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By Chris Carr
Copyright © 08/10/2003
My insomnia unusually problematic, I lay staring at the ceiling. I get like this, sometimes tossing and turning until the early morning. I was debating on taking a sleeping pill when I heard sounds, sifting through the porous wall from next door. Strange, repetitive sounds.
My ears perking up, I slid quietly out of bed, pressing my ear to the wall. Faint but distinct, I heard bedsprings creaking, ever so slightly. The sounds forming a subtle rhythm, I pushed my ear tighter to the wall. Screech, screech, screech.
Intrigued, I stilled myself, striving to confirm what my depraved libido was already concluding.
Creak… creak… screech. Damnit, was that a moan? I couldn’t be sure, the wall not porous enough to determine.
Screech, screech, creak, the bed groaned, the sounds constant now. A tingling arising about my pelvis, I listened intently, trying to determine what I was hearing. The sounds were consistent but not loud enough to suspect a couple, caught up in the throes of love. No, this was the sound of one, gyrating ever so slightly about the bed.
Excited, I tried imagining who the phantom seducer was. I’d noticed a couple of men among the new tenants next door, neither of which I would’ve suspected a robust pud-pounding session like that I was hearing now. Could it be the sullen son, frustrated over a failed date, struggling to gain some form of relief? The image of him, naked, hips’ gyrating in the dark as he whipped his hand about his angry inches was stimulating, piquing my interest.
Maybe it was the father, his lady away, their bedroom opposite mine, unbeknownst to me? The adjoining apartment a two bedroom unit, it was hard to know which room was on the other side of the wall, leaving me with just my speculations.
Creak, creak, screech. Below the repetition, I’m certain I heard a squelched moan, the bedsprings singing along, then silence, the sounds ceasing. Returning to bed, I pulled the covers over me, my dick hard against the fabric, sleep eventually overtaking me, after some rubbing of my own.
Finding this apartment was somewhat a godsend. I’d looked far and wide for a place, the majority out of my income bracket. Housing was so ridiculously priced in this city, I was beginning to think I’d end up living in a box. A friend told me about a unit in this building and I immediately looked it up.
Located in a quiet neighborhood, the building was small with only 12 units. The manager, a kindly old curmudgeon showed me the apartment, a cigarette dangling from his thin, dark lips.
"Needs a stove and fridge," He said, flicking ashes out a window. The price was perfect though and I took it.
Happy to finally have a place of my own, I moved my meager furnishing in that weekend. The building was rather quiet, most of the tenants older than me. That first week, I christened my new place, removing all my clothes and laying on the floor in front of the closet mirror for a good jack off session. Gazing at myself in the mirror, I stroked my insistent jerking-iron to a ripping orgasm, spurting a full load all over the freshly shampooed carpet. It was the sweetest reward, the fruit of labor.
I was in my living room a few days later when I noticed I could hear the tenant’s TV, next door. It was then I started to realize how thin the walls in this place were. Since then, I’ve been a helpless audible voyeur, listening in on some of everything. The woman in the apartment to my right, arguing with her boyfriend. The tenant above me in the shower. The unit north of mine vacant until a month or so ago, I’d heard nothing from it though. Until those phantom sounds.
On an occasion, I’d seen the father, about the building. A tall, solid brother, he was cordial, returning my greeting as we passed. His head shaven, he sort of looked like a kindly Charles Barkley.
The son was tall likewise, a quiet and sullen youth who rarely spoke. While the father’s solid build was of some interest, his 20 something son’s sleek, physique was even more alluring. Imagining him naked, his slim frame damp with a sheen of perspiration as he pummeled his impatient erection was the fantasy I liked best.
I’d noticed the father in uniform a couple of times, his large brown frame filling it nicely. UPS, I believe, or maybe Fedex, the brown shorts he’d been wearing recently, an extra treat. Somewhat aroused, the next time I saw him, I had to contain myself. My neighbor to the south had had a knock down, drag ‘em out with her boyfriend the night before and it somehow came up as we chatted.
"So you called the police?"
"No, I think it was the manager," I said.
"Man, how late was that?" He towered over me, his round head shining in the afternoon sun.
"’Bout 2:00, 2:30."
"Never understood people who put all their business in the streets." He shook his head.
"People don’t understand how thin the walls in this place are. You get loud and you’re broadcasting, if not to the entire complex, for sure to your next door neighbor."
