Quarantined with the Landlord [MF]

It was either day thirty-seven or thirty-eight of state mandated self-distancing. Ben wished he was audacious enough to break-out a sharpie and keep track on the wall. Knowing he needed the security deposit refunded stopped him before he actually got off the couch to look through the kitchen drawers. There probably wasn’t a marker to be had, the apartment was mostly empty. His roommates, Kevin, Stephanie, and girlfriend Anna, had all packed up and headed home when campus closed. The chance of coming back was slim. They took everything with them to save the trip back. Ben was surprised how little he’d contributed to the household. One easy chair, an overturned storage tote, and a shabby card table with equally shabby folding chairs were the extent of his furniture. Anna was kind enough to leave her dishes. It was a nice gesture, meant to say “I’ll get them back from you.” But she was graduating and, before the virus, lined up for a job in Pittsburgh. But now, who knew. The remote possibility she cared about losing out on a hand-me down, chipped, big box-store dish set was not lost on Ben. Maybe they’d see each other again. Neither had been decisive enough to say it out loud, but the lack of discussion about finding a place together in Pittsburgh, Ben looking at schools in Pennsylvania, or anything meaningful beyond the most efficient way to pack up her car said enough.

The house was great. Ben would genuinely miss the place. Sitting about five miles off campus, the old Victorian was something Ben wished could be his. The aged hardwood floors, stained glass accenting each room, and original woodwork gave it the character every sterile dorm room and his last “resort style” pre-fab apartment lacked. It was nice to be somewhere with a past. They lived in the back third of the place, converted servants quarters. He didn’t know for sure where he’d be next year. A return to Wisconsin and his parents’ house on June 1 was obviously next. But he vowed it would only be a pitstop. A place to lick his wounds, romantic and professional, before finding somewhere else. He hadn’t been accepted to any of the doctoral programs he applied for. Teach For America was out as that was too much of a commitment. A brief flirtation with the Peace Corps went nowhere fast. Starving and scrounging to make it in New York seemed simultaneously naive and indulgent considering the plight of that city. Since the last rejection came, he’d landed on bartending somewhere warm for a year. Palm Springs maybe. Or somewhere on the Gulf Coast. That seemed like the spot to make plans and escape the cold of his Midwest upbringing and Northeast education.

The day, like every other, was spent on a 10:30 call with his parents, recapping their respective monotonies and assurances on both ends of the phone there were no coughs, chills, or fevers. Then a halfhearted run through the empty town, across campus, and back. Checking the boxes for his online classes that had replaced seminars and workshops. Then a rotating game of books he couldn’t focus on, TV he was bored by, and movies he should have already seen and could now stop lying about having watched. Dinner was his time to shine though. He made a shrimp and pasta with fresh peppers and a butter reduction. White wine that Stephanie had left behind sufficed. He’d miss the unparalleled freshness of the produce in the country.

Lying in bed that night, he heard Dr. Brooks’ Lexus beep as the locks engaged. What’s the jackass doing out at 11? Nothing’s open and there’s no coeds to chase. Ben couldn’t speak to the guy as a professor, Kevin and Stephanie both liked him enough and spoke highly of his intellect, but the guy had a reputation. It didn’t matter if it was earned or not. It was his. But he charged fair rent and had only complained once about the noise coming from a group of stressed twenty-four year olds. Ben could never get over the attitude you were granted a place in his house though. Kevin took it farther, arguing, increasingly since January, “We pay the mortgage pal, you need us as much as we need you” after each night out or one too many glasses of wine with dinner. A self-important college professor that chased students and looked down on most people. Ben never understood why the cliche didn’t make Kevin laugh instead of rant.

A bit later, faint moans began and Ben dismissed it as his imagination. They persisted, increasing in frequency, and he said aloud, “Oh fuck off.” Brooks got to chase college girls, however few were left, and then come home to his wife. Ben knew all the psychology, but Mrs. Brooks was striking. Affairs are about power. About being wanted. About something new. Goddamn though. Why cheat on a woman that looks like that. One who clearly still wants you? The moans got louder and Ben wondered why he’d never heard it before if their room shared a wall with his. He cursed the landlords, and his own arousal, before getting up and heading to the living room.

