Eric Has A Red-haired Conundrum free porn video

(Not quite) the beginning...

“Ooh! Oh, fuck, baby! Like that! Yeah! Harder! Uhr! Oh, god! Oh, god! C’mon, baby! Fuck me! Like that! Yeah! Uhr-uhn! Huhrr! Oh, shit! Fuck!”

Eric sat quietly on the sofa across from the television, unable to find a comfortable position on the beaten cushions. With his fingers interlocked on his lap, he melted against the cushy, round arm of the old sofa, keeping a wide gap between him and Millie seated by the opposite arm.

Every few minutes, he shifted his eyes to the left as far as they would go in their sockets to see what Millie was up to. It was pretty much the same as what he was doing: sitting silently while observing hardcore porn. Eventually, his eyeballs dried out, and he had no choice but to blink and reset his gaze upon the copious grappling unfolding on the television screen. The thing was, the frenetic sex only served to trigger discomfort rather than anything resembling pleasurable stimulation.

“Oh, god! Drill my hole! Drill my fuck hole, baby! Huhn! Huhn! Huhn! Slam your balls! Ah! Ah! AHH!”

“Drill my… fuck hole…” Millie murmured.

The sound of her feather-light voice finally compelled Eric to turn his head cautiously. One seat cushion separating them, he regarded Millie and sighed. His anxiety always softened a touch when he saw the woman with the sun-kissed red hair and creamy, cinnamon-speckled complexion, particularly when she wasn’t levelling that probing gaze of hers upon him. 

She sat with her legs - hidden underneath her ankle-length skirt - pulled up onto the sofa and tucked underneath her. Her hands were curled into loose fists just below the cuffs of her oversized sweater, peeking out like the heads of turtles. Eric wistfully pictured her lounging on a picnic blanket somewhere under a big tree on a warm summer day. Anywhere, really, other than in this small, cluttered apartment watching suffocating porn on a tiny television...

“Yesss! Yesss! Oh, fuck! Harder! Oh, my fucking gawd! Shit! Bang me, baby! Ooohhh! Uhhh!”

Eric had lost track of how long the scene had been abusing him - it seemed like forever. He felt like he was being prodded in the face with a lubed dildo. Millie, conversely, was as passive as a solitary cloud in the peaceful blue sky, even as the vivid images of a rampaging orgy flooded her retinas and the relentless harangue of groaned vulgarities swirled like sewage into her ear canals. She may as well have been watching goldfish swim around and around in an aquarium judging from the borderline ennui she displayed.

Blanketed in thought, Eric couldn’t react fast enough when Millie suddenly turned to look at him with her bright green eyes. They were a glossy jade hue that cajoled the taste of tart lime soda on his tongue whenever he fell into them.

Eric held his breath and glanced away, forcing himself to stare at the television. The images of porn blended into a morass of jumbled colours; his attention was clearly upon Millie’s stirring. He sensed that she was still eyeing him, regarding him with cat-like plotting. It was only a moment, but as each second passed, the tension built at an extraordinary rate, like the pressure of champagne bubbles gurgling beneath the cork in a magnum bottle, ready to pop.

He continued to hold his breath and frowned. He knew what was coming. Hoping. Dreading.

“Eric…” she suddenly said, her voice both breezy and foreboding like a butterfly with a chainsaw.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“...do you…” she continued slowly, deliberately.

Gurgle. Gurgle. Gurgle.

Eric gnawed his upper lip. From the edge of his vision, he could see her pointing her finger at the television.

“... want to try that?”

Pop!

---0---

6 weeks ago...

After lunch, Eric walked around his apartment gathering his books and laptop into his bag as he prepared to go to his afternoon lectures.    

‘His apartment’. It had been half a year since Eric moved out of his family home, but it was still an odd notion. It was a modest studio, one of two twin apartments over a corner convenience shop in Chinatown. Older and well-lived in prior to his arrival, it had taken considerable effort to scrub off the grime, mitigate some of the odours and make note of the spots on the patched wood floor where he should avoid stepping lest his foot fall through.   

Before he had decided to move there, his cousin, Carie, offered to ask about vacancies in her building. He balked at the idea for two reasons, first and foremost being survival.

Through an odd circumstance, he had somehow ended up in something of a relationship with the sister of Carie’s brawny, obelisk of a neighbour across the hallway from her apartment. To say that Yana, the blonde, statuesque Belarusian bombshell had turned his world upside down would be an understatement. Being six-feet tall, a boot camp fitness trainer and an MMA enthusiast, she could literally carry him upside down in a number of holds and clutches.

Mistakenly letting it slip that he was involved with this woman - this non-Chinese woman - flipped his traditional parents upside down as well. Such was the challenges of a first generation CBC - Canadian Born Chinese. Much arguing, both calculated and frantic, ensued. It was not a minor factor in his decision to move out on his own. The situation finally made him realize that he was ready -- and needed -- to take control of his social life. Before that though, he was forced to acknowledge that he and Yana just weren’t meant to be.  

In their brief time together, Yana had opened him up in so many ways. As a personal trainer, she had pushed him, emboldened him, educated him, made him stronger and explorative of his physical potential. As a sex partner… well, she did the exact same things… except much, much more intensely and haphazardly.

The sex. Good lord, the sex. Yana fancied herself to be a sex-kitten. Sex-Kraken was more like it.

Yana liked it loud, sloppy, crude and ligament-bendingly rough. He managed to just barely endure her gruelling boot camp training sessions, but when it came to sex, he simply hoped he would be able to scrape himself off the bed after each time she had her ravenous way with him.