I watched his face for signs he’d caught my subtle allusion, but he seemed none the wiser, continuing on about the previous night. A quiet teen accompanying him, I hadn’t paid him much attention until after my sly comment. Idly chatting with the father, I observed the way his eyes widened and his face became strained, following my statement. Glancing periodically at the silent boy, it suddenly dawned on me, I was observing… embarrassment.
Bussing clothes between my apartment and the laundry room a few days later, I regretted my hasty revelation. The last person I ever suspected was the boy from next door. To look at him, those glasses perched on his wide nose, you’d never think of him as sexual. I suppose that was presumptuous, the most naive teenager in need of relief at some time.
Kicking myself for being so thick headed I wondered how could I have overlooked the clues? The rap, seeping through the walls, reverberating about my quiet space. Or the youth appropriate TV shows and electronic sounds of video games, escaping his room.
Nothing excited me more than a cute teen boy and, in the absence of any further phantom sounds, I was sorely disappointed. Had I known it was junior, spanking the monkey, I probably would’ve nutted up at the very suggestion. Walking slowly across the courtyard, my mind elsewhere, I glanced up, catching a glimpse of someone behind the curtains. My heart racing, I wondered if it was him.
Entering my apartment, I went to the dining room wall, pressing my ear to listen. Music played softly in the distance, a rap artist decrying life on the streets, but nothing else. I stood at the wall for some time, listening, my thoughts running rampant.
Did junior get naked when he, did the deed? Was he cut or uncut and how did he hold it, his left hand or right? Soon I was sporting an erection, the surmounting urges unrelenting. Time passing, I was busy groping myself when I noticed movement at my window. Jerking around, I caught a glimpse of him, darting away. I ran to the window, hoping to catch him, but he was nowhere to be found.
I hung around my apartment, watching for signs of his return, my pitiful state of extreme excitement outweighing my embarrassment. Eventually, I grew tired of lingering around the front, retiring to my room for a quick j.o. session. Don’t ask me how I’d missed him, but as I entered, I heard the floorboards opposite my wall creaking, almost as if he’d been standing there waiting. My heart racing, I dashed over to the wall, laying my ear against it.
I heard the bedsprings squeal, like someone might be reclining on it, then silence. Long silence. Silence so long, I started to think he’d just gone to sleep, then, the slightest squeak. The squeaks restrained, I had the undeniable impression that he knew. He knew I was on the other side of his wall, listening!
Was he doing this for my benefit? Had he arranged this meeting? Excited beyond all reasoning, I snatched off clothing, tossing my shoes aside, disregarding the loud thuds. I wanted him to know I was listening.
The bedsprings squeaked again, just as I was removing my boxers. Hurrying to the wall, I listened intently as the creaks rang. Erratic and with less fervor, they continued, slowly building.
Every inch of my exposed skin tingling, I lay against the wall, mashing my erection. Grinding my dick between my body and the wall, his wall, I heard a faint groan. God, this is torture. I wanted so badly to see him. To be there with him, to touch him, to know what he was thinking.
My body plastered against the wall, I risked a soft groan. The rhythm continued, the squeaks less erratic now. Was he close? Was his sky rocket about to blast off, hurling loops of boy cum into the atmosphere? I couldn’t take it. I had to find a way to communicate with this vision of exquisite seduction. Without thinking, I knocked on the wall.
The sounds stopped, the abrupt silence alarming. What had I done? What if this wasn’t the boy? What if it was the sullen 20 something? Or worse, the father! I waited, too frightened to even breath but nothing. How long I stood there, my wilted erection forgotten, I don’t know, but eventually, I risked movement, quietly retiring to my bathroom for a cold shower.
The days passed without incident and somehow I avoided contact with the men next door. Still uncertain who my mystery masturbator was that day, I prayed my hasty actions wouldn’t have dire consequences. Pacing about the apartment the following Saturday, I grew anxious. My obsession out of control, I couldn’t stop listening to the shared walls. From the dining room to the bedroom I completed rounds, hoping to hear something from next door.
By that afternoon, I’d worked myself into a state of nervous anxiety. Picking up my keys, I left, determined to break my obsession. There’s a fish market a block over and I could smell the piquant aroma of sizzling red snapper as I approached. My taste buds salivating, I entered, ordering a large helping of catfish.
