Chapter 1

I vigorously rubbed a fluffy black towel on my wet hair as I entered the bedroom, the steam from the shower lingering on my skin. Tossing the towel onto the floor, I watched Cathy leaning over my dresser with her nose close to the mirror as she applied bright red lipstick. Her luscious ass stuck out, her tight beige skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. Hmm, wasn't she wearing dark stockings last night? I thought. And then I remembered her screaming, "Yes! Yes! Oh god, fuck me! Yes!" while I held her hips and rammed my cock in and out of her from behind less than an hour before. I felt a slight stirring between my legs, but after a night of hot sex and a morning fuck, that was all I could expect.

Cathy looked at my reflection in the mirror and smiled, and then wiggled her butt. She rolled the lipstick into its tube before dropping it into her pocketbook. Turning, she leaned on the dresser with one knee moving from side to side, and said, "Can't I stay?"

"I got work to do."

"Play hooky. Let's go back to bed."

"Cathy, you're incorrigible. Are you really up for more?"

"With you ... yeah. You rocked me last night."

"I think you kept all my neighbors up past their bedtimes."

Cathy blushed and said, "I guess I was kinda loud. But you fucked me so hard that I couldn't help it. So, want some more?"

I scratched my scalp through my damp, dark hair with all 10 fingernails and then brushed my hair straight back, letting it run through my fingers. While thinking about her offer, I tightened the sash on my blue silk robe with black Japanese symbols that I had no idea what meant.

"I really got work to do. Deadlines you know," I said.

"Oh, all right."

Cathy snatched her pocketbook off the dresser and walked towards me. I turned and led the way to the front of my apartment, opened the door, and waited.

"Will you call me soon?" she said, her eyes locked on mine, her eyes pleading.

"As soon as I get the chance."

She got on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around me, pressing her lips to mine. Her pocketbook banged into my back but I was distracted by her tongue swirling around inside my mouth. I didn't think she would ever stop so I finally pushed her away. The first thing I saw was the meticulously applied lipstick smudged around her lips. And then I saw my new neighbor standing in the hall with both her mouth and eyes wide open.

Pushing Cathy out of my apartment, I slapped her butt and she begrudgingly walked toward the elevator, and then I turned to my neighbor. "Hi."

"Hello," she said softly and quickly hurried to her door.

While she dug through her pocketbook, I said, "My name's Trevor Anderson. We haven't met yet."

She looked at me and her eyes lowered to my robe and then quickly darted to the floor. "I'm Mary ... Mary Boston... Mrs. Mary Boston."

I noticed her hand trembling and she dropped the key. While she stooped to retrieve it I looked her over. She was young, probably too young to marry. I don't mean legally, but emotionally, and too young to give up partying. But then again, looking at her I wasn't sure she ever partied. Her olive-green dress was plain and long -- frumpy -- extending past her knees by several inches. And her blonde hair was tied back. Not in a ponytail which I found sexy, but pulled together in something like a bun, but not round like a bun. Her hair seemed to be folded several times and clipped in place.

Staring at her butt, I said, "If you need anything, I'm right next door. Okay?"

She nodded without looking at me, stood, and then turned to face me with her hand on the doorknob. "You have lipstick on your face," she said and blushed, and then quickly entered her apartment and closed the door behind her.

Strange girl, I thought and returned to my apartment to get some work done.

I worked from home -- a writer struggling through my first novel. It was a mystery and the hero was about to learn that the woman who hired him to find her husband's killer was actually his long lost sister. But that had to wait -- it didn't pay the bills. I'm also a biologist and earned a living writing for various magazines and finding grant money. It provided the lifestyle I preferred. A confirmed bachelor at 43, I liked to party and did so often. Cathy, whose lipstick I now wore on my face, was just one of many.

It was several days later that I heard a soft knock on my door. I had finally gotten back to my novel and my fingers were typing faster than I thought possible. I was engrossed in an emotional hugging scene between the hero and his sister. I didn't like being disturbed and thought about ignoring the intruder, but I have a curious nature and even read obvious junk mail before tossing it. Well I don't actually "toss" it. I stuff the self-addressed stamped envelop with other junk mail and send it back. After all, someone has to help the Postal Service out. With the advent of email, they need the business. Anyway, I needed to know who was at my door. If it was someone insignificant, or worse a salesman, I'd unleash my full wrath on them.

I swung the door open ready to do battle so you can imagine my surprise when I saw my new neighbor standing in the hall, her wringing hands hanging in front of her, her eyes looking down. She was wearing black slacks and a white blouse buttoned all the way up with ruffles around the collar.

"Hi," I said. She looked up but didn't respond. I waited and then said, "Do you need something?"

"Can I talk to you?" Her voice was timid, barely heard.

"Sure, come in."

I stepped back opening the door more and waited. She didn't budge and I thought she was going to wear out her skin as she wrung her hands even harder. I was about to invite her in again when she took a small step, hesitated, and then took another. She wasn't in far enough for me to close the door and just stood there, looking around. I placed a hand on her shoulder and she jumped back into the hall.

"Sorry, I just wanted to close the door." I was at a loss. "Did you want to come in?"

She stared at me, I guess sizing me up, her discomfort splayed on her face. She wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on her upper lip with the back of her hand and then silently entered my apartment. When I closed the door she flinched and then I saw fear in her eyes. Again she scanned my apartment. What was she looking for ... monsters?

I waited and then cleared my throat. She looked at me as if she forgot I was there. This time I didn't say anything, even though both of us stood uncomfortably. I didn't know what she had to be nervous about, but I half expected her to pull a knife and start slashing.

"Can we talk?" she finally said.

"Sure. What do you want to talk about? Hey, do you want a drink?"

"No thanks. Can we sit?"

"Let's go into the living room."

She turned right and started walking, and then stopped suddenly, disoriented. I almost tapped her on the shoulder but yanked my hand back before making contact and waited for her to turn towards me. "This way," I said, motioning for her to follow and then led her to the living room. Her apartment was exactly like mine except in reverse. So my living room and bedroom shared a common wall with her living room and bedroom. Our kitchens, bathrooms, etc. were on the far walls of each apartment. It was probably cheaper to construct the building like that to have the gas and plumbing share a common wall between two apartments.

She sat in a chair with her knees together and her clasped hands resting on them. Her back was straight. I sat on the couch across from her and waited. I wasn't sitting back like I normally do. I was on the edge of the couch with my stiff back straight. I unconsciously rubbed my palms on the couch cushion.

"I didn't know who else to go to," she said.

"What is it? How can I help you?"

"I have a problem and I don't know who to talk to about it. You seem like you would know about..." She looked down and I thought she was going to cry or faint. I waited. She looked up again and said, "The walls aren't very thick."

I stared at her. What did she want?

When I didn't respond, she said, "The wall between our apartments."

"Oh. Am I making too much noise?"

"Yes. No. I mean I hear a lot of, um, sounds coming from your side."

"I'm sorry, but can you be more specific? I don't play music late and..." My eyes widened. "Do you mean from my bedroom?"

She looked down again and said very softly, "Yes."

I began fidgeting. Was she going to file a complaint? "Sometimes girls I know get kind of loud."

"I know. That's what I want to talk to you about." I waited and saw her wringing her hands again. This time I was sure she was going to faint. "I want to know why they scream like that."

I stared at the blushing young woman. Her eyes were lowered, popping up to look at me from time to time and then quickly darting down. I was afraid she was going to wear the skin off her hands.