May 2021 (continued)

Spring Cleaning (continued)

It had been a miserable winter.

Snow, freezing rain, and the kind of cold that ignores your layers and goes right through to your bones. I left my little second-story apartment only when forced to for work and errands. The cold was so bad, I even ended up blowing off family and friends because I couldn't bear to brave the weather. And gradually my apartment became more like a nest, with clutter piled on maybe-clean, maybe-dirty laundry. Takeout containers and water glasses crowded out surfaces. I buried myself in jogging pants and hooded sweatshirts, and quasi-hibernated.

And then came the day when the sun shone and showed no signs of stopping. Stubborn slush melted completely away. Flowers and trees put out buds. Weather Team 6 called it an 'unseasonably warm spell.' I emerged from my hoodies like a beautiful butterfly.

Okay, a beautiful butterfly with a filthy apartment. It was unavoidable; I needed to clean.

That warm, early spring morning, I twisted my curly red hair up into a messy bun and put on an old t-shirt and sweatpants with worn holes in the knees. Then I yanked up all the blinds and got to work.

Or I meant to. Except Mark was in his backyard.

My apartment building backed up to a row of small, single-story homes. A high fence separated them from our apartment complex. The houses were further up on a sloped hill, and my balcony and second floor windows looked over it. They gave me a perfectly centered view of Mark's backyard.

I didn't know his name was Mark; I'd just picked it out. He looked like the older version of a hot Mark I'd met in college. Except this Mark often enjoyed landscaping without his shirt on. And now, with the sunshine, he'd come outdoors, all bronze skin and muscles built half in the gym, and half because he thought hauling bags of mulch on a Saturday morning was a good time. He'd had a short beard the last time I'd caught a glimpse of him through the blinds at Christmas. But now, he was clean shaven. Not shirtless though. Not yet.

I may have watched him haul over two big bags of mulch to a planter near his home's back door, studying the way the sun shone on his chest and back. And how good his ass looked in blue jeans. He looked like he could lift me up, swing me onto his shoulder, and haul me around, too. I imagined him setting me down right there in the dirt and mulch and spreading me open…

"Cleaning," I reminded myself.

First, I stripped the bed down to the mattress and threw the sheets into the washing machine. I moved through the bedroom, living area, and bathroom, collecting up all the laundry—geez, there was a lot. Then came dishes—some set in the sink to soak, others went into the dishwasher. I turned it on, too. Next, garbage!

I paused only to put on some music and sneak another peek as I passed the open windows.

Mark, still frustratingly shirted, knelt in the dirt pulling weeds.

But with his back turned toward me, I could press right up against the glass and watch him work. Poor guy was getting all sweaty. His shirt clung to his lower back. I watched as he straightened up and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

"That's right," I murmured. "Don't use your hands. They're too dirty."

And then I saw a hint of my messy-haired self reflected in the window glass and felt like an absolute creep. Dude was just trying to get his garden in order; he probably wouldn't appreciate some weird lady spying on him. "Okay, no more! We're cleaning today," I told the apartment.

I switched the sheets to the dryer and put another load of laundry on, scrubbed at the sink dishes, and grabbed a garbage bag. Bit by bit I swept through the rooms and filled it with old take-out containers, wrappers, drink cartons, tissues, old junk mail piles I'd let build up and build up. I carried the first full bag out to the dumpsters and tossed it in.

Back inside, I noticed how warm it had gotten with the sunshine flooding in. I risked a peek at Mark; still wearing his shirt. Oh, well. In the past I'd had some very detailed fantasies about him looking over, seeing me up here, and him watching me, too. But he was way too polite and focused on his property; he never, ever looked. I could be naked and jumping on a trampoline, blinds wide open, and he wouldn't notice.

So Mark definitely wouldn't notice if I switched to just a bra and shorts, I thought. Why not? I was getting sweaty, too. I stripped off my shirt and joggers, tossed them into the laundry, and assessed the underwear situation. I wore a pair of black hipster panties and a soft teal blue bra. That was fine, I decided. They gave me more coverage than a bikini would have. Though I did have to admit that the hipsters rode up a little in the back, making my curvy booty look extra good. The bra didn't do my breasts quite the same favors, but it added some shape, looked good, and if Mark just happened to glance over…

He totally wasn't looking though. I took down my hair and re-twisted it into a neater bun. I put on some music, and got back into the swing of cleaning again. More laundry, more dishes. The sheets were done so I made the bed.

Finally, I treated myself to a break. I went to the fridge and picked out a bottle of iced tea. I uncapped it and took a big gulp as I made my way back to the living room—

Just in time to see Mark looking my way. He hurriedly turned back around, busying himself with plants or whatever he'd gotten up to.

I blinked. I sipped.

He glanced back at me.

