I entered the elevator. Having just gotten back from the apartment gym, I
was hot, so I took my shirt off. Just as the doors began to close, a man
entered the lobby and waved at me to hold the elevator. I waved my hand
between the doors and they slowly slid back open with creaks and groans.
The man entered without a word of thanks or even a slight nod. He was my
front door neighbour. He was in his mid-to-late thirties, or maybe it was
his clean-shaven face that made him look younger. He wore a shirt and tie
and creased trousers, and the business bag hanging off his shoulder looked
almost as old as me, a twenty-three year old guy starting his first job. I
moved into this run-down apartment just a few weeks ago when I got the
job. I had never really conversed with my neighbours except for exchanging
greetings with the wife or their five-year-old daughter when we passed each
other in corridors or run into each other in elevator. Every other night, I
could hear the husband yelling at the wife, and their five year old child
crying. Him and I had never exchanged words. I glanced at him. Bastard, I
thought.
He turned his head slightly and looked at me from the corner of his eyes as
our elevator shuddered and slowly ascended. The fan was broken, so I was
sweating even more than before I took my shirt off, and with the bastard’s
eyes on me, I felt a little exposed and became starkly aware of the sweat
running down my hairless chest, pooling at my navel, and the rest of it
soaking my waistband.
I heard a scoff as the man turned to face the door again. I glanced at him,
but he said nothing else. He was a little taller than me, and it looked
like underneath his clothing might be a dad bod, or a development of
one. He was not bad looking, but I could tell his best days were past him
already. I was sure I could take him in a fight.
The elevator stopped at our floor, and as the doors creaked open, the man
looked at me, said, “Put your fucking shirt on,” and exited before I could
think of a reply.
Our next interaction came a few weeks later. An old friend with benefits
was in town for the night and he came to spent it at my place. In the
morning, I was seeing him out. And as we were walking toward the elevator
at the end of the hallway, my neighbour exited his apartment, about to go
somewhere. Although our backs were to him, I could feel his eyes on us,
especially on my friend, who almost anyone could tell was gay with just one
look. He was pretty flamboyant, and had no fear or shame, and sometimes
zero self-awareness which could make it embarrassing to be out in public
with him. But as my neighbour watched, I delighted in the flamboyance of my
company.
As my friend entered the elevator, I looked back towards my neighbour. He
was still at his door. I said, “Want me to hold the elevator?”
He only glared at me in silence.
I gave my friend a kiss on the lips, admittedly less as a goodbye and more
to taunt my neighbour.
I walked back, and my neighbour headed for the stairs. As we passed, he
said, “Fucking faggot.”
“Oh, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” I said to him with a teasing smile
as I reached my door. “Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll let you have it.”
“The fuck did you say to me?” he grunted as he turned and headed back.
I quickly entered and closed the door behind me. I waited for a few
seconds, looking at the closed door, wondering if he might begin thumping
on my door. My heart was beating fast, and a grin was plastered across my
face. Bullying bullies was a different kind of fun. I could heart muffled
footsteps just outside, but they disappeared shortly.
Maybe it was a little cruel of me, or at least immature, but from then on,
I put on an act. I played on stereotypes whenever I was around my
homophobic neighbour, raising the pitch of my voice a little, gesticulating
a lot more than I usually did, pretending to speak on the phone whenever we
passed each other and mentioning some obscene details about some fake
escapade, and if I was wearing shorts, I would roll them up and expose as
much of my thighs as possible, or I would pull my shirt up and expose my
body as if to wipe sweat off my brows, all of it to make my neighbour
squirm. And it was fun to hear him take sharp disdainful breaths or grunt
disapprovingly.
One evening, however, I might have taken it a little too far. I just got
back from work, and my neighbour was in the elevator. I waved at him to
hold it, but he ignored me. It was a slow shitty elevator, and the doors
took their time to close. I sprinted forward and reached the button before
the doors completely closed. They creaked back open. I smiled as I entered
and thanked him sarcastically.
“Fuck off,” he mumbled.
I took my phone out, played my own ringtone, and then picked up my fake
call. “Yeah, last night was so good. I was horny the whole day thinking
about it. Still very horny, actually. I wish you were here right now. I
wish anyone was there right now,” I said as I reached down and ran my hand
over my crotch and gave a little fake moan.
I quickly glanced at my neighbour. His eyes were on my crotch, and there
were ripples on his jaw as he clenched his teeth.
“Yeah man, at this point, I’d be down to fuck anybody,” I said and made a
not so subtle turn toward my neighbour and I squeezed my bulge.
He looked up and saw me looking at him, and he immediately made a face, and
said, “Fucking disgusting homo. I know what you’re up to. You won’t fucking
get to me. Keep your perverted hands to fucking yourself.”
I took my hand away from my crotch and covered the receiver with it and
said to my neighbour, “Mind your own fucking business.” And then continuing
the fake phone conversation, I said, “Yeah, I’ll probably just drop my
trousers and jack off as soon as I get home.”