He was a fit guy, but how often had he found himself lying back on the mattress, an inert bystander staring up in delirious awe of an insatiable superwoman? He just bounced around like a limp slab of stale Jell-O at the mercy of her hard body while she rode him bronco style shouting, “Yippie-kai-yay!” in her heavy Eastern accent. The buxom Yana’s pristine skin would glow white hot before she exploded - literally... goddamn... exploded - with a gushing climax like an overheated geyser.

No matter how good it felt (before he inevitably went numb from the waist down), no matter how gorgeous she looked, he knew he could never shake that feeling of intimidation - let alone moments of concealed terror - whenever she entered the room in skimpy lingerie and spiked heels. Along with the legitimate concern that she could accidentally wrench his penis away from his crotch at any second, every explosive experience of punishing sex cost him with another grey strand appearing amongst his crop of onyx hair or a miniscule wrinkle etching upon his otherwise pristine, angular face. And he was only twenty-two.  

Yana, with her completely carefree attitude, took the break up well.

“Are you sure?” she asked with a coy grin as if she was asking a recovering liposuction patient if he didn’t want to top his rice cracker with a hot fudge sundae.

Eric paused, momentarily lost to her brilliant blue eyes and plush red lips. Then those brilliant blue eyes narrowed a couple of millimetres as she measured him from head to crotch, and the grin on those plush red lips angled noticeably sharper with the tip of her pink tongue pressing through her pearl white teeth.

Oh, god, she was going to insist on having sex again - raunchy, bone-breaking sex - right… now...

“Yes, I’m sure,” Eric blurted, then fled.  

While Yana was cool with him initiating their break up, her brother, Vasily, was certainly not. It confused Eric because Vasily had been hostile to the two of them seeing each other since day one. Also, the idea that Vasily thought he needed to defend the honour of his sister was just as confounding. Yana needed her confidence and self-worth defended like the NORAD bunker needed defending from a spitball. Yet, Eric was sure that Vasily - a tank in t-shirts and denim - wouldn’t hesitate to break him like a twig should they ever cross paths again.

So no, he couldn't live in the same building for health (ie. survival) reasons.

Another reason was affordability. While by no means a luxury condo, he still couldn’t afford to pay the rent there.

Though they hedged their bets with him and continued to help subsidize his education, his parents sure as hell weren’t going to pay for “a den of sodomy” as his converted-Christian mother put it. He would have to cover the rent himself. Fortunately, he had a surprisingly progressive grandmother who secretly provided him with a little financial head start with some funds she had socked away.

“Canada is good,” she told him as she pushed an envelope stuffed with cash into his hands, “The drugs are free.”  

So, thanks to his grandmother’s gratefulness to her second country’s Pills For All policies, a steady diet of instant ramen, and a part-time job at a grocery, he was able to afford the rent of this abode. Though not much further up the residential food chain from a slum, he really couldn’t think of ever going back to living with his parents again.

As he was about to open his front door to leave, he suddenly heard footsteps from the apartment stairwell. He peered through his peephole. Momentarily, a figure passed by and he glimpsed a head partially obscured by a large-brimmed hat.  

Eric reached for his doorknob, then paused, noting the sudden irregularity in his heartbeat and the clamminess of his palms. He frowned. He had been waiting for the right moment to make a good first impression with his new next-door neighbour who had moved in over the weekend while he was at work. Yet each time the opportunity arose, his nerves suddenly broke loose like horses from the barn.   

As he listened to his neighbour start to unlock their door, he took a deep breath. Then he opened his door and stepped out.

He managed a tight smile as he turned in the narrow hallway to regard his neighbour. Not only was the hat obscuring her face but so was a large cardboard box she was balancing along one arm while she struggled to open the door to her apartment with her free hand.  

“Oh, hey!” Eric blurted, seeing an opportunity open up. “Do you need some help?”

She suddenly froze, key stuck in the knob.

It startled Eric how instantly motionless she'd become, still standing in profile to him, blocked by her hat and the box. He recalled horror movie scenes that started this way. Maybe when she turned towards him, her face would be nothing but a gaping wide mouth with razor-sharp teeth - a monster in a floppy hat and a long, denim peasant dress.

Instead, she slowly tilted her head aside just enough to reveal a wary, sleek eye. Even in the shadow of the brim of her hat, Eric could tell: this was no monster… not even in the same mythical realm.

“Uh, sorry,” Eric said, “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

She narrowed her eye upon him.

He pointed back down the hall. “I’m in apartment A. We’re, um… I guess we’re neighbours.”

She remained so still for a few seconds. He wondered if she was actually breathing. Finally, she turned and faced him still carrying the box.

“Holy… “ Eric cut himself off in mid-thought. His eyes blinked and widened. Her full view didn’t simply enhance the hint of alluring beauty previously revealed by her obscured profile features… it magnified it a hundredfold like a telescope zooming in on the glistening moon.  

A pair of feline-sleek eyes stared back at him, each a perfectly blended palette of translucent greens. Red lips shaped from rosebud moulds and a slender nose rested comfortably in the setting of a milk cream with a dash of cinnamon complexion. All of this was framed within a cascade of flowing ginger hair, dropping from under the brim of her hat down across her shoulders and back. Even under the dull, fluorescent lights that flickered in the hallway, it still appeared as if her hair was infused with the summer sun.

Her face seemed to be sculpted specifically to trigger giddy confusion within Eric.

He suddenly heard her sigh impatiently and blinked himself out of his stupor. The blood rushed to his cheeks and he felt his teeth tingle.

“Eric,” he blurted, thrusting out his hand towards her. “I mean, I’m Eric… I mean, I’m your neighbour, Eric.”

