Where Would I Be Without You

Chapter Two

Nothing like a glimpse of a man with broad naked shoulders, naked six-pack of abs, naked chiseled backside and did I mention NAKED - to make a girl's tears just disappear. That naked I am referring to is my new neighbor who just moved in across the alley. Directly, across from my living room window seat was the window of my neighbor's bedroom. I have not met him yet, but I fully intend to. Then a thought struck me quickly. Not even twenty-four hours from my last disaster of a boyfriend, and here I go again. 'Not so fast you horny slut. Why don't you take a break from all the male testosterone drama and explore what else is out there, like volunteering?' That was my good girl conscious talking, and she was a party pooper on more than one occasion; that comes from a strict Catholic upbringing and a mother who raised me to think that I was not out being all that I could be.

However, as I had watched him strip down to nothing, without a single cover on his window, right in front of me, obvious that I was not even there as I stood half-hidden by the corner ledge of my large apartment window. I debated the fact that my bad girl side held a lot more power over my good girl conscious. My bad girl side nudged me hard and shouted. 'Now you need to get your hands on that. Don't be shy girl. You're a catch. Doesn't he look positively sinful? More sinful than your birthday cake? "My birthday cake. Shit!" I had left it in the taxicab that drove me home. However, all that didn't seem to matter as I let drool drip down off my lip, while my mouth sat open, and I stared like laser beams at my naked neighbor's body. Examining every fine sculpted inch of his body.

While I sat down on my window ledge, meant as a window seat, I watched his every move. I would not be a normal healthy female if I didn't. Then he left his bedroom, walking in the direction of a small bathroom window directly next to his large uncovered bedroom window. It began to steam and that got me thinking. So, I sat there still as could be, thinking any minute now he will be stepping out of that hot steamy shower, hopefully naked again, back into his bedroom with water droplets trickling down his finely sculpted body. I was hoping he hadn't unpacked any towels yet and would walk completely naked to his room.

Five minutes had passed, and I was beginning to feel an ache in my lower back, along with the fact that my butt had fallen asleep. In the two years that I had lived in this apartment, I had never once put a cushion on this window seat let alone pillows. No reason to. I used it as a coffee table or junk collector. Now, with my new neighbor and his ability to put on a free erotic show, I will be putting not only a plush bench pillow but also several throw pillows. I might even pick up a book and pretend to read while precariously facing my neighbor's bedroom window. Perhaps, right about the time he needs to either, dress or undress, or just take a shower. This is how I start it. The trouble. Finding devious ways to get my mojo going and then not knowing when to stop.

That made me think briefly of Steve and our precarious meeting. Who picks up a guy at a convenience store that's buying large size condoms? Me, that's who. Maybe it was because I was there to buy replacement batteries for my vibrator and the fact that not only was his package large, but his looks were sexy. His laughter was uncanny when he asked what the batteries were for as we stood in a line of six people. I leaned in, whispered into his ear, not wanting to tell a lie and said the truth as sexy as I could. He turned his complete attention to me and smiled. Before I knew it, he was buying my batteries for me, along with his condoms and telling me his offer of replacing my batteries, if you get what I mean. So it wasn't love at first sight, although he was good looking. It was after my first orgasm that I thought I fell in love. Well, love is blind and orgasms make women do stupid stuff. I should have stuck with the batteries.

I knew that what I had done, had not been done to hurt anyone, especially Steve's wife. If I had known he was married, I would have - NOT flirted. Thinking back, he did not have his ring on at the store either. Therefore, I needed to get over my guilt, conjure up some witty banter for the next time my mother drops a comment about it, and move on. Perhaps the convenience of my new naked neighbor moving in was just the type of moving on I needed.

When I finally could not take sitting any longer, I stood up to stretch with my back to the window. I let my arms stretch above my head, and my long tee shirt rose up with my arms. I let the air seep into the holes of my last resort underwear; my faded red, more like pink, well-worn and holey granny panties. Today was laundry day, so shoot me for not throwing them away like I should, instead I kept them around for days like today, procrastination laundry day. Where every sock, bra and underwear is dirty, and walking around without undies on in only a tee shirt wasn't my style after a night like last night.

