Two Doors Down

Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Barela

Day 1

On the first night of Hanukkah I arrived home from work to find an ivory envelope had been slipped through my mail drop. There was no postage or return address. Just the words Happy Hanukkah written in black ink with great flourish. Inside had been a single slip of paper, folded perfectly in half, also ivory with black writing. The note penned had read a friendly welcome to the neighborhood. No signature, but from a woman I would guess from the penmanship.

I stepped into the rather bleak interior of my apartment and removed my coat, scarf and gloves. It was a great apartment with all sorts of vintage charm, including bad insulation, I thought, rubbing my arms. I am one of those women who is always cold; huddling under a sweater in eighty degree weather. Turn of the century fixtures were on the cupboards and glass doorknobs throughout. My favorite detail was the beautiful warm woodwork around the door jambs and floors. But still sadly without furniture, save for the mattress in the bedroom. I had moved to Portland only last week and would collect furniture in time.

My first friend. I walked over to the fridge and stuck the note beneath a magnet. I opened the kitchen cupboard and took down my menorah. It had been my great-grandmother’s and was heavy, made of brass. I took my Hanukkah candles from the drawer and whispered the familiar prayers beneath my breath as I lit the first candle.

Day 2

My return from work greeted me with another envelope labeled Happy Hanukkah perched precariously in my mail slot. I smiled and turned in a half circle on the welcome mat outside my door as if to catch the deliverer of the missive, but there was no one, only the scent of snow in the air. I stood on the porch and opened the envelope.

I do not love, for I have yet to know
The golden glow of skin so sweet
Of hair as rich as chocolate warm
Always worn up upon
Glasses perched upon a dainty nose
I wonder if she likes my prose?

I turned the paper over. No name, no address, no number. I brought the paper to my lips. There was a scent. Something feminine and familiar tugged at a memory, but…The wind picked up and I shivered and turned to slip the key in the door lock.

Yet to know. I thought as I walked over to the fridge and placed the note on top of the other beneath the magnet. Yet to know…

Day 3

Two doors down, I yearn to touch
Slip a finger beneath that proper collar
To see the veil of hair unfold
And frame the cheeks of one made bold

There was a girl down the hall; a tall, striking girl with long black hair and pale skin. The first time I had seen her I had admired her boots as I came up the stairs behind her. Black patent leather with four inch heels. I’d wondered at her ability to climb so quickly after a day of walking in them. They had been tight, meeting the hem of her black pencil skirt at her knee. In truth, I had noticed more than her boots. Her derriere had been round, her hips full.

She had not paused or looked at me or even seemed to notice my hot stare. But walked past my door, hips a sway, to her door and closed it with final click.

Day 4

It came to my mind the following evening that there were two doors down the other direction of my apartment. An old man lived there with a bad comb over and a habit of peeking out his curtains whenever I walked past his door. This seemed a bad sign, but I could hardly think of him, with his plumber’s crack and ode’ de mothball preference for cologne, writing poetry in such a feminine hand.

Maybe two doors, literally down, I thought and slowed as I walked past the first floor apartments. I had not seen who the tenants were two floors beneath me. From the brightly colored plastic slide on the patch of grass out front and the yellow dump truck on its side I assumed they were a family. Not likely the authors of a love letter.

Eager for more poetry, I picked up my pace on the way up the stairs and arrived breathless at my door. I was not disappointed.

Kisses true and kisses fall
Upon thy lips and bodies call
Rub this oil upon your skin
And think of love you will let in
A clue you seek, a clue I give
Do you want to truly live?

This envelope included a small bottle. I tugged at the cap and with a slight pop the gentle scent of earthy sweet oil surrounded me and centered in my lower body. She had worn this scent.

My door lock sticks, so I have to tug the door shut to get the key to turn the lock. She had waited patiently while I struggled with the knob, while I moved in close to let her pass. Even with the extra space it seemed as though our bodies nearly touched. This scent had lingered with me for a heartbeat, then two. I had shaken my head of my thoughts, but now they returned to tempt my imagination’s fancy.

Day 5

The next morning I was locking my door when she stepped out to do the same. Her breasts were full and round and so perfect beneath her thin white blouse. She wore a black bra that outlined their tempting shape.

She wished me good morning and a welcome to the building, laughter in her succulent voice. I blushed, dragging my eyes to her face. Our eyes locked for the first time. Hers green and sharp and lit with humor. Lips as plump as the before mentioned breasts were made wet by a saucy tongue.

My response came out as a squeak. Not sexy. Not inviting. But like a timid school girl. I dropped my keys and cursed beneath my breath as I bent to pick them up. She did the same and our fingers touched. Her nails were longer than mine, glossy with bright red polish. Her blouse gaped as she bent and I could see tattoos and cleavage.

She stood and wished me a pleasant day. I fumbled a response. Then down the stairs she went. The click clack of her heels on the hardwood floor found the heartbeat in my sex. In time they pounded until she was gone.

