The Hungarian Boarder

What an intimate intertwinement! She had seen him only once, when he moved in. He was in his forties. He had the build of a refrigerator. He was wearing a contractor's belt with a power drill, hammer, and all kinds of tools attached. He barely spoke an English word. He wrote a number on a piece of paper. They all nodded, shook hands, and he handed them the first month's rent and deposit. He had hugged both of them to their surprise with a full body hug. They had written it off as the friendliness of his home country, Hungary.

That day, she went shopping at the beauty store. Her eyes were eagerly scanning the rows of boxes with photos of smooth women's legs and hands that slowly caressed over them. The boxes looked cheery, upbeat, and friendly. A mischievous smile was playing around her lips. She tried to wipe it off her face and didn't succeed. The suppression attempt only wrinkled her skin. She made sure to pick a box that had clear pictorial instructions on the back.

At home, she placed the box on the sink in a prominent place. She walked to the entrance to look at the sink. She adjusted the box. She went back to the entrance and checked again. The devil was flickering in her eyes.

That night, she was giddy under the blankets. George didn't say anything. He slipped into bed and passed out. It was quiet. She fell into a slumber. Too excited to fully drift off, she strained to listen again. It was still quiet.

When the first scream pierced the night, she was caught off-guard. "A kurva istenit!" followed the scream in a pressed voice. "What's going on?" asked George without waking up. "Our boarder is having a nightmare. Go back to sleep."

Then the next scream followed. Mary had to stuff the goose feather pillow down her throat as deeply as she could. In twenty second intervals the sharp screams welled up. Dark somber Hungarian curses followed. He body was jumping with laughter. She had to try to calm her body wriggles to avoid George waking up. She couldn't believe the trick that she had played. And she was speechless that the boarder wouldn't stop. It filled her heart with a sense of power to hear the big, strong man bark his pain into the night, because it was her doing.

Whatever she put in the house, he was using it. Being Hungarian, he had a lot of body hair. From the number of the screams, he had gone for a full body waxing. Perhaps, she should raise the stakes by putting an enema on the counter the next day.

All day, the manly screams replayed in her head. It was the only thing that had cheered her up in months. It made her feel more alive. A curiosity came over. She wanted to see that man. So, she waited in the kitchen for him that night. She poured one chamomile cup after the next. Around midnight, when the ghost hour started, he lock in the door turned.

The strong, sturdy man was crying. He had the word "queer" written on his forehead. His left eye was black. Dried blood was on his clothing. Mary took an emotional punch to her bowels. In a split second, the consequences of her actions sunk in. She didn't dare saying anything at all. The guilt was so thick in her that it turned her blood black. They locked eyes, the pretty white middle class girl with her dainty tea and the poor working class immigrant with the roughed up face.

Sometimes Mary struggled with being disconnected. She mentally distanced herself from the things that happened in her life. Her actions of causing someone to be so savagely mistreated felt very real. She was shocked for an hour, sitting in the hard kitchen chair, unable to move.

Then, she got up. She got dressed. She went for a long walk in the neighborhood. Not a single car moved. Only very occasionally, a window was lit up. She couldn't even be sure that a person was awake there. Someone might have simply fallen asleep without turning the light off. A black stray cat ran across the street.

There, here nose found it, it found the sweet smell of a bakery. She followed the smell to a basement. There was a bakery. The baker had gotten up in the middle of the night to have everything baked by 6 am, when the first people rose to get their breakfast. She knocked on the backdoor.

"Closed. Come back at 6 am."

She knocked again. When the baker saw that she was a young, attractive woman, he opened the door. She bought a big box of donuts. It was one of those tall boxes. It had a layer of donuts, a cardboard piece and another layer of donuts. The sugar seduced her mouth into watering intensely. She bought an extra one to indulge. It was still warm and melted in her mouth.

Next, she walked onto an abandoned parking lot. The store sign had been smashed in and was covered in graffiti. The metal door let into a cage. The shop keeper had to buzz the cage door open to let her in. A chubby black man stood in the corner with dirty sweat pants and a blue XXXL sweater. A skinny, old white dude with a mustache that had overgrown his mouth eyed her with creepy black eyes. Another black dude stood behind the cash register with a shotgun butt resting on his hip.

Boxes of beer were piled in the center of the shop room. A box of candy was cut open and stacked on top of closed candy boxes. A single light bulb flickered in the corner. The man had apparently been in their position for hours without talking a word. They all stared at her.

She walked past the boxes of sodas. In front of the wall next to the cash register were a pile of magazines thrown on a wood pallet. The eyes of the sleaze bags grew larger, when she lifted some of the magazines. The white guy with the big mustache and long, brown hair hovered closer behind her.

She kept her composure. She didn't let it get to her. She picked up a Playboy and a Hustler. The cashier eyed her from behind the bullet proof glass with the little cutout hole to pass the money through.

"We could barter. We've got a glory hole in the restroom. What do you say? Twenty bucks?"

"No, sir. I'd like to buy these two magazines. Here is a twenty."

The white dude was right behind her. He played with her blond hair. "You are such a sweet girl out in such a dark night."

"Please, step back sir. You are in my space."