Stop... saying... your NAME over and over!

Her eyes dropped towards his outstretched hand. He instantly was aware how clammy and sweaty his palm felt. Just as she shifted in her feet, he withdrew his hand and wiped it on his pants.  

Don’t do that! She’ll think you’re weird!

He quickly stuck his hand back out.

“I’m Eric.” His brain cringed.

Her eyes tightened into wary slats. Nothing else on her face even twitched.

Eric counted the seconds in his head.

Finally, she pushed her box at him.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Let me get that,” he stammered, then took the box.

“Millicent,” she said, extending her hand. She maintained a cautious gaze but she tilted her head towards her shoulder in a way that made his heart all blubbery once more.

“Hi,” he said, somewhat relieved. He shifted the box to one arm, realized it was the wrong arm if he were to shake her hand, then shifted it to the other. As he gathered her hand into his, he noted how pleasantly cool her skin felt. It exacerbated his anxiety over his own clammy palms.

“Welcome to the building, I guess,” he chuckled nervously. “It’s nice to finally have a neighbour. It was so quiet before.”

She cocked her head to the other side, like a puppy reacting to a strange sound.

“Not that I expect you to be loud or anything,” he added. “But you could be whatever you want to be.”

Oh good, an awkward public service announcement is just perfect.

“It’s just that the walls are so thin between our places. I think when they subdivided the apartment, they used cardboard. You could hear everything, you know?”

A faint concern pinched her trim, auburn brows.

“Not that I would spy on you or anything!” he interjected, veering around wildly like a dog on ice skates. “But if you hear any strange noises coming from my place anytime, just come over and tell me.”

Eric coughed up a chuckle as a period to his verbal spewage.

The line of her lips shifted aside as she peered back at him. She blinked and then her eyes were suddenly looking at his feet. Another blink and they were moving up his legs and his torso. After a final blink, she was back to staring at him, unmoved, unaffected, her round eyes absorbing all the light in the room.

Good lord, Eric had never seen a more beautifully suspicious face in his life, even though he felt like he had just been through a body scanner at the airport.

“Okay,” she said.

He wasn’t sure if she was acknowledging anything he had just said or indicating that she was done with him. After she offered him an indifferent nod, she then turned and resumed unlocking her door.

“Oh. It was great to meet you,” he replied. “But I guess we’ll be running into each other every so… uh… “

He didn’t get to finish. As soon as her door opened, she turned towards him, grabbed her box without making any further eye contact and stepped back into her apartment.

Eric’s mouth remained ajar as he felt the breeze from her door closing on him, sounding like the heavy clang of a bank vault slamming shut.

---oo---

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid… “  

Eric had been berating himself all afternoon and into the evening after his first encounter with Millicent. Classes were a complete washout with him garnering a rueful glare from his poli-sci professor who caught him mumbling his “Stupid” mantra during a discussion of Hobbes’ “Leviathan”.

Back at his apartment, he was free to groan the magic words over and over to his heart’s lament, rubbing his knuckles into his forehead as he slumped back into his sofa.

He had no idea why he was like this. He thought his experiences with Yana had resolved his apprehension with women. Throughout his teens and early adulthood, friends and family expressed how blessed he was with sharp, good looks, an athletic physique and height. He could have been recruited for an Asian pop group. He was also smart and thoughtful, usually.

Why he never had the confidence to pull all of his advantages together and date more women during his formative years was an utter mystery to him and others.

Now with a neighbour who, during their brief encounter in the hall, not only melted his heartstrings but fried them till they were burnt char and gristle, he was even more of an anxious mess. He wanted to see her again, but how could he even face her after that calamitous introduction?

He groaned aloud, “Stupid. Stupid. Stu-”

Knock, knock, knock...

Eric froze, mid-groan, his knuckles still digging into his skull. The knocking was barely audible over his mooing; he wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. He looked towards his door, holding his breath.

Knock, knock…

Before the third knock, he leapt up and scrambled to the door, sliding on the floor in his socks as he arrived. He peered through the peephole just in time to see a flash of red hair turn away.  

“Crap,” he thought then fumbled with the doorknob before opening his door. He stepped into the hallway and saw the back of his new neighbour as she was returning to her apartment.

“Hey!” he called. “Hi!”

She paused, standing still for a moment before finally turning around.

“Sorry,” Eric said, “were you knocking at my door?”

She blinked then looked around the empty hallway as if to say, “Yeah. Who else would it have been?”

“Is… is there something you want or… ?” Eric asked, trying not to sound too eager.

She peered at him. “I heard groaning from your apartment.”

A shard of glass split Eric’s gut. Oh god, she’s thinking he was up to something weird. He gulped and chuckled, “Oh, yeah. I… um… I just wasn’t feeling too good at the moment. School stuff… just… nothing big, you know?”

By the sceptical look on her face, it was obvious that she didn’t ‘know’. “Okay. Well, I heard you were home, so I wanted to come and ask you something.”

“Oh, sure,” he said, “Anything. Ask away.”

His thoughts had already raced ahead imagining, despite the considerable hole he had dug himself into, that she was about to invite him into her apartment for maybe a coffee or tea and some neighbourly conversation. He’ll be able to show her that he was a normal, decent guy, that he was quite charming and witty. She’d giggle at his jokes and hang on his every word. They’d spend the whole evening connecting, ordering delivery for dinner, and then talking some more till midnight and past. They’d move closer and closer together on the sofa till their hands brushed together, then...

Who was he kidding?

“Can you come over?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder to her apartment.

Holy crap!

“Now?” he coughed, barely able to eke out the syllable.