When I finally bent down to touch my toes, I caught a glimpse of my toes that were in desperate need of a pedicure. Somewhere between last night's birthday soirée and this morning, I chipped two toenails to a ragged edge. A pedicure will be something I can run down the street and do while my laundry is taking up the only three washers and dryers in the basement apartment complex's laundry facilities. I know it's kind of rude, but it's Monday and the laundry room in my apartment building and the apartment across the way that had access to it - same management company, only one laundry room between the two buildings - was always empty on Monday mornings. So once a month I take a vacation or uh-hum sick day, sad - I know, and I wash a month's worth of laundry, clean my apartment, stock my cabinets with food and liquor and get my hair done along with a manicure and pedicure if I'm feeling lucky. Today, after getting a five-second glimpse of my finely sculpted naked neighbor's body, I am feeling good!

When I finally stood back up and turned to see the progress on my neighbor, I was shocked and mortified. Not only was he fully dressed in khaki shorts and army green tee shirt, but he was leaning against his window looking directly at me. Can you say deer caught in headlight look, from me? He had a devilish grin upon his adorable face. I couldn't make out the color of his eyes but his slightly tanned skin suggested Spanish heritage, and his dark-brown hair in a short cut suggested professional man or perhaps just a clean-cut bum that lived in these average rent apartments. I gulped hard as he waved, and I froze. Then he shook his head with a smile, turned his back to me with a backwards wave, and then he was out of my line of sight.

I bolted for my bathroom faster than superman could change in a phone booth. I took the first look at myself after a night of crying from my birthday party and loss of my latest and realized - I looked like hell. My mascara was waterproof but somehow had failed me. Dark black inking stains lined under my eyes like a raccoon and one long streak of faded black masked my face from the tips of my fingers constantly wiping the tears away. I could sue the mascara company for defamation of the truth but then again, is any mascara truly waterproof? I noticed my rat's nest of a hair that once had been updo'd upon my head the night before for the birthday dinner party. My long sleep tee shirt showed the wrinkles from many nights of sleep, and then I did what I was afraid had put that devilish grin upon his face. I lifted my arms and realized, yes it did; my underwear was exposed, holes and all. I bolted to the full-length mirror in my bedroom, bent over to touch my toes while glancing sideways into the mirror. Just like I thought, the horror of it. My holey granny panties made my ass look baggy, and one particular hole gave a bird's eye view to my precious jewels. UGH!

I tore off my panties and threw them in the trash. I stared at my reflection, wondering what my new neighbor thought of the crazy lady across the way. I grabbed a brush off my nightstand, the same one I had used last night to sing sad love songs to myself and brushed with one hand while I took the updo clips out of my hair with the other. Tossing those hairpins on the floor like pennies in a fountain, wishing my neighbor could see me in one of my finer moments, not like he saw me this morning.

As far as first impressions went, I was sure I just made a doosey on my part. However, for him, it was like watching a male centerfold model in action, an athletic winning his game, fine dining or luxury sports car. He looked way out of my league, but that wasn't going to stop me from doing a little daydreaming. At this point, I was not going back to the window or near it until I looked like a respectable woman.

I went back to the bathroom and decided I needed a quick shower before heading down into the basement to get the laundry done. I might as well just go on with my Monday. Chances were I wasn't going to run into my new neighbor, but I wanted to make sure if the chance happened, my hair and makeup looked great, and I would be wearing something that showed off my body that pilates worked so hard at almost every weeknight at the gym after work.

Just as I was about to jump into the shower, my phone rang. I reached the kitchen in just a towel, luckily positioned out of the line of sight of my new neighbor. I glanced at the caller ID and noticed it was my mother. There was not a prayer in hell I wanted to talk to her after her witty repertoire last night at my birthday dinner party. It was bad enough she made me feel completely unsuccessful in life, but had to compare me to my twenty six-year-old sister who, according to my mother, was the star on the Christmas tree.

I had to completely agree that my job as a production plant, low on totem pole, administrator to the production line manager, was not where I wanted to be at thirty. Not to mention, I had every intention of going back to college after my freshman year fiasco, but life, parties and good times just kept on rolling by, and I had no strong desire to return. Besides, I had full health benefits, a retirement package in the works and four weeks of vacation and sick leave a year, which was almost unheard of anymore. Nobody bitched when I wanted my Monday off to handle errands, and the first few really nice days in summer got a sick call in as well. My workload was easy, and my boss was a breeze. At this juncture in my life, and with the way the economy is, I would be a fool to go back to college and wait tables part-time to pay for it.

