The Apartment


I was late. I’m always late. Well, that’s not true. I’m sometimes late at work. I’m sometimes late for appointments. But for some reason, I’m always late when I see her.

As usual she only has her phone on her fifty percent of the time, and is otherwise completely unaware of it buzzing and ringing inside her purse. She should have stuck with just keeping items in her pockets. Certainly a good vibration between her pelvis and hip would alert her to exactly how late I am. I am sorry. But at the same time, it really couldn’t have been avoided.

I sigh and I finally find a parking spot downtown and turn off my car’s engine. The last text I’d sent her was that I’d be there around 12:30… instead of 10 a.m. She’d only responded with an “okay.” Now it was nearly 1.

I stepped out of my mid-life crisis sportscar and into the street. A garbage truck rambled by a bit too close. It was like he couldn’t see me, and I’m pretty hard to miss. I’m not as wide as I am tall, but since I’m taller than 99 percent of the people I know and am wearing a bright red polo shirt, a few extra inches of clearance would have been nice. I shook off the annoyance and walked down the street looking for house numbers. She always stays somewhere different. She’s been up and down the same 2 square miles of the city since I met her 10 years ago.

Originally, when we met she had come to town for work and was bored. I was downtown being stood up by an ex-girlfriend and drinking heavily at the bar. I bought her a drink, and it started a decade long friendship. Now, whenever she manages to get to the area, we get together, sometimes for coffee, sometimes for drinks. Sometimes I have to physically yank myself out of her bed or I’d never leave. Our visits are ever so pleasant: intimate, neurotic, exciting, dramatic and the flirting is good. She makes me feel alive, new. When she touches me she’s often hesitant at first, like she’s not sure she’s supposed to and then as I reciprocate, it’s like fireworks.

And I know what you’re thinking. How does something like this work? There are no anniversaries to celebrate. There’s no real daily check in besides a quick e-mail here or there. In person, we’d probably be on date 12 or so. In reality, we’ve probably spent a total of five days together over a decade. I keep waiting for her to tire of me, but every time I see her, she’s dedicated to maintaining whatever connection we can over years, life changes and turmoil. I’m also pretty sure it keeps us from finding other people to share our lives with.

I always resist spending the night with her, preferring to leave in the dark rather than the light of the morning. I can’t tell you why. Well, I can, but I won’t. I don’t like to think about the why too much. Instead, I’ll stop narrating and find her damn apartment.

“Ahhh, the garden floor apartment overlooking the park, of course,” I say to myself walking up to the door. The front door is cracked ajar. For a woman who claims to understand the dangers and darkness in the world, she’s not so great about locking up behind her. I enter calling her name.


I call again.

Still nothing.

I make my way to the back of the apartment. She’s chosen a pretty plain rental unit this time. Money must be tighter than normal. Or she’s not feeling like she needs to set the mood. I guess I’ve become a sure thing.

I knock gently on the bedroom door that’s open a crack. “Hello?”

No answer, but a voice, a very out-of-tune voice, trying to sing fills my ears. I follow the scraggly sound to the bathroom. And like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman,” she’s in the tub facing away from me completely “rocking out.” Her iPod sits on a table with shampoo, shaving gel, razor, lotion and she’s unaware of my arrival.

I open my mouth to say hello again, but think better of it and sit down on the toilet seat behind her to listen. She’s belting out some Gen-X, girl-related power song that I don’t know the name of. At almost 20 years her senior, I find her youthful energy attractive, but the lack of self-confidence that sometimes comes with it annoying. Online, she’s always looking to me for life’s answers, short cuts, but sometimes she’s legitimately confused and just wants someone to ground her and give her a point of reference. I never know if she finds my advice helpful or patronizing, but she keeps asking, so I do my best.

She’s sitting up in the bath with her head leaning back on a folded up towel for comfort. Her hips are turned to the right and her knees are bent, so her heels are touching her bottom. She takes up maybe one third of the oversized bathtub. I try to remember when she got so small. Her size used to be as big as her generous heart, but over the years, she’s lost weight. She’s smaller in all the right ways and places, I suppose. Her legs and arms are more muscular than I’ve ever seen them. They’re defined and toned from miles and miles of running, swimming, biking and whatever new activity she’s into this week, but she’s Escort Ankara not bulky. She’s tan on the arms and neck and legs, but her stomach and breasts are milky white. Her breasts float quite attractively in the water, so I enjoy the view as she bellows.

