Next Door Neighbors

Chapter 1

Lana lit a cigarette and scoffed; she rested her forehead on her open palm, whilst the sound of drilling and hammering continuously penetrated her ears, rattling her brain and nerves. It'd been five days since the new neighbor moved in and there had been no stop at their working on renovating the apartment.

With a cup of steaming coffee in hand, she walked into the living room and turned the TV on; she watched, rather absentmindedly, the morning TV-shows that were running, learning about which celebrity married whom, who divorced whom, etc. etc.; in short, the important news of the day.

However, the constant work from next door kept on shaking the whole apartment, every few minutes the couch trembled as if subjected to a most violent earthquake. She drew a few deep breaths, desperately trying to recall the relaxing methods she had learned during the few months she had attended yoga classes; breathe in through the nose, count till 7, then exhale, slowly and softly whistling, through the mouth. Repeat. Repeat.

It didn't work; her attempts to concentration were ruined by the sound of a hammer hitting a nail, or a drill puncturing a hole through the wall. It was a relatively old condominium, the walls were not very thick; consequently, most sounds easily were transmitted between the two apartments.

Lana certainly missed (now more than ever before) the elderly couple that had been her neighbors up until recently; unfortunately, they moved to the countryside, finally tired of the hectic rhythms of metropolitan life. The only sound ever to come from their apartment was the loud television early in the night—usually, tuned in to whichever reality show was trending—and, on occasion, the husband's snoring.

And Lana—as well as her husband, Robert—had learned to live with it; besides, they, too, watched television, talked, on occasion argued in high tones, and their old neighbors had never complained; only the wife would, occasionally, drop by in the morning for a cup of coffee and a chat, and she'd mention the arguments, although in good spirits, wishing to put her experiences in use by offering (implicit) advice.

The new neighbor(s), however, had not, insofar, proven equally discrete; Lana had no idea who they were, nor how many they were. She could only tell they had no children, judging by the audible noises and voices; the morning work appeared to be conducted by only one person, yet, she couldn't tell if the other person was at work, just like Robert.

On the other hand, in the nights there'd always be loud sex noises; loud moaning, groaning, heavy panting. Usually, Lana also discerned the sounds of slapping, choking... more than one night she embraced sleeplessness to lie down awake and listen to the seemingly rough sex, the strange woman scream in absolute thrill, the man breathing heavily (presumed, by Lana, near the woman's ear).

On the TV set a group of smiling people were dancing and laughing, as they played a game of questions regarding celebrities and next-door the neighbor was still drilling holes on the wall (although, the sound had grown fainter, which meant they were working on the other side of the apartment, for which Lana felt grateful). She finished her weak coffee and got up.

Headed to the bathroom; she took out her skin-colored negligee and stepped on the weight: 54kg it read and she sighed in relief. She stayed in the shower for quite some time, since the running water both soothed her aching mind and drowned out the irritating noise.

Eventually, and quite reluctantly, she stepped out of the shower; her long, blonde hair was wet and heavily sitting on her shoulders. She brushed them meticulously, then brushed her teeth; she then smiled at herself in the mirror, after having checked for any wrinkles, pimples, or other signs of age.

She put on her negligee once more, proud of herself for still being fresh and good-looking, despite having recently turned 38. On her way to the kitchen, going for her second cup of coffee, she was confronted by the photographs hanging on the living room's walls, nearly covering them whole; they were a vast collage of memories from a time long gone.

She poured the steaming coffee, lit a cigarette, and returned to the pictures on the wall, reminding her of far more exciting times that, on occasions like this, appeared as if they belonged to a different lifetime altogether.

Robert, she, and Jenna (their daughter) were posing in front of various monuments of European capitals; they were smiling at the camera, as they stood on some street of some Asian city; she held Jenna in her arms, both smiling, with the Grand Canyon as background.

She sighed heavily, dragged a puff from her cigarette solemnly, and returned to the couch; the "party" on the TV show was still ongoing, yet, Lana could not follow it, nor truly appreciate the effort the hosts were putting to entertain their viewers. Besides, the noise had not ceased for a single moment and now there was nothing to drown the drilling sounds, nor to distract her mind.