The warm bag of hot fish causing my stomach to rumble as I left, I ran smack into junior. His full frame straddled a bicycle, he regarded me with those wire frame glasses, both of us paralyzed. I’m not sure which of us looked paler, but I had to suppress the urge to run.
An awkward silence extending, I observed him, a huge pair of earphones about his head, the silver, half moons covering his ears. My eyes passing over his form, of their own god damn volition, they traveled to his groin. He was wearing a pair of snug fitting shorts, rather unusual for a boy his age and as I stared at his crotch, I actually detected the outline of his sleeping member. Time suspended, I gazed at the bulge, my dick filling my pants as the faint sounds of yet another angry rapper crept around his ears. A passing car’s horn startling us, we both looked in its direction, the moment broken, then he rode off, his round butt high in the air as he pedaled.
Convinced my carnal performer that afternoon was junior, I was less apprehensive around his brother and father, that week. While checking my mail one day, the father happened by, carrying a load of trash to the bin out back. We exchanged greetings, he mentioning some game I hadn’t seen last night, then walked on. A few days later, I happened upon the sullen 20 something, sneaking a smoke in the garage. The unmistakable aroma of burning weed in the air, he tossed his head up at me, as if a begrudged greeting was reason enough to overlook his transgression. I returned his nod, regretting it was him instead of junior.
Days passed, but no sounds from the room, opposite mine. What I wouldn’t have given for just one squeak. One sign I hadn’t blown the best voyeuristic sex I’d ever had. You gamble, you loose.
Late that following Saturday, I was busy washing clothes again. You see, I’m a bit lazy with my washing so, as a result, I end up doing several loads, once I finally give in. With each trip to the laundry to deposit more coins, or shift clothing from washer to dryer, I watched the window next door, hoping.
Basket in hand, I made another trip, opening the dryer to retrieve my whites….
Something was amiss. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my clothes looked… abnormal.
Like… they’d been moved! Staring at the strange arrangement of underwear and sheets, I noticed a pair of shorts that looked more oddly out of place than everything else. Lifting them carefully from the pile, I got a sudden whiff of…
My eyes bulging, I suddenly realized what I not only was smelling, but now observing. Stains… cum stains were on my clean white briefs! Warm stains, that looked fresh, like they’d just been deposited minutes ago. Shaken, I jerked around, expecting to see someone in the door. The light from the laundry room casting a glow in its wake, my shadow startled me again but, all was quiet.
Surprised as fuck, I gazed at the wet stains, the full implications of what I was seeing producing an instant hard on. That little punk, I thought, sniffing the piquant aroma. He’s a freak!
Spiriting the stained briefs below the stack of warm clothing, I dashed to my apartment. Practically dropping the basket, just inside the door, I ran to my room, plastering myself against the wall. My heart thudding in my ears, I had to wait a minute to hear anything. Then, in the distance, I heard a TV, quietly reporting the day’s sports stats.
"And in Denver, the Broncos trounced the Saints," It declared, the local sports announcer’s voice familiar.
What’s he doing, I pondered, holding my breath? My head cocked, I strained to hear anything besides the TV. For some time I stood there, my legs eventually growing tired, then, I heard the bed squeak, followed by footsteps, heading away from me. Without thinking, I dashed to the front door, calming myself as I exited, hoping I didn’t look like a stark raving fool as I hurried to the laundry room.
Nothing.
My clothes undisturbed, they tumbled about the dryer.
You’ve got to get a grip, I thought, returning to my apartment. I still made several, unnecessary trips to the laundry, despite my admonition. Damn, if I could’ve just caught him, jerking off on my… Wait a minute!! Rushing to my room, I lifted the stained pair of briefs, my shock causing a small gasp. These were his!!!
I could hardly contain myself. Pacing back and forth, I ran scenarios through my head. How could I get just one day in paradise? How could I arrange a steamy session with junior. I wracked my brain, considering options, but lacked the balls to carry any of them out. All I needed was the kindly giant finding out I’d boinked his son. Fee fi fo fum, yo’ ass is mine!!!
Shaking the wrinkles from my next load of clothes, a small paper fell out, gently floating to the laundry room floor. You know, I keep this up and I’m going to need a pacemaker, I thought, my heart thundering again as I picked it up.
