tagExhibitionist & VoyeurWrap Your Mind Around That

Wrap Your Mind Around That


I live the New York life people outside of New York never think of. The Outer Borough Life. People elsewhere think of New York as a bunch of huge, imposing buildings where people live in skyscrapers and no one knows each other. Outside of Manhattan, that's rarely the case.

My apartment is on the ground floor of a brownstone in Brooklyn. The neighborhood is just outside of trendy: full of immigrants and artists that can't afford the rent of a more brand name neighborhood. I know my neighbors well- the drummer that lives upstairs, the couple in the next building with an herb garden in their adjoining yard and two cats, and my next door neighbor Joy.

I didn't always know them well and at times that could cause problems. The guy upstairs had to find out that his kick drum was right over my bed before we made peace. The couple next door's cats had to get used to my tomcat prowling their yard which led to some tense moments and me shelling out for a few vet bills before we became pals. My issues with Joy were slightly different.

Joy has a massive tattoo of twin dragons on her back that extends all the way down until it just barely reaches into the crack of her ass. Her breasts, while amazing, are possibly fake, have nipples almost permanently erect and a very livid shade of maroon, one of which is pierced. Her grooming habits include waxing although I'm not sure how thoroughly. I know all this due to Joy's wardrobe. She favors pants, shorts and skirts that rise low enough to display her tattoo to its completion. On her upper body she's usually wearing a bikini top or a tee shirt so threadbare as to not really exist, and on many occasions has come out of her apartment to tend to some minor outdoor chore or sunbathe in a small and sheer enough bikini leave few questions as to her hygiene.

My problems with Joy were limited to my constant fantasizing. Her outfits left just enough to the imagination to drive yours to the brink of mania. Having difficulty sleeping because it's been a while since I've gotten laid? Wondering what my cock would look like between her tits would usually be enough to make quick work of my insomnia. Occasionally a date would end well enough to wind up in bed but not well enough for that to be enjoyable. The tattoo on Joy's back always wound up mentally transferred onto the back of whomever I happened to be kneeling behind.

It got a lot easier for me a few months after she moved in. Summer was advancing and we were both spending more time outside on our respective patios. Pleasantries exchanged over the chest-height wrought iron fence between our apartments turned into neighborly conversations. In one such conversation I learned she loved hot food and home cooking. That led me to bring her a care package of chicken wings when I made a bunch for some friends coming over to watch the Yankee game, which in turn led to her coming over and watching the game with us.

We wound up becoming pals. I found out where she tended bar so I got to drink for next to nothing and she found out I was a carpenter and all around handy guy so she got her new light fixtures installed. We always wound up at each other's bar-be-ques.

Late one Saturday afternoon I woke up to brutally oppressive heat. A heat wave had kicked in a few days before but until now it had been possible to breathe without scuba gear. One thing about New York heat is it's humid. I pulled on some boxers and headed out to the patio hoping that, being just earlier than noon, the outside air would be less stagnant than my studio.

Joy was already outside. She was wearing a sheer camouflage micro bikini with a pair of high cut, low-rise denim sorts over the bottoms. The triangle back of the bottoms peeked out over the back waistband of her shorts. Typical Joy-wear. Being friends now I thought it would be weird to flat out ogle her but at moments like this it was simply impossible not to be hyper aware of the peripheral image of her body. From head to toe she was destructively attractive and they way she was leaning over the railing peering off into the neighbors yard just accentuated it. Her hair was jet black and worn in a diagonal slash from the back of her head to her face, being cut to the base of her skull in back and lengthening out to a shoulder length frame for her face in front. She was leaning against the rail on the elbows of very slender arms with her long, slim hands dangling from near non-existent wrists. Beneath delicate shoulders, her incongruously large breasts seemed to levitate from what must have been a boob-job that set her back about $15,000. From there she tapered down to a trim waist and absolutely flat belly that she sometimes corseted when she went to work in the counter-culture Mecca of the Lower East Side. Her waist flared back out into hips that haunted me at night with an ass that resembled a peach that wasn't just ripe yet. And to ignore her legs you had to be blind. They were the vast majority of her height and were the epitome of lithe strength, long and lean. This morning the calves and feet she normally covered in knee high platform boots were bare and her toes revealed painted the same shape of almost black maroon as her fingernails.