Caught! For a moment we locked eyes. I had no clue what to do. So, like all normal and not-at-all-creepy people, I went back to cleaning. My heart hammered in my chest as I grabbed an empty laundry basket and set about collecting things that belonged in the bedroom, and straightening books. Who was spying? Not me. Not at all.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and risked a glance back.

Mark stood in his garden facing me. He stared.

I gulped and clutched the laundry basket hard. Was he angry?

Slowly, my backyard neighbor crossed his wrists, grabbed the hem of his soaked t-shirt, and drew it up over his head. He was just a shade paler underneath the shirt. As he took it off and cast it aside, his abdominal muscles rippled.

I wanted to lick my way across his stomach to the button on his jeans. For a second I just took him in like my own private show.

Mark put his hands on his hips. He tilted his chin up at me as if to say 'your turn.'

I almost shook my head no. But something about the audience and the warmth of the sunshine made me feel bolder than usual. I put down the laundry basket, making sure to bend over and show off a little booty. As I stood back up I reached behind me and unhooked the bra. I put my hands over the cups and shimmied a little, knocking both straps off my shoulders. In one quick move, I hid my bare breasts with one arm and slung the bra up overhead like I imagined a stripper would.

Mark reached up overhead and clapped in appreciation.

And maybe it was the sunshine or the fact that I had a mostly clean apartment, or maybe I was just really, really horny—but I held up both my hands in a 'wait' motion. Which uncovered my breasts. I covered myself back up, dashed to the bathroom, and grabbed a tube of red lipstick.

On the window I wrote my apartment number: 4B. And then I crooked my finger at Mark in a 'come hither' gesture and closed the blinds.

My heart beat fast. I went to wait near the door. Either he'd come, or he wouldn't. He might just be a flirt who wanted to exchange a glimpse of skin. He could be in a relationship. He might be calling up his buddies and laughing at the desperate crazy shut-in who flashed him.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock.

I opened the door.

"Hi," said Mark. He'd put his shirt back on for the trip over.

"Hi," I said.

"I've seen you up here. A few times," he added.

"I've seen you, too," I confessed, as I grabbed him by the front of his still sweat-damp shirt, pulled him inside, and kissed him.

We made it as far as the kitchen, kissing hungrily. He tasted like coffee and something intangible and masculine, and his broad hands wrapped around my waist. He lifted me up onto the counter easily. I locked my legs around his hips, urging him closer. My panties were already damp. I could feel the bulge pressing against the crotch of his jeans and I wanted them off. My sex throbbed with the need for him to be inside me. I ground myself against him as I kissed him. I leaned back and stopped kissing him only long enough to help him pull his shirt off overhead. And then I only had a moment to drink in the sight of his incredible chest before he kissed me again.

I let myself stroke his muscles and feel all that power underneath my hands. He smelled of soil and clean sweat. I bit at his earlobe as his face dipped to kiss the crook of my neck. His work-roughened hands cupped my breasts. His fingers found my nipples and the sensation shot straight to my sex.

I needed more. I unbuttoned his jeans and he helped me push them down and off him. His cock strained at the front of his boxer briefs, and it only took me another few seconds to urge him out of his underwear. He stepped back to get out of jeans and boxer briefs. My brain entirely short-circuited as he revealed an impressive erection. "Fuck me," I begged.

His hungry look told me he was fully on board. He helped me lift my hips long enough for him to slip off my soaked panties, and then we were back to being fully entwined. I wanted to climb him like a tree. I licked at the salty sweat on his cheek, spread my thighs wide, and moaned as I felt his cock brush against my clit. "Now, please," I moaned. And suddenly he entered me, impossibly big and hard, and yet I was so wet and ready that all I felt was pleasure.

I clawed at his shoulders and groaned into his ear as he drew out and thrust deep inside me again, hitting just the right spot. Maybe it was that we were relative strangers, or the earthly, manly scent of him and feel of his powerful body against me, but I clawed at his back and thrust myself against him, growling like an animal. I'd had a lot of good sex in my life, and nice sex, but Mark's broad hands pinned my thighs apart and he fucked me like a primal force.

I felt myself getting close. I snaked my thumb down to my clit as I urged him even closer, even deeper, and rubbed it as he concentrated all his power on fucking me. "Oh, fuck!" With a startled gasp I came, my body rocked by waves of pleasure, one after another.

All the while Mark kept fucking me, even as I melted against him. For a while I floated in the afterglow. I was just working up to trying for round two when he pressed me hard against the counter, pulled out, and jerked himself once, twice, three times—until he exploded and came all over my stomach. He leaned down and rested his chest on my chest. I held him for a while, feeling great and just a little sticky.

"I'm Ben, by the way," he said eventually.

"Annie," I said.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

I laughed. "You, too."