"Oh, she is a feisty one." He laughed hard. She could smell his breath of tobacco. He stepped back. The cashier solemnly said, "That's $23.98. They cost two dollars more since last year."

She slipped him a five and left without waiting for her change. Safely outside, her heart started pounding. It had been suspended inside from the direct threat to her. However, out here in the safety of the lonely night, the fear fully surfaced and rolled over her. With shaking hands, she opened the box of donuts and placed them underneath the cardboard piece.

When she got home, she couldn't sleep. The worry about the beating kept her up. She spent all night drinking chamomile night in the dark kitchen. The moon shone into the room. She became entranced to the feeling of heat seeping through the ceramic cup into her fingers in a struggle against the air temperature dropping cold around her as the night progressed.

Before even a hint of sunlight, the boarder stirred. He labored in the bathroom with many clicks and hisses of the faucet. He appeared out of the hallway. He looked at her puzzled and surprised to encounter one of the couple up at this time.

She got up. She held his hand and pushed the box of donuts onto him.

"Good morning. Take this box to your coworkers. They will like you."

She looked at him worried."

"I never say my name: Csaba."

"I'm Mary. It's very nice to meet you."

"Good meet you. Sometimes TV very loud. Can't sleep. I turn off."

"That is fine. I apologize for my husband George."

"Have to go. Boss angry."

He walked out. She gazed after him. Finally, she was relieved enough to go to sleep. She slunk into her bed next to her snoring husband.

Having slept all day, she woke up just went the sun went down. It made it easy to wait up for Csaba. She eagerly waited playing with the string on the tea bag inside of her cup. And then he arrived.

"Americans strange. Yesterday, they say I'm homo. Today, they hug and kiss me. I think they homo. They like food very much."

That was it, and he left into his room.

The next day, she was alone at home again with nothing to do. She had already gone to the children's playground. With every visit, it sunk in further that she wouldn't be a stay home mom with two cheery children any time soon. Out of boredom, she stood in front of the boarder's room. There was children chalk board on the door to leave messages.

She opened the door. The baby crib was still in the corner. The wall covering had cheery, colorful letters. A foldout bed was in the corner. The bed was neatly made to the perfection of a soldier's bed that one could bounce a quarter on. There was a framed photo on the floor of what must have been his parents.

She pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. She flipped the locks open and took a look. There was a single red, dried rose inside of a tube. There was a stack of handwritten letters tied together by a string. There was a black and white photo of a woman in long dress posing for a photo. It looked like an old photo. There was a little booklet with English-Hungarian phrases. He was a poor man. He pretty much only had the clothes on his back.

She smelled his clothes. They smelled foreign. She lay on his bed to feel what it is like for him to lay there. She could smell his manly sweat. It cozied her. Then it made her horny. She realized that it is that time of the year. The dread of the period was on the horizon. Yet the horniness would torment her on the way there.

Her thoughts kept running down to her sex all day. Everything became sexualized. The boots of the men in the street were so masculine. The way they laughed in their circles at the corner made her feel weak with desire. She kept glancing on any skin she could see. A pair of manly hands aroused her. A little belly showing, when the man lifted his pants for adjustment got her eyes glued on them.

By nightfall, she was wearing a see-through negligee. She presented her body on the bed with band knees and her hands resting behind her. Her boobs were proudly pressed to toward the ceiling. She was in her late twenties. Everything was till firm and tender. Her pussy was already dripping, no matter of how drunk George would be, her pussy was hungry for his prick. She wanted so much of his prick in her mouth that her belly would shudder with the gag reflex.

When he arrived, he walked into the bedroom, crawled under the sheets, turned on the TV blaring and went to sleep. He never even looked at her.

Frustrated she lay in bed -- counting the dots on the popsicle ceiling. Something drove her to get up and put popcorn into the microwave. The kernels popped. She put them in a bowl, grabbed a beer, and placed both down next to the bed. Then, she waited.

The faint click of the entrance door to the building was so familiar to her that she could hear it even it shouldn't have been audible. The Csaba was coming. She listened for the faint noise of the boots up the steps. Then, the clear sound of the apartment lock. Sure enough, he opened the bedroom door. The mattress depressed at her feet. She had been waiting so much for that feeling of him there of her feet moving.

He opened the beer. He quietly ate the popcorn. A hushed burb escaped his lips. The Hungarian voices of a newscaster yammered with the urgency of the end of the world. And then an angry impulse flashed across her mind. She kicked the bowl of popcorn of the bed. The kernels sprawled on the bedroom carpet. She pretended to be asleep.

"Nem, nem, nem" he complained breathlessly. His knees touched the ground with a sound. She could hear him crawl around on the floor for a long time. She felt vindicated in an irrational way.

When he was done cleaning, he turned the TV off, and left.

The horniness crescendoed inside of her. She started masturbating with the fingers in her cunt. It was so wet. She deeply dove the fingers in. She flicked her bean vigorously. She tried to pace her breathing to avoid it from waking up George. She fantasized about Csaba crawling around on the floor, while she commanded him. She'd point her bare feet. She made him bow to her feet, lick his feet. She'd push him around like dirt. And he would eagerly obey her commands like a dofus. Then, she'd trample his erect penis.

