Caught Looking, page 6
I didn’t begrudge them the fucking. At least somebody around those parts was getting some. The thing of it was they were so loud and so into it that it got hard for me to just listen and not do anything about the chills and vibrations their action stirred up in me.
See, he was a moaner. And she gave off these little shrieks every time she came. I learned their rhythm. I knew when she was on top and when he was fucking her from behind. I knew when he had crawled down between her legs and started eating her pussy.
And then, when I just couldn’t help myself anymore, I started touching myself. Down there.
I did it a lot. It took the edge off, kept me from fidgeting and thinking about going back to the smokes or moving my kitchen table into the living room or something crazy like that. What it also did was take me full circle back to the reason I had picked up all these habits in the first place.
I wasn’t getting laid, plain and simple.
Of course, I could have if I wanted to. I still turned heads. Guys still slipped me their numbers when I was out pumping gas or buying groceries. And not just old farts or perverts. They were young guys. Good-looking guys. Guys who looked and talked like they could fuck me into another galaxy.
And I’d let them, I would…if I didn’t know any better. If only fucking hadn’t gotten so complicated. Seemed to me it was too risky all the way around and I’d just as well have no part of it.
Well, not no part. I was still a woman, after all, and I still remembered what it felt like, what it sounded and tasted like, and listening to those two on the other side of that wall filled the void for the time being. Then she went and got pregnant and they bought a house clear on the other side of town.
Nobody moved in over there for a while and I didn’t like the other side being empty. I had begun to take comfort in knowing that someone else was there just beyond that wall. It felt like I had company, especially when their grunts and moans joined my own in the wee hours of the night.
But then I got a new neighbor. A man. And he was single. He seemed sneaky to me, though. He did all those things people do when they have something to hide. He moved in during the middle of the night and was all done by morning. He kept his blinds closed and his curtains drawn.
He never showed his face. Ever. But I knew he was over there. I heard him bumping around every now and then and in the evenings I heard his television click on and I would hear him laughing at some show or another.
I heard him at night, too. His shower sprayed noisily and his mattress squeaked something awful when he put his weight on it. He snored too.
I got to thinking he might be a big man. And I wondered if he was handsome.
I thought about taking something over, a pie or maybe a casserole, but that was what nosy people did, and one thing I didn’t do was mind other folk’s business. Well, not all the time.
I knew he had to be getting lonely over there. It’s different for a man, you see. When they get restless, they go out and do something about it.
I kept hoping he would bring home a woman; you know, for company. I thought maybe he’d get one of those pretty girls from around town and entertain her for a little while in front of that television or stereo of his. He played good music. Maybe they could dance.
Then after things got comfortable, he might kiss her and rub her back a little. And if she went for that, he could gently back her up against the wall and run his hand up her skirt. And me, I might be on the other side of that wall having just decided to lie down and take a little nap, but just when I closed my eyes, I’d hear something like her blouse being ripped open or his zipper being pulled down.
Maybe he would be over there scooping her breasts out of her bra and taking one into his mouth. And she would moan so hard and so deep that the wall would vibrate and I would be lying on the other side with my legs spread and my fingers inside my panties.
My nipples would harden at the sound of his voice. I would become wet listening to his groan as she finally reached for him and freed his dick from his pants. And when I heard her back slide down the wall and her knees meet the hardwood floor, the sucking when she took him deep into her mouth, I would push my fingers deeper inside my cunt.
I would listen for the dull thud of his palms meeting the wall when his knees weakened and he came in her mouth, against her cheek, on her chest.
But it never happened and I learned to stop waiting for it.
Then one night, he came home. I heard his boots hit the floor just like normal. I heard his keys land on the table. The television switched on. Then I heard the spray of the shower.
It hadn’t been a good day for me. It was one of those times when I had to sit on the couch with my legs crossed tight and my fingers tapping against the cushions because I was so antsy. I didn’t want to think about what was happening in that shower; how he might look naked, his body covered in nothing but lather.
So, I picked up my stack of mail and sifted through the bills and sales ads. I stopped when I saw a plain, brown envelope with an unfamiliar name in the window, one Mr. Douglas Harvey. The address, however, was quite familiar. It was the address of my new neighbor.
I shrugged and set it aside. I figured I would slip it in his box or under the door on my way out the next morning. I wouldn’t even knock. Let him hide away over there all he wanted.
Hell, he was probably doing something illegal over there. Why else would he be so sneaky, hiding inside those walls day in and day out?
But if there was someone dangerous living on the other side of that wall, I would need to know, wouldn’t I? I had to be a good neighbor, didn’t I?
And the more I thought about it, the more important the letter looked. He would probably want to have it right away. It could be a matter that needed attending to immediately. And if I caught Douglas in the shower, if he had to answer the door with only a towel wrapped around his waist, well then, that would be a risk I’d just have to take, wouldn’t it?
I pushed my feet into my house slippers and shuffled across the porch to the other side of the house. I balled up my fist to knock, but when my knuckles made contact with the wood, the door breezed open.
I heard the blast of the shower. I heard a deep voice humming a tune I didn’t recognize. I stepped inside.
Douglas’s place was a masculine version of my own. The walls were painted dark blue where mine were rosy pink. We had the same stove and fridge, the same beige linoleum on the kitchen floor. And that had to mean our bathrooms were identical, didn’t it? It would mean that his towels hung on the right side of the shower and the shower, well, it was encased in glass that you could see clear through if you were looking.
I laid the envelope on the counter and stepped toward the bathroom. The door was wide open. I stood just outside, the steam from the shower tickling my cheeks and chin.
Seen through the blurred glass of the shower door, Douglas was little more than a dark brown silhouette. He was tall and lean, his long legs muscular, his ass high and tight. His head was bald and I could make out a strong, wide nose and a set of full lips.
His hands coursed over his body, rubbing soap over his chest and belly, down his legs and over his hips. Then he set the bar aside and began rinsing the suds off his skin. He held his arms up above his head, rinsing beneath them. He stepped forward to let the water spray into his face.
Then his hands began exploring. They lingered below his belly, giving great care to that great vessel that hung between his legs. Douglas rubbed at the dark brown mass that hung limp until it began to awaken and spring forth. He wrapped his large hands around his cock. He pulled forward, bracing himself with one hand against the shower wall.
He turned his head slightly.
I stepped aside.
I wondered if he had seen me.
The water beat down on his skin and he again faced forward. Low grunts raked across his lips and rose above the sound of the running water. His hand jerked faster and harder. His knees began to buckle.
Douglas licked his lips.
I clasped my hands at my chest.
Douglas came in spasms, his thick, white seed spewing forth into the heavy spray of water. He pressed both hands against the shower wall, resting and gasping for breath. Then he was calm.
He turned the water off. He reached out the shower door and pulled a towel off the rack, then wiped at his face and chest.
I stood a few seconds longer, trying to recover my bearings. Then I moved quickly and quietly toward the door and slipped out.
I left a trail of clothes from the front door to my bedroom. I jumped into my bed and slipped under the covers naked. I listened to his television blasting. I heard his voice, slow and raspy now, in a relaxed laugh. I pushed my hand beneath the covers and let it slip between my legs. I thought about the way he had looked, the sounds he had made.
I made myself feel good, made my knees knock against each other, made my thighs clench tight. I made my own body twitch and turn and then, when my fingers glistened and my wrists went limp, I screamed.
There was silence on my side of the wall and his.
When had he turned off the television? Was he sleeping? Reading?
My mind quickly grew tired and my eyes heavy. I faced the wall, pulled the covers up over my shoulders and slept.
Douglas Harvey’s door opened at almost the same moment as mine the next morning.
“Morning, neighbor,” I said, as cool as I could manage.
He said, “Morning.”
“So, you like it around here?” I smiled then, figured I’d keep it pleasant.
Douglas pondered, then answered. “It’s a nice neighborhood. Safe. Quiet. You almost feel like you could sleep, shower or… anything…with your door wide open and you would be okay.”
And he looked at me in such a way that it made me wonder if he knew. And if he knew, did he mind? Did he even like it?
“Yeah, it is nice,” I said. I started picking at the seam of my pants.
“Thank you for bringing over my mail last night.” He winked and smiled.
I cleared my throat. Fiddled a bit with my shirt. “Oh, it was no problem,” I said.
I thought about asking him over for dinner or to watch a movie or something; or, since we had obviously gone far beyond the coy stage, I thought I might just invite him to skip everything and join me in bed, but I decided against it.
Listening and watching would have to suffice. That is, until it was time to break the habit and find its replacement.
THE CHANGING ROOM
Catherine Lundoff
The bride and her pack of giggling bridesmaids and relatives were finally gone. Gone with their constantly changing demands and their charge cards and their smug wedding party attitudes. Eileen looked at the piles of dresses hanging on the hooks and draped over the chairs in the changing room and groaned. She’d be straightening out crumpled tulle and lace for the next two hours at this rate. The headache the bride had already given her intensified.
She picked up the white silken sheath dress from the back of a chair and stroked the fabric, letting the pleasure of touching it work its way from her fingertips up her arms. This was one of her own designs: all lean and classic lines, insanely flattering on the right woman.
Not that the little twit was smart enough to see that even when her fiancé pointed it out more than once. It had been hard not to stare at him, harder still not to flirt. But she’d sworn that she’d never go for another engaged guy, not after Sam. Never again. It was just her bad luck that a guy who looked like he escaped from a romance novel cover and had at least half a brain would go for someone cute and dippy. Eileen sighed.
She couldn’t resist holding the dress up under her chin and looking at her reflection in the mirrors. Its length and cut flattered her more than it did the bride and she smiled a little at the thought. Someday when her designs started selling, she’d have dresses like this one to call her own. No more waiting hand and foot on the kind of woman who would go for a nightmarish meringue of lace and beads and glitter that practically stood up on its own. She shuddered every time she looked at that one.
The sound of a throat being cleared behind her made her whirl around. The bride to be, a Miss Barbara Kellan, was standing behind her, one blonde brow raised in a questioning stare. “Well, somebody’s got a lot of free time.” She simpered, something like a smile twisting her full lips.
Eileen bit back a sharp response. That damn security bell always stopped working when it would have been most useful. But then this was what she got for not making sure the door was locked after they had all left. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Kellan?” She grabbed a hanger and started to put the gown away but a gesture from the other woman made her stop.
“I saw the way he looked at you. I’m not stupid, you know.” The bride’s blue eyes narrowed in a glare and her fair skin flushed as if she was going to scream or cry.
“I don’t know—” Eileen began.
“Yes, you do. Any woman would notice him, why should you be any different? The thing is, he doesn’t usually look back, not like that. No, just shut up for a minute. I need to know that he’s faithful; otherwise, I’m always going to wonder where he is. I’m damned if I’ll turn into my mother.” A single tear leaked from her eye and ran down her cheek but the glare that she kept on Eileen showed no trace of weakness.
In fact, her expression suggested something else, something Eileen couldn’t read. What the hell was this about? Did the little moron think she was hot for her fiancé? Of course she was, unfortunately. “I wish you all the best, Miss Kellan, but what does this have to do with me?”
“I’m sending him back here to talk to you. He’ll think he’s alone with you but I’ll be in there, watching.” She gestured at one of the changing room curtains. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you two hundred dollars for your time. I just need to see what he does.” Her glare turned a little desperate. “You do want the sales from my wedding, right? Do this for me and I’ll send all my friends here. You could retire on what I’ll do for you. Otherwise, well, you figure it out.” She placed her hands on her hips and stared at Eileen.
Eileen’s lips parted to begin telling her off but she caught the words before they were uttered. Business had been really slow lately and Mrs. M. had been really good about letting her try to sell her designs. If the store went under, she’d just have to start all over again someplace else and that meant years of work. Besides, he wasn’t going to do anything. A little flirtation and that would be the end of it. A pang went through her at the thought but she made herself ignore it. “Well, I’ll talk to your fiancé, Miss Kellan, but I’m sure nothing will happen.”
The other woman gave a brusque nod and pulled out a tiny, expensive cell phone. “Hi, hon. Listen, I’m really busy at the florist and I was wondering if you could go back to the dress store and make sure that girl wrote down cream instead of white lace.” There was a brief pause, just long enough to make Eileen regret the whole thing.
The bride to be made it worse. “No, I don’t think I should just call. You, of all people, know what retail help is like these days. Make her show you the order. Uh-huh. Love you too, sweetie.” She blew an air kiss at the phone before she switched it off. “There. Now he’s on his way. Just look cute and don’t tell him I’m here.” With that, she turned on her heel and vanished behind the curtains of one of the other rooms, leaving Eileen staring after her.
She thought about throwing the other woman out but that wouldn’t do anything except her pride any good. What was Kellan’s problem anyway? The guy was marrying her, wasn’t he? Still, Eileen was mad enough to flirt back now. Might as well show him what he’d be missing, marrying someone like that. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the gown.
“I’d love to see you model it.” She spun around, her heart racing. The once and future groom, lone stud in a herd of fillies, was back. He lounged against the doorway, watching her from under half-closed lids. A small smile twisted his lips, making her blush a rosy pink as she hurried to hang the dress up.
She tried not to sigh and made sure she didn’t meet his sharp blue eyes when she turned around. No point in giving his paranoid girlfriend something else to freak out about. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crawford? Did Miss Kellan forget something?”
“As a matter of fact, she did. She wanted to make sure that the lace on that delightful monstrosity that she insists on wearing is cream and not white.”
His voice was filled with a slightly mocking contempt. Eileen managed not to smirk. “Certainly. I’ll add a note to the order. Is there anything else?”
“Oh, I think there might be. She was wondering if that dress you were holding when I came in might suit the bridesmaids a bit better than what they picked. Would you mind trying it on for me? I know it’s a nuisance but I’m certainly good for any extra charges you need to tack on.” He sat down in the plush red chair in a way that suggested that he was staying put. His gaze wandered up her body, sending a hot flash through her like an electric shock.
Uh-oh. No bad boy should be that handsome. It wasn’t fair. She remembered her audience and tried to sound crisp and professional. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Mr. Crawford? Maybe it would be better to wait until your fiancée and her bridesmaids can come back to look at the gowns again. I’d hate it if Miss Kellan wasn’t happy with her choices.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Besides, my fiancée trusts my judgment implicitly. Relationships are built on trust like that, don’t you agree? Particularly since my family is footing the bill for this whole fiasco. Old money talks, Ms. Anderson. Now, I realize you still have a lot of work to do so perhaps we should get started.” His voice lost the lazy seductive quality she’d detected when he first came in and took on a commanding tone.