I finished the conversation as the elevator reached our floor. My neighbour
exited quickly before the doors were even open all the way. I paced after
him. I had one more taunt in my mind that I wanted to deliver before he
entered his apartment.
He was at his door when I got to mine. As I opened my door, I turned toward
him and, stifling a snigger, said, “Hey, letting you know just in case, my
door will be unlocked.”
“Sick fuck,” he spat and turned with a huff. There was fury in his eyes as
he approached me.
I backed in through my door, surprised that he was reacting more than he
usually did. I rolled my hands up into fists, ready for whatever might come
next as I stood just inside, refusing to back up an inch further. He
stepped in through the doorway and stood right up to my face. “Back the
fuck up,” I said.
“Is this what you fucking want, you fag?” he said and grabbed my crotch.
What surprised me was that his grip was, although not sensual, much gentler
than what I assumed it would be if he was actually trying to hurt me. It
was just a slight pressure on my balls and my soft dick.
“You like that, you perverted fucker?” he said, but the sting in his voice
was gone, and it sounded more like dirty talk, which he noticed too and his
voice went before he finished the sentence.
I said nothing in response. I instead looked into his eyes without moving a
muscle, letting the moment stretch out, letting the awkwardness take
over. He would soon let go and scurry away.
But he did not. I guess he was a little at a loss for what to do next,
having acted impulsively. His hand remained on my crotch.
Then my dick slightly stirred, an automatic response to the gentle pressure
on it. He noticed it too and quickly looked down and back up at me. But he
still did not remove his hand.
My eyes never leaving his as I reached down and undid my belt. I could hear
his breathing get heavier, and the pressure on my dick a tiny bit harder as
it grew a little more, or was it his hand gripping my crotch a little
tighter?
I raised one hand slowly and rested it on the back of his neck, and then I
gently pushed him down.
He hesitated, unsure for a moment what to do, but his legs buckled and he
clumsily got to his knees, letting go of his grip, and his face was right
at my crotch.
I undid the button and then unzipped, my bulge clearly visible now, tenting
the front of my pants, and then I reached behind him and closed the
door. It shut with a click. I then rested both my hands on the back of his
head.
He glanced up at me and I nodded at him. And then, his hands hesitatingly
went to my waist, dug his fingers underneath the waistband of my trousers
and my underwear and began to pull down.
As my pubes and then the base of my shaft came into view, he stopped and
swallowed loudly.
“It’s okay,” I said, and I ran my fingers through his hair.
He pulled my trousers and underwear down with purpose, all the way past my
knees. My semi-hard dick sprang out and swayed free right in front of his
face, and once the motion stopped, it stood halfway up, the precum-smeared
tip pointing directly at his mouth barely an inch away. His was breathing
with his mouth open, and his hot breaths blew on my dick and I grew harder.
With one hand, I reached down and grabbed my shaft, and with the other
hand, I gently pulled his head toward my waiting dick.
The familiar satisfying warmth slowly engulfed my dick, and I quickly
became erect all the way and the head pushed against the soft back of his
mouth. I was a five-and-a-half, so people with experience had not much of a
problem taking all of my dick in their mouth, but clearly, my neighbour was
inexperienced, it was probably his first time ever. He began to choke when
I took my hand away and tried to slowly shove all of my throbbing dick into
his warm mouth, so I pulled back a little.
I put both my hands on his head again and, building a slow rhythm, began to
rock his head back and forth, my hard dick sliding in and out of his mouth.
His inexperience was painfully clear as he actually sucked on my dick as if
trying to suck my cum out from my balls. I told him, “Don’t suck, just let
it be in there.” He obeyed.
I began to thrust my hips forward and backward in rhythm to his head moving
back and forth, the tip of my pulsating dick poking the back of his mouth,
and he made some involuntary choking sounds among other sounds, all in
rhythm to our movement.
His teeth scraped my shaft and the base of the head, shooting sharp pains
through my body. I told him, “Careful with the teeth.” He did his best.
I began to thrust a little faster. Saliva coated the whole of my dick,
little specks of it glistening on my pubes, and some of it ran down my
balls swinging underneath.
I reached down and grabbed his hands that were awkwardly still on my
trousers, and pulled them up and placed them on my ass. I put my hands on
top of his and squeezed, making him squeeze my butt.
Then I thrusted faster and harder, his groaning and all the other
involuntary slurping sounds amplifying with my movement. I was really
fucking his face. And he was actually pulling my ass into him in rhythm,
squeezing and rubbing, and his fingers dug into my crack, parted my ass,
and he ran his fingers over my sweaty asshole as he kept on sucking my dick
faster and faster.
Very soon I was ready to come. I gripped his hair tighter and thrusted
faster. “I’m going to cum in your mouth,” I announced to him.
