The Open Arms Apartments
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Group Sex, Safe Sex, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism,
Desc: Sex Story: Prologue - The occasionally erotic and hopefully amusing adventures of the staff at an adults-only, clothing-optional, sex-friendly apartment complex.
Here's a story for you.
Single 23 year-old guy inherits small apartment complex, closed for renovations, from his grandfather, along with enough money to finish out the place, keep body and soul together for awhile. He decides to complete renovations on the place, rent the units to his friends and acquaintances, he and his girlfriend can move in together and manage the place, it'll be one big happy party happening, throw mini-raves around the pool, 'everybody conga, somebody grab my butt!'!
I must've been out of my goddamn mind!
Oh, the finishing out went okay, the renting to my friends and acquaintances, that went reasonably well, although I ended up holding a lot of "I'm good for it" instead of deposits and first month's rents.
That should have been a clue, don't you think?
Not for me.
So just six short months later, the complex and I were teetering on the edge of broke, I had units my 'friends and acquaintances' had trashed the unholy ever-living fuck out of because they were getting their 'never-paid-a-motherfucking-dime-of-rent' asses evicted that I couldn't afford to fix up and I couldn't rent as was, my girlfriend had left me for someone who, and I quote, "doesn't have his head so far up his ass he can see out of his own mouth" and I was seriously considering becoming a crack whore, just to make my tale of tragedy complete... of course, I'd have had to be able to afford the crack to start smoking... to become a crack whore... and I was living on Mac & Cheese.
Into the picture walked my father's youngest brother, pretty much the black sheep of my family, Uncle Al. Al's not that old, 35, has spent a lot of time making money in ways the family doesn't discuss in front of me... they may not discuss the subject at all. He's good looking in that slightly oily way that the best used-car salesmen have.
"John, Uncle Al."
"John, Uncle Al, John."
"Sounds like a toilet but whatever, John... lemme give you a vision... you ever had a vision?"
I hadn't but I was getting one from him already and it was uncomfortably like a prison rape scene I'd watched in a movie.
"Alright, here's the vision... 'The Open Arms Apartments... Adults Only Living In A Tasteful Clothing-Optional Setting'."
"We're gonna be partners, I feel it in my bones, call me Al."
"Al... are you out of your fucking gourd? The only way this place is going to become clothing optional is when I don't have the money for clothes anymore! Not to mention if I did manage to pull enough money out of my ass somehow to get this dump repaired and up to spec and started renting units under those conditions... well, next family reunion they'd be burning both of us in effigy instead of just you... and while 'burning Uncle Al' is a fun tradition to watch, I never thought highly of becoming a part of it, if you know what I mean."
"Boy, there's two kinds of people in this world-"
"Really? Only two?"
"Only two you have to worry about right now, smart ass... the kind who are about to go bankrupt, and the kind who have large amounts of disposable income they need to hide."
Six months later I was ready to reopen the Open Arms as an Adults Only, Clothing Optional apartment complex. With Al as a silent, and mostly invisible, partner money hadn't been a problem... really, in spite of all my apprehension, there hadn't been any problems.
Al's interests were represented by Nora McBee, a gorgeous, stacked and racked brunette who was also our rental agent, office manager, and when no tenants were around, glowering cloud of ever-ready doom and destruction.
I hadn't learned how to read the signs, early on, and was feeling a little brave one evening, so I said, "Nona, you think you might like to go out with me to a-"
"Mr. Nolan... I work for your uncle, primarily, and you secondarily and if you ever even remotely consider propositioning me again, be it for anything as innocent as a cup of coffee or as torrid as a weekend in Tijuana with three whores and a goat I will rip your fucking nuts off and stuff them in your cheeks so you look like Bucky the cartoon squirrel. Do you understand me?"
I did and the subject never came up again... but I knew who was going to be dealing with difficult tenants and it wasn't going to be me.
Our on-site security was courtesy of Lyle Sampson, 6'6", 190 pounds of scary, muscular... ass-kicking muscular, not bodybuilding muscular... silent and I suspected deadly. He'd spent eight years in 2nd Ranger Bat., 75th Infantry, 18th Airborne Division (although his job app had simply had '2/75 Airborne Infantry and I'd felt like an idiot getting him to explain it to me) and then seven years that his job application listed as 'freelance contracting' with absolutely no other details that he was extremely reticent to discuss. But he listed Uncle Al as one of his references and he assured me that Lyle was perfect for the job. All I knew was that even at thirty-seven, Lyle looked like he could whip anybody I'd ever met and that was good enough for me.
Then as we were all wandering around the complex naked, to get used to it before reopening, I saw him sans clothing and realized he could probably dick-whip me to death, so I was glad we got along.
