It was a hot and humid Wednesday afternoon in apartment 313 at Cedarbrook Terrace. The raw sunlight that blazed through the large living room windows scorched everything within, either living or otherwise, turning Ricardo and Carmella's place into a sweltering sauna for most of that day. With the central air conditioning being upgraded throughout the low-rise, there wouldn't be any relief from the heat until at least late tomorrow morning.
Hector, short and barrel-like with hard, knotted muscles rippling beneath shiny sweaty black skin, sat on one side of the dark gray sofa, idly flipping through TV channels. He was dressed in an old sweat stained dark green t-shirt with a faded and obviously inebriated monkey holding an overflowing beer mug. Hector paused on Channel 7, CityTV, for a few moments to ogle the sweet young fox in tank top and shorts, standing outside City Hall. She was interviewing an elderly couple heading into one of the City's designated Heat Relief Shelters. Hector didn't mind the heat so much as it allowed him to enjoy the city's numerous nubile inhabitants.
Bill sat on the other side of the couch, profusely sweating his fat, bald and sickly pale self while idly flipping the pages of the Toronto Star newspaper. Anyone seeing him from ten stories above would probably not have been able to distinguish him from any large puddle of melting vanilla ice cream. He paused to look up as the weather forecast was announced, hoping for news of a break from the heat wave. He stared at the weatherbitch, Cindy O'Connor, for that was what she was in his professional opinion, and strained his eyes through his coke bottle glasses trying to make out her bra-less nipples. His cock stirred with life as he momentarily forgot the weather and focused on thoughts of sucking on those sweet nubs, so wantonly displayed through her thin cotton top.
"She's a hottie," Bill said lustfully. "What I wouldn't give for a go at her," he finished by touching his fingers to his lips in a kissing motion and blowing it at the TV screen.
"Like you'll ever have a chance with a girl like that, you fat bum," said Hector, leaning over and slapping hard at the roll of fat hanging over Billl's cut-off jeans. His hairy naked man boobs drooped down and his belly sagged over the waistband of his shorts. Bill was obstinately proud of his admirable physique and was oblivious to the disdain of others who did not feel likewise.
"Gotcha, ya motherfuckin sonofabitchin whore fly," Ricardo, or just Rick to everyone who knew him, whooped in triumph, doing a victory dance with the rolled up newspaper that he had just used to whack the fly. He paused near Hector and dropped the fly-stained newspaper in his lap.
Hector yelped and jumped off the edge of the couch, sending the newspaper flying into John's lap, who had been sitting cross-legged on the floor. Hector had a severe aversion to flies, as far as he could remember since his infancy. He would shiver convulsively for seconds afterwards, if a housefly happened to alight on his naked skin. He hated all creepy flying bugs.
"Goddammit, Rick!," yelled Hector. "You do that again and I'll toss you off the balcony! I swear to God I will, man," he promised as an afterthought as he stomped off angrily into Rick's kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator, pulled out a cold beer and came back to fall down on the couch.
"Fuck you, Hecky," Rick said grinning. "Always a treat to see you jump like that."
Rick's brother in law, John, had calmly opened the newspaper, now covered in dead flies, and began to discreetly browse the adult classifieds. Carmella's brother was a quiet young man and was usually mercilessly teased by the others, since he almost never fought back. He was a wuss and would always silently take whatever crap you dished out to him.
John had just come over a few minutes ago to bring over a home-cooked dinner that Carmella's mother had insisted on sending over, despite Rick's constant complaints that the food unsettled his stomach. Rick knew it would be another one of those trying days where Carmella would refuse to cook anything and insist that her mother's dinner couldn't be wasted. He knew what she meant, in spite of her unspoken words.
Hell, it wasn't his fault that he had been laid off work. Besides, he considered it a well-deserved vacation. He needed the break. His employment insurance check came in every couple of weeks, on schedule, and he still had another three months' worth. He wasn't in any particular hurry: he was having way too much fun surfing the net and sharing newly acquired fantasies with his online friends. He had never been part of an online community before and was extremely gratified to start building a network of online buddies who shared his views and opinions.