With her coffee half-drunk, she crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, put a bathrobe on, and, with fury swarming her heart, got out of the apartment.

She rang the neighbor's bell, not certain what she wanted to accomplish; nevertheless, her face was lightly flushed and her heart was beating fast. Time had come to meet the new neighbors and, why not, to see the apartment for which they needed so many hours of constant work to set up.

The door was answered shortly thereafter and Lana was still boiling with anger; however, that very anger evaporated almost in an instant, as the sight caught her completely by surprise. A tall (nearly 2m high), bald, robust, young man opened the door, covered in sweat and with a scarlet face; Lana cleared her throat, as her gaze unwillingly scanned the man's trained, and naked, upper body.

"Hello," the man said in a steady, yet questioning, voice, "how may I help you?"

A lump in her throat made it hard both to swallow and to talk; she remained thus simply standing there, speechless and feeling like a complete idiot.

"I'm your neighbor," she finally said after clearing, loudly, her throat and motioned to her door, "and, thought, I should..." her speech was broken, filled with pauses, but, eventually, managed to introduce herself properly.

"Very nice to meet you," the young man shook her hand heartily. "My name's Stan... well, Stanley, but, no one calls me that. And, by the way, I'm sorry if I've been a bother with... I know it can be frustrating, but, I'm trying to set my place up the way I want it and... well, it does take longer than I had thought."

"Oh, it's all right," Lana dismissed him with a wide smile. "Perfectly understandable; I think, when we first moved in, it took us some weeks properly to settle in. And there's always something that needs be changed, you know?"

"Yes, I know," he nodded smilingly. "We, by the way? Married?"

"Yes," she lowered her gaze.

"When I'm done with the renovations," Stan broke the ensued silence, "I'll be glad to have both you and your husband over for dinner; to get to know you both and compensate, as much as possible, for all the disturbance I've caused." The wide, bright smile he offered her made his fresh face seem even more handsome.

"That'd be lovely," she agreed. "We're neighbors, we should... know each other, right?"

"Absolutely," he agreed heartily. "By the way," he motioned to the inside of his apartment, "would you care for some coffee? The place is still a mess, but... I could use a break, and... well, if you don't have anything to do, of course. Don't feel obliged to say yes, I..."

"Okay, sure," she said hurriedly, immediately regretting the hastiness with which she had accepted, fearing it came off desperate, if not something else entirely.

"Splendid," he let her in and led her to the kitchen.

"So," she said after she had taken a seat at the kitchen table, not having been able to take a peek at the apartment that needed such noisy renovation, since all doors but for the one leading to the kitchen were shut, "what brings you to our lovely neighborhood?"

"Work," he said, while pouring water into the coffeemaker. "I'm a gym teacher; was transferred recently to this district's school, so..." he shrugged his shoulders.

"So, where did you work before?"

"I was at a school out in the countryside," he said with a nostalgic smile, "up in the mountains; very lovely location, although the conditions were hard. Most kids had to ride farm trucks every day to come to school. Kind of breaks your heart, to see how the state does not ensure these kids have what they need; especially, when you get to see, firsthand, the thirst these kids have for learning.

"Anyway, I really liked it there, despite the conditions, the weather... people were really friendly, they'd open their doors for me at any time, and I got to know them real well. To be honest, I was quite depressed, when I got transferred."

"How long did you work there? I mean," she added, suddenly feeling intrusive, "you look so young, so... it can't be that long ago you graduated, right?"

He chuckled warmly, served two cups of coffee. "Thank you," he gave her one of the cups, she refused his offer for cream and sugar. "I was there for two years; my first assignment after college. And, to be honest, I felt bad for being transferred, because almost no one wants to go work at these schools; you know, the ones up in the middle of nowhere.

"I feel bad for the kids," he sat heavily down and sighed deeply. "I learned to love them and, I think, they loved me, too. And now, I've... abandoned them. Okay, yes," he quickly added, "I know it's not the right word, but, it's how it feels, you know?"

She reached for him and patted him tenderly on the shoulder; her bathrobe had opened and her legs were now exposed, as she crossed them high. He did briefly notice, but, quickly averted his glance.