Her bean was pulsating. The good feeling, the warmth, the love, the happiness was radiating out from her bean along the fiery pass ways of her nerves and the pounding pass ways of her blood vessel to fill her entire body. Her soul was touching god in the ecstasy of her orgasm, just as the tantric bible had promised.

When she woke up out of her deep sleep, the hand was still on her sex. The juices had dried to become sticky. The bed next to her was empty and unmade. The apartment was quiet. She was left alone again to her boredom. Her mind was wicked and out of control. Her hair was a mess.

Driven by her demons, she got dressed, not even washing herself or applying makeup. She looked raw. She went to the beauty store and bought men's masturbation lube. The cashier with her fake lashes and fake nails that were five inches long, so long that they curved, that woman looked down on her judgmental.

It was still mid morning, when she got home. The low light of the late season was shining near horizontally through the windows. It would offer a nice interplay of shade and light. She positioned her cellphone in the window facing her on the chair. She sat with a perfectly straight spine on the chair like a horse. She pushed out her boobs. Then, she did a close-up of her face with her playing a lock that had fallen across her face. Her teeth were biting her lips seductively.

Then, the clothes started falling. At first, it was her jeans unzipped, folded open to show her panties. Then, she got creative wearing nothing but her jacket. The bare skin shimmered in between the zipper. Her groin was exposed to the camera. It all ended with her naked, slouching on a chair. Her feet were pulled to her butt. She played with her pussy and bit the index finger with her other hand pretending to be a bad girl getting caught.

She printed out the pictures on her inkjet printer. She hit the contraband under the bed on her side. When George was fast asleep, she snuck into the bathroom to put the lube bottle on the sink and spread out her photos.

She went back to her bedroom. She put on bright green panties that were cut to run across the middle of her cheeks to expose a lot of flesh. Then she put on a racy push bra. She turned on the TV, extra loud. George had forgotten about the TV squabble already. She lay on her belly without the blanket covering her body. She put the remote underneath her chest -- barely enough for Csaba to know that it was there and make it terrible difficult to pull out without touching her. For a moment, she had forgotten to turn her bedside lamp on. She wanted him to get a good look at her body, the body that George didn't care about or any of the black men in her neighborhood. The skinny bitch had found her prey.

Struggling to steady her breath, it was hard to hear. The door locks opened again. The steps grew louder. There was a quiet in the bathroom followed by low groans. More quiet was followed by more groans. Csaba had come three times triggered by her beauty. His mind must have been ravaging her in fantasy scenarios.

And now, he was there in the open door of the bedroom. His gaze must have been crawling over the skin of her back. She was basking in his admiration. Her heart was so fully of blushing excitement. She loved that she could hide her face in her pillow to take in all the glory and enjoyment without giving anything away.

Sure enough, he must have seen the remote. His steps came closer. She could sense his presence right next to him. He must have been hesitating. She was breathless trying to anticipate where he would touch her first.

Ginger fingers were trying to pinch the tip of the remote control and pull it out from under her without touching her. Her hand was tightly wrapped around the base of the remote. Her hand was being crushed by her boob. She would not let him get away this easily.

His fingers withdrew. Quiet. Then rough fingers from working as a contractor, wiggled underneath her shoulder to get a good grip. Oh god, it had been so long since a man or any human being had touched her. She almost cried with happiness for being pulled out of her isolation of being alone.

A brawn effortlessly lifted up her shoulder. His other brand pulled out the remote control. She let go off it to avoid giving away that she only pretended to sleep.

She felt his weight pushing down the mattress at her feet. The channel switch to Hungarian gibberish. Was that it?

She pretended to turn in her sleep and let her foot fall against his back. He didn't move away. He accepted her touch. He didn't move closer.

She could feel his warmth crawling through the skin, through her flesh, into her bones, and into the core of her being. She could tell he was equally intently paying attention to her foot. The usual movements that came with watching the TV and giggling at the funny points was gone. They were both listening to each other through the contact point.

It felt timeless for her. He must have had a sense of duty to go back to work. He turned off the TV and left.

Her period came on. She was cranky all day. George got arrested. She bailed him out. They lost the apartment. Csaba had to look for a new room. When they broke him the news, she had one long lingering look into his eyes. A meditative connection formed. She could see all the dirty fantasies involving her flicker across his retina. She was swept up by a medieval feeling. And then she was certain. Beyond the cycle of reincarnations, they were lovers in the middle ages. That must have been the connection between the two. A memory from a past lifetime, that was forbidden to carry across reincarnation cycles, had been awoken between them. They couldn't help each other. It had been destiny.

That's when it all made sense. Her torment had been so powerful that it had drawn her lover close across the time-space-continuum. She had been many things in her past lives. She didn't need to put up with her situation.

She told George to fuck off, walked out, got a plane ticket to Miami. She got a job as a nurse. She went to evening school to become a nurse practitioner. She met a passionate Brazilian guy at a club in South Beach, who waxed his chest and adored her. They made two lovely kids. She didn't stay at home. That was a stupid idea. They got a nanny. She worked hard to become the head nurse practitioner.