All day I thought of her laughter and eyes and hips with a nervous heart. When I arrived home that night my mail was scattered across the hardwood floor. I knelt to rifle threw the pile in search of another letter.

There wasn’t one. No letter.

My throat closed and my eyes smarted. No words to linger over as I passed my evening. Damn my lusting eyes for ogling her! It was silly really. I didn’t know her. I hadn’t touched her. I shouldn’t miss her words.

Day 6

I thought myself a stalker as I walked past my door and stopped in front of hers. Knocking seemed like a good idea, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Only bold with the stares not action. I should offer to buy her coffee in way of apology. I really was not such a letch.

The curtains were drawn, but in the window sat one of those electric menorahs’, seven lights shining neon orange.

I took that as a mitzvah. A good omen, as my grandmother would have said. My heart picked up a beat as I told myself to calmly walk to my door and turn the key slowly in the lock. Relief nearly made me faint as I picked up the letter from the floor.

Passion’s need will overflow
As two hearts’ desire continues to grow
Thoughts at night are sticky sweet
For me know below my sheets
Two more nights of yearning need
And then our thoughts will be freed

Two more nights and then what? I walked into the kitchen and put this letter with the others. The freezer portion of the fridge was covered. It warmed my insides to see them there, hopeful promise on each sheet of paper.

Day 7

No words we speak to show our need
To know the heat and inner fire
Why fight this growing desire
Take the time to touch and tease

The covers were kicked from the bed and I lay nude except for my socks. A girl’s got to keep warm. My admirer’s letters lay about me on the bed. The latest note’s words a catalyst to bringing up the heat. My hand slipped across my stomach and dipped between my thighs.
My fingertip circle my hole. Behind my eyelids I saw her lips, wet and parted. Wet with my desire. I moaned.

A finger slid between my nether lips and then two, my thumb flicking my hard bud of desire.

A nipple twist.

My heels dug in.

A shudder rocked my body.

I was panting.

Then lick your artful fingers clean

A trembling hand did her bidding.

Day 8

The day at the office was going buy ridiculously slow. There was never much excitement in an accounting office, but at least there was always something to do. Except today. Except on the last night of Hanukkah.

What was she planning? My thighs were wet with anticipation and I crossed my legs to give myself some small bit of relief and stared sightlessly at the computer monitor. Maybe I could hope on a porn site? I giggled and felt heat suffuse my cheeks.

My colleagues were giving me strange looks. Two had asked if I were ill. They said I looked flushed. Yes, I wanted to say. From head to toe and tonight—Tonight I would be—I glanced around nervously as if they could read my dirty thoughts. Tonight I would be fucked. At least those were my plans. I planned to be bold in more than stares this evening.

The train ride home took forever and the six blocks to the apartment complex seemed like miles. I rushed up the stairs and would have taken them two at a time if I weren’t so short. Outside my door sat a box. I could see the little treasure from the landing. I walked forward slowly, Suddenly wanting to stop and savor. This would be the first night. The first taste of what my neighbor had to offer.

On my doormat was a box five inches square, wrapped in white paper. The now familiar curvy handwriting read Hanukkah greetings.

My heart trembling along with my fingers, I carefully unwrapped the package, careful not to damage the paper. A note was folded on top of the white tissue inside.

Want to Play?

Underneath the tissue lay the perfect Hanukkah gift. The box held a dreidel. Not the simple child’s wooden toy, but a beautiful glass art piece. Bits of glass in different sizes had been melded together to create a piece of art that sparkled in the setting sunlight. But that was not was made this game perfect.

The traditional symbols had been replaced with very naughty images. I held it up above my head to the light to get a better look. Embedded in the glass, on each side of the dreidel, were photo tiles depicting various sex acts. Instead of Nun, there were two women embraced in lavascious kiss. Gimel had been replaced by a tongue sampling a woman’s honey pot. A hand lost in a wet quim was Hei’s replacement. And a lady giving it to her woman with a strap-on was Shin.

Hearing a scuffle behind me, I turned to see my other neighbor smooth his comb-over across his scalp. He stood watching me. For a moment, I had a terrible doubt, that it was he who wrote the letters. That all my fantasies, and all my desires, were just a product of being more than a year without a partner.

I didn’t open my door. I smiled nervously and quickly walked in the opposite direction before doubt made me change my mind. This was it. I walked two doors down. I didn’t knock. I just opened her door. There was the scent of her in the air. My throat went dry and my lower body to liquid.

“Hello neighbor,” she called from somewhere in the apartment.

I hardly paid notice to the beautiful period furnishings. It was in trance, captivated by my desire.
I walked toward the sound of her voice and found myself in the doorway of her bedroom.
She stood at the foot of the bed framed by ornately carved posts on each side of the bed. The ivory bed covers were the perfect foil for painted in beautiful colorful tattoos. A silver ring winked from her navel and a large rubber cock rose proud from her bush.

