Misc. Erotica MILF Apartments

I spent the whole day, and the next two after it, working in the basement. There were a dozen tasks that needed to get done, from cleaning out rat droppings to organizing the toolboxes. I ended up hauling a dozen bags of trash out of there and tossing them in the dumpsters.

Once I saw the dumpster area, I could have cried at the amount of nasty crap that had piled up in the corners. It took a whole afternoon to clean the bricks and concrete. Finally, I hooked up a hose to an outside faucet and sprayed the entire thing down to reveal clean bricks and white cement.

I had just enough cash so I could keep myself fed over the next two weeks until I got another allotment from Brooke. There was a Pho restaurant just around the corner from the building, and for $5, I could get a giant bowl of noodles and soup that filled me up for most of the day. I spent my nights reading and my days listening to music and podcasts, as I cleaned and organized. I slept well, and for maybe the first time since my mother passed, I had consecutive nights of a full eight hours. It was kind of shocking how much difference that one change made.

The biggest thing that changed my outlook on life came from the most unlikely of places. Wednesday morning, I managed to get myself out of bed and up to Sola’s studio. I almost didn’t go, but I forced myself to try something new.

At first, I was in my head and uncomfortable, stretching too hard and on the point of hurting myself constantly. After about ten minutes of watching me topple over and wobble around with my poor balance, Sola took pity on me and came over to show me the proper form.

Her hands were surprisingly strong and sure, as she manipulated my body into position. Once I was standing correctly and using the right posture, I relaxed into the stretches far easier. We didn’t speak the rest of the session, just move from one form to another. My breathing matched hers, slow and deep, and I found a quiet peace as my body grew more limber and flexible. I noticed the difference that day, as I was working in the basement, feeling an ache in the muscles that felt good.

Thursday and Friday, we didn’t bother to speak at all during our sessions. I would arrive, and Sola would answer the door in her halter top and panties, groggy. The room smelling of the pot she’d smoked the night before. We would lay out our mats and start stretching right away. She liked to start the day with stretches before coffee or anything else, and her utter lack of shame caused us to never even speak of the fact that she was often only half-clothed while we worked out.

I never grew used to the sight of her small, tight body, stretching out before me in the most amazing poses. If she noticed my lingering stares, she never gave a hint. Now and then she would move over and correct my posture when she showed me a new stretch, and I grew to relish the feel of her hands on me. Every time, I felt an electric thrill course through me.

“You’re learning amazingly fast,” she said on Friday. After our hour-long session, we were both sweating a little, and she was wiping her face and neck dry with a towel, “I didn’t think you had much natural flexibility, most men don’t. But your already very comfortable with the beginner positions, and that usually takes weeks, if not longer.”

“It’s really peaceful,” I said, “It’s almost like a mix between meditation and a workout.”

“I agree, it’s why I love it,” she grinned and walked back to her bathroom, “I’m gonna hop in the shower, unless you want to join me, I’ll see you next Monday.”

“Ok, see you then!” I said, heading out of her place.

As I left, I caught a slight frown of disappointment on her face, and I felt a shock run through me. There was no way she was being serious with that last comment… was she?

My brain was going over that brief glimpse as I parsed the tone of her voice. Worrying that I had ruined something or missed an opportunity that I would regret forever, I stepped into the foyer and made an annoyed face.

That damn smell hit me again, and I realized I could put it off no more. I was done with my work in the basement and looking for a new project anyway. After a shower and shave, I went downstairs and hauled a bunch of cleaning supplies up the small twisting stairs.

I was cursing loudly as the pail and mop tangled in the railing, and the door swung back into my elbow when someone pulled it open for me.

“Thanks,” I said as I hauled everything across the floor and stood stretching my back, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“Your life was not in danger,” came a soft and oddly flat voice, “I merely saved you from further annoyance.”

“That’s true,” I said with a grin, taking in my savior, “but thanks anyway.”

The woman was shorter and stood with stooped shoulders. Her long dark hair hung over her face, almost like she was trying to hide behind it, and her eyes were covered in thick lenses with giant frames. She wore a long loose knit sweater and skirt that hung down to her ankles.

She tilted her head to the side, almost like a bird, as she studied me, hands clasped before her. She stood poised as if ready to flee at any second.

“Hello, I am Milly Hill, and who might you be?” She said it in that same flat tone, her expression never changing as she stared at my face as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“I’m Connor,” I said, holding out my hand, “I just moved in this week, I’m the new Superintendent of the building.”

“The contract was explicit in its terms. No men would be living in this building except,” her jaw shut with an audible click of teeth and she tilted her head the other way, before continuing in a more careful tone.

“Why you, Connor? What makes you… qualified… to fix what’s broken in this building?”

It only took a second or two after first seeing her, but I looked past the hair, glasses, and faint acne scars on her cheeks and saw an adorable, round-cheeked girl hiding beneath. Her eyes were the most startling blue, and with her high cheekbones and sculpted lips, she was a diamond in the rough. I dropped my hand and shrugged.

“I’m not,” I said, unwilling to lie to this innocent, shy beauty, “I’ve never done anything that would make me qualified for this job. But I’m a quick study, especially with the internet, to help. Also, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Very well,” she said, in her oddly flat tone, “You should know that you do not have the authorization to enter my apartment, 3B. Not without my express permission.”

“I understand,” I said, and I did, completely.

I saw a kindred spirit in the woman and understood her desire not to be touched or have her personal space invaded. When I was at my worst, I was often just like she was now.

Without another word or sign of greeting, she turned and walked out of the building. The door banged shut behind her, and she startled in surprise, even though it was the same sound it made every time. Shaking my head at the odd set of characters that lived in this place, I got down to work.

The floor and walls were caked in grime, and I had to dig downstairs to find some green scrubby pads that would take off the years of filth that had built up. I was becoming an expert at cleaning away years of detritus at this point, though. I put on some music and got down to work.

Once it was scrubbed clean, the floor proved to be made of beautiful white and black tiles, set at an angle. The walls were wood paneling and cheap. They didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the décor, and the back wall of the short hallway was especially ill-fitting.

After scrubbing the back wall for a few seconds, I realized it was the source of the sour, moldy smell. I went downstairs and got a crowbar. After a few minutes of digging around in the corner, I managed to leverage the wood paneling away from the wall.

The odor that assaulted my nostrils from behind that paneling made me retch. There was no way I was leaving the paneling in place there. Putting on a pair of gloves, I took the crowbar to the wall, and cracked and broke the wood free.

The cheap and tacky seventies-era wood paneling was covering up a beautiful wooden wall, some dark wood like mahogany or teak, now scuffed and dingy from being covered. In the center of the wall was a beautiful brass mailbox, now green with verdigris and caked in the same soupy sludge that had grown over most of the wall.

It was late afternoon before I managed to scrub the last of the gunk off the wall. Best, I could guess some water or mold had been beneath when it was installed. It didn’t look like anything had leaked from above. The rich wood that had been revealed was still in excellent shape. It would need a good polish and maybe another coat of sealant, but it looked far better than the rest of the paneled walls and contrasted greatly with the black and white tile floor.

I looked around at the rest of the foyer and sighed, knowing that eventually, I would have to do the same with it, and not looking forward to the task. I wished I could have just left it, but the little bit of OCD in me wouldn’t allow it, plus the wooden wall just looked so much better.​