"Hey ya pussy," Bill called out to John. "Get a real girlfriend. Those adult friend finder ads are all a bunch of BS." John ignored him and continued to scan the personals.
Hector and Bill, both bachelors, lived one floor down and were usually Rick's drinking buddies, if the drinks were in Rick's fridge. They had nothing better to do today: Hector was leaving on vacation for the Caribbean to have some fun in the sun and get some sand in the hand, as he liked to say. Bill, on the other hand, was just as unemployed as Rick. Both had come over to drink some of Rick's beer and get a buzz going before heading downtown later in the night. They had arrived together just a few minutes before John.
"Goddamn, I wish Carmella would hurry up and get the hell outta the shower. She's been in there for an hour already. Hell!" cursed Rick, muttering mostly to himself but Hector overheard him.
"What's the problem bud?" Hector teased. "She's your wife. You wanna use the john? Go ahead and open the door and walk right in. That's a no-brainer. That's what I'd do!"
"You don't know Carmella," replied Rick with a trace of peevishness in his voice now. "She's a frickin prude. She hates it if I walk in when she's using the bathroom. Says it's no business of mine to walk in when she's takin' care of her own personal business."
"Heck," Hector said in a lascivious tone, "Her business IS your business!"
Rick reddened at the insinuation as Hector finished by shrugging nonchalantly and saying, "Just kidding man." He took a long swallow of his fresh cold beer and went back to flipping through the TV channels.
"Rick, catch!" Bill tossed his house keys towards him but he missed. The keys landed on the floor in front of his feet and, as Rick reached over and picked them up, he looked questioningly at Bill, "Hunh? What're these for?"
"Dude, you can use my bathroom downstairs," Bill paused then added "If ya gotta go real bad. Ya know, if ya can't hold yer water... ," he trailed off, sniggering. In the suffocating heat and humidity of the day, everybody found this to be somehow ingeniously humorous. Both Hector and Bill were laughing now and even John cracked a grin. Seeing that whale of a belly heaving with barely contained mirth, Hector leaned over and poked it with the TV remote. Bill, looking at Rick began to say, between wheezes of laughter, "Rick... if... ya... really... gotta... go." Hector finished by saying, "Ya better go now!"
Rick, who at first, had chuckled mildly along with the joke, although somewhat sheepishly, now found himself becoming angry at Hector's last comment. This was his place he thought to himself and he was being laughed at because he couldn't use his own bathroom when he had to. Goddamn Carmella's prudishness, he thought savagely. To hell with it, if she raises a stink, too fuckin' bad! I'm gonna go in there right now, he suddenly decided. As he left the living room, he could hear Hector saying, "Sonofagun. Rick's mad. It was only a joke. Must be the heat gettin to him."
As Rick paused in front of the locked bathroom door, his resolution faltered, as he reconsidered. The last thing he needed now was for Carmella to start a scene and give the others in the living room an excuse for another round of laughter. And all because she doesn't want me to see her if she's sitting on the can! Goddamn it! He was more than slightly miffed at his predicament, but, what the hell, he couldn't turn back now. He hesitated again and thought, what the fuck, I won't make any noise. Hell, I won't even flush. Might even be able to get in and out without her seeing or hearing me.
He put his hear to the door and listened. The shower was still running and he was sure she'd be inside the bathtub. He quietly picked the lock from the outside, gently turned the knob and pushed the door in a wee bit. Torrents of steam swirled in the air with the sudden draft from the open door, but otherwise the coast was clear. He hurried in, closed the door quietly, and went over to the toilet. He ripped a large wad of toilet paper off the roll and threw it in the toilet so that there'd be no splashing noise when he pissed. Then, with sweet relief washing over him, his bladder contracted and expelled the liquid waste of his last three beers into the toilet. He glanced over at the shower door and saw the outline of Carmella's back and, as always, he marveled at her figure. Her curves were still faintly noticeable through the misted shower doors and could be well appreciated. He found himself getting hard at the thoughts of all the dirty stuff he'd read about on literotica that the other guys claimed to have done with their wives and he wished that Carmella would at least let him talk to her about some of the stuff he'd read. Unfortunately though, since he had lost his job, he'd been getting less and less of her.
.... There is more of this story ...