She shrugged and started to turn away. “If you’re too busy… “

“No, no! Yeah. Sure,” he blurted, “I’m free now.”

As he stepped forward, he noticed her eyes cast downward. Eric stopped and looked at his feet. He was in his socks.

“Oh, right. Hold on for a sec,” he said. After quickly going to put on some sneakers, he came back out to find the hallway was empty.

Eric walked with feigned calmness towards his neighbour’s apartment. As he reached the open doorway, he craned his neck around the corner and peeked in.

Apartment B was unsurprisingly a mirror image of his own, just a heck of a lot more cluttered. Assorted cardboard boxes and large shopping bags blanketed most of the floor space. The few bits of furniture -a sofa, a small dining table and chair, a coffee table and some free-standing shelves- were also covered by boxes and bags. A couple of suitcases were open on the floor beside a single bed by the window, clothes spilling out over the edges.

“Millicent?” Eric said, scanning the room for signs of life.

She appeared from behind the open closet door across the room. “Why are you calling me ‘Millicent’?” she asked.

He blinked, fearful that he may have originally misheard her name. “I, um… “

She brushed her hands together, swatting off dust. “People usually call me ‘Millie’.”

Flustered, Eric said, “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know,” she said, smirking, “I didn’t tell you.”

His brain was beginning to hurt.

“It’s just easier to say ‘Millie’ than ‘Millicent’, isn’t it?” she said, frowning.

Eric nodded slowly. “Okay. Sure. So... I can call you ‘Millie’?”

“You can call me whatever you want,” she replied with a shrug. “I was just asking why you called me ‘Millicent’.”

He looked around aimlessly confused.  

Millie bent down to pick up a box. As she stood, she regarded him, her thin brows angled up. “Do you want to come in?”

Realizing he was still standing outside her doorway, Eric quickly stepped inside. He scanned the clutter and chuckled, “Still unpacking?”

“No,” she replied. She walked over to another box on the floor and put the one she was carrying on top of it. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Eric said, quickly shaking his head as he stepped gingerly over a shopping bag. “I mean you just moved in, so I was guessing you hadn’t settled in yet.”

Millie pursed her lips, once more narrowing her bright green eyes upon him. After a brief but obvious pause, she asked, “Do you know how to set up a television and video player?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah, sure. That’s simple enough, I guess,” he said.

“Would you mind, then?” She looked towards the shelf across from her sofa where a very old, first generation flat screen television rested. Eric’s microwave oven was probably bigger than the screen.

“Sure thing,” he said with a smile, eager to be helpful.

As he stepped towards the shelf, he noticed Millie staring at his feet again.  

“Oh, right,” he said, glancing down at his shoes. “Sorry.”

Slipping off his sneakers, he went to the shelf and picked up the television. The grey-coloured plastic housing was cracked but the screen appeared okay. As he checked the back, he asked, “Do you know where the remote and power cord are?”

Millie had just removed a box from her sofa and sat down, tucking in her long skirt. “I didn’t find those.”

“You mean you can’t find them amongst your boxes?”

“No. I didn’t see them when I found the television.”

“‘Found’?”

“On the sidewalk a couple of blocks away.”

“The sidewalk?” Eric asked with a quizzical look. She nodded back at him. She didn’t quite fit his image of a junk scavenger, but then again, he was already realizing how difficult it was to pinpoint her character at all.

While he continued to scrutinize the television, Millie finally motioned to stand up and said, “Well, if you can’t set it up, then… “

Eric quickly interrupted, “No. No. I might be able to do it. Where’s the DVD player?”

Millie’s dainty nose pointed towards a big box beside his feet.  

Opening the box revealed a spaghetti-like tangle of electronics cables and cords. Eric pulled them out in one big clump and found an old video player - actually, a combination VCR/DVD player - at the bottom of the box, along with a universal remote and a litter of batteries.

He frowned, questioning in his head if she had also found this on the street (likely) and if it actually still worked (doubtful). Having learned quickly, he didn’t bother to voice his queries and instead diligently went to work.

Fortunately, as Eric unravelled the jumble of wires, he came across a spare power cord for the television and cables to connect the video player. As he went about setting up the equipment, he was keenly aware of the silent figure watching him from the sofa. It was like a tug-of-war struggle not toward Millie’s increasingly compelling face. From the edge of his sightline, he could see her leaning forward, elbows on her knees, chin and cheeks cradled in her hands which were partially covered by the pulled up cuffs of her sweater, just observing him. It was immensely distracting.

Eric sighed heavily. Who knew setting up a television and video player could be so difficult?

As he searched for an outlet behind the shelf, Millie asked, ”You’re a student?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“High school?”

“No,” Eric chuckled, “university.”

“You look younger,” she mused.

He chuckled again. Funny. He thought she looked about the same age as himself. Even though he was graced with that “Asian Fountain of Youth” blood, he didn’t think he could pass for a high school student. He hoped not.

“Are you a student?” he asked. “I mean in university?”

She gave her head a slight shake. “I work.”

Though she spoke with a gentle, wispish voice, every sentence she uttered seemed to end with a firm period. Eric was unsure if she expected him to ask her to elaborate further on her “work”, so he just dropped it.

Once everything was set up and plugged in, Eric held the remote and pointed it at the television. He paused momentarily, then pressed the power button. To his surprise and relief, both the television and video player switched on. He could tell that even with a blank screen the television likely suffered from “burn in” and dead pixels, but he still felt it was a boon that the old, junked monitor simply worked

“Well,” Eric declared, “there you go. Do you have anything to try out the player?”

Millie stood then walked about her apartment searching the bags. She brought a canvas tote bag over to Eric and held it open for him. It contained some unlabelled VHS tapes.

