I live on the 3rd floor of a walk up. Outside of my window, I look into an alleyway. But there are some ground floor apartments down there. And two of them are lucky. They’ve got little “back yards.” One of them is a woman named Holly. She’s 23 and we’ve hung out before.
One evening, I sneezed in my apartment. She shouted, “Bless you!” And that’s how we met. She’s hot. Of course. And she sunbathes in the summer. If I look outside, I might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her in a g-string bikini. Maybe she thinks I’m watching. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, it’s hot. I opened my window once and saw her on her back, struggling to rub tanning oil on herself.
“You missed a spot!” I shouted.
“Fuck off!” She said, laughing. “Come down here and help a girl out?”
I went downstairs. Slathered her body in oil. Rubbed her just a little too good. Soon, she was moaning, nibbling her bottom lip. It turned into a full blown massage.
“Jesus, your hands are amaaaazing,” she groaned. “Lower.”
I moved my hands a little lower.