"And," he continued after they both had a sip of coffee in silence, "the worst part—worst in terms of my inner turbulence, that is—is that my transfer was not... completely legitimate. I should have spent a few more years teaching in the countryside, before I could be transferred to the city, but...

"There's this basketball team I used to play for, and... they wanted me to coach their young team. So, they pulled a few strings—someone knew someone in the educational ministry, apparently—and brought me here. And hence," he opened his arms and smiled, "here I am."

"Quite the story," she nodded and bit the corner of her lips. "So, a gym teacher and a basketball player. That certainly explains the physique!"

"Thanks," he chuckled, warmly. "Although, basketball was never my first choice; I've always wanted to play soccer, you know? But, my gym teachers, back when I was a student, would not hear about it. They said it'd be a waste someone my height and stature did not play basketball; I did good, they were probably right to push me to that direction, but...

"I think the main reason I chose this profession was because I wanted to be able to help children follow their dreams, you know? I wanted to be that one gym teacher, who encourages everybody to take up the sport they really love, regardless of physical stature.

"I wanted to help the children cultivate their talent, hone their skills, all that... without being the oppressor my teachers were. Without pushing them towards the direction I think they ought to choose."

"It's quite the noble reasons you have," Lana again touched his upper arm, firmly and tenderly, with a wide smile. Her bathrobe was lifted even higher, the nether part of her negligee was now visible and she crossed her legs higher, and tighter, as she was wearing no underwear.

"So," Stan said, stealing subtle glimpses of her long, thin legs, "what do you do? What's your story?"

"Nothing as exciting as yours," she stared at her coffee momentarily. "I wanted to become a teacher, too, actually... did start studying English, after high-school. But..."

"What happened?" He pursued, when she remained contemplatively silent.

"Life," she looked up and gave him a sad smile. "Got pregnant to my Jenna at 18; I went to my finals for the first semester about 5 months pregnant. Some of my co-students just thought I had gotten real fat real fast; you know, due to anxiety compulsive eating.

"Well, when I gave birth, I had to quit the university. My parents were helpful enough with Jenna and wanted me to continue my studies, but... they were both still working at the time. They couldn't watch Jenna all the time.

"Robert, my husband, was studying, at the time, logistics; two years older than me. He started working, earned almost nothing, but... it was the best he could do. Eventually, he... well, he graduated, found a good job, still at it as a matter of fact, and...

"Jenna's all grown up now, in college herself, and... I'm still here, still a housewife that cannot get a job, because I'm not 20 anymore, nor do I have a bachelor degree. Not that exciting, huh?" She raised her eyebrows and laughed, dryly.

"On the contrary," he said, smiling widely. "You might have sacrificed some personal development for the sake of your family, but, I think that's impressive, and inspiring; I mean, nowadays, I keep hearing about empowerment, doing things for yourself, all that...

"People put some things behind, they ignore them... there was a teacher in my old school, who had a child, when she was 35; and it's good and all, she had things figured out, lived her life... yet, I kept thinking that, when her child is 20, she'll be 55.

"If her child has a child at 35, she'll be 70; still young, in a way, but, in no way young enough to play with her grandkid the way she'd want to, you know? Weaker, maybe suffering from a few things... I don't know."

"To each their own," Lana added. "Yeah, I am, too, thinking that, having had Jenna so young, it means I'll probably be around to see my grandchildren grow up, I'll probably be around even when they're adults; which is definitely good.

"But, that does not eliminate the fact I've squandered—in a sense—my opportunity to live life, you know? To have a more intense young adulthood; I remember my friends, from high-school and college, going out to party every weekend, taking short trips at a whim, and they'd often invite me, at first, but, I had a baby, I couldn't just go out and dance till the early morning hours, or leave for a weekend-trip, could I now?"

"Sure, but..." he drew a deep breath, paused. "Are you happy?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, taken aback.

"I mean, with your life; with how it now is. With how it all turned out."

"Yes, definitely," she said, more thoughtful than she had intended to sound. "I mean, I'm not really complaining; do I have regrets? Yes. But, we all do, after all; I haven't yet met someone, who doesn't have regrets, or not second-guessing some of his choices.