Any normal person would have run. A girl with a bit of sense would not have lifted her hand to the button at her throat only to be told to not move.

She approached with a deliberate sway to her hips and took the dreidel from the box which I held in front of me in presentation stance. We are here to play, are we not? She asked and she bent to toss the dreidel. It spun across the floor, colored specs hitting the walls like a disco ball. It twirled frantically, seeming not to tire in its spinning. Just as suddenly it began to wobble and fall on its side.

Not on a new lover’s embrace, but on the picture with the strap on. I lifted a hand to my throat to slip the buttons from the holes of my collar but she told me to stop. I did.

My neighbor told me to turn around. I did. She came up behind me and encircled my waist with her tattooed arm. Her had slid into the my center and she massaged the fabric into my crotch. I bit my lower lip. She didn’t linger but slid the length of my skirt and took hold of the hem. She tugged the fabric to my waist.

I was wearing nylons and wondered for a moment why not stockings? Something sexy and—She pressed her dildo against me from behind.

I closed my eyes and gasped for sanity.

She pressed me forward with her cock, nudging my aching behind through the delicate fabric, until my knees hit the arm of the living room couch. She told me to leave my nylons on when I made to remove them. She kicked my legs further apart with her booted foot.

She caressed my behind through the nylons, teasing the sensitive flesh to follow her hand and seek its warmth. Her fingers followed the crack of my ass and grabbed the fabric in her fist, the waistband cutting into my stomach for a moment before the fabric ripped. Her fingers slid beneath and pet my bare skin. I gasped. Her hand between my wet thighs.

“My sweet little neighbor,” she said, sliding a finger in. My knees buckled and I took hold of the couch arm. She drug my juices back along my rear and then slid her rubber dick through the whole in the nylons. Greased by my juices, she found my hole and slowly entered, stretching my insides wide. Her weight pressed into me, hard nipples kissing my shoulder blades, tongue licking my ear.

I bucked my hips and she laughed, lying still and hot on my back.

“Did you like your Hanukkah presents?” she whispered.

“What does it feel like?”

She yanked the bun at the back of my head and I winced. “Answer me.”

I said yes and she began a maddening rhythm, slow, steady. She unbuttoned my shirt collar and her fingers massaged my small breasts through the lace of my bra, nipples hard as her rubber dick.

“Tell me neighbor,” she said. “Do you sob because you want me to stop, or because you want me to fuck you faster?”

Not waiting for my answer, she forced the cock in deep, and deeper still. She began to pound my pussy and twist my nipples. She told me to come and I did, my hot juices running down my legs and dripping from her strap-on.

There was no symbol on the dreidel for sucking her cock, but she said it needed to be cleaned. I dropped to my knees and she told me to look at her. I lifted my eyes and peered up from behind my glasses. She took the remaining pins from my hair and the waves fell around my shoulders. I drew my tongue from the tip of the veined rubber to the base of the shaft. My nostrils twitched. She was as wet as I. I drew her hardness into my mouth. The slightly sweet taste of the rubber and the syrupy tang of me ignited my senses; made me hunger for more. For the scent so cloying behind the phallus, to swim in my veins. Her nectar to dance with every one of my taste buds.
I licked my juices from every inch.

She helped me stand and remove my jacket before leading me back into the bedroom. I spun the dreidel again and this time it landed on the embrace.

“I’ve been watching you,” she whispered. And at last I wondered her name. Who was this girl whose lips I would kiss? But I forgot to ask as their softness touched mine.

Her tongue played and her teeth nipped.

And I sighed and I moaned.

I forgot to breathe. Forgot everything except the need to taste the many varieties of her silky skin.

I licked lips and neck, bitter sweet with talc and promise. That spot beneath the swell of her breast thick with salt. She giggled when I tongued her navel and demanded I remove her boots. I ran the zipper down the inside of each calf, bathing the bare flesh revealed to me, before tugging them free and tossing them to the floor. I knelt between her long shapely legs, in my prim button down shirt and grey pencil skirt. There was nothing between me and her sexy center.

This was my favorite part. The brush of the soft curls on my cheeks as I made myself familiar with her. My nose circled her clit. Hard and silky. Her hands took hold of my head and my nostrils clogged with her scent. The need to breathe through my mouth had me blowing on her tender skin. She trembled. I slipped of my tongue between the folds of her nether lips. Rich and creamy. Wonderfully mine. She writhed beneath me as I found her spot. I circled and sucked. Licked and sampled her clit until she screamed:

“Happy Hanukkah!”

Day 9

One eye lid opened to focus on the round swell of her beautiful breast. I smiled and opened the other. How long could we lay before realty intruded?

“Sated at last we slept a tremble
safe and warm upon the other
We awoke unsure what words to say
But only knew there would be more to follow.”

“Do you know the literal translation of Hanukkah?” She asked, curling her body around me.

“To dedicate,” I whispered, resting my head against her heart.