The next time Loraine comes over I tell her I really like her. She sneers in response.
"I know," she breathes.
"You're beautiful, I like being around you, I want to know more about you, I..."
She smiles and starts stroking my semi. Every time I try to steer the relationship to some loving, sharing, cheesy thing she forcefully, but casually turns it back to the animalistic fling we had begun.
So far she is winning. She rips off my pants, a button loosened by her strong, pretty hands goes bouncing off in the corner. My dick sticks out like an arrow lodged between my legs. She opens her mouth to let me in.
"Holy shit!" she screams.
"What?"
Her head faces my window, most of which is covered by a deep blue curtain. But there is a split in which light can come in and where Peter's face is pressed against the glass. He stands nonchalantly, balancing his checkbook while he performs a Peeping Tom act.
I zip up and rush out there. I'm pissed. I'm embarrassed. I'm standing face to face with Peter. He smells like Southern Comfort and ball sweat. His mutt is whining somewhere in his apartment.
"What the hell are you doing?" I yell.
He tells me, "Managing my finances."
"No, I mean why are you looking in on us?"
"I wasn't."
I don't know what to say. I can hardly breathe. His rank musk is wafting right up to my skull. My anger is pinching the sides of my head. I'm probably turning red. What finances does he have to balance anyway? Did he find an old pocketbook in the dumpster and now pretends to add up deposits and subtract withdrawals? He's out of his freaking mind.
"I saw you. You were standing out here, looking in," I say with spit flying from my mouth.
"If you'd prefer it, I can go do this elsewhere."
His response is calm, as if this is a normal conversation.
"Like your apartment?" I suggest.
He says sure and heads there, slowly. Is this all a joke to him? Is he seeing how far he can push me before I take a swing at him? Does he sense that I'm a weakling, a pushover, a sack of shit?
Back in my apartment, Loraine zips up her phone inside her purse as she says, "I'm going home."
What can I say? Come back inside and have my creepy neighbor watch us get naked? Doesn't voyeurism turn you on? Doesn't this malodorous environment just give you a big woody?
Loraine is probably headed to see someone else. She will walk into an apartment that doesn't burn her nose and let some other chump touch her titties. The thought of it makes my stomach bubble. I can feel a headache coming. I know I shouldn't be jealous. This is casual, open, the polar opposite of monogamous. I like her too much though. I think of what it would be like if we were in a real relationship where we met each other's friends, went out to plays. I want to hold hands. She wants to watch porno together. I want to karaoke "I got you, babe" together. She wants to introduce handcuffs and whips into the routine. But I don't want to push it too hard and find that she stops coming by at all. This is a boat I do not want to rock. So I stay quiet as usual and let life happen to me.
She slips her arm under the strap of her purple, pleather purse and leaves, walking as if she were on a runway. She blows a kiss my way.