"Even you, as you told me, you've regretted not following your heart and playing soccer, when you were at school, right? Maybe, you would have failed, because, you really are built for basketball. But, you still wish you have given it a shot, correct?"

"All right, yes," he rubbed his forehead and smiled, "you do have a point. But, you still haven't answered my question."

"I did, I think," she frowned.

"No," he shook his head, still smiling. "I asked you if you are happy; and you simply said you aren't complaining and that you have regrets. Yes, we all have regrets. But, I, for example, am happy, despite those regrets. And, undoubtedly, I'm not the only one.

"How about you?"

"Yes, I... think I am happy, I..."

"Lana," he said softly and touched, gently, her knee, "you can't think you're happy; you either are, in which case you know it deep inside, or you're not, and you're masquerading it."

She glanced down at his hand, tenderly rubbing her knee and slowly, but nonetheless steadfastly, moving upwards, his rough hand against her soft skin causing slight shivers to cross her spine.

Lana moaned heavily; she gasped faintly, when his palm engrossed her inner thigh, quite forcefully attempting to uncross her legs; "what are you doing?" she whispered perplexed, yet, she did not fight back as much as she thought she ought to. Instead, she lifted her leg, spread them open.

"You aren't wearing any underwear, I see," he chuckled warmly, his hand steady on its upward course, his fingers tenderly caressing and tickling her soft skin. "What should I think of it?"

"It's nothing, really, I..." she choked on her own words; he leaned forth, his moist lips touched her kneecap, then the kisses moved upwards, too, his fingers were on her vagina, carefully, yet exploring the region with determination and knowledge; Lana sighed deeply, when he began rubbing her pussy lips, his thumb on her clit, stimulating it.

He planted soft, tender kisses on her inner thighs; he inserted one finger inside her pussy and moved it up and down, as if calling someone over, while still working on her clit, too, in a quickening pace.

"No, we've got to stop..." she protested, mostly out of desperation for the lust which had suddenly overcome her, amid her moans.

"Your lips down here seem to have something entirely different to say," he looked up at her with his big, bright green-hazel eyes and his quite disarming smile. He dove back in under her negligee, ran his tongue on her pussy; he kissed and sucked on the clit, softly, and inserted two fingers back inside of her, thrusting them in and out slowly, yet hard, too.

"Stan, no, it's not..." she argued, but, she uttered the words predominantly so she could hear them. She had grabbed him by the back of the head, pulling him closer to her, as he sucked and licked her clit with more fire now, causing intense jolts of pleasure to numb her spine.

"Stan, really, it's..." bad, she meant to say, "so damn good," were the words that actually escaped her mouth, almost involuntarily. "Keep at it, just like that, yes, yes..." her moans grew heavier, louder.

And Stan's work on her turned, gradually, rougher; three fingers inside, penetrating her hard, stretching her cunt, whilst his tongue and thumb worked together, and furiously, on her clit; Stan smiled at every spasm, every little tremble of her inner thighs, or noticeable contractions of her stomach.

He pulled his fingers out, raised his eyes once again searching for hers, but, she had leaned her head backwards staring at the ceiling, while having lowered the top part of her negligee, having thus revealed her firm, round, medium-sized breasts, with which now she was playing lost in the mist of enthrallment.

Satisfied, he slipped his tongue back inside of her, tasting her; with his fingers he continued to stimulate the clit, rubbing it hard, while he flapped his tongue inside her rapidly.

Her spasms grew intense, her thighs were locked tight around his head, effectively trapping him. The flapping of his tongue grew as fast as it could possibly go, his fingers were pinching her clit amid the furious rubbing; "sweet fuck," she groaned loudly and arched her back high, nearly tripping the chair backwards.

She was overwhelmed with the orgasmic wave that traversed her body more intensely and rapidly than she ever had experienced; Stan, despite the uncontrollable trembling of her legs around his head and her pussy's convulsions on his tongue, continued the licking, tasting her sweet juices.

Eventually, she ceased to tremble; her legs loosened up and he pulled backwards, her juices still dripping off his three-day stubble.