"God DAMN it's fucking hot today," was her way of saying hello.

"Tell me about it. My apartment's already a sauna." She came to the railing and we exchanged a kiss on the cheek.

"Mine too. I turned on the A/C and came outside until the joint had a chance to cool down.:

"That was smart. I didn't even put mine in yet."

"No? What the fuck is wrong with you? It's broken 90 all week! How the hell did you get any sleep?"

The honest answer would have been Astroglide, tissues and Joy's wardrobe. Instead I said "Not easily."

"Damn dude, you need to cool off. Why don't you come over and chill. I've got some beers in the fridge."

"Sounds like a plan. Let me put some pants on and I'll be there in a second."

"Fuck that, man, just hop the fence now. It's too hot to get dressed."

Nothing beats sound logic. I swung my legs over the railing and pretended I didn't have a semi as I followed her through the screen door into her apartment.

I sprawled out on the leatherette couch in her rapidly cooling living room while she went into the kitchen to grab a couple beers. "You know what I never asked you?" her voice rang over the click and hiss of bottle caps releasing, "Where are you from?"

Seemed like an odd question at this point, but truth be told we knew very little of the basics about each other. "I'm a Bronx kid, born and raised. Mom gave birth to me ten blocks from the house I grew up in."

"No shit? You're the first actual New York person I've met," was her response as she returned from the kitchen. In each hand was a bottle of beer with honest-to-God ice rolling down the sides. "I keep them in a cooler full of ice in the fridge. Nothing like a tooth-cracking cold beer on a disgusting day like this. I'm from Detroit. Mom's Filipina, dad's German. F.O.B. both. I got the hell out as soon as I could."

"So what brought you to the Big Apple?"

"Art school. It was either here or Chicago and Chicago was way to close to home. Now that I've got my MFA, I've followed it into the lucrative field of bartending."

We clinked bottles by way of salute and she flopped into the armchair across from the couch, flipping her leg over the armrest and sprawling out herself in a chair she could've done the backstroke in. I was just realizing exactly how tiny she was. I could probably span the entire small of the back across the outstretched right hand. I was starting to regret not at least putting on a proper pair of shorts before I came over, the fly on my boxers was gaping, as boxers do, and if I thought about her body any more I'd get a hard-on that popped right out of it. It was time to try to concentrate on the conversation.

"What did you go to art school for?" I asked.

"Unfortunately nothing useful like carpentry," she said with a nod in my direction. "Photography. Specifically fashion photography. I wanted to be the next Annie Liebowitz."

"What stopped you?"

"Models. Those cunts are SO catty. I was working as an assistant for a legitimate fashion photographer and we'd go to shoot these models. These chicks are used to slinging their bodies around and getting whatever they want, so another girl in the room was competition. They'd see Aaron and I talking about light readings or whatever and they'd go apeshit. It was hysterical, at the time I had no tits and I dressed like a total tomboy, I wasn't the kind of girl guys would look at twice with my backwards caps and my bull dyke boots, but they treated me like shit anyway.

"So after a while I just got really combative. I developed this whole fucked up psyche and decided to mock these chicks as much as possible. I started showing up to shoots dressed all slutty and shit. I cultivated this whole 'body as statement' thing. That's when the tits happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you serious? These." She gave her breasts a squeeze and a shake. "I got these huge fake tits installed. I also got some piercings and all the ink. I eventually grew out of it, not that I regret any of it, I just appreciate it at a different level now."

"Really? How so? I mean I know what level I appreciate big tits on, what's it like on your end?"

"Honestly? Not much different. I have amazing tits and I think they're hot. But for me I get an added kick in that I know people look at them and want. They want to see my shirt off, they want to grab them. That's so fucking hot it's unbelievable. I got into a whole new level of the body-art thing, I really dig the 'accidental nudity' bit now." 'Accidental' came complete with air-quotes.

"Define accidental nudity," I asked.

