This story happened in early 2019, a few months I was out of school. I was 23. If you read my last post, you’ll know that school years were fairly active (that’s an euphemism) on the sex department. That tendency didn’t stop when I left school, but I was much more aware of what I liked or not, and most of the things on my bucket list had already been crossed off (which doesn’t mean they cannot be repeated, mind you). All names are made-up, for obvious reasons.
“Can you not be home Friday night? Dinner included?” this wasn’t an uncommon request between me and Maria, my best-friend, who I’ve lived with ever since we enrolled in school, in late 2013. The meaning was all the time obvious, yet the one on the receiving end all the time feigned ignorance.
Maria rolled her eyes, but couldn’t contain a smile “What for, Luna?”
“You know, the usual” I shrugged, hoping my dismissiveness would repel her scrutiny. She sounded like my mom when she used my name like that.
“Come on, Maria!” it was my turn to roll my eyes, even if amused by the usual game. Yeah, I didn’t take long to give up this time “I’m gonna get laid…” I could read the accusations of impurity in the smirk she gave me “…possibly.”
That was when I sealed up, bringing my best poker face. “I can’t tell you yet, don’t want to jinx it. I’ll let you know after the fact. If it works out” I knew this would only pique her curiosity, but she conceded.
“I’ll hold you to that. I’ll sleep at Andre’s” [her boyfriend] she smiled again when I gave her the broadest smile my cheeks could muster.
Alright, let’s backtrack a bit! Who was I gonna meet that Friday night? The actual story starts a few days before my interaction with Maria. Let’s dive right into it.
I was laying in my bed, after dinner. Headphones on and readying myself for a majestic fingerbanging session. Sometimes I watch something while I practice my DJ scratching skills, other times I read stories such as this one, and other times I just close my eyes and dive into memories or imagination while guiding myself to paradise. However, the rarest option is when I open Tinder, reddit, or any other online chat, and jump straight into sexting with someone (I won’t lie, this has sometimes led to others doing the DJ practice for me. Lazy, I know). This was exactly what happened that night.
I opened Tinder and started the evaluation of candidates. I swiped, swiped, swiped. Sometimes to the left, mostly to the right. If your bio is anything interesting and/or funny, you get a right swipe. If not, and/or if you look like you could use a shower, you’re swept left. Imagine my surprise when, amongst the never-ending pile of men searching for love, I came upon the account of a man I come across pretty much every other day. My upstairs neighbor, Paul. *What the fuck?*. I wondered about getting up and telling Maria, but I was already half naked. I swiped right instead. Just as a joke (not really). Instant match. *Fuck, now what?*
For context, Paul was a guy in his early 30’s that moved into the building a few years after me and Maria. He lived with a guy who, up until then, we both wondered was his boyfriend. Not that we ever saw or heard them do anything affectionate – but they lived together, we rarely saw other people (women in particular) coming over. Maybe it was a stretch, but honestly, we had never wondered about it that much, we just sort of assumed they were a couple from the get-go. Also, Paul was easy on the eye. Shaved head (I think he was balding and shaved it, and honestly, he freaking owned it), often sporting a two-day beard (I’m a sucker for those), and, importantly, a nice smile. If he wasn’t my neighbor *and* I didn’t think he was gay in the first place, he’d be an easy swipe right for a night of flirt and sexting.
Regardless, I now had a match with my upstairs very-not-gay neighbor. I can’t remember his bio exactly, but it was something that hinted towards meeting people and having casual fun. Also, he was the first to send a message.
“Neighbor?” I felt my stomach tighten slightly. He had seen the humor in it too. My hand, which had been absently patting my hungry woman cave, was now helping the other hold my phone. All hands on deck.
“From 1-A, indeed”
“*‘We can have a chat, but I’d rather have fun’*?“ he was now quoting my bio. I felt my face heating up and had to cover my eyes in embarrassment. For the record, I am *not* shy about my sexuality, which doesn’t mean I scream out to the world about how often I do the deed. Also, the bio was fairly innapropriate for someone who I crossed paths with almost every other day. I literally only use Tinder for hookups and hide and unhide my account accordingly. It had all the time worked, it never occurred to me I’d need to change it lest I bumped into my neighbor in the app.
There was no point in hiding it. “Yes, your downstairs neighbor is not who she seemed to be”.
“Oh, I know, I’ve heard it a few times” *The nerve on this guy.* I admit it made me chuckle.
“That’s Maria for you, not me” That was true. She’s the loud one. Anything in bed said louder than ordinary speaking voice makes me cringe.
