, the flat stomach and trim waist, the firm breasts cupped in the lacey bra, the naked buttocks with the string of the thong vanishing between them. He realised to his dismay that he was getting an erection, the towl tenting up. Surely she would see it? She seemed not to be taking notice, just kept massaging the thigh muscles, but the fingers gradually crept higher and higher under the edge of the towel with each stroke until the tips gently touched his balls again, then withdrew.

Again the fingers slid under the towel, this time moving over the balls and tracing a path up the shaft of his cock. He froze like a rabbit in headlights as she gently took the hard shaft in her fingers and ran her hand up and down it. With a careful motion, she drew the towel aside, exposing his erection, which she gazed at for a second before beginning to stroke it again, the hazel eyes looking into his, a smile playing around her lips.

He groaned and reached for her, not knowing where to touch. She reached behind her, unhooked the bra and tossed it aside, then resumed the slow rhythmic cock stroking as he ran fingers down her back and side, cupped her nearest breast, hardly daring to touch her.

Her fingers quickened, tightened round his shaft, flicked over the throbbing tip. The other hand gently cupped his balls and massaged them. With a gasping moan he shed his semen in waves of physical pleasure that blotted out everything else. Her fingers stroked in time to the spurts, cum running through them and over his naked belly, pumping him dry as his hips writhed under her touch and he ran his hands over her body, feeling the warm silky skin of her sides and breasts under his touch.

She brought him tissues to clean himself up with, wiping her own hands. She stroked his stomach tenderly as she kneeled beside him.

"I'm so glad you let me do that." She said.

She lay down beside him, their bodies in contact.

"How well can you see without those glasses?" she asked.

"Only things very close up."

"That's O.K. then." She gently plucked them from his face and put them on the bedside table. She snuggled close, her face near his. The hazel eyes were drowning pools. The scatter of freckles across her nose, the peach soft cheeks, the moist lips, all were clear in his sight, beyond her the room was a blur.

She kissed him, her tongue probing between his lips, seeking his tongue, twining and caressing. He put his arms around her, felt the firm soft woman flesh, stroked her back gently. He felt himself becoming hard again, it pushed against her thigh as they lay together. She fumbled at her hips and he knew she was sliding the thong down her legs and off.

Her hand slid down his belly and gently enfolded him. He groaned and cupped a breast, feeling the small hard nipple on his palm. She took his hand and guided it down her body, took a finger, he felt it brush through neat trimmed hair, then into warm wetness. She placed the tip of it onto her clitoris.

"There. Just there," she whispered "stroke there, gently."

He moved his finger carefully, slowly, and she closed her eyes and murmured in his ear. Her hand teased his cock, sliding up and down the hard shaft in delightful torment. She drew him over on top of herself, and her hand gently guided him inside her. This was nothing like the college girl. Lindsey lay beneath him, her fingers stroking his back and sides, her soft breath on his face, murmuring to him, her hips rising and falling slowly as he moved inside her.

His earlier climax meant that he felt no urgency to cum, just the incredible sensations of the two of them moving together. Her body was a web of dreams, soft and fragrant, on which he floated. All of time and space shrank to a point around them. His loins were the centre of the universe. For long minutes he rode the surging waves of her thighs until he crashed on her warm shores and his orgasm raged through every fibre like a blaze of light and honey sweetness, and with a long moan he thrust deep into her as he came in slow waves of ecstasy, falling onto her as the sensations fled and left him empty even of thought.