NE 1 - Meeting A Neighbor's Needs

Chapter One

I met George when I moved into my apartment after graduating college. Lest I misrepresent myself, I wasn’t your typical new grad. I had put college off after high school and had just celebrated my thirtieth birthday a month before I received my Bachelor’s degree. Now all I needed was a teaching contract before the summer ended and I’d feel like a bona fide grown-up.

The day I moved in, one of my girlfriends helped me. Lugging my queen-size mattress up the two flights of stairs, we were laughing and joking, not really paying attention to our surroundings. With me on the front end, my back to the hallway, and Olive on the other, I didn’t see my neighbor until I slammed into him.

The shock of electricity zipping through my body as my back nestled against his front, the warmth of his arm as it wrapped around my waist, his palm spread over my lower belly, the tips of his ring and little finger pressing over my pussy -- all stole my breath for a moment. Once I recovered it, his scent enveloped and seduced my senses, and the sharp tang of freshly washed skin and male musk triggered a primal attraction I had no control over.

2 Qwillia Rain

“Careful there.” The deep timbre of his voice and his warning chuckle had my heart slamming against my ribs. His other hand grasped the mattress to keep it from tumbling Olive over. “Just moving in?” he asked.

The top of my head reached his shoulder, which was broad and firmly muscled. Tilting my head and nodding, I turned. He seemed reluctant to release me. Withdrawing first the hand holding the mattress, his fingers stroked my breast, bringing the nipple to a taut, swollen peak, making me wonder if he’d experienced the same primitive response. Then his other hand caressed my hip as he let go of my waist. I swallowed an aroused moan and smiled up at him. “Yes. Number twenty-five.”

I was quick to notice the vague resemblance he bore to George Clooney, and from the expression on Olive’s face, she recognized it as well. His lopsided grin, dark green eyes, and wavy black hair, lightly sprinkled with gray and flopping rakishly over his forehead, just increased the similarities.

He tipped his head toward the door behind him. “I’m in twenty-six. If you need any help, give me a holler.”

We exchanged names -- his really was George -- and all of us laughed about his resemblance to the actor. A few more minutes of chitchat followed. When I mentioned needing to get back to moving, he stepped closer to his apartment so we could pass.

Over the next few hours, Olive and I spotted him numerous times as we lugged boxes up and down the stairs. For the ones that were obviously very heavy, he would immediately relieve us of our burden and take them into my one-bedroom apartment for me. Olive teased me about him when he was out of earshot, and though I laughed it off, my body grew hot just thinking about him. If I hadn’t had so much work to do getting my things moved in, I would have taken the time to change my wet panties after I creamed them the first time an image of George sliding his cock into my pussy made me forget what I was doing.

Meeting a Neighbor’s Needs

3

Of course, my fantasy played through my head repeatedly that first night in my new home. While showering away the dust and sweat from hauling furniture and boxes up two flights of stairs, I let the warm water soak away the aches in my shoulders, back, and legs.

Between my thighs, though, another ache built as I imagined George stripping down and stepping into the shower with me.

In my mind, calloused hands slid over my tingling breasts, tugging and pinching the beaded nipples while the heat of his thick cock poked at my ass. With his extra height, he’d have to crouch to align the head of his shaft with my pussy. Wet as I was, it still surprised me when my fantasy George straightened, pressing every inch of his thick length deep into my eager sheath.

Even at my age, I wasn’t an overly experienced woman. I could count the number of lovers I’d had on one hand, with a couple of fingers left over. None of them held the girth or finesse the make-believe George did. The scent of his body had stirred my libido even before I laid eyes on him. And afterward, it was no surprise to me that he featured in my erotic imaginings as the warm water poured over my body.

Letting the water pound down on my pinkening flesh, I slid my hands between my thighs, gently stroking the damp lips apart before circling and pressing on the tight little nubbin tucked away beneath its hood. Coaxing it out with smooth motions, I could feel the beat of my heart thudding through the knob. The heat of my pussy dripped over my hand as my imaginings grew even more erotic. The thrust of my fingers into my sopping channel set the pace I fantasized George would use -- hard and fast. Even as the contractions squeezed my fingers and the tingle of orgasm spread from my belly outward, something warned me that the climax I’d induced would be nothing when compared to one brought on by George.

* * * * *

I never acted on the impulse to invite him into my apartment or out for a drink, which I regret now. Instead, I spent more than a year being a “good girl,” making small talk in the 4 Qwillia Rain

hallways, exchanging cookies on the holidays, and generally wasting my nights fantasizing about my neighbor.

It all changed eighteen months after I’d first run into him and the last night I spent with my boyfriend of six months, Bob.

Bob was a lackluster lover, pedantic in his foreplay -- when he tried foreplay, that was -- and completely uninspired in his lovemaking. He preferred the typical missionary position, grew squeamish if I tried to dominate, and balked at the mere mention of bondage.

He’d made a tentative request, once, to invite a former girlfriend to try a ménage a trois, but quashed the idea when I said I would do it if we could invite a male friend, visions of George dancing through my mind when I suggested it, to join the two of us.

The last night we spent together was one of the most memorable nights of my life.

Not because of anything Bob did, though.

It began with a phone call at work. Bob hinted he might be over, but my lack of interest must have been evident over the phone. Not that I didn’t want to enjoy a little sex; it was the prospect of anticipating a climax Bob could never provide that kept my response from being more animated. There had been a few times when he could actually hold on long enough to bring me to orgasm, but it had only happened three or four times in the six months we’d been together.

I bought a bottle of wine just in case he showed up. Juggling the bottle, my briefcase, and my shoulder bag as I approached the door, I bumped into my next-door neighbor. The bottle tumbled from my hand, and I winced, waiting to hear the breaking glass. Instead, George caught the thick green bottle before it hit the ground. A wry grin twisted his lips as he rose to his full six feet three and read the label on the wine. “Nice, but I’d recommend you let the boyfriend drink it after.”

Surprised at his audacity, I was unable to curb my tongue. “Why is that?”

Meeting a Neighbor’s Needs

5

“From what I’ve heard, he has a bit of a…control problem. The wine will only make it worse.”

The demon within slipped loose. “And what makes you an expert? Have you suffered the same…problem?”

As he tucked the bottle into my open purse, his blunt-tipped fingers slid over my breast, teasing the suddenly erect nipple. “I’ve had no complaints so far.”

“Ah, but then, you’ve never had me.” I’m not sure who was more surprised at my response -- him or me! But I just couldn’t let it go. “I tend to be more particular than most.”

His reply was quick and full of knowledge gleaned from having heard Bob and me through the thin apartment walls. “Well, if I had, you can be certain I wouldn’t leave you to finish what I started.”

Sometimes I marvel at the alter ego dwelling within me. I also wish it had reared its head eighteen months earlier. Instead of mumbling an excuse and scurrying to my apartment, I moved closer to George, keeping eye contact the entire time. The fist clutching my keys moved between us. I caressed the firm flesh behind the fly of his jeans with my knuckles, smiled a wicked smile, and taunted, “Promises, promises.”

Fortunately, the sane part of my brain wrenched me away and down to the door of my apartment before George could respond. He was still standing in the hall, talking with a dark-haired man when I glanced back. In those moments before I slipped inside my home, the sexual interest in their eyes as they met my gaze had my nipples peaking and my panties so wet, I was stripping them off the second my door shut behind me.

Bob showed up after nine -- his way of telling me I hadn’t sounded eager enough on the phone. I really didn’t care how he felt. My mind was nicely fuzzy due to the two large glasses of wine I’d consumed. Bob finished the bottle as he maneuvered me into my bedroom.