“Not a screamer, or not getting any?” my eyes widened. My sexual self was only mildly offended – why would he assume I wasn’t getting any? Actually, I hadn’t for a month or so (which honestly, is not that much), as the stress and workload of producing and then presenting a master thesis had occupied most of my headspace. Also, the gall to ask it directly, when most of our previous interactions had rarely gone further than “want help with those bags?”.
“Aren’t you gay?”
It was his turn to be confused. “What? You mean me and James? [insert many laughing emojis]. We’re brothers [more laughing emojis]. “
I had to laugh as well and add my own laughing emojis to the laughing emoji party. “In my defense, you look nothing like brothers”
“That is true, he got the looks, I got the brain” – James was indeed a looker. Regardless, I saw my angle and took a shot.
“Seems like he had some looks to spare though”
What followed afterwards was a conversation centered around banter with the occasional sexual innuendo. Not only did he think *I* was the screamer, he also wondered Maria was a bit stuck-up – which I had a lot of fun telling her later on (She is not, by the way. Though she has the ordinary resting bitch face). He also admitted that he may or may not have checked my ass out a few times whenever he saw me in leggings, or jogging outside. Honestly? Can’t blame him. It’s a fine ass.
I ended up not going through with the DJ scratch party that night, having instead arranged a dinner at my apartment for the next Friday, though right from that first night it was implicit that unless something unexpected happened, we’d finish Friday naked and sweaty. The tension was palpable.
The conversations became smuttier by the day. We had some chemistry, our lustful tastes aligned for the most part. He was the right mix of cocky and respectful. Friday afternoon, after getting back from a meet-up with some friends and checking with Maria that she wouldn’t be home until the next day, I took my time to get ready: I took a hot shower, I shaved, I put some perfume, I made sure I had condoms and picked my lingerie. Red suits me, so I put on a red lace bralette and the matching set of panties. I was struggling to decide what to wear over that when I saw I had a text from Paul. It was around 7PM. I wasn’t expecting him before another hour or so.
“Are we going to have dinner first? I’ve been thinking about you all day.” Ladies, you know what I’m talking about, I had to squeeze my thighs together after reading that text.
I sent him a picture of my bed, which by then was covered with three dresses and other options for clothing “I’m trying to decide what to wear. I’m only convinced with the underwear. If you come by now you can help me choose.”
I barely had time to throw everything back into the closet before the doorbell rang. I felt a thrill running down my spine, suddenly feeling cold with the excitement, with an uncomfortably pleasant fluttering in my stomach. I hopped from my bedroom to the entrance, doing my best not to sprint. *Come on, Luna, you’re not that desperate*. I opened the door.
Paul had a nice white shirt and khaki pants. Sleeves rolled up (ugh). He usually dressed like that when coming and gonna work, but it hit different. He looked like he had recently shaved his head (I had told him I liked how he carried it) but not his beard. His perfume invaded my space and mind without being overbearing. I had not attended any of my DJ scratch parties ever since the day we matched. The guy at the door looked like the last meal I’d have on earth. *Ok, you’re that desperate, Luna.*
He also had a moment to take me in. Standing barefoot and in lingerie, with a look on my face that promised quite the adventure. Knowing I had his attention, I reached behind and unhooked my bra, exposing my breasts. On my third year of school I decided to have my nipples pierced. Ever since then, it has been a joy to watch the reaction on a guy’s face whenever I show them for the first time, especially if they didn’t know I had them. A boob reveal is all the time special, but some guys seem to really appreciate the added metal.
I felt devoured by his eyes, so much so that I blushed. He was scanning every inch he could, but his eyes must have had a magnet, as they all the time traced back to my breasts. I felt my stomach contract, urging me to grab that man, lock him in my bedroom, and only let him out the next morning.
“Are you coming in? Or are you trying to show me off to my front-door neighbors?” I brought him out of his stupor. It was weird. Up until that day, our interactions had been friendly but curt. Even with a helping hand here or there, we still had never even touched each other. Yet as soon as the door locked, I was literally crawling up his body.
He held me up by my rear, and we kissed. No slow, tentative, pecking. We kissed like hormonal teenagers, a wet, hungry and unrelenting kiss. Our tongues danced around each other again and again. As I locked my legs around his hips, he freed one hand to feel me up, squeezing every inch of my skin he could reach. When the kiss broke, my skin was tingling with excitement.
