~ erotica ~

I never see him with his shirt on. His chest is sculpted in the way that begs to be caressed, kissed, and licked. He picks up his packages, takes out his trash, and goes for runs only in his pants and sneakers. I never mind the view as I’m checking my mailbox, coming home from work, or going out for play.

I sometimes wonder what he thinks of me, always in my skimpy outfits. The low cut fronts. The short skirts. The too high heels. How does he image me behind his apartment door? Does he enjoy the brief glimpses of me, the view I purposefully give him? Does he want what I want? To feel his skin against my skin.

There are only three apartments in our brownstone. Our landlord lives in the basement, her separate entrance granting her a separate life from ours. He occupies the first floor apartment. I get the second. It was a bitch to move into my home, but the private balcony makes up for the hassle.

Mornings I get up, take my cup of coffee, slip into my silk robe, and stand outside watching the mist dry up as the Sun rises. He takes his jog the same time five days a week. I wonder if he notices me each time he comes home in the low light of the morning.

There is nothing under my robe. I enjoy the feel of the cool air seeping in against my skin. My nipples crease and rub against my robe in ways I wish his fingers would. I lean against the banister, cross my legs, and squeeze my thighs together imagining all the things I want him to do to me. My robe is short. If he dared glance up, he’d catch a peek of what could be his.

At night, when I go out to play, I purposefully take my time leaving. I close my door louder than is needed. I don the heels that clack on the old floor. I want him to hear my departure. I want him to rush to his door, peer out through the peep hole, and watch me as I go. I want him to feel a tightness in his pants as I saunter, switching my hips and moving my ass, in my temptation for his touch.

When I come home, I want, just once, for him to react. To hear the slam of the building door and the click of my heels. To peer out of his peep hole, see me, and not take the temptation anymore. I want him to open his door, rush towards me, grab my arms, look into my eyes, and kiss me with a fire burning hot inside of him.

Each time he doesn’t stop me from entering my apartment, I close my front door just as loudly as when I left, and rush to my bedroom. I wrip off my dress, throw myself onto my bed, and pull out my vibrator. I roll around in my sheets, grinding against my toy, and imagine him fucking me. I moan with pleasure. I scream as I cum. I know my bedroom is just above his. I know he can hear me. Even at 3am, when most of the world is quiet, I let my pleasure ring out for his ears to bask in.

Until he knocks on my door and tells me he’s had enough. Until he looks up at me one morning on my balcony and beckons me down to him. Until he ends this game we are playing, I’ll keep tempting him. With my walk, and my noises, and my skin.

Categorised as: Erotica

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