Eric pursed his lips, aborting a grimace. More found “treasure” undoubtedly. VHS tapes to boot. Sure… why not?

Randomly selecting one and popping it into the slot, he stood back as the player whirred and clacked. After some garbled audio, the video unscrambled and a fuzzy picture appeared on the television screen.

“Success,” Eric proclaimed. Sure, the picture epitomized “recorded on a potato”, but at least they got something. He watched for a moment, observing a person in an apron behind a kitchen counter talking over food items and pots and pans laid out in front of her. “I think it’s some sort of old cooking show.”.  

He looked at Millie standing aside hoping she would be pleased. Her expression was a placid slate as she gazed at the television. Her eyes remained fixed on it as she slowly backed away to the sofa and sat down resuming her same seated position as before.

“Uh, do you actually want to watch this?” Eric asked.

“Mm,” Millie hummed with a subtle nod.

“Oh. Okay,” he replied, then stood pouting his mouth uncertain of what to do next.

Maintaining her attention on the television, Millie pushed the other boxes and bags beside her on the sofa indiscriminately to the floor. Eric guessed that was her signal to join her. He had no problem with that.

For several minutes, the two of them sat quietly on opposite sides of the sofa. Eric really wasn’t paying attention to the show --the chef was making something Italian, he thought-- being much more conscious of Millie seated beside him. She, on the other hand, seemed engrossed in the video despite the bad audio and video. Curling her legs and feet onto the sofa, she rested her head on her palm and gazed into the fuzzy image, barely blinking.  

A tight grin stretched Eric’s lips while he sat beside her. He made a couple of feeble attempts to start a conversation, but Millie only responded with “Mm” if she responded at all.

Neither of them moved until the show’s credits began to roll.

Eric sat up and drew a long breath. Before he had a chance to speak, Millie asked, “Eric, do you want to try that?”

“Hmm?” Eric frowned, unsure of what she meant, though he did like hearing her say his name. He pointed to the television. “Do you mean what she was cooking?”  

Millie nodded once.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “I’m not the best cook, but sure.” Then he smiled to himself suddenly realizing another opportunity to spend some time with her had presented itself. He quickly added, “Anytime.”

Millie regarded him silently, her chin still resting in her palm, with the expression of someone watching a faucet drip.

“Well,” Eric declared, patting his numb legs, “I, uh, should go… I guess.”

She didn't bat an eye.

Eric chewed his upper lip then pointed at the door. “I'll just go.”

Millie remained on the sofa as he saw himself out, almost forgetting to put on his sneakers. He looked back from the doorway and gave a half-hearted wave. “Good night.”

As he headed down the hall, he suddenly heard a soft voice from Apartment B: “Thanks for setting up my television.”

He paused a step before returning to his apartment sporting a huge smile

---oo---

Later that night as he was brushing his teeth before bed, Eric heard a soft knock on his door. He quickly went to answer.

“Millie?” he said trying to reconcile feelings of surprise and excitement to find his neighbour at his door wearing her floppy hat.

“You're busy,” she said, not as a question but rather a statement of observation. She stared at his toothbrush clutched in his hand.

“No, not really.” Eric quickly wiped his paste-covered mouth with his sleeve and shoved his toothbrush into the back pocket of his pants. He winced. That probably looked really gross.

Millie cocked her head as she followed his awkward motions with her eyes. Finally, she regarded him directly and said, “I got the ingredients.”

Eric shook his head, blinking. “What ingredients?”

“For the recipe.” She held aside two grocery bags in each hand.

“Oh… right.”

Millie nodded towards her apartment. “So…?”

Eric blinked. “Now? You mean you want to make the recipe now?”

She pouted her lip aside, nodding with a shrug.

He paused for momentary thought. “Okay,” he finally said and took a step towards her. As soon as her eyes dropped downward, he instantly caught himself and added, “Shoes.”

So, at half-past ten at night, Eric found himself putting on his sneakers only to take them off ten seconds later as he entered Millie's apartment, then joining her at the kitchen counter to cook… something. It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn't paid much attention to the show earlier; he had no idea what they were making.

Millie passed him a knife and set to work immediately without a word. Eric just followed her lead, hoping to figure out the recipe as they went along. The longer they prepped, however, the more she stepped aside to observe him. By the time the stove was on, she was leaning over the counter with her arms crossed watching him intently as he worked the cookware.

Every so often, she would ask him “What’s next?” seemingly not out of enthusiastic curiosity, but more to keep things moving whenever he paused to think. Otherwise, she was mute. Her silent scrutiny put him on the spot; he just couldn't bring himself to ask what they were making.

After about half an hour, through sheer determination and resolve not to further embarrass himself, Eric stepped back from the oven, a pot of chicken with vegetables stewing in a rich tomato sauce bubbling on the stovetop. Perspiring, he exhaled.

Millie peeked into the pot. ”It doesn't look like the dish from the show.”

“Well… it‘s not plated.” Just fake it, he told himself.

“And what about those?” she asked, eyeing some unused ingredients.

Eric blinked, momentarily at a loss to explain the surplus. “Um… sometimes people just cook going by their personal tastes.”

Millie sampled the sauce with a spoon. As she rolled it around in her mouth, Eric stood by quietly holding his breath. Looking aside, she nodded her head and said, “It's good.”

Oh, thank God. A swell of relief flooded his stomach as he watched her dig a fork into the chicken and try it. He watched as she chewed and chewed, take more from the pot, and chewed some more.

“Well, uh, maybe I should go?” Eric said. Though he sort of found her contemplative chewing kind of cute --like a koala thinking about the next tree it was going to sleep in as it ate- he felt awkward just standing there watching. “It's kind of late, and I'm not really hungry.”

