The baseball games that summer were a struggle to watch. They were ruined by the thudding music in the apartment below.
As I had done all that summer, I had stomped my foot and banged my wooden Louisville Slugger on the floor. The pounding didn’t work, because the person below would not turn off that music. Worst of all, there were times that, when the last pitch in the ninth inning was thrown, the music would shut off. By then though, I was too frustrated to care or complain. I had gone through all of the phases of anger: From throwing the remote control, to grief at my state of affairs. And finally, dismissal set in. I just slumped in my recliner. I had missed out on relaxation. But that one afternoon with the music thumping, I had had enough.
I slipped on my loafers and headed downstairs. I pounded on the apartment’s door. The volume dropped, and there was a shuffling and muffled talk beyond the door. The deadbolt clicked, the door unlocked, and the handle turned.
Suddenly, a whoosh of heat flooded out of the door. And that heat wasn’t all due to the summer. It was her.
“’Allo,” the woman said gently. “Como esta usted, señor? Er, how you do, sir?” She switched to English, having mistakenly begun in her native language.
She was lovely. Thick, black hair, falling onto her shoulders. Smooth skin. Eyes, dark as marble. A wide, friendly smile.
She patted her forehead with the back of her hand.
She wore an off-the-shoulder blouse, short-sleeved with ruffles. The Mexican peasant blouse was white and trimmed in green and red.
All of the summer’s pent-up anger fizzled away, like steam disappearing above a pot of boiling water. Still, I tried to be forceful. “I hear your music. It’s pretty loud.” It was the best I could muster as the innocent dark eyes looked back at me, or more specifically, stared into me.
Those eyes widened in surprise. “La musicia. I sorry,” she said meekly through her thick accent. “I, we, bailamos, estamos practicando, practice dance. Me and my partner.”
A tall man glided into view with long strides. He leaned against the doorframe confidently. His other hand snaked around her waist as if protecting her, and he pulled her tight in a squeeze. She elbowed him playfully in his gut. They started jibber-jabbering in their language briefly, flirting. Then she turned back to me.
“We quiet music for you,” she said.
Her dancing partner was confounded. He wheeled her around. “We cannot, we practice. We will not win if we quit now.” He broke away from English and spun into Spanish. I understood nothing they said, except, through their eyes, I understood they were quarreling with each other. Finally they paused.
She turned to me sheepishly. “We… Uh, do you like to watch?”
“Watch you two dance?” She surprised me. I didn’t care about dancing but because of her.
I saw the base of her light-brown neck and chest glistening with a sheen of perspiration.
“I guess so, sure. Got nothing else to do. The ball game’s over now.”
The man reached beyond the woman, scrunching her between us, and shook my hand quickly, firmly. “I am Ricardo.” He rolled the Rs. He let go and patted the woman’s shoulders. “And she is Catalina.”
She curtsied and then took my hand to lead me inside the apartment. The place had a lingering scent of perspiration and coffee.
The center of the room was cleared out. The furniture—a couch, a coffee table, a lamp, and that damned sound system—was pushed against the walls. They had scuffed raw the hardwood floor from their hours of dancing.
Ricardo grabbed Catalina’s hand and confidently spun her. Her long skirt rose in a flurry, showing toned brown legs. Then he pulled her body tight to his. Her skirt fell limp, as did her hair. Her eyes met his. They were one. They floated across the floor, hand-in-hand, eyes locked, backs arched, necks lengthened, both dramatic in their movements.
I sat on the couch to watchthem twirl and dance. It was nice to follow them move. So graceful. Mainly it was her. Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. The pair paused momentarily in mid-move, and she shouted out, “Door opened!”
A man in slacks and a button-up dress shirt walked in with a large grin on his face.
“Hola, como estas?” he said in a poor Spanish accent.
“Listo para vernos bailar,” Catalina said, before Ricardo whirled her across the floor. Her skirt rose up high, revealing her legs again.
This newcomer took a seat next to me and put his hand out. “Mark. Who are you?”
“How did you find out about this?”
“I live one floor up. Their music was so loud, I came to complain. I ended up watching.”
“Too loud, eh?” He huffed with a laugh. “What else have you heard from up there?”
“Just the music. Something else happening that I haven’t heard?”
“Oh. The music is the least of it, man.”
Catalina nabbed Mark’s attention immediately, as she urged him over to her with her finger.
“Mark, mi amor! Dance with me?” she asked with her bottom lip pushed forward, like a girl worried about not getting the candy she wants.
“Oh yeah, Catalina!” He jumped up and did the worst shimmy-gyration to the middle of the hardwood floor.
As she lured him away from the couch easily, his eyes never left hers. The Flamenco dance that I assumed she and Ricardo were practicing was finished. She began to grind her backside into Mark. She bent over, tucking her hair behind her ear, so she could watch the man’s face. She raised her skirt over her knees and higher up her toned, brown thighs. Any higher and she would be showing panties.
Ricardo plopped down on the worn-out couch, making the springs squeaky. “Lovely, yeah, amigo?”
