Work had been tough, but fun, and the customers had been less of a pain than they usually were - all in all, the day had been good to her.
She paused to listen to the noises outside, the usual commotion when her neighbor came home. His arrival always marked the end of her day, for no other reason than that he arrived like clockwork, heaving and panting and carrying his bike on his shoulder, up to the fourth floor.
Connie knew him barely enough to talk to, knew his last name from the doorbell sign, and she had already forgotten his first name if he had ever told her. It was a city apartment full of people from all walks of life, with barely any overlap or reason to talk to the neighbors.
If someone needed sugar, they would walk down to the 24/7 shop by the subway station, not ring at their neighbor's door. Less hassle, less chance of overstepping, and most importantly less chance to make contact with yet another life form, the city already had plenty of unwanted human contact as it were.
And still, Connie found her neighbor curious, if not a little cute, even. He left home in the morning, bike over his shoulder, and he returned back home in the evening, bike over his shoulder. Sometimes, he had a little shopping bag in the other hand, and always, he seemed closer to death than life when he opened his door.
She had seen him use an inhaler before, which explained the near death experience he seemed to be going through, and it explained why he always banged the bike against the walls and corners of the narrow hallway. And still, he went out everyday, and he never seemed to be weighed down by his asthma, or anything else for that matter.
She had seen him arrive once or twice, on the days when she went for a little stroll through the street, and he seemed, if not happy, then at least content, and few people ever did.
She had tiptoed to the door once or twice, catching a glimpse at him through the peephole in the door, and felt like a right creep doing so. She couldn't even place her finger on the reason for her slight fascination with him, but he seemed different to most.
Sometimes, he had friends over, and sometimes she could hear him leave again in the evening, probably heading out somewhere to meet someone. But most days, he just stayed home, and he wasn't like her other neighbors who all seemed to have a fetish for power drills, hammers, and loudly failing marriages.
Connie had thought about inviting him over once or twice before, but had never really known how one would possibly set that up. Or why she even wanted to, for that matter. Maybe she was simply losing it, maybe she was going mad from the loneliness, just like Mary always teased her about.
But was that such a bad thing, really? Who wanted to stay sane in a world this crazy? Who wanted to meet new people, when the people of old were tried and trusted? Who really wanted to go out, talk to strangers, act as if you don't know exactly what they think about when they look you up and down?
And who ever wanted to admit that maybe, a strange night with a stranger was still the best possible outcome, compared to another night of aimlessly discussing things that all had been discussed before?
A tiny war broke out outside, at least by the sounds of it. Something metallic crashed against her wall, a man swore under his breath, and a set of keys fell down to the floor.
Connie was by the door before she really knew it, opening it up to glance outside. The mess in front of her matched the noise beforehand, but it was somehow much, much funnier.
There was her neighbor, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by his bike, his keys - and most notably, a whole bag worth of groceries, aimlessly rolling around on the floor. To her delight - and no doubt his pain - he had obviously bought a box of milk that had sprung open during the fall.
It was a mess, and a beautiful mess as such, and Connie tried in vain to stifle her laughter.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really shouldn't laugh. It's just...not what I expected to see today. You okay?"
He looked over to her, looked down on the floor, looked back up to her again with a look in his eyes that only added to the situation. They told her a story of his day, and how in line it had been with this end to it. And then, he smiled, shaking his head in disgust with the world.
"No, no, it's alright", he said, slowly getting up. "I'm sorry about the noise. Listen, uh, I'm sorry, but I totally forgot your name. I know you told me once, but it's been so long, and..."
He was such a mess, his knees and pants legs soaked with milk, and she couldn't have been angry at him if she had wanted to.
"It's Connie, and never mind, I forgot yours as well. If you ever told me, that is. Come, I'll help you."
He held up a hand. "It's Marc, and you really don't have to. No need to get your hands dirty."
Connie laughed, then picked up his bicycle from the floor to lean it against the walls. The front wheel turned, she nearly lost control of it, barely managed to stabilize it in time. Then, she knelt down and started picking up fruit.