Not as if she had actually invited him to join in. Instead, Millie simply continued to nod and eat straight from the pot.

He went to put on his shoes. Looking back, he said with a tired smile, “This was fun. We should do something like this again. Anytime.”

Millie licked her fork. Witnessing the simple display of her pink tongue swishing around the tines did all sorts of weird things to Eric.

“Have a good night,” he eked.

As he turned towards the door, he heard Millie say softly, “Thanks, Eric.”

He paused and smiled to himself. “Good night, ” he replied and returned to his apartment.

---oo---

Over the next few weeks, Eric spent more time with Millie than he had expected or even hoped for. It seemed she took his “anything, anytime” invitation to heart.

The curious thing about it was that each time followed a similar pattern. Millie would ask if he wanted to watch some random old video on her dilapidated television set. Then she would pick up on an arbitrary element or item in the video and ask Eric if he’d like to try doing it with her. He never said no, of course. More often than not, he’d be the one doing it while she passively observed, but sometimes she joined in.

A couple of hours after they watched a collection of children’s safety videos, Millie was at his front door with two pairs of rusty 4-wheelers, and they ended up shuffling around in the alley beside their building. After a few minutes, she sat on a crate while he continued to teeter precariously. Obviously, he hadn’t paid close enough attention to the videos because he ended up with torn jeans and scuffed knees.

Another time, they sat through the musical Grease. It wasn’t the singing and dancing, or the retro-50’s style, or the fast cars, or any other obvious thing that Millie took away from the film. It was bubblegum. One brief clip showed a character blow a luscious pink bubble and somehow that had grabbed her attention. Eric hadn’t actually realized it until she came by with two packs of bubblegum, one for each of them.

At first, he was too self-conscious to manage anything except pathetic swells - he accidentally blew a wad of gum out of his mouth. However, he soon was puffing out decent-sized orbs of pinkness. Even when he failed, Millie didn't seem too bothered; she was busy with her own bubbles.

While she remained resolutely passive, Eric smiled, seeing how her green eyes cross downward as she watched a bubble grow from her lips. The way her red lips puckered, her tongue snuck in and out, and the steady motion of her jaw and mouth as she chewed was unexpectedly enticing as well.

They played Chinese Checkers on an old set missing most of its marbles, failed miserably at the Macarena --while Millie at least was light on her toes, Eric looked like he was directing traffic - and even tried to paint pictures with tarnished butter knives and used tubes of oil paint. All of this activity was inspired after watching hours of whatever videos she found in her bags.

During this time, Eric couldn't really say that he was getting to know Millie any better. Most of her conversation entailed nods, shrugs and, “Mm,” though she did bookend all of their get-togethers with, “Hi, Eric,” and “Bye, Eric,” or “Thanks, Eric.”

One detail he was able to glean from her was that she worked at a second-hand shop… which explained quite a bit, actually, such as the plethora of used stuff she kept.

“So, all of this is from work?” Eric asked.

“From… for…” she replied, tilting her head side to side.

He asked her once if she wanted to do anything else other than sit in her apartment and watch videos, an attempt at an actual date. She said sure… but after they binged old recorded episodes of Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

Then a commercial for Tamagotchi aired which reminded Millie that she actually had one in her collection of cast offs. She immediately went on a mission to find batteries for it. When she returned, they spent the entire evening cleaning the virtual crap of their virtual pets.

None of this discouraged Eric’s interest in Millie, though. While her expression never strayed beyond the range of mildly piqued to mute indifference, he found her reserved and quiet nature quite attractive. It wasn't like the lights weren't on in her head. She was definitely focusing her thoughts on something all the time, keeping him constantly on his toes.

One late Saturday evening, Eric dragged himself up the stairs of the apartment building after a full day shift at the grocery. When he reached the top of the stairwell, Millie was already there with her ever-complacent gaze.

Pausing for a second, he supposed that announcing “Honey, I'm home” would register with Millie like a blank piece of paper. He opted for, “Hi.”

“Want to watch a video?” she asked.

Eric wondered why she bothered; that was all she ever came to him about.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let me just put my bag…”

Nope. Millie immediately pulled him by the sleeve along the hallway, past his door and directly to her apartment.

Once inside, as Millie led him to the sofa, he noticed that there was a movie already playing on her television.

“It's called ‘Being There’,” she said as she sat down.

Eric paused, attempting to play catch up with the story. “Oh, yeah,” he said with dawning realization as he dropped aside his bag, “I read the book in high school. It was pretty good.”

Millie, her attention already invested in the television, patted the sofa and Eric joined her.

For a while, they sat quietly, absorbed by what turned out to be an interesting film. Both of them were drawn by the feather-in-the-wind existence and gentleness of the main character, Chance, as he drifted his way through a much too complex world of politics and high society.

After a while, Eric was quite relaxed as he watched and didn't initially react when Millie spoke.

“Eric,” she said.

He continued to watch the movie.

“Eric,” she repeated.

“Hmm?” he blinked and turned his head. “Oh, sorry.”

Millie looked directly at him as she pointed to the television. “Do you want to try that?”

Eric frowned and glanced back at the screen. The scene unfolding was taking place in a bedroom where an amusingly oblivious Chance was being accosted with hungry, wanton kisses by a sexually repressed socialite, E.E., while he continued to watch television.

Eric pursed his lips to prevent his jaw from going slack. He hesitated then said, “Uh… try what?”

Millie nodded at the television.

“Are… aren't we already watching television?” he asked, deliberately obtuse. He felt a lump swell in his throat that he just could not swallow.