“Bedroom?” he asked, and I pointed at mine. He kept carrying me on the way there. One of my hands was working on undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Your bedroom is under my brother’s, so indeed it must be Maria I kept hearing” he smiled.
“You’ll be hearing me tonight” I replied as we arrived at the bedroom. That drew a chuckle from him, and I pecked his lips. There’s something confusingly hot about being intimate and tender with a stranger.
“I thought I was supposed to help you choose a dress?” he feigned ignorance.
I rolled my eyes at him. Instead of replying, I descended from his body, and pushed him over my bed until he sat and then laid on his back. He kicked his shoes away while I took his shirt off, and then undid his belt. Moments later he was in boxers with me sat over his bulge, feeling it throb as I pressed my weight down, even through the layers of fabric. I slowly rocked my hips, grinding our crotches together while we quietly observed each other’s bodies. His hands moved, his fingers testing the firmness of my thighs, then my buttocks. My hands laid on his chest, pressing him down onto the bed, creating distance between our torsos. If I let that mouth get anywhere near mine I’d have lost my grip and fucked him raw then and there.
“Can we skip foreplay?” I couldn’t imagine being any wetter. And judging by the earthquake-like activity going on under my crotch, with his constant throbbing and tensing, his cock was more than ready to be freed. I just wanted to have him.
“What else have the past five days been? Yes, let’s skip it please.” the cockiness in his voice made me want to break his face, but my if my uterus could, it would have groaned. It still wouldn’t have been as loud as Maria.
In a matter of seconds I had grabbed the hem of his boxers and tucked it under his balls, freeing his junk for the first time, I had grabbed one of the condoms (conveniently placed right under the pillow), opened it, and unrolled it on him, and had pulled my panties to the side. Soon, I was descending on him. I was in a hurry but still I took my time, feasting on the sensation of him entering me inch by inch. The head of his cock was particularly wide so there was this constant pressure shifting inside me with every single movement, and I was as sensible as I could remember ever being.
My patience for a slow tasting didn’t last long. Soon the sound of my body clapping on his was filling the room. I pressed myself all the way down on each thrust as if my life depended on it. We grunted, moaned, panted. We didn’t talk apart from cursing. The way he used to encourage me was to squeeze my hands, pressed against his chest. I silently thanked him for not messing up my rhythm, and kept relentlessly throwing my weight at him. I *needed* release.
I stopped bouncing and instead started humping him. I remember letting out a loud moan of surprise the moment I brushed my clit against his trimmed pubes. I had given it no attention for days. Ever seen a red-hot metal in a forge? That must have been how it looked like. It was burning. My hips got a life of their own as I did my best to give my clit all the friction it had been missing. My moans got progressively quieter and more spread out. I could feel it building up inside me.
“I’m gonna cum” I warned him but it was almost a whisper. My legs were starting to shake, I was starting to break my rhythm. I was past the point of no return so I just brainlessly humped him, my body incapable of anything more coherent.
“Ah, you shouldn’t have said that-” It didn’t make sense at the time. Nothing did. The orgasm hit me at that moment and all I could feel was jolts of pleasure shooting from my crotch to every part of my body. I remember hearing him moan. My thighs started spasming and my insides locked tight around his cock. My legs had no strength so he spun me around and started pounding into me, fucking me through my orgasm. It was mind-blowing, I was so sensible it hurt. In the best way feasible. I could only moan. As my orgasm subsided, his came.
“Luna-“ it made sense afterwards. My words had pushed him over his point of no return, it only took him a bit longer to cross the finish line. He pressed himself inside me, as deep as he could, and he exploded. I felt his cock tense and release inside me again and again as he flooded the condom with his own dose of pent-up desire. He panted, and I panted, and he stayed on top of me, on a weird knot of limbs until my legs started cramping.
“That was quick” he chuckled. He was breathless but I could hear the smile in his voice. I was feeling too in sync with the universe to even bother turning my head to look at him. It had been quick indeed. Probably less than fifteen minutes had passed since he first texted me. I couldn’t care less. I could live weeks with a five-minute session like that.
“Is that an apology?” I was about to let him know I absolutely-didn’t-fucking-care-about-duration-I-just-wanted-more-of-that-dick-after-dinner.
He turned to the side “No, my golden rule is that the lady comes first – unless we agree to something different. It was a close call, I almost broke it.” He grinned “But I have no regrets. You?”
“I wish I knew you weren’t gay sooner”
That drew a laugh out of him.
Dinner was held late that night. I told Maria who my date had been afterwards.