The next morning Ben was stretching on the front lawn, leaned against the wrought iron fence, contemplating if the weather had broke and he could ditch his sweatshirt, when Brooks’ wife Lauren appeared on the front porch. She was attractive. Her features were sharp, defined but inviting. He was sure part of it was her aura, you only caught glimpses of Lauren coming or going. There was mystery, like you didn’t exist in her world and craved her attention. She gave a wave and seemed unsure about getting closer. They’d said ten words to each other since last August, except when she and Brooks came home from some party and she drunkenly invited the four roommates in for cocktails before being rushed into the house. As far as Ben knew, all she did was listen to a lot of music after Brooks left for work and, based on the communal recycling bin, drink red wine like a Hemingway character. The final two rent payments had been made before everyone else left. The four knew the lease was signed and a fight with Brooks was futile. Braced for her request of his departure date, Ben debated how flippant he could be arguing the place was his until May 31. There wasn’t exactly a line of prospective tenants. “I haven’t been within six feet of anyone in three weeks except the checkout guy at Stop’n’Save.”

Lauren lit up and came down the stairs, “Isn’t this awful? I wanted to ask, but didn’t want to seem like a headcase.”

Taken aback by the openness, Ben could only muster, “Yeah, it’s crazy.” Smiling, Lauren asked, “So you really haven’t gone anywhere for three weeks?”

Snapping back to the reality of face-to-face human interaction, Ben said “Yeah, I talk to my parents everyday, and text with the guys. But I’ve just been knocking out the online classes and counting the seconds.” Ben noted the excessive laugh his lame joke elicited and smiled back. “How are you and Dr. Brooks getting by?”

“Mike is actually in Bethesda. Hasn’t been home since a week before this started.” Ben was stunned. Had he really not seen Brooks in over a month? His amazement must have embarrassed Lauren as she quickly explained, “He went to DC for a conference. We argued that he should have postponed. Argued some more after he got there. So he went to his parents’ on his way home and decided to stay there to make sure they’re okay.” Ben nodded, knowing there was much more to that story, but he wasn’t about to call her out in their first actual conversation. Who doesn’t come home with this shit going on? Wait. Who was with her last night? Did he only hear her? Tamping down his thoughts, which were getting his heart racing, Ben moved on.

“That’s a stand up son.” Ben said, trying to land a sincere tone.

“He’s a stubborn husband that’s waiting for me to apologize and ask him to come save me.” Ben laughed, earnestly, stared at her starry eyed, and let his mind wander. “You marry someone, then you coexist with someone. The games never stop.”

Pleadingly Ben responded, “Don’t tell me that.” There was an awkward pause as Ben tried to think of a clever follow-up, worried she saw the gears turning. “You should come for dinner tonight! I’m stocked up til the end of the month…even prisoners get social interaction.”

Lauren eagerly accepted and that point was not lost on Ben. Once he returned from his run, he whipped up a marinade, soaked the chicken, and did his classwork. The monotony of the last month was replaced with inescapable excitement. Calming himself, Ben insisted he was wound up because she was this distant mythic figure, he’d been alone for so long, and he always got nervous cooking for someone new. But she was gorgeous, maybe there was trouble in paradise, and he was twenty-four and an idiot. Lauren arrived at six and surveyed the room, “Impoverished chic. I’m nineteen again.”

Ben laughed, “Sorry. The carcass got picked clean when the guys split. I’ve got my eye on some nice wood crates sitting behind the strip mall on Oak though.”

“Don’t be,” Lauren laughed, “I’ve seen this place much worse.” They had a lovely dinner. Ben offered red wine, and was surprised, and a bit guilty for assuming, when Lauren declined. “No thanks. Mike drinks that by the cask, I’d rather chew on dirt.”

Ben left the bottle uncorked. “So it’s tap water or chocolate milk then.”