When the blasting music in her 30-something ears quiets, I applaud. Her hand tightens on the iPod on the table, frantically turning down the sound as she turns to face me.

“Shit! You scared me to death.”

“Sorry. I just didn’t want to interrupt the concert.”

She shakes her head and lowers it a bit. I can see her cheeks reddening from the realization that I’d been listening.

A moment later, she shakes off the embarrassment. If this had been five years ago, she would have gone under the water and held her breath until either I went out of the room or she felt like she could look me in the eye again without blushing. Either way, I’d for some reason worry about her drowning. She’d come a long way in not feeling embarrassed about not being absolutely perfect in front of me. Case in point, her body. She used to hide it from me in shame and discomfort. Now, she appears to enjoy that I like what I see, even if she still has issues with her body.

She motions for a towel behind me. I pull it off the rack and hand it to her. She steps out of the tub onto the middle of the bathmat and wraps the towel around her. I’m temporarily restricted from appreciating her naked form, until she turns slightly, puts the towel in both hands and bends slightly to dry her legs. It’s a wonderful view of her perfectly round ass.

“Very nice,” I compliment. The towel moves between her legs, over her belly and then to her chest and arms. Then she bends completely forward to dry her long, light brown hair with a towel giving me a better than perfect view again, only this time with a recently shaven pussy peaking out between her thighs to say hello.

“How many miles a day are you up to running?” I ask resisting the urge to dive onto my knees and go down on her from behind.

“Somewhere between 5 and 8, depending on life that day,” she replies as she rubs her head. When she’s done, she wraps the towel around her body again, secures it and picks up her hairbrush.

“Let me do that,” It comes out more like an order than a request.

She sits down on my lap facing away and hands me the brush. “Gently, Love. There was no conditioner. It’ll teach me to pack my own.”

I start to brush and do my best not to pull on any knots too hard. “Sorry, I was late,” I begin.

She motions with her hand that it was no big deal. As I move the brush through, I can smell the flowery shampoo. “Your hair has gotten so long.”

“I keep thinking about cutting it off again.”

“Don’t you dare. I like it this way. It’s sexy.”

“And short’s not?”

“Not to me. Cute maybe. But not sexy.”

“You’ll live,” she says. It’s a dismissal and a joke at the same time.

When I’m done, I reach around and put the brush on the table with the shampoo and lotions. She sits back into me, leaning her wet head against my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her body.

“I missed you,” she whispers. It’s her standard announcement of affection. She says it, I’m quite sure, instead of “I love you.”

I kiss the side of her neck and instantly her head bends forward giving me access to the back. It’s a lovely erogenous zone, the back of her neck. It’s long, soft, clean and ever so effective in initiating intercourse. My beard tickles her a little because she laughs when she exhales and then moans the slightest little moan. It’s enough of a sign for me to advance.

I slip one arm under her knees and turn her to face me with the other. She kisses my mouth gently, but with purpose. When I stand to carry her to the bedroom, she’s surprised and grabs onto me. I couldn’t lift her before, but at the smaller size, it’s not a problem.

“I’ve got you,” I reassure her.

We make it through the doorway and to the bed without any trouble. I lay her down in the middle of the bed. The towel has come undone and she pushes it flat so it’s underneath her. I stand at the side of the bed staring at her naked body as I start to undress. Before my shirt has come off, she’s wet her fingers and started to rub her clit in anticipation.

“Usually we eat first,” I quip.

“If you’d wanted food, you should have been here on time,” she says. It sounds like she’s scolding, but she’s smiling at me.

I kick off my shoes and bend over to take off my socks before unbuttoning my pants. Her eyes haven’t left my face, where as mine have traveled all over her body. She always studies my face like this. She has great expectations every time we’re together, and I think it’s good she’s probably not in town much. I have enough trouble living up to her expectations the one or two times we see each other each year.

When my pants and underwear are in a pile on the floor, her gaze moves straight south to my penis. She claims Ankara Escort it’s on the larger end of those that she’s experienced even though I assure her it’s pretty average. Her hand starts moving a bit faster as she views it semi erect. Suddenly, she’s no longer warming up; she’s ready to go.