"Eh, whatever. It's milk, right? Could be worse."
Her socks were soaked immediately, and it was all a mess alright - but together, they managed. She handed him what she picked up, and he put everything back into his shopping bag, frowning at each piece as if it was solely responsible for everything.
"Thank you."
"Always."
He paused, and she paused with him, then smiled and turned around to walk to her door.
"Least I can do is invite you over for coffee!" he called after her, and it made her pause again. She turned around, smiled at him, then shook her head.
"I'm really not in the mood to risk my life at a stranger's place tonight."
She didn't know why she had said that, but she immediately felt sorry about it. It had been supposed to sound like a joke, and it came out different. But instead of being angry, he just nodded with a smile.
"Yeah, I know the feeling. Alright, have a nice evening, Connie."
She looked at him, and then turned it into a frowning stare.
"Tell you what", she said, "I am in the mood to risk my life over at my own place tonight. Go on, get cleaned up, put on something comfortable, and then you knock and we'll have coffee. Plan?"
He looked at her, silently shaking his head. "Yes, Ma'am. I'll be right over."
Connie tore her socks off, tried tip-toeing to the bathroom, then realized the futility of her attempt to not leave any milk tracks. She sighed, washed her feet, then sacrificed a fresh towel to clean her own floor, and the hallway while she was at it.
A fresh pair of socks later, she felt just about ready to have visitors again, and she felt plenty well dressed enough in her comfy sweatpants and the shirt that was probably a little too revealing.
But he would not get any ideas, she thought, would he? He didn't seem like the type of guy who takes an invitation for coffee as something it was not, right?
She shrugged, secretly annoyed with herself for being the kind of girl who took an invitation for coffee like something it was not. Was this really what it had come to, her being nervous about a quick coffee with her neighbor?
No, she decided, that was something she would have to reserve for their first bottle of wine together, if it ever came to that.
She heard a knock on the door, and she hadn't even had the time to prepare anything, much less herself.
"Come on in. I'm afraid I got nothing done, still need to set up the coffee."
He stepped inside, and she couldn't help but give him a quick once-over, and couldn't help but like what she saw. He had played ball and come in old, comfy clothes, and his hair wasn't even dry yet. Walking in front of her, she could smell his shower gel, and she neither loved nor hated it.
"Kitchen's to the right", she said, then realized that he probably knew well enough. She felt stupid, and she realized that wasn't a good sign. She wasn't herself tonight, wasn't in charge of the situation in her own home.
"I brought bananas", he said as he needlessly handed them to her. "And don't worry, I cleaned them off."
She laughed, ripped them from his hands, then put them to the side. She hated that she liked this gift, stupid as it was, and obviously the first thing he had grabbed on his way out the door. It wasn't meant to be a considerate gift, and yet it felt like one. Stupid.
Connie started to prep the coffee machine, then paused to look around.
"You want any coffee? Or, I don't know, I have other stuff. Water, wine, I don't think I have any beer, though."
Now, she had all right to be nervous, and she had only herself to blame for it.
"I'm sorry, it's just, it seems like the kind of day for a glass of wine, doesn't it?"
He smiled, then shrugged.
"All I know is that I've had more than enough coffee for today. Wine is fine, it'll go well with the bananas."
She started chuckling again, but realized that he was serious, then tilted her head.
"You aren't joking. Bananas?"
"Yeah, for real, you gotta try this. You slice them, roll them in sesame, it tastes amazing. You got any sesame?"
"I sincerely doubt I do. I can offer you salt, pepper..."
"Yeah, one moment, I'll be right back."
Connie watched him leave, and it made her sad. She didn't want him to go so soon, they had barely even talked. But he was back in an instant, before she could even slap herself for being such a mess.
A moment later, they sat on her couch, and with them two glasses, a bottle, and a single plate of sliced bananas.
And frankly, he had been right, they did taste fascinating. The only problem was that the plate was between them, and they both had to lean forward to fork up the pieces. It brought them too close for comfort, or whatever it was that she was supposed to feel right now.