“You hosted, so come next door for a cocktail after dinner,” Lauren answered. Ben was more than happy, suspecting the professionals had a much better liquor selection than he was used to. They talked for hours. Ben told her of his plan to flee and tend bar in a tourist trap, living off tips and the beach for a year before diving into the real world. She explained that she graduated a year ahead of her husband, found teaching and academia stifling, and got a job doing research for an investment firm as a contractor. Lucrative and challenging work, but she felt her time running its course.

By 9:30 Ben was in the Brooks’ study while Lauren mixed drinks. Looking around, he wondered if failed doctoral applicants could get jobs at investment firms too. They sat down and talked more. What it was like to live through history, the eeriness of the empty town, and how much he loved the house.

Ben’s nervousness had progressed to a crush and he hung on every one of Lauren’s words. He was angry. She was beautiful, smart, and charming. People shouldn’t get to be all three. Then Lauren broke his trance, “So were you gonna marry the blonde or the brunette.”

Ben laughed at the abruptness of the joke, choking on his drink. “Neither. The brunette and I were a thing. But I think that’s over.”

Lauren questioned, too intently, “Really? Why?” Ben took a deep breath, struck by her eagerness for details. He knew nothing would have actually happened tonight, but getting the big sister, “there’s a million-fish-in-the-sea” speech was a downer end to the evening.

“Well, she got a job Pittsburgh. It’s entry level at one of the art galleries, but it sounds pretty great.” Ben offered.

“And she didn’t ask you to come or you didn’t ask to follow?” Lauren replied.

“Both? I don’t know. It’s over? I think she didn’t want to kick me when i was down and I didn’t want to seem like I was bailing from jealousy? I don’t know. I could still go. There’s bars in Pittsburgh.”

“And snow.” Lauren answered, staring off, towards the window without actually looking out it. Then she snapped back to reality. “I hope Mike was fucking the blonde then.”

____________________________________________________________

Lauren Brooks sat at her computer in the empty house. She hadn’t seen her husband in weeks. He could have been with that girl from the apartment, with someone he met in DC, or actually at his parents. Who the hell knew? She wasn’t dumb and didn’t care what any of the transients or dead-eyed professors in this town thought, but once he started with the girl that lived in her house she was done. It was a slap in the face. She’d bought the damn place. If he had pay, they’d be within eyesight of some ugly 70s monstrosity across from the South Quad with drunk frat boys puking on the lawn every weekend. No. The house was hers. He was smart. She was smart and productive. His station and fading good looks made him appealing to college girls. Her genes, discipline and personality made her desirable. She felt the eyes when she went to town. Or met him on campus. This asshole wants to play, we’ll play. He wants to call my bluff, I’ll burn the place down. God. Which one was still living here? Jim? Tim? It didn’t matter. She’d get even and then get out. She just wished it was the taller one that went running.

The next day was spent on conference calls with Steve Cohen fanboys and legacy hires in New York, explaining why a new MS drug was probably a loser. After wrapping up her work day, she poured a bourbon and debated which leftovers to defrost for dinner. The evening passed and she decided on a late night grocery run to avoid the crowds. Returning home, she made sure to double click the car’s lock so the tenant would know she was home. Once inside, she unloaded the groceries, thinking about tomorrow. She poured another drink to steel herself. Mike was an asshole. Mike deserved this. She was crossing a line, but it was worth it. The drink gave her the resolve she needed.

Lauren marched upstairs to her bedroom and got the vibrator from her nightstand. She visualized the layout of the back apartment. His room probably shares a wall with the guest room. Otherwise, he’s on the back side of the house and I’d have to really put on a show. Flopping on the bed, and hoping for the best, she thought about how good it would feel to be with someone new. Someone that would do what she wanted, take direction, give her control. Some college kid couldn’t resist her. She turned on the phallus and started teasing her thighs, feeling the rush as her body started to tingle. She’d fuck him. At first her moans were soft and performative, but as she thought about tomorrow, and the vibrator migrated up her leg, finding her clit, she was lost. She’d use him. Then the guy on the other side of the wall evaporated and she floated away. Her nipples hardened and she grabbed her right breast, squeezing hard. Lauren arched her back and bore down with her left hand, teasing herself until both legs started to tremble and she felt good.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ga30xi/quarantined_with_the_landlord_mf