“Her? Oh yes, very,” I said, startled by his sudden appearance. “You two were practicing, so is this guy a part of your dance routine?”
“No, no, Shawn.” He smiled broadly. “They, er, make …”
“Likes to fuck her.”
I was confused and my contorted face conveyed my thoughts to Ricardo.
“You too like Catalina?”
“You can. Her, now, here.” Ricardo waved his hands, attempting to make it plain and taking down any language barriers.
I laughed off the absurd notion that I had to have misunderstood. “I came down to tell you to turn down the music. Nothing else, nothing. I didn’t mean to do anything to her.”
As I said it, Catalina moaned hysterically. Mark was leaning over her. He had pulled up her dress and slid her red panties into her butt. Then he smacked her ass.
“Mark, no pares, no pares!” she squealed joyfully.
Ricardo nudged me as he watched. “Nice, eh?”
Before I could answer, there was another knock at the door.
“Come in,” Ricardo called.
Inside walked another lovely woman. Tall and dark-skinned with a full figure. Her wife-beater tank top was stretched tightly across her breasts and her shorts barely contained her thick thighs.
“Anna, chica,” he said. He jumped off the couch, making it squeak. “Good to see you here. Ready to dance?”
“Vamos a bailar,” she said in an American accent.
Ricardo and Ana started their own bump-and-grind while laughing and enjoying each other. Soon, they were glistening with sweat but still dancing hard on the dance floor.
I remained on the worn sofa, watching the four bodies. It was awkward. My cheeks reddened from a mixture of that awkwardness and the increasing temperature in the room. Heat was escaping off my scalp. Was it time to leave?
My temperature rose to a new height when Ana got rid of her shirt. She flung it across the room. Her large breasts bounced and wiggled as even her bra barely had the strength to hold them.
“Look ‘ere, Catalina,” Ricardo shouted over the music and pointed to the top hanging on the lampstand. “She beat you.”
Catalina wagged her finger. “She not beat me.” She reached deep under her skirt and out came those red panties, stained dark with sweat or more. She was about to fling them, like Ana, but caught my eye before it left her fingers. Leaving Mark still gyrating, she sauntered to me, dragging her toe with each step.
She stood in front of me, staring hungrily like a wolf. Her breasts at eye-level. The panties dangled from between her thumb and forefinger, as if preparing me. She slid the panties over my head and adjusted them so the wetted crotch was against my nose.
The scent was a mix of wet towels forgotten on the floor and deep desire. A lovely smell.
I drew in a deep breath and when I opened my eyes and shifted the panties, she bent over, took the bottom hem of her dress, and pulled it up, like it was a flower petal. Catalina had a narrow bush of thick black hair covering her pussy.
My jaw dropped. My heart sped up, and I felt the pulse in my neck beat deadly fast.
“I, uh … amazing … Catalina.” I coughed out the words because she had sucked the wind out of me from three feet away.
“Bailar conmigo?” she said.
I stood up, the couch springs squealing, and she took my hand.
“You are very happy, pleased, by coming to see.” She reached down to rub her hand against my hardness. Her touch charmed me, and I would have gone anywhere at that moment. And she asked me to.
“Quítate los pantalones, Shawn, pants off.”
Ricardo, Mark and Ana turn to look at me. They, no doubt, wondered if I would really do it.
I waited too long for Ana.
“My top is off, Shawn. Catalina’s panties are on your head. Do it.”
“I want to see all, no pants, no underwear, no calzoncillos.” A wicked grin formed over her mouth. She knew she had me in her clutches.
“Come on, Shawn, show us,” Ana said again.
Mark interrupted. “I will take my pants off for you, Catalina.”
“Me too,” Ricardo chimed in, already unbuckling his belt.
“I have seen all before. I want to see new Shawn,” she replied without looking at either of the willing guys.
I was still frozen, but a knock on the door saved me. There was chit-chat on the other side of the door. I questioned how more people could come to this apartment.
Catalina’s eyes unlocked from my waist. “To start,” she called out and clapped once.
I pulled her panties off my head and jammed them in my front pocket. I noticed Ana was not in sight.
“’Allo! Come in, come in,” Catalina said. She guided in four couples. I scanned the room counting the people. Eight new folks, four women and four men, Mark and Ricado, Ana and Catalina. I saw that Ana returned with her tank on again and Ricardo’s belt was buckled.
The place was abuzz with the thirteen people, including me, in the small apartment. We were in the largest room and were bumping shoulders and more. I guess Catalina and Ricardo’s Flamenco practice was over. They could never practice here with all these people.
“Ready everyone?” Ricardo shouted above the din. “It is time.”
A few of the girls clapped and giggled in their excitement. The crowd moved to the wall, several sat on the couch and even on the couch’s back. The springs had already screamed and were struggling with the additional weight.
Catalina stood before the people. “Welcome, thank you to come. Tonight to be fun. We have a guest. My … my … Mi vecino.” She glanced at Ricardo for help.
“Our neighbor from upstairs.”