"Well basically it's showing off your body without showing it and making it look like it was an accident. Like if it's going to rain I'll wear the thinnest white tee shirt I can find and 'forget' my umbrella." More air-quotes around 'forget.' "On the train I'm soaking wet, every stitch of clothing I'm wearing is glued to me and I might as well be topless. Every pair of eyes are on me and I know exactly what half the guys in that train car are going to be thinking about when they beat off in the bathroom later that night."

"You enjoy that?" Here I am thinking that chicks get pissed off when you stare at them on the train assuming that in those situations it's genuinely a mistake on their parts.

Joy laughed. "Let me put it this way. You're sprawled out on my couch wearing nothing but an ancient pair of boxers. The fly is open enough for me to see that you trim your pubes, which is hot by the way. If I were to tell you honestly that when you left I was going to masturbate while thinking about what I couldn't see just below that, specifically if you knew I was going to make myself cum while thinking about your cock, you're telling me that wouldn't make you hot?"

It would and it did. "I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right. Like that, for example." She pointed to my crotch, hand curled around her beer bottle, index finger extended. I looked down and saw I had a massive erection pressing up against the fabric of my shorts and attempting to peek it's way out of the waistband. The base of my cock was just barely visible though the fly. "I love that whole 'you can kinda see it' thing. Like I know you're rock hard right now even though you're wearing shorts. Not being able to completely see everything even though you're dying to just gets your mind roaring and creates much more vivid images for later use."

I mulled this over a slug of beer. Luckily there was an ashtray in front of me. Lighting a cigarette while drinking a beer gave my hands something to do that didn't involve my cock.

She continued. "The best way I've ever heard it termed, One of the chicks I work with came in one night wearing a men's dress shirt about six sizes too big and tied the shirttails off just under her tits. Every time she leaned over you could see her big ol' rack just want to spill out. Never actually did, but you could see just about everything for a second. She had to lean over the bar to serve a drink to a regular and he stared right down her shirt. He says to his buddy 'that went right in the spank bank.' I almost peed myself."

She took a drink too. I noticed that her right hand was very slowly not quite scratching her belly just above the waist of her sorts. She must have noticed too and reached for the pack of cigarettes. My cock was aching at this point and I thinking fair is fair went on the offensive.

"But you could do the same thing without the visuals."

She took her leg off the armrest and leaned forward with interest. She looked a little relieved to not be sitting in a position so conducive to masturbation. "Like how?"

I laughed. "Fuck you 'like how.' You're doing it right now."

She smiled. "Yeah? What exactly am I doing? Tell me so I have another weapon for next time."

"Well, you're already lethal with it, but anyway. You can just implant an image with words, like a little time bomb. For instance, you just all but came out and said 'I now have an image of your cock and will be thinking about it later.' Tonight I'll be in bed wondering 'is she trying to get herself off? Is she thinking about my cock?' Then I'll start thinking of you all spread out on that chair like that and there's going to be all sorts of images of you rubbing your pussy, only in my head you won't be wearing those shorts or that bikini. There's no shortage of things to mull over. Does she use her fingers or a toy? What sort of toy? Is it a vibrator or not, what's it shaped like? Does she like to slip it in or rub herself?"

She leaned back and threw her leg back over the armrest with a lazy grin. "Okay, you wanna play dirty? I'll tell you. I generally just use these." She held up the ring and middle fingers of her right hand and then slid them under the waist of her shorts. Her thumb yanked them down just enough to see the top of the landing strip she left when she got waxed. I watched her fingers grind away slowly under the crotch of her shorts. "I just rub away until I'm almost there and slip a finger in. But when I really have an image of your cock I just can't shake I grab my toy and churn some butter. And for your edification it's a six-inch soft silicone cock. And it vibrates."

She pulled her hand out of her crotch and stood up. "But I still prefer the games. Come here, I want to show you a trick."

This had to be good. She was a friend and a neighbor but I was in a completely altered state of mind at the moment. I stood and walked around the coffee table toward her. She was about three feet away when she tripped.

In one of the least graceful acts I've ever seen she thumped hard down to her knees with a grimace and was flung forward with the force before I could react. She yelped as she fell but it was muffled as her forehead smacked into my stomach. Her face landed to the side of the tent I was pitching and pushed it back up against my body. I gasped when for a split second my balls, accessible through the slit in the front of my shorts, actually wound up in her mouth.

Still flailing, one of her hands clutched my wrist, the other on my shoulder as she reached up and pulled herself to her feet. The friction of her body against mine yanked my shorts to the side and my cock flopped out landing between her tits. It slid between them and then down her belly through the lengthening trail of pre-cum it was leaving. I had to fight to keep my knees from buckling. My heart was pounding in my temples and I'm not too proud to say I almost came.

She looked up at me panting and chuckling red-faced. "Wow. Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No, god, fuck, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Did you know I was a klutz?" She started to pull away and I stopped her.

"Hold on a second, I'm, ah, indisposed."

"Oh?" She looked down but I managed to get myself tucked away before she saw anything. "Damn. I missed it." She walked back to her chair and left me standing there trying not to shake. I slunk back to my perch on the couch and sat Indian style on the soft not-really-leather.

Re-seated she looked down and ran a finger through the snail trail that ran from her collar bone down through her tits and ending about three inches from her navel. "Look, you left me a souvenir." She grinned at me. "Well, I guess accidents will happen."

I chuckled under my breath and shook my head. It was fairly obvious, but I'd been had just the same. "Pretty slick."

"She ran her finger down the track my glands had left on her. "At the moment, yeah, looks like it," and laughed. "C'mon, you know that was a good one."

"Define good."

"Fuck this," she said as she reached down and shucked off her shorts revealing a pair of bikini briefs that you had to squint to see if they were there. The only thing you really could see with any clarity is that they were soaked. "I need to get off. Don't tell me you don't either. Why don't we just do what we want to do anyway? Tell you what, first one to cum has to finish the other off with her mouth."

"Her mouth?"

"I'm not even touching myself yet and I'm ready to cum. This is going to take about five seconds. I'm basically offering you a blow job if you can hold off longer then that, you gonna argue?"

"I don't see that happening."

"Okay, let's just make sure we're fair about this." She untied her top and dropped it to the floor before she peeled back her bottoms. My shorts were already on the ground. We started pretty much instantaneously, her fingers plowing deep into her pussy, my hand whipping up and down my shaft, but she wasn't kidding, she was already cumming. Her body bucked up and down in the chair and she growled over the lower lip she was biting. She slammed her palm up against her crotch ramming her fingers in to the root and shaking them. She looked like she was trying to get her whole fist inside of her.

She had settled down and let her hand drop out of her pussy. Now I understood why she had the leatherette furniture. If she had left that pool on fabric she'd never get it out.

"Your turn." Before I knew it she was kneeling on the couch beside me. She grabbed the base of my cock with one hand and pulled mine away with the other. Her head dropped into my lap and my cock vanished into her mouth. She plowed down to the base like a virtuoso before pulling back up to lick my balls. Running her hands around my slick sac she descended back down onto my cock taking the whole thing into her throat but she didn't move from there. I'd say she didn't move a muscle but there were probably dozens of them in her mouth, throat and abdomen at work on me at the same time. My cock was grabbed, sucked, stroked and caressed in her throat as she slowly massaged my tightening balls. I grabbed her hair and she pulled off.

"Don't worry about me, just let off." Then she went right back down. Her eyes gazed up at mine as her throat and tongue went back to work as she sucked.

"Oh fuck, I'm cumming!" I grunted as my cock began to spasm. One of her hands went to my shaft as she pulled her face out of my lap.

"Yeah, c'mon, cum. I want to see. Cum on my tits, cum on my face, I don't give a fuck, I just want to see it." She stroked my cock long and fast as my balls tightened to rocks in her hand. Orgasm ripped through me as I came, the first spurts landing with a smack on her face and ran down her chin, dropping in with the rest that was splattering on her firm, c-cup rack.

She plopped back onto the floor. "Wow," was all she said as I lay there panting. "There's no way I'm done with that thing yet. Why don't you go home and see what else you've got to wear. I'll be over in an hour. You won't believe the shit I've got in my closet."

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