She scooched over on the sofa closer to him. Eric instinctively backed up against the armrest, his eyes widening as he was faced with her own bright green eyes bearing down on him.

Millie paused the video with the remote. She pointed towards the screen again, with Chance and E.E. in midface suck. “That,” she said, making herself absolutely clear as she leaned towards him. “Do you want to try that?”

Of course he did. From the minute he first met her in the hallway a few weeks back, he wanted to try that with her. Kiss her. Hold her. Smell her. Taste her. Whatever. He just thought he would have more time to… properly prepare? Then again, he'd be an idiot to say no, now.

So he simply uttered, “Uh… yeah?”

With that, Millie didn’t hesitate, and she pulled her long red hair back around her ears, closed her eyes, leaned in further and pushed her lips up against Eric's.

Soft. Warm. Tender. These were the words that wended their way through his head after he quickly overcame the initial rigidness that had grabbed him when their lips touched. A sumptuous feeling rushed from his mouth through the rest of his body in an instant as he willingly fell into the enthralling fog Millie cast around him.

Watching her with her eyes closed, hearing the soft breaths from her cute nose, and feeling the touch of her hand at his forearm, Eric thought of another word.

Heaven.

As time passed in the intimacy of the small apartment, gentle caresses of their lips slowly gave way to more impulsively demanding kisses, heads and mouths adjusting constantly. Eric drew his hands up, running his fingers through her silky hair, sliding around the back of her neck, holding her steady as he sealed her mouth with his.

As she continued to lean into him, Millie's hand dropped from his arm and onto his lap. Her fingertips scratched softly, compellingly along his thigh, suddenly stirring something deep within Eric. Then, as their lips slipped apart momentarily, she unexpectedly breathed a tender gasp that nearly sent his heart bursting through his chest.

Eric immediately leaned forward, grabbing Millie's arms as he pushed her back the other way. While they continued to kiss in earnest, he shifted in his seat, asserting himself, pressing her arms, easing her back down onto the sofa. He lowered himself upon her, covering her body with his own.

Emboldened by a swelling confidence he rarely let out of the cage, his arms gathered her in a close embrace. The tip of his tongue skimmed along her lips and, sensing no resistance on her part, dipped it into her mouth. It was no small delight to feel her own tongue welcoming his, slipping over and under it in a slick tangle of nascent desire. Eric hummed warm breath into her mouth, savouring the sweet taste and warmth he found there.

The two of them shifted slowly on the sofa. Eric was almost trembling, overcome by how much he wanted Millie, wanting to hear more of her sighing gasps. It was an urgency that was only compounded as he felt her warm body move beneath him, his hips dropping between her parted thighs. He felt her legs draw up around him, squeezing against his sides.

As his body eased and settled into Millie’s soothing figure, his hand reached down and touched her bare ankle then crept upward along her leg, pushing up the hem of her long skirt, caressing the delicate skin he found underneath. His hand continued its journey up her calf, past her knee, and along her smooth thigh. Every second that passed, he moved with building confidence and intent. It was a strange feeling, allowing himself to just let go and take control.

Then, suddenly, the video started playing again. The sound startled Eric, and Millie froze looking up at him.

“I think,” he gasped, easing back, “you're lying on the remote.”

She reached underneath her back and pulled out the remote. Eric expected her to drop it aside so that they could continue, but instead, Millie looked away to watch the television. It took him a few seconds to realize she wasn't going to be turning her head back anytime soon.

“Oh, umm,” Eric said, breathing hard, moving his hand away from her leg, “you want to go back to watching?”

She already was.

Reluctantly, he sat back up as she moved out from beneath him. Millie reset herself on the other side of the sofa and, just like that, they were back to passively watching the movie. Well, she was watching anyway. Eric, however, slumped on his side of the sofa staring at a blank spot on the wall wondering if he had just been shaken from a dream. His beating heart, flushed cheeks, and the uncomfortable tightness in the crotch of his pants weren't much help in deciphering that question.

Unable to focus on the movie anymore, Eric sighed, “I’m actually kind of tired.”

Millie stopped the video. Her lower lip pouted slightly as her eyes followed him as he stood.

“It was a long day at work, and I have to go to the library to study tomorrow,” he explained, needlessly. He picked up his bag.  “I should go to bed now.”

She regarded him silently as he fetched his shoes by the front door, but didn't bother to put them on.

As he slowly closed the door behind him, he heard her say, “Good night, Eric. Thanks.”

He paused. “Good night,” he said, then shut the door.

Walking down the hallway in his socks, he felt suddenly awake, completely withdrawn from the dream.

---oo---

Eric lay on his bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe that just a few minutes ago he had been riding upon a cloud, in the firm embrace of his beguiling next door neighbour, making out like they were in the backseat of a convertible on a Saturday night. It didn’t seem real. In fact, he was having trouble convincing himself that was even him who was laying on top of her, stuffing his tongue into her mouth, pulling up her skirt, on the verge of…

Bee-boop!

Eric blinked at the sound of an incoming message on his cell phone. He pulled it from his back pocket and looked at it.

Blue underwear. Men’s blue underwear. Eric’s men’s purple underwear.

This was the glowing image his phone was casting at his face. His jaw offset to the right, he frowned as he read the accompanying message: Look! I find behind bed when I clean. Sexy pants! So purple! HAHAHA

Eric sighed. He hadn’t heard from Yana in months, so of course, this would be the way she decided to finally greet him.

Another message beeped through: Fun memory! LOL

Yeah, “fun”. As he recalled, he considered visiting the chiropractor about a possible dislocated pelvis and pinched neck after the night he misplaced his underwear in Yana's bedroom. Cripes, when he had left her house, he walked like a cowboy who had busted bulls for five days straight.

