by Lynne Jamneck
(03/26/03)

New apartments.

I love them when they're actually new, detest them when they're old. This particular one I had just signed for looked positively ancient. But I knew I couldn't take one more day of my previous neighbor's WWF parties. Enough was enough. I mean, the women who would show up there (and sometimes accidentally knock on my door) looked like dykes, but were all actually straight.

I was getting confused.

So I called up my landlord. I told him to hold off on the bug exterminator that always ended up costing me a fortune and I put my apartment up for rent.

My newly acquired abode looked as if Frankenstein had taken to it with a ton of bricks, but my new landlord said if I fixed it up nice enough I wouldn't have to pay rent for six months. So you can imagine the amount of work it required. He just didn't want the bums breaking into the place every other night.

This was a neat little arrangement for me. Frankly, I was quite good at this DIY stuff. I'd recently grown pretty tired of the whole social scene anyway. Who needs to party when you can knock out walls?

The apartment block wasn't that big, and I figured sooner or later I would meet the rest of its inhabitants. In all fairness, it wasn't really a block either, but rather five separate units built real close to one another.

It was late Monday morning when I met her. I had just taken a long, cool shower to wash away the grime of an already hot summer's day. I'd managed to break out most of the paint-chipped wall, which had originally separated the kitchen from the living room. Now, suddenly, sun filled up the previously dark little hovel, already making it look almost livable.

I was still busy in the bathroom, trying to make my hair look halfway decent in the dust-covered mirror, when there were two short, sharp raps on the front door. I figured with my rotten luck it was one of the neighbors, coming to complain about the racket I'd been making since six that morning.

I took one more look at myself in the mirror, decided I looked more like Elvis and less like Tom Jones; it would have to do for now. I pulled on my faded, starting-to-go-ratty T-shirt, and headed for the door through the rubble. I rehearsed a few excuses before putting on my straightest face possible, and finally turned the doorknob.

"Whoa." I didn't think I'd said that out loud, then realized to my horror that indeed I had. And how very eloquent I was. One look at her made me realize that sometimes women should be called the fairer sex.

"Down, boy," the woman at my door said, smiling. I couldn't help but notice the way her eyes flitted across my arms, exposed as they were and covered in gooseflesh from the draft coming in the door.

Down indeed. She should have been glad I wasn't packing; otherwise there might have been trouble.

"You're really good with that hammer," she said, smiling through her freckles.

"What the--" Then I got it. The bay window. The lack of curtains certainly must have helped. "Thank you. I try," was all that managed to come from my mouth. My eyes busied themselves with the way her Levis redefined the meaning of the word "hipster." She definitely wasn't wearing underwear.

"I need some sugar -- desperately," she said breathily, emphasizing the last word for effect.

"Oh yeah?" I leaned against the door, wanting to show off the exact extent of my sledgehammer-swinging arms. My visitor, in turn, stuck both hands into the back pockets of her jeans and smiled coyly. Christmas had apparently arrived late this year, I thought to myself. Or very, very early, depending on your point of view. She continued.

"Wouldn't you know, I'm entertaining some people and I have practically nothing in my cupboards. Silly me, I forgot to do the groceries."

I didn't believe her, of course. Truth be told, I didn't think she expected me to. She had a beautiful body; very supple, defined. Possibly a dancer, I thought, and glanced over her shoulder. Her bedroom window looked right into my bay window. I decided right there to hold off on the curtains a while longer.

"Right." I smiled slowly, my butch charm now in full swing. She was leaning with her hips into my doorway, still waiting for some sugar. I released the doorframe from my grip, and made a lavish gesture for her to come in. She sauntered past me, and I saw her expression change as she noticed the broken pieces of wall and curled-up wallpaper on the floor.

"My, my. You must be quite strong to swing that thing around," she muttered just loud enough for me to hear, eyes moving from the sledgehammer, over to me, then finally back again.

"Is that a Southern accent?" I asked, stopping dead at the sudden, slight undertone of peach cobbler in her voice. She twirled a strand of strawberry-blonde hair lightly around one finger.

"No, darlin', that's an invitation for a nice boy like you to stop fussing around and see the forest for the trees." She added weight to her statement by running her hand up my arm slowly, all the while staring right into my eyes.

"That's a dangerous thing to be doing to someone you don't even know," I said evenly, feeling instant gratification and frustration loop through me at the same time.

"I guess that's what makes sex with strangers so exciting." She smiled with amusement, moving her hand onto my stomach, making the muscles underneath my skin tighten in response.

"I'm wondering -- is this part of the welcoming committee for all the new residents?"

I didn't expect the slap across the face I got for that one, which made it sting even more. I found myself rubbing at it, surprised.

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners about entertaining guests?" she asked, mockingly.

I grabbed her wrist and squeezed. "Just to always show them a good time."

Then I kissed her. The inside of her mouth and tongue tasted of strawberries and cinnamon. Both her hands went back to my stomach, fingertips slowly moving down to the frayed waistband of my cut-offs.

The delight of another woman's body against mine never wore off. Rather, it was like a familiar craving. I never did realize how much I ached for it until it was there.

The white tank top she was wearing strained underneath the tips of my fingers. One of my hands slipped up its front and came to rest on her breast, teasing the nipple lightly.

They were the perfect size. My hand was neatly able to cover and squeeze at the same time for maximum effect. She made soft, urgent, unmistakably sexual sounds into my mouth at this. I slid my other hand down to the slender small of her back, pulling her into me even more.

The remnants of my living room wall were three steps behind her. I moved both hands to her hips and stepped forward, guiding her back into the mashed concrete. Our kiss finally broke, what with her tugging at the button fly of my cut-offs and me wanting to get that straining tank top off her gorgeous body. I didn't wait to see if she would do so herself. With practiced ease I slipped the top off and threw it on the floor, making a mental note to offer my laundry services if she so wished. Then I took her hand away from my crotch and pinned it behind her back, while slowly taking her rock hard nipples into my mouth one at a time.

She liked it when I bit them softly, but with just enough force and wickedness to make small cries escape from the back of her throat. I suddenly remembered the bay window, and that we'd be in full view of anyone who happened to walk past. But the sun that spilled in through that very window made my visitor's body warm and glowing to the touch, and, I decided, to hell with public decency.

I thought I heard her say something, and looked up from where my mouth had begun to trail down to her navel.

"I have to get back," she said softly, eyes closed.

"You're not going anywhere," I replied. Getting up from my knees, I unzipped her jeans. I didn't waste time, as there was the slight possibility that she might really change her mind and run out the front door if she came to her senses. My fingers slipped into her easily, and she grabbed my ass firmly with both hands to show her approval of what I was doing to her.

I had never fucked a stranger in my own apartment before. I found myself with a cocky smile on my face, already relishing the slow and detailed description my friends would get next time I saw them.

My stranger was starting to moan, the Southern in her voice now ringing, breathless and abandoned, through my whole apartment. And also out the front door that I now noticed I'd forgotten to close. When had the landlord said he was going to come round? Then I felt her small hands on my hips again, grinding me into her, and didn't really care about the goddamn landlord.

Afterwards, I soaked in the shower for nearly an hour. All she eventually told me as she stumbled out the door was that she was from Georgia. Guess what I now have on my mind? When I was finished with her I sent her home, with the sugar. I told her that if she ever needed more to just come over and ask. My supply of things sweet never ran out.

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