Al even had me hire a maintenance man, even though I'd been handling the job myself and doing a pretty good job of it. Patrick Shaunnesy provided an interesting job application. I spent a day following him around the complex, watching him find things I didn't know were in need of repair, or were wearing out, but did and were, and handling them in a quarter of the time I could've managed. He did yearly maintenance on the HVAC units and had them purring like kittens... well, okay, lions... big, hot, noisy lions.
He warned me that he did have a bit of a problem with showing up for work 'altered' but that it had never affected his performance. Since Al had recommended him, I was inclined to believe him and being as he was of Irish descent, I figured booze.
Found out from Al that I wasn't even close. Had a tendency to drop massive amounts of acid... even claimed it helped him 'talk to da problems'. That kind of rattled me so I told Al I was hiring Patrick on his say-so... anything that went wrong I'd hold Al responsible.
My Uncle Al looked at me like I was a cute little puppy, challenging a full-grown pit-bull.
I made one, and only one, addition to the staff. Uncle Al'd had the attack-trained Harvard lawyer he kept on a leash write out a 'community standards' agreement that Nora or I had to fully explain to potential tenants, and that they had to sign off on, before we'd lease to them. It basically said that anything of a sexual nature between any number of consenting adults was okay until the majority of the tenants decided otherwise. Al called it the "Oh-My-God-They're-Fucking! provision". It meant we kept the chlorine content of the pool a little higher than normal, to kill off anything that might get left behind and had some industrial-strength pumps running to filter the water. But as a subsection of the 'community standards' agreement, our tenants agreed that they'd post no images or audio recorded anywhere on the premises without full and written consent of all parties involved, and if the images included exterior shots of the complex, that meant Nora or I had to sign off as well. Failure to comply would result in immediate termination of their lease, as well as any civil action those whose images had been used without permission might wish to bring.
But how to enforce such a provision? How to find out who the guilty parties were in such a case?
My friend Claudia Haflinger provided the solution. When she was in seventh grade, on a dare, she'd changed the grades of all our enemies so that they failed all their classes... big scandal, we had lots of enemies. She never got caught, although they sure looked hard enough for who hacked the system. At present she was holding down a job at a major computer and technology company but that was just a front. In reality, she was using her increased access to make it easier for her to get into their systems and steal information she was selling to rival companies. Periodically she kept her hand in with the up-and-coming young hackers by pulling off something that put them all to shame and then fading back into the woodwork again.
'Shockwave Goddess' was obviously a perfect choice for any such needs we might have and as she liked the whole idea of the apartment complex, getting her to sign on was no problem.
Well, except for my hormones. Claudia had been a full-blown math and computer geek before her body went through the wonderful changes puberty wreaked on it, so by the time she hit 'abso-fucking-lutely hot' she was already lost to the Genius side of the Force.
Of course, in my never-ending quest to make a complete and total fool out of myself I had asked her out... she had very kindly and sweetly made it abundantly clear that she did not date outside her species and that perhaps when my descendants, should I be lucky enough to win a mate, came down from the trees and began to use tools, her descendants might, in the spirit of inter-species good will, deign to exchange butt-sniffings with them. Otherwise, friends we were, and friends was what we were going to remain.
Having her around the complex, seeing her in all her naked glory... well, Al wasn't stingy when it came to agreeing upon my salary. I just hoped my increased hand lotion expenses didn't impact my grocery budget too much.
The final member of our staff was our groundskeeper, Billie Sullivan. Nora and I were the only ones who knew that Billie was backup for Lyle in case of trouble. The thin and wiry Jamaican practiced Krav Maga as well as some wicked-ass fast form of knife-fighting. I'd seen him working out with it when I visited his apartment one day before we opened... scared the shit out of me. Billie was more than content to be a groundskeeper and keep his other potential duty secret for as long as we could. I hoped no one ever found needed to find out that good old friendly Billie wasn't just there to keep the place looking neat... in my nightmares I knew that if the situation was too much for Lyle, it was just a bad goddamn day all the way around.
Our access gates are now solid steel and electronic, we have no cameras inside, except in the entry-ways, but the parking lots and all approaches are filmed constantly from multiple angles. In fact, the exterior of our complex is better lit than any business anywhere close to us, including a car lot down the road and that place could blind you.
Tomorrow we reopen, the gates open and people start moving in. We're almost at full occupancy already.
I'm twenty-four now, which feels so much older than the twenty-three I was when I inherited this place; you can see me on our website... I'm the naked one standing by the pool waving, blushing deep red with his privates hidden by a palm leaf. My family is just a few steps short of considering me dead to them, I strongly suspect my Uncle Al is a criminal of some sort and from what I've seen of our tenants, I'm about to become the property manager, mayor, and chief babysitter at the Texas version of "Beverly Hills, 9021Oh-My-God-They're-All-Fucking-Freaks!"
I'd whimper, but every time I do, Nora just chuckles evilly.