Hallway Meeting

I started writing a short story, but I didn’t get to the part I wanted to write yet. You men must tell me if my Man point of view is completely bogus….

Greg had never met anyone like her. True, his age may have a had a little to do with that. But the fact that he was only two months from turning the big 5-0 didn’t stop him from feeling like a ridiculous horny high-school kid every time he saw her.

She’d moved into the apartment upstairs only a few weeks ago, and the constant stress of wondering what she was up to all the time was exhausting him.

The first time Greg saw her, she’d been sitting on the landing in front of her door, drumming her hands on the floor to the beat of whatever song only she could hear playing on her Ipod headphones. She looked like she was about sixteen, mostly because of the way she had her legs stuck through the spindles of the railing that ran across the landing. Her legs hung down and he noticed how tiny her bare feet were as soon as he walked through the main door. He thought she was cutesy, at first glance; she had a bubblegum pink T-shirt on and a sucker stuck in her mouth to complete her youngish look. But when he looked close, he noticed the short ruffled skirt she was wearing perfectly showcased a curvy pair of legs that no way in hell belonged to a teen.

Her eyes were closed as she pounded away on the floor, so he didn’t acknowledge her, but when he stuck the key in his lock in the door directly below and across the hall from her, she spoke.

“Hey! Are you him that lives in 1A?”

He jumped at the sound of her voice, because he hadn’t thought she’d noticed him come in. He turned and looked up at her, and almost shit when he realized he had a perfect view of her crotch. She was wearing panties, of course, but they were sheer enough that his mouth went dry when he realized what he was seeing.

“Uh, what? Oh… yeah, I live here.”

“Good fucking first impression, Rain Man.” he thought acidly to himself. He tried to recover from his lameness. “You just move in?”

She slipped the sucker out of her mouth, and he couldn’t help wondering how her perfectly luscious lips would look wrapped around his cock.

“Yeah, I’m in 2A.” She gestured to the door behind her. “The UPS guy was here for you. He wasn’t going to leave your delivery, but I signed for it. Hang on a sec.” She unplugged the headphones from her ears and scrambled smoothly up from her child-like position. As she stood, Greg got a glimpse of those silky drawers again, this time from the back. She disappeared through her door before he even had a chance to respond.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Holy fuck” he thought, and adjusted his growing erection just as she returned, package in hand.

“Here ya go.” She leaned over the railing to toss the tiny package down to him gently. He scrambled to catch it because he was momentarily distracted by the cleavage she’d inadvertantly flashed. He noticed as she straighted up that the shirt she was wearing wouldn’t be lowcut on a flat-chested girl.

“Hey, um, thanks.” Instead of sounding more intelligent like he wanted, he seemed incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

She smiled. “Sure. If you get packages alot, you can just have them sent here if you want. I’m home all day.” Her innocent demeanor clashed wildly with the body she possessed. All curves and sensual lines. Greg shook his head because he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“What was that?”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at him as if he was a complete ass. He certainly felt like one.

“UPS. Send your shit here. I work nights, so I can just give it to you when I see you.” Her last sentence wasn’t meant to sound dirty, but Greg found himself wishing she had meant it to. She’d resumed her position between the railings; once again giving Greg a view of her underwear. He thought to himself that he’d never set eyes on such a beautiful lavender color.

“Oh, yeah. That’s be great. They usually end up sending it back be because I can never catch them when they’re here.” He mentally patted himself on the back for forming a complete sentence. He held up the package. “Thanks. What was your name?”

She kicked her feet childishly as she replaced her earphones. “I’m Casey.”

Greg waved to her, but she’d already resumed her frantic drumming on the tile floor. He opened his door and went inside, closing it quickly before leaning against it. He felt as if all the air had just been sucked out of him. Bruiser, his Newfoundland, ambled up to him and nudged his hand with a wet nose. Greg scratched behind the dog’s ear absentmindedly.

“Did you see the tits on her, Bruiser? Fuckin’ A.”

The Benefits to Dating the Elderly

Tonight, my Rockstar celebrated his birthday. I have, on occassion, mentioned the near- generational gap that seperates us. While not quite old enough to be my father, the age difference would be the equivilant of his ten year old daughter dating someone of legal American drinking age . When put that way, the word “ewww” comes to mind.

It is true that certain downfalls accompany being in a relationship with a time-worn individual. Namely,the absurdly early bedtimes of 8:30 they have, and a somewhat less-than-satisfying sexdrive of only four times a week. However, I have devised a list of advantages that come from dating a geriatric:

1. They know what they want. My Rockstar knows he wants to retire.

I believe his exact words when asked who he admired were, “Anyone who doesn’t have to work for a living.” I must admit, he hasn’t exactly figured out how to achieve this dream yet.

2. They are generally monetarily settled.

I say generally, because this is not yet something that completely applies to my Rockstar; however, he IS very good about paying the cable and rent on time.

3.They know better than to argue with a woman.

Perhaps women are not always right, (HEEHEE! Just kidding!!!!!) but men of a certain age know better than to try and dispute what a woman says. (Or in my Rockstar’s case, receive a face-smashing once or twice to help them realize when they’ve come up with erronous ideas.)

4. They are better in bed.

Instead of enduring the thiry-second jack-rabbit drilling of the inexperienced, I get to enjoy the prolonged sensual humpings of a man who’s made love with someone other than his right hand and the Jergen’s bottle. Too, he is considerate enough to pull my head away before his man-juices shoot down my throat when I’m administering a blow job. Unfortunately, last night, he didn’t pull it quite far enough out of the way… Let me just point out- that shit stings when it hits you in the eye.