I climb between her legs, scoop her thighs into my hands and pull her soft, naked mound to my face. My tongue slides over her already wet folds and up to her clit in long, wide licks. The more into it I get, the more she wriggles above me murmuring and moaning her approval. I slide a finger slightly into her vagina and hunt for the magic spot. Within seconds she tells me I’ve found it, and at a moderate speed I circle the tip of one finger and then two inside her. My left hand reaches up and plays with her right nipple. As her right hand snakes back down toward her clit, I catch the tip of her fingers in my mouth and wet them for her. As she rubs, she verbally directs my actions. I tug on her nipple more roughly and move the fingers in her with more pressure. She knows her body and minutes after I follow her directions comes the quiet whisper of “Joseph…” with the soft J sound she uses as cums hard and fast.

I bury my face in her folds again. She’s sensitive everywhere now and she closes her thighs firmly against my ears. After several long insistent kisses to her genitals, I move in again, this time a finger in the vagina, more deeply, and one in her anus. I move them at an incredibly fast rate. Her thighs tighten and she’s panting like crazy. Her hands run through my curly, graying hair. She’s not guiding any more. She’s trying to hold the wave of orgasm back.

In a panic, she lets go of my head both with her hands and her thighs, sits up and slides her hands under my armpits.

“Up—Here—Now!” She demands in gasping breaths.

I slide up her body and my penis slides into her. I’m not rock hard and ready yet, but I can still feel her muscles close all around my penis as my lips find hers. I begin to move in a moderate in-and-out pattern as we kiss. Her hands are on my face, then moving down my back, over my ass and up my sides again. She pushes her hips back and her legs bend and slide over my lower back allowing me deeper penetration.

I open my eyes in mid kiss. Her eyes are closed tightly like she’s concentrating. I kiss down her jawline toward her ear and speak to her.

“I want you to hold off. I want to climax together. Can you do that?” Her eyes open halfway and we gaze at each other as I completely withdraw and insert myself again.

She nods, kisses me and starts to turn her hips to the left to change positions. When I’m on my back, she inverts herself so she’s straddling my chest facing my feet. I lift her knees back so I can suck on her clit as she goes down on me.

I’ve had girlfriends who gave fine blowjobs before, but this girl, she’s not only willing, she’s eager to please, and I will admit I’m certainly happy to receive. Her warm soft mouth surrounds me, and I shut my eyes and focus on the pleasure. She swirls her tongue around the head causing me to inhale sharply. Of course, given our position, my breath is made up entirely of the scent of her sex. She kisses her way down the underside of my dick, and gently massages my balls. I have to admit, that while she works I’m doing a pretty sloppy job of trying to pleasure her at the same time. I can’t seem to give and receive at the same time effectively. Fifteen minutes later I realize I’m very, very close. I really want to come in her mouth, but I made a promise before, so now I have to keep my end of the deal. But, oh, how I love that mouth.

“What do you need?” I ask gently laying her onto the bed and getting up on my knees.

She turns onto her back and places her legs against my shoulders on either side of my head. “Fast, deep and hard.”

I pull her bottom up a bit, lean forward onto my arms and push into her with force. Her body folds in half easily as I focus on finding rhythm. Her fingers are at her clit again while I move in and out of her as adeptly as possible. I can feel her eyes on my face again, so I return her gaze. When our eyes meet, her vaginal muscles tighten. “Already?” I ask.

She laughs. “I can’t help it. You know all the right places,” The smile disappears as a look of rapture takes over her facial expressions. “Keep going, right there, but deeper, please.” It’s the please that draws my attention.

Instead of following the direction, I swirl very slowly inside of her. She smiles and shakes her head at me.

“You’re cruel,” she says.

“Me?” I respond faux innocently. “Never.” Her left hand runs up my supporting arm and gives me a bit of a squeeze. A moment of perfect of reciprocal adulation in our afternoon. I respond by ignoring the sweat pouring down my back and fucking her deeper, as she requested watching her face change from mounting anticipation to sudden relaxation.

