It was 10:30 pm and I was standing in my kitchen in my Niners shirt and black boy short panties making a snack when I heard a knock. I looked up in time to see The Neighbor push the door open, confident in his welcome. He was clad in basketball shorts and his softball shirt still. I wasn’t amused.
I came round out of the kitchen, swaying my hips and pulling back my shoulders. “Hey. What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I just wanted to see if you won your game.”
“We did. We slaughtered them!” I smiled as he gave me a high five.
“I just got home.”
“Really?” I knew that wasn’t true. His car was parked already when I got home 20 minutes earlier. Ah, the little lies strung up ever so delicately.
I let it go for the moment and instead showed him the scrapes on my knees from sliding into second. He gave me another high five.
“What are you doing here?” I asked again as I sat down on my couch, both my snack and Frasier abandoned for the time being. “You stink, you know” I added with mirth.
He peeled off his shirt and wadded it up.
“You really just got home?” I pressed.
“Well, no,” he admitted. “I got home about 30 minutes ago.”
“And you still haven’t showered?” I laughed. I felt uncomfortable and pissed. He’d ignored me at our game and left with his team without so much as a goodbye which left me bitching to my second baseman from my spot on first for an entire inning.
“Actually, I’m gonna go home and shower now. Bye!” He made for the door abruptly, then stopped in the doorway. A fickle moth drawn to my flame he can’t stand. “But I’ll probably be back in an hour,” he said suggestively.
I stood and closed the gap between us, “I don’t think so.”
“What?? But you were wanting a cock in you just the other day.”
And this is where I wish I hadn’t fibbed. I wish I’d simply said, “I’m not up for it tonight,” but instead I said, “Yeah, my pussy is still sore from you on Friday.”
“With Noodle??” he asked incredulously.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Besides, you’re all dirty. Go wash that scrotum, then we’ll talk,” I teased. He gave me a mock look of shock, we laughed, then shut our doors. The sound of the living room fan thrummed to the blood in my ears.
I felt conflicted. I can’t stand turning him down, his attention is so fleeting, but I was true to myself even if my message wasn’t as open as I’d have liked.
I awoke on the couch an hour and a half later, alone, with no texts. I felt slightly bereft. I’d been dreaming about sucking his cock. Being a good, available girl.
I texted to ask of he was clean. No response. So I joked about my dream and went to bed.
When I awoke this morning, I left a dream where TN and Downstairs Neighbor mocked me and left me out of their fun. I’d looked TN in the eyes and searched his face for even the slightest flicker of affection to only find a blank regard of me and my silliness.
I texted him that I dreamt he was a royal jerk.
And then I stretched, came twice, and caught myself bathed in light as I passed my mirror. I marveled at my body, something I’ve fought against for most of my life but which I now embrace, and took a couple of pics.
Some man, some day, will see this with his own eyes, I thought. He’ll be laying tangled in my bed sheets and as the light trips off my hips and curves he’ll say, “Goddamn, Hy. You are something else,” and he’ll drag me into his arms and nuzzle my neck and make sweet love to me.
But never The Neighbor.