He tried to pull away, but I did not let him. Instead, I fucked his mouth
even harder, keeping up the pace until finally I moaned loudly and my eyes
rolled back. I held him there as I shot my load into his mouth, my dick
taken my spasms and my ass clenching and unclenching with his hands still
gripping tight as I spurted and spurted. It seemed to last a long while,
and I wanted it to last for even longer. His tongue was moving inside his
mouth against my dick, swirling in the load of cum.
When my muscles finally relaxed, and I shot all I had, I said, “Swallow
it,” plugging his mouth with my still-hard dick.
He looked up at me. There were tears in his eyes from my dick rubbing
against the back of his tongue.
“I said swallow it,” I said, more confidently, recognising the fact that he
would already have spitted it all out if he really wanted to.
With a big gulp, he swallowed my cum.
I let go of his hair and pulled my hips back. My dick slid out of his mouth
and it hung front of his face, now half-erect again. He wiped his mouth and
his cheeks with his sleeves.
“That was fun,” I said as I used the hem of my shirt to wipe my shaft.
He suddenly got to his feet and his went at my throat, and his face was
contorted into something painful, probably ashamed of what he had just
done. He pushed me back a little, but I resisted and we stood there
struggling for a second as I got my bearing right. I grabbed his wrists and
slowly pulled his hand away. I thought for a second of retaliating, maybe
socking him on the jaw, or kneeing him on the crotch, but the pained look
on his face was pitiful. He was a broken man, his ideals and values
completely shattered in this brief moment of lust, and he did not know how
to react other than with violence. To beat him up now would break him even
further, and it might not bode will for his wife and daughter. I then
thought of being the bigger man, offer some consoling words, but he would
only see that as sanctimony and it might infuriate him even further.
I pulled his hands down, trying to be gentle but firm and then I pushed him
back toward the door. And then I said. “I’m not breathing a word to
anybody. I promise.”
And then I slowly loosened my grip, until I released him. He stood there
awkwardly for a second as I pulled my trousers up, half expecting him to
put his knee to my head. But he did nothing. Instead, he turned abruptly,
opened the door, and left.
I did not taunt him anymore after that, nor did I try to make friends,
although there were not many serendipitous opportunities to do that
anyway. It almost felt like he was going out of his way to avoid me. In the
few times that we happened to bump into each other, I would offer my
greetings, and I would receive his cold silence, but I did not mind. He was
dealing with it in his own way. I actually felt sorry for the way I acted
with him before, the way I taunted him. It was immature. One thing I
noticed, however, was that my neighbours weren’t fighting as much anymore,
and I did not hear their daughter bawling as often as I did before. And
lately, they had become a model neighbour, never a squeak from their
apartment again. Another thing that I did not expect was my feelings for my
neighbour to grow.
I was not in love with him. I could leave town and never think of him again
once he left my mind, but lately, I would find myself hoping to bump into
him or find him waiting in the elevator, day dreaming of a reconnection, of
the conversations we would have. But even in my day dreams I was
realistic. I would imagine us having meaningful conversations and nothing
beyond that, because that that point, I was sure that this was it for him,
his curiosity had been satisfied, and he probably hated the memory of
it. Hated me. And he was married anyway. He had a wife who probably loved
him, and a daughter too, and it seemed like their family was growing
healthier by the week. I did not want to disrupt that. I did not want to be
a homewrecker. And I was not in any lack of physical attention from others
anyway. But I did wonder, if an opportunity presented itself again, would I
say no? And I did wonder, what it would be like to suck him, to fuck him,
to have him fuck me.
I was on my way home from work about three months after that day. He was in
the elevator. I did not wave for him to hold it for me, but he did.
We stood awkwardly inside as the elevator rocked us up all the way to our
floor. I wanted to say something, but I held my tongue. He did not even
look my way once.
When we were at our doors, our backs turned to each other, our keys
jingling, and just as I opened my door, I heard him say, “Hey.”
I turned.
“If you want,” he said, and hesitated, but continued a second later, “if
you want, why don’t you come over later. I have a few beers, we can hand
out, watch the match. Are you into football?”
“Yeah, sure. Yeah, I’d like that,” I said, the rhythm of my heart
interrupted. “It’d be great to properly meet your wife and daughter too
finally,” I added, trying to mask my unreasonable excitement.
“Oh, she left,” he said as he got his door open. “Took our daughter too.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. That was why their apartment had been so quiet
lately. I ventured to say, “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
He paused, as if trying to come up with the best possible way to say
whatever he was going to say. Then he took a deep breath, turned to me, and
said, “I came out to her.” He smiled sadly. “Yeah, I’d been lying to
myself, and worse, lying to my wife. But there’s no animosity. We share
custody of our daughter. I think it’s what’s best for everybody.”
“Yeah,” I said dumbly, not knowing what else to say, and my mind going back
to the places in my daydreams and rewriting them.
“Alright then,” he said with a smile, “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah. See you,” I said.
He entered his apartment and the door closed softly behind him. I entered
mine and began getting myself ready to “watch the match.”
THE END