Meet me here tonight, 2:00 a.m.
He had to be kidding.
As the hour grew near, I was still debating my decision. Like before, I’d run a thousand scenarios through my head. In some I was enjoying the time of life, the moment of stolen sex with the boy, well worth the risk. In others, I nearly scared the shit out of myself, considering the ways it could all go wrong. Then I heard the tiniest rustle in the bushes outside the window.
Jumping from my bed, I stood by the window, listening but heard nothing else. That was him, sneaking to the laundry room, my depraved mind whispered. Gnawing on my fingernails, I stood there, all the worst case scenarios running through my subconscious again, that is, until I locked my front door behind me. From that minute on, I was on sexual overdrive.
Walking quietly towards the front gate, I’d decided to circle the building and enter the laundry room from the back gate. It was closer to that gate anyway and I prayed that it would be the safest path in. As I walked the alleyway between my building and the building next door, I crouched low, desperately avoiding windows. About halfway I spooked a sleeping cat, the furry creature’s scurrying away nearly locking my heart in my chest.
Finally, I made it to the back gate, opening it quietly with my key then locking it behind me. Checking to ensure I was alone, I gently opened the laundry room door, peering into the darkness. My eyes adjusting, I saw him, sitting atop the washer, his legs spread, a long growth shooting up from his groin.
Weak in the knees, I beheld him, his white wifebeater, pulled high, his taut stomach exposed, that long, hard dick of his towering just in front of it. He’d apparently removed his boxers, the garment hastily discarded on the floor.
"Close the door," he whispered.
I closed it, locking the door for safekeeping. Speechless, I gazed upon his beauty. His normally light brown sugar complexion deep brown in the darkness, it was smooth, not a hair on his legs or torso. He stared at me, his hardness throbbing wickedly hard, his glasses twinkling in the night. Haltingly, my knees still wobbly, I moved towards him, stepping between his legs. Caressing the soft skin, I heard him emit a soft exhalation, his eyes closing at my touch. He was on fire, his hot firebrand stone hard. With one last look into his eyes, I lowered, slipping his rigidity into my mouth.
He gasped, flinching as I descended, the washer creaking softly. Engulfing his warmness, I sensed it on tongue, the swollen head expanding. A soft whine escaping me, I made love to his organ, my tongue flicking around the ridge and over the slit. He wiggled, his feet raising into the air as he edged closer. I tasted him on my tongue, his length leaking clear drops.
Clamping his hands behind my head, he pushed my mouth down his randy rod, momentarily strangling me. I gagged, pulling upwards, my tongue sliding up his hard shaft. He cooed, leaking more juices, the head swelling in my throat again. He was close, much to my disappointment.
Raising until his throbbing knob was on my tongue, I lapped at his groove, savoring his oozing oils. Holding his solid pole steady, I continued my tongue lashing, licking his flared head like a sugarcoated lollipop. He shuddered, each flick of my tongue torturous about his sensitive mushroom.
The machine creaked, straining beneath his uncontrollable writhing. I whipped my hardness out, slipping my fist about the wet head, seconds from release. Doubling almost in two, he grunted, his stomach doing flip flops as his dick spasmed, the head so hard it shone. Then, with a hushed whoop, he jolted, flinging the first lusty splash of boy cream into the air.
Like a semi-automatic rifle, he repeated, groaning and popping his pelvis upwards with each spurt, lobbing an endless store of joy juice all over himself, the washer and my lapping tongue. Whining sorrowfully, he emptied his load, his dick distending for each squirt.
I painted the washer with my spurts, moaning softly, my tongue licking his pulsating water canon. Enraptured, I didn’t want the moment to end. I was still licking his depleted drain pipe, long after he’d stopped cumming. He wiggled and convulsed with each lick, finally pushing my head away.
Standing, he pulled his boxers on, pausing to finger my ass crack as he dashed for the door. Reeling, I stared into the darkness for some time, finally composing myself enough to leave.
There was little activity next door, following that night. I listened constantly, hoping for something but heard nothing. Life went on, my attention on the apartment next door lessening until the day I noticed my whites look disheveled again. My pulse quickening, I pawed through the stack, eventually finding another pair of stained briefs. Another note amongst the clothing, the handwriting was noticeably different.
2:00 tonight, was all it said. Glancing around at the open door, I heard my heart pounding in my ears again.
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