In all my daydreaming, as my mother's message sung out on the answering machine playback, I only caught a resemblance of an apology from my mom and a mention that I left my birthday card at the restaurant with my two hundred dollar Macy's gift card in it. I didn't forget; it was intentional. After the speech my mother gave, I wanted to leave the waitress a little something extra for having to deal with my crazy family.

It was bad enough that my best friend's husband offered to leave the tip on a seven hundred dollar tab. I think the thirty minutes everyone spent bickering about what their share in food and alcohol was, not differing by more than ten or twenty bucks either way. I figured he was afraid of how long it might take when my dad mentioned that the gratuity wasn't automatically added in. The grumbling started, and Carl dropped four hundreds on the table in addition to already paying for their own meal and told me it was for the tip and my dinner, and this was their birthday present. That started a bit of back and forth conversation of 'that's too much', and 'you don't have to do that'. However, I let Marion and Carl kiss me good-bye, after they told me that they had a cab with paid fare waiting out front for my escape, and they hustled out of the restaurant before anything more enlightened happened with my family, which usually did. It was too late for me at that point; I was already too far gone with my blissful alcoholic haze as I shouted out to the waitress 'shack me up my snake', which of course, meant pack me up my cake.

I deleted the message from my mom. I had to figure that was the best apology I was ever going to get from her. The sting at the end of the message mentioning a community college package should be arriving in the mail only made the apology feel like a bee sting - which I am allergic to, by the way.

I peeked around the corner of my kitchen towards my front room window, making sure my neighbor wasn't looking this way for a glimpse of the crazy lady across the alley way. Coast is clear.

I made a mad dash for the bathroom and almost made it unscathed. Somehow or another, I brought a drink home from the restaurant, half-filled with alcohol, ice, and something sweet. Don't ask me what, I was too drunk to remember. I just realized, as I laid flat out on my back and my towel now slipping open that - that drink from the restaurant, which was illegal for me to walk out with - somehow spilled on my wood floor causing a nice slick spot for me to lose my footing.

I laid on the floor for a few minutes, glad my ass and right shoulder took the brunt of the fall and not my head. I noticed the peeling paint on the apartment ceiling and added calling the super to my to-do list. I notice a cobweb that appeared since my last dusting on the top of the doorway molding. I turned my head and noticed the restaurant glass had not broken when I must have inadvertently dropped it on the floor, aiming for my entryway table, but instead it landed and rolled partially underneath. I was a bit hung over to notice it this morning. Although this morning, before seeing the gloriously naked body of my new neighbor, I was perfectly content to walk about my place without staying close to the wall and out of sight of my delectably handsome and totally edible neighbor, if you get what I mean.

I finally took a deep breath and figured I could chalk this up to the fact that I was not officially thirty until Wednesday, so I could get the stupid twenties shenanigans out of the way until then. Because once I was officially thirty, I was going to grow up, somewhat. I was going to buy a new car, volunteer for the needy, put more money in savings instead of charging more on my credit card bill, or at least try. I was going to take a class or two in business management; not through the community college like my mom insisted, but through my work's job enrichment program, which, by the way, was free. I was going to knock my lousy common sense of my twenties out of the ballpark and be a more mature thirty-year-old woman. Yup. That was what I was going to do.

As I lay on my floor, staring at my ceiling, two thoughts crossed my mind. The first led to the second. My neighbor. He was my first plan. I conjured up his looks that were still fresh in my memory and thought of how strong his hands looked to match the muscles that rippled on his chest. I wondered how those strong hands would feel on my body and what color his eyes were. Not that it was important. The rest of him was so sexy I truly wasn't going to be fixated on the color of his eyes. Then I thought about my birthday cake. It was going to be my emotional substitute for losing Steve. Not that he was mine to take, ouch, that hurt finding that out a bit too late. However, I wanted some leftover cake to eat, sober... perhaps while catching the next naked show of my neighbor.