So, it’s been three weeks since I moved into my second-floor apartment at Rosewood Apartments—a sprawling complex that's a small victory in my fresh start. The ink on my divorce papers has dried, and with no children to tie us together, my ex-wife and I have gone our separate ways.
As I look around my living room, it's still a maze of boxes—each one packed with fragments of my former life. I have a quaint balcony, though it’s nothing more than a narrow strip of concrete jutting off the kitchen. Still, it’s a space where I can breathe.
I've designated the balcony for my bedding and linens, a makeshift strategy to keep at least one category of belongings organized amidst the chaos. I guess I'm trying to impose some order in this new chapter of my life.
By the way, my name is Nick. Despite living here for three weeks, the unpacking is an ongoing battle. But with a full-time job demanding my weekdays, the boxes can wait. Tonight, however, with nowhere else to be, I feel motivated to tackle the kitchen boxes.
Stripping down to my essentials in the bedroom, I change into an old pair of boxer briefs—the kind that's soft from wear, with a few holes that tell tales of better days.
Back to the present: I stand at 5’10”, with jet-black hair and pale skin that rarely sees the sun, thanks to my office job. My recent trips to the gym have started to pay off, though a slight gut hints at my ongoing battle with beer—a vice I'm not quite ready to quit.
My modest kitchen setup comprises just a few appliances and lots of disposable dinnerware. As I pull out a box from the pile to sort through, I realize how much I need blinds—my windows open up to a serene view of trees that shield me from prying eyes, providing much-needed privacy.
Placing the first box on the counter, I slice through the tape with a plastic knife, and as the summer breeze filters in through the open window, I begin unpacking. Metal drinking jugs, a collection of fridge magnets from travels long past, and a mismatched set of bowls make their appearance. It's then that the distinct sounds of passion from across the way catch my attention—sharp, rhythmic slaps mixed with moans.
Looking out, I realize the noises come from the first-floor window directly under mine. Inside, a scene unfolds that holds me transfixed: a man, powerfully built, dominates the space with his movements.
“Mmmm, yes baby, yes,” a woman’s voice pitches between highs and lows, “Ooo, yes, Tom, just like that.” Her legs flail around his robust frame, his muscular form a stark contrast to the tender scene I'm witnessing.
“Fucking kids,” I mutter, though a part of me is drawn to the raw display. As I lift the box, intending to retreat, another shout freezes me: “You like that, slut? You like this dick slamming into you?”
Recognition dawns—it’s Tom, the 23-year-old gym rat from the complex, known for his towering presence and cocksure attitude. A typical jock with a physique that's hard to ignore, especially when he’s in his element.
“I’m getting close, baby,” I overhear, my gaze locked on the scene. The woman's hands claw at his back, marking him. From my vantage point, I see his body respond, each thrust an exhibition of his strength.
“Yes, YES!” she cries, reaching a climax that seems to shake the very foundation of their coupling. “Fuck yeah, Amy,” Tom exclaims, a victorious note in his voice. As the intensity of their encounter grows, she pulls out a pink object—it’s not a dildo, but an anal plug, which she places at the base of his spine, the rocking movement keeping it rolling between his back and huge ass.
The dynamics shift, and I'm struck by the rawness of it all. “Here we go, baby,” she chirps, as she reached around him and lubes the plug, while Tom is still drilling her making her squeal with delight.
“Baby, I’m close,” his voice thick with urgency.
As he climaxes, she drives the plug home, and his reaction is visceral: “Fuuuuuuuck,” he bellows, his pleasure peaking. I watch, captivated as his body convulses his muscular ass tightens and loosens in a hypnotic rhythm timed with at least three shots of cum, his release palpable.
Tom comes down from his high just as his girl says “Im gonna be late, I said I would the girls at the club” she's moving around the room gathering her clothing and making a quick departure.
Tom's on the other hand, his session continues, and I can't help but watch, my heart racing with each of his movements. His face, etched with determination, he gets on all fours, face down on the mattress and he begins to play with the plug alternating from fast to slow and deep. He's playing with his dick with his free hand, he's punishing his hole, his desperation, and effort pay off as as he reaches another climax, shouting into the emptiness “Fuck, FUCK, FUCK MEEEEEE!”
“Well, fuck,” I whisper to myself, caught off guard by my own voyeuristic intrigue.
He stayed in this position for a breath or two before reaching back and pulling and plunging the pink toy in his ass a few more times
The phone on the window sill sprang to life with a jarring ringtone, slicing through the quiet of the summer evening. Tom reached over nonchalantly, his muscles glistening with a sheen of sweat from the fervent activities, the light from the setting sun casting an almost golden hue on his sculpted form. He plunged himself one last time with a grimace of satisfaction before carefully removing the pink anal toy.
Surprisingly he looked at it for a bit, examining it before slowly and gently pushing it down his open mouth, his face turning red and eyes slightly bulging before taking it out, catching his breath and stashing it out of sight. Turning to pick up the phone completely hard again.
“Yeah, she just left,” Tom's voice rumbled, rich and confident as he spoke into the phone, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah, you know it, bitches love this dick” he continued, his laughter booming through the sparse room, echoing slightly off the bare walls. “Let me shower and I’ll be over there in no time, keep some beers cold for me” he declared, his tone light and confident.
I slowly retreated from the kitchen, careful not to make a sound, even though the dense foliage outside draped my apartment in deep shadows, turning it into a cavern of obscurity. The trees swayed gently in the night breeze, their leaves rustling softly, as if whispering secrets.
The Tom I had come to know, was manly, brutish and 100% Straight, but after watching him tonight. well I was left with lots of questions.
A few minutes later, the quiet was shattered by the roar of Tom’s truck coming to life, its engine growling like some restless beast. He blasted his favorite Midwestern honky-tonk music, the twangy chords and boisterous lyrics filling the air as he drove away into the night.
That night, alone in my dark room, the events of the evening replayed in my mind in vivid detail. The memory was intoxicating, and I surrendered to the sensations, my breath catching in my throat as the climax washed over me in a wave of euphoria. I lay there afterward, the sticky mess cooling on my skin, my breath slowly evening out as the afterglow ebbed.
“Well,” I mused to myself as I stared at the ceiling, the shadows dancing across it in the moonlight, “Tom is going to be a great neighbor.”