After all, this was her couch, and it was long enough for her to lie down flat on it. It wasn't right now, there was no way to get comfortable on her without her feet touching his.
Instead, she sat there with her knees pulled up to her chest, and she tried making conversation. No, that wasn't quite right, they were definitely making conversation. If anything, it lacked the awkwardness of most first talks, and that made her awkward in a whole other way.
This Mark guy clearly knew what he was doing, making her feel at ease in her own apartment, making her feel like he was part of the interior decoration. Don't mind me, his fluent conversation seemed to say, I am just standing here and wait for you to water me.
And also, his eyes told her that why, yes, it's totally fine to talk to your house plants. That's what we are for, that is our purpose.
Connie sighed, it just wasn't working out. Then she sighed again, because it annoyed her that she had made a noise that could be so easily misconstrued for something it was not.
Because it clearly wasn't, he clearly wasn't here to keep her company, she clearly hadn't invited him over to put any ideas in his head. It was bad enough that she was starting to have ideas of her own, she really needed him out of here, immediately.
The only problem was that the wine tasted so good, and that he was as much of a talker as he was a listener.
"But, enough about me, tell me about your day. You said it was the kind of day for a glass of wine, what's wrong?"
She hated him so much right now, for twisting her arm like that. Using her own words against her, was he now?
"Ugh, it's nothing, it's fine. I know, it sounds stupid, but everything is just..."
"...Fine?"
She leaned back, nodding in silence.
"I know those days. And now, you're thinking that things shouldn't be going fine, and you jumped at the chance to help me, mostly because you needed a distraction. Is that about right?"
She laughed. She didn't want to, hated that she did, but she laughed. Worse, even it turned into a chuckle, and he mirrored her stupid grin.
"That...about sums things up. I'm sorry, I know it sounds selfish, but..."
"If you say you're sorry one more time, I'll just reach out and start massaging your feet. And then, you would get angry, throw me out, and we wouldn't even finish this bottle. Or you will, and then you'll be late for work tomorrow. So, you better don't say sorry again."
She looked at him, stared, then scowled. Was he playing tricks on her? Had he really just bridged that gap that he wasn't even supposed to acknowledge? Had he just turned a milk spill into a proper date? And worse: was it going well for him? Because it totally was...going well for him.
She looked at him once more, but the look in his eyes hadn't changed. He had made his move, and he was waiting for her to tell him off, more than he hoped for her to say yes.
And ultimately, that was just not fair, it was as if he knew her too well already. She couldn't be angry at his sincerity, and her legs were really starting to cramp up. And so, she stretched them out, right into his lap.
"I'm so sorry, so terribly sorry. I don't know how else to put it, other than a huge, big, SORRY."
He laughed, and his hand on her foot didn't feel off, didn't tickle her as much as she had thought. Or hoped for, he had no right to be this brazen, or to overcome her defenses like this.
It drove her mad, his fingers between her toes. She jumped, then pulled her feet back.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me..."
He leaned forward, grabbing her ankles to pull her back.
"I don't know, either, I normally know to respect boundaries much better. And we don't even know each other well, so it's even weirder."
He looked at her again, and the look in his eyes made her melt into the couch. There it was again, this sincere interest in her, and this sincere struggle with himself.
She snuggled her feet into his hands and lap, and pressed her toes into his stomach. It made him wince, and she thought that was cute somehow, and admitted defeat.
"We can talk about this later, okay?"
She wasn't even sure what that meant, but to him, it seemed to make a world of sense. He nodded, then pulled the socks off her feet, tossing them to the floor.
"And if you end up hating me, you just tell me, and I won't bother you again."
Connie snorted, as his fingers worked their way up to her calves.
"Yeah, fat chance. If you keep going like this, we're going to have the opposite problem. I'll be like a cat scraping on your door, meowing to be let inside."
He chuckled again, but it was cut short when he leaned forward, pushed her shirt up, then kissed her navel.
"Ouch, that hurt!", Connie joked, and he didn't even bother hiding his stupid smile.
"Part of me is still waiting for you to slap me away."
A sudden rush of anger flowed through her. "Part of you is still talking."