I should bring back 2 u. Make more fun memory!

Eric’s eyes widened. His thumbs whirled across the keypad: No! No! It’s OK. Keep them.

Yana replied: Haha. U so kidding. No fit me. I bring 2 u!

He frantically typed: Really. You shouldn’t. Tks.

Yana got in the last word: Haha. Goodnight u kidding. kiss

“Wha…?” Eric’s brows pinched so hard he almost sprained them. Was she serious about coming over or was she just flicking his ear? It was so hard to tell with Yana.

His phone screen dimmed and then went black. He flipped it aside and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes as he groaned, returning to his previous conundrum before Yana interrupted. He was so wide awake. He knew his scattered mind was going to keep him up despite feeling so exhausted physically and mentally.

Something brought him to thinking about the movie again, or specifically, the book, Being There. As he recalled from the story, Chance obliviously and suddenly turns away from the spontaneous, heated kissing encounter in order to watch more television, much like Millie had done. Later on, the emotionally confused and enamoured socialite turns to pleasuring herself on the bed beside Chance, masturbating till she reaches an exquisitely gratifying climax.

Eric’s eyes narrowed in the dark. He chewed his lower lip, thinking about the story and Millie, wondering what she was thinking as she watched the scene unfold. His heart was still racing since he left her apartment, and he struggled to find a comfortable position on the bed feeling agitated. He suddenly realized how hard he was, the tension beneath his pants sending pulses of pressure throughout his entire body.  

He slowly pulled his hand up from the bed and rubbed his fingers along his crotch, causing his buttocks to instantly clench. The strain against his pants shook him hard. When he closed his eyes, the darkness was suddenly filled with a green-eyed, red-headed beauty casting her spell on him with an elusive, mysterious gaze.       

“Do you want to try that?” Millie’s haunting voice filled his numb brain loud and clear.

His fingers fumbled quickly as he undid his pants. His cotton underwear - yes, blue - immediately popped a tent through the open fly. Just as he cupped his sweaty hand around it, though, he suddenly stopped. He held his breath and cocked his head, turning his ear aside.

A deafening silence filled his small apartment for a couple of seconds, then Eric heard what he thought was a muted, feminine moan. He continued to hold his breath, tightening his face as if attempting to open up his ears more to whatever slight sound they could capture.    

He heard it again: a feathery moan. Eric swallowed, finally inhaling a lungful of sweet oxygen again. As more soft moans seeped through the thin walls of his apartment, he was suddenly alert, realizing he wasn’t dreaming and his squirrely, aroused imagination wasn’t making them up.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, staring through the greyness at his wall, embarrassed to admit that he wished x-ray vision was something that was already invented. There was a noticeable if gentle strain in the gasping sounds floating around his head like pixies. He wasn’t sure if it was all in his mind, but he swore he could hear the actual breaths, sultry inhaling and exhaling between the quiet groans and moans. Maybe it was his own breathing. The sound of his thumping heart definitely was beginning to interfere with the muffled noises from next door.

“What are you doing?” Eric scolded himself as he looked away and shook his head. He felt the flush of blood in his cheeks and neck. He should have buried himself in his bed, stuffing his head underneath the pillows till he nearly suffocated. It would be the decent thing to do. Frustrating, but decent.

So why was his hand still pressed upon his crotch?

He frowned, closing his eyes again. That was a mistake. Instantly, the intriguing cooing from Apartment B triggered more brilliant images in his mind of a woman slowly writhing on her sofa, her hand dipping between her creamy thighs, her neck and back arching and falling with temptatious rhythm. Green eyes blinking open, gazing toward the ceiling, before squeezing shut over and over. Long, bright red hair falling across her face, sticking against her warm skin as it glowed pink. Her lower red lip was pinched under her teeth before slipping out as creaking groans ached from her throat.

Eric shuddered, both at the provocative vision playing in his head and the fact that he now had a stranglehold on his exposed shaft, his underwear and pants shoved down. He rubbed himself with firm strokes of his fist drawing beads of slickness that coated his tip. His gut tightened making it difficult to breathe as the image of Millie stimulating herself just on the other side of the flimsy wall made him dizzy.

He gnawed at his lower lip while his stroking picked up the pace, his length slicked by the initial drops of lust he had drawn. His eyes squeezed shut, the sounds from Millie’s apartment - the breathing, the moaning - seemed amplified, funnelling into his ears and swarming his brain. His lungs ballooning with air, his lips slipped out from under his teeth and a heaving gasp burst forth from his lungs and throat. 

It was probably louder than he would have liked it to have been. He instantly froze and curled his lips tight into his mouth. Staring at the wall again, he listened carefully for several seconds while a line of perspiration dribbled down along his temple.

Nothing. He heard nothing but dead silence. It was as if the Millie and her entire apartment had been suddenly swallowed into a vacuum.

Instantly filling the void of punishing silence that engulfed Eric was a wave of embarrassment and regret. Breathing hard, his hand eased its grip, his knuckles and fingers sore and stiff. Smothering a groan behind his sealed lips, he fell back onto his bed.

Berating himself mentally as a pang of tangled knots worked their way through his stomach and loins, he grabbed a pillow and clamped it over his face, muffling more languished groans. He wondered if it was truly possible for someone to suffocate themselves.

To be continued...

Thanks for getting this far. Part two will be submitted in a day or so. If you're interested in reading about Eric, Carie, Vasily and Yana in the meantime, please have a look at Apartment Eight has a Golden Rival where Eric and Yana are introduced.  Cheers. L8