“Now!” she shouts as she pushes her Ankara Escort Bayan vagina hard onto me. I pump quickly two more times and begin my orgasm. Her mouth opens and her blue eyes roll back a bit into her head. I finish first, but keep moving however I can until she’s finally done. It’s the wicked part of our sex. It takes me a while to recover. She can go one after another. One of these days she’ll figure out how to string them all together in multiples and then I’m afraid some kind of Viagra will be in my future to keep up. Not that I’m complaining…

She lowers her legs and places one on each side of me with her knees bent. Then she sits up and hugs me. Her soft cheek rests against my sweat-covered chest. She’s listening to my heart race. I put my arms around her in response and kiss the top of her head. Her hair is nearly dry and little pieces are flying everywhere. Bed head never looked so appealing.

“Thirsty?” she asks.

“Stay here, I’ll get something,” I say. I make a stop in the bathroom to wash my hands and run some water over my face. When I head back through the bedroom to the kitchen, she’s lying on her stomach stretching out all long and lean.

I return with a soda, take a swig and hand it to her. She moves over on the bed to make room and I prop myself up on her pillows and lay down. She takes a drink, hands me back the can and curls into my side.

“You look happy,” I say.

She smiles. “So very happy.”

“Happy is good.”

“Happy is very good. I totally equate this city with orgasms. Work asks who wants to go, and I’m literally shoving people out of the way to sign up. I’m addicted. I blame you.”


“Well, you,” her hand slides over my side toward my genitals, “and your amazing penis.” She gives it a light squeeze. “God, I love the way it smells.”

“So you’ve told me.”

Her eyes droop slightly.

“Tired?” I ask.

“A little.”

“It’s early, we’ve got all day. Let’s nap.” I try to ignore that I just brought up the sleeping issue without meaning to.

She opens her eyes and pauses before speaking. She’s thinking deep thoughts. Then very timidly she says, “You know you’re welcome to spend the night.”

“Thank you,” I respond not saying yes or no. It was a way to escape the question. Usually she just lets it go at that, but apparently today wasn’t usual.

“Is there a reason you don’t like to sleep with me?”

“It’s not you.”

“I know it’s not me,” she says. “But you won’t tell me what it is you don’t like about it.”

“It signifies — casualness.”

“No, leaving signifies casualness. Staying infers relationship.”

“Not what I meant. We have a relationship. I don’t know what to call it. But I enjoy it the way it is. But being around to witness my morning breath, see me trim my beard, have a phlegmy cough — not the romantic experience we have going on here.”

“Those things don’t matter.”

“They do matter. I like it the way it is. It’s exciting and hot and you are amazing. I don’t want to get to the point where suddenly you’re angry and throwing a fit at me because I left a towel on the floor.”

“You’re insane. That would never happen.”

“I’ve just been there before. Many times. Many more times than you,” I respond playing the experience card.

“And if we do get to that point, you’ll enjoy us less?”

“No, I just — normal couples gets months of dating before they get to that. With us, it would just happen because of convenience, given our unique situation. In traditional sense, we’re still strangers.”

“You don’t feel like a stranger,” she says.

“There’s just so much more to learn about each other, and I’d like to learn it in our own time, before any of that other stuff happens.”

“I guess I should be flattered, right?”





“Excuse me?” This was going to be interesting. Her face was all scrunched up in frustration and she was never, ever good at expressing negative feelings of any kind.

“You say these things and they don’t make sense. What I infer from all that crap you just said is that if you really cared for me you’d want to stay, but you don’t so you go. It’s the same reason why you’re always late.”

“On the contrary, I’m late so I can get all the bullshit out of the way, so the few hours you and I get to see each other will be completely uninterrupted quality time.”

“If you care, then spend the night,” she insisted. Her eyes weren’t angry, they were pleading.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Why?” She was holding back tears now.

“Cause I get the feeling you’ll never want me to leave,” I said gently.

“I’ve never wanted you to leave.”

“I know, and you have to understand how hard it is for me to walk out that door, because I want to stay.”

“So why don’t you?” She asked sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest.

“Are you going to give up your job and sell your house and move here?”

She sighed. There was the crux of the problem. We were two people, quite happy with how their lives were playing out in two different geographic locations. There was a long pause as she thought over the big picture. “Was that an invitation?” she asked in barely a whisper.

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