He laughed, then playfully bit the elastic of her pants, dragged them down an inch or two before his hands took over.
Connie sighed, realizing she hadn't shaved. And why would she have? It wasn't like she was dating again, and it certainly wasn't as if she cared about what anyone thought, about anything.
And Marc, was he supposed to care? If he was, he completely ignored his duty, and his lips explored her thighs, her folds, her every inch of skin. His fingers trailed off, played with the inside of her thighs, and only teased her where she really wanted him.
His left hand left her leg, going down to his own pants, and he started the weird acrobatics of shoving his pants off without ever pausing to kiss her thighs.
He moved up, not even bothering to take her shirt off, not even bothering to squeeze her breasts. Instead, she felt his rock hard penis brushing past her thighs, felt him dangling dangerously close above her. His lips neared her ears.
"I should probably kiss you first, shouldn't I?", he whispered.
"Please don't", Connie moaned more than she whispered, "it would only make me hate you more."
"Try stopping me", he whispered back, and Connie felt his lips on hers. Worst of all, though, it didn't feel off, didn't feel like something they had never done before.
It felt like she was already used to his penis gliding into her, and he seemed effortless in demanding her full attention. He was inside of her, around her, he was right on top of her and she below him. His lips were on hers, and they were on her neck at the same time, and he had his fingers in her hair, steadying her against his thrusts.
And thrusts they were, alright. She had expected him to take things slow with her, had expected him to continue his polite approach at teasing her with his eyes - and nothing had prepared her for the full force of his desire.
But each time she caught a look into his eyes, he seemed fully aware of her, ready to gauge her reactions, and he adjusted his pace whenever he saw her wince.
There was no way out for her, and she didn't want one, either. She just wanted him to keep on going, wanted this moment to last, wanted it to stretch into a small eternity.
Her body was overcome with shivers, and then twitches in her legs, and then all her muscles went hard. But the moment came and went, and he seemed nowhere close to stopping, and somehow, Connie relaxed and let the waves wash over her. That never happened, ever, with nobody. She never had it in herself to trust someone like this, trust him with her body, more than she trusted herself with it right now.
He seemed to know what he was doing, he seemed to have a proper plan, even if that plan was moving in and out of her, repeatedly.
He kissed her forehead in a cute gesture, and he kissed her neck in what was almost a bite, and made her tense and moan again. She wasn't ready to be at ease with him, wasn't even fully ready to feel awkward while they were naked.
And now, there was this guy she barely knew, and he was pulling out of her too soon. He thrust forward again, his tip struggling against her sweaty skin, then he tensed up, breathed in her ear, and warmth spread all across her stomach.
They did not let go of one another, not for how long it lasted for either of them to come to terms with what they had done.
And then, he got away from her, but really not quite. Her butt cheeks rested in his lap, and her arms lay on his feet, and his penis was growing soft between her legs.
Only his lips had finally left hers, and she thought that was a pity. She let a finger slide through the mess on her stomach, and then pulled her shirt over it, sufficiently hiding anything that needed to be hidden.
She had never felt so naked, certainly not while still wearing half of her clothes, and she had never felt so ready to tell a guy to stay. Maybe not stay overnight, but certainly stay inside of her, and to only leave when she no longer had the strength to walk him to the door.
He looked at her once more, then reached down to the floor, helping her back into her sweatpants. He handed her the glass of wine that she had all forgotten about, then put his own pants back on.
He kissed her on her head, then on her lips, then shoved her shirt up to give her a quick peck on her breasts. His touch felt too raw, too rough, and the look in his eyes too soft.
"Thanks for the wine", he said, gulping up what was left in his glass.
She wanted to say something smart and witty, wanted to playfully ask him if he really planned on leaving her behind like this. But instead, all she could come up with was pathetic.
"See you tomorrow?"
He smiled down at her, shrugging.
"I must admit, I don't look forward to that conversation."
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Note from the webmaster: authors always appreciate feedback about their stories, so by all means write the author a note if you liked the story! The author of this story: Connie Wilburn |