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I confess that I managed to avoid Greenberg for the rest of that week.
He had dutifully, hopefully cleared my windshield every day that week, which was starting to seem excessive. I didn’t really want to work giving him a handy every goddamn day into my to-do list!
The following Sunday night I got a text that one of my FWB guys wanted to stop by after work on Monday…and I saw a way that I might be able to even the score with Greenberg…
So, I buckled down and called Greenberg. I know, amazing, right? As much as I hate talking on the phone, I wondered it would impress him and maybe increase the odds of him going along.
He answered with a very passable Lurch imitation:
“You rang?”
I giggled in spite of myself, and that pissed me off. I collected myself, and jumped right in.
“A guy is going to come over after work tomorrow and fuck me. He’ll be in the house for 10 minutes tops, and…um I don’t know, some guys, I think, like to watch people, other people, having sex…Kinda like a porno, but with ugly people and uh, shitty lighting…”
I trailed off, but he jumped right in, all fucking bright and perky.
“Like hide in your closet?”
“Exactly, it’s got those louvered doors, and…”
“Fuck yeah. What time you want me there…?”
I stumbled, amazed at his instant acquiescence, and then gave him the details.
I told him the begin time and started to give my address, but he cut me off.
“Bitch, I know where you live. I’m in the D block, right behind yours.”
Again, I was surprised. How does HE know where I live? How did I NOT know that we were neighbors?
After we hung up, my phone chimed with a text alert. Fucking Greenberg. He had sent an gif of some stupid cartoon dog with long floppy ears dancing. Fucking guy.

During a slow spell at work on Monday, I found and watched a YouTube on how to put on makeup. Yeah? well fuck you, too. I never learned that shit.
Stopped by CVS on the way home and purchased a recommended “what every girl should have in her glovebox next to the .45 Kimber” set of eye makeup, some whoreish lipstick, and a pair of stockings that squish the top of your legs to stay in place on their own. Thigh highs, their called. The eye makeup came in this little flat clear plastic box, kinda like when you get an assortment of washers, or fishing weights. And had a little brush deal, some pencils and a cylinder of eyelash goop.
Got home, stripped and applied a fraction of what I had seen on youtube on this face. I’m a surgeon. I have pretty decent eye/hand, ok? It wasn’t that hard. I put this bright red lipstick on, then donned a man’s dress shirt, with two of the middle buttons fastened, thigh highs and a pair of heels that a school roommate had left when she visited and I was supposed to mail to her.
Yeah, I’m a sucky friend. I think that has already been established.

Next, I went into the kitchen and slicked the handle of this large diameter mixing spoon that I was left over from a previous tenant, squatted down on the floor, and lowered myself onto it, gently, and slowly penetrating , lubing ,and stretching my anus. I figured that A) Greenberg was physically small, so it wouldn’t be much larger that his, B) That if he fucked my ass, we’d be totally even. I smeareed on more butter, then tossed the spoon in the trash, washed my hands andreached into the booze cabinet to pull out a fresh Blackbox of Old Vine Zin. Was drinking a glass when Greenberg showed up.
He kinda gaped at me, eyes comically bugging out. He started to say words directed at what I was wearing, or the makeup or whatever, but I shushed him and took away his telephone so he wouldn’t be tempted to record sounds or pictures.
He accepted a glass with a little bit of side eye, because you know, he only expects abuse from me,
and I ushered him into the closet.
Not three minutes later my “date” texted to be let in. I turned off the overhead, left the little headboard-mounted spotlight on, and texted date that the door was open and for him to come on in as usual.
The Date, was married of course, and identifiable in the small polity that is Reno. He preferred to fuck professionals that also had something to lose, ideally married (this being only one of the many methods that I deviated from his ideal), but otherwise vulnerable so there would be less incentive for the woman to brag or blab.
Anyway, he was all the time quick, which I liked, because I don’t actually LIKE sex and I liked that it was illicit. I liked sneaking around.
He came in, grabbed a tumbler of wine, downed it, fucked me, and left.
Eight minutes, 34 seconds. A PR.
I got up a little unsteadily, both from the high heels and the glass of wine on an empty stomach-whoah. Locked the front door, then invited Greenberg to join me in bed. He hadn’t changed, was still in scrubs, and as before there was no denying his arousal. He tented in earnest. I propped myself up against the headboard, spread my legs and directed him to eat up.
I honestly didn’t know if he would comply, when it came down to it. Being enthusiastic as a voyeur, is one thing, but then to actually get in there and mop up someone else’s jizz…
He didn’t hesitate, but just dove right in. The scene for me was strangely erotic, he was nicely limned by the spotlight, his glossy black head of curls like a parody of my own thick thatch, as it rose up from between my splayed legs…
As I watched him work, I became aware that I was enjoying this. I was having SENSATIONS. This felt fantastic. My nipples were rock hard and I began pulling on them, like some fucking porno slut. I felt, like, this pressure…building. My heart was hammering.
“FUCK GREENBERG! FUCK! I’M CUMMING!”
Afterward,I scoonched down so I was flat on the bed, and he crawled up. He held me.
AND I LET HIM.
He was behind me, his arms wrapped around me, and I had a weird wondered:
I could get used to this.

After awhile I was aware that he was prodding me with what could only be his erect penis. So I wondered: Showtime. I rolled out of his embrace onto my tummy, and spreading myself wide in invitation, he climbed aboard. I grabbed him and directed him to the hole that I wanted him to use. He made sounds of astonishement, and excitement, and it wasn’t unpleasant for me, either, this time.
After he came, he went into the bathroom and washed up, broaught a warm washcloth for me to do the same.

We cuddled again, dozing, him atop me. I found that I didn’t mind the weight of him on my back. It was sort of pleasant, kinda like a heavy comforter draped on me.
After a time he slid off, and rolled me onto my back. He fastened himself to my nipples, playing “Remora” first on one side, then the other, until I was squirming and moaning and lusting for more. This got him hard again and we fucked, both of us working at it, trying to sync up and meet and it took more time but that was ok everything was better than ok and then I screamed and clawed his back, and gripped his ass cheeks to bring more, more, more contact and he bellowed, and I wondered:
“OK. So THIS is what all the fuss is about. Huh. Never knew.”
This sex thing just might catch on…

NSFW: yes

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