“Ah, neighbor, yes. He join us. You will enjoy him.” She gleamed at me. “Stand, wave.”
I gave a half-cocked wave with a pursed smile. I was completely perplexed. I had witnessed a lot already. Was it done?
“He come here because music was high. He does not like it, but me and Ricardo lo capturó!” She mimicked herself walking toward me with claws. “Tonight we show him what we do and nuestro prisionero de guerra.”
Ricardo interpreted. “He’s our prisoner of war.” He grinned and then continued, “We lost the studio. We were too rowdy for it. So, thank you for traveling this many blocks uptown.” The group cheered wildly, giving high-fives and patting each other’s thighs. “This may be our new play place, unless we find something else. For now, we meet here. But”—he raised his finger, giving a warning—“we must persuade Shawn.”
The group eyed me. A few of them made their eyebrows dance with sinister knowledge. “We can do that,” Ana said, and other girls and guys acquiesced.
Then Catalina took the lead again.
“Who go first?”
“We will,” a middle-aged woman said, waving her hand above her head. “We’ve been practicing a lot.”
She grabbed the man with her and dragged him from the couch. “You’ll all will like this.”
Catalina took a seat in the center of the couch, next to Ana, and she leaned against Ricardo who was sitting on the back of the couch behind her.
The group watched the pair move closely together. It was not Flamenco. It was no dance I could label. When finished with a bow, they applauded. Catalina, Ricardo, and the others gave kind critiques. Once Catalina stood to demonstrate some movements, and all I could think of was her panties. She had none on and most of the dancers didn’t even know.
And on went the couples dancing. I was there for nearly three hours from the time I had first come down with a simple complaint. During those hours, I noticed when Catalina sat on the couch to observe, her hand often was on Ana’s thigh. It would run across Ana nonchalantly as she observed the dancers.
The last pair—a twenty-something couple, she with large breasts that moved attractively—finished, bowed and received their critique. Then Catalina stood.
“Good, everyone. I see practice and growing skill in your dance and in your love-making,” she said.
Love-making? I thought. A strange description.
“Now, to the kitchen for drinks!” She raised her hands and cheered.
The couch emptied. It squeaked loudly, maybe over the excitement of the group of happy-go-lucky amateur dancers. Wine bottles popped open. Beer caps clattered on the counters. Glasses and bottles clanked before being sipped or chugged.
Ana brought me a bottle of beer and raised her glass.
“Cheers.” She radiated excitement. “This is a good place to have found so ‘accidentally.’ The music bothered you that much?”
“It was loud. I could have danced to it, if I danced.” I took a swig. “I had no idea what was going on down here or who it was.”
“No idea, huh. That’s the ‘accidentally’ part?” She smirked. “You were quite surprised when you came down.”
“To say the least. All I heard was the music through the floor. And now, well, I’ve seen so, so much. The four of you dancing and then this—what is it, a dance class?”
“We all dance, yes. And more.” The edges of her lips curled upward. “You’ll see.”
“I’ve seen way more than I expected. I saw Catalina’s you-know-what and she wanted to see my …”
Ana had a hard time stopping her giggling.
“And you.” I pointed at her. “You had your tank top off already tonight.”
Suddenly, she shrieked in laughter, unable to hold back. Her body rocked back and forth in her fit of hysterics. I stood there awkwardly, beer in hand.
She slowly composed herself. “That was nothing.”
Still gathering herself, she patted her chest and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
“I want to be with you first. But I may have to fight off Catalina.” Her eyes darted sideways. “She has her claws in you already. You’re hers.”
“Me?” Now I laughed. “I can’t dance. I don’t want to dance. I just wanted to watch baseball and relax.”
“You can, you can dance. Come with me.”
She took my hand and started to lead me from the group to a quieter corner.
“Ana,” Catalina sang her name. “I am first with him. You took last one.”
Ana dropped my hand immediately and huffed her name.
Ana whispered her warm breath into me ear. “Another time, tonight or later.”
“You had what last?” I asked. I was even more confused.
“You and me, later,” she said and stepped away drinking the last drops from her wine glass.
“Now, my neighbor, Mr. Shawn,” Catalina said, taking my hand. Hers were cold from the drink she had been holding. “I want to show you around. First to my bedroom.”
With all that I had seen, I tried to get a semblance of the relationships, especially as she was about to lead me into her bedroom. To me, bedrooms are not rooms to show off. I try to avoid others’ bedrooms, being they are very personal spaces.
“To whose bedroom? Yours and Ricardo’s?”
“It is mine, as you are now mine.”
“Is he your boyfriend, husband?”
“I love all these men and women. These is close friends as I hope you to be.”
She led me ahead.
The room was fit with a massive king-size bed. The bed had an extravagant mirror headboard and a mirror on the ceiling. It was too over-the-top to be in a simple, small apartment. To be honest, the apartment overall had as its main piece of furniture a squeaky couch.
Then Catalina suddenly confirmed what she planned to do.
“This is our true dance floor,” she told me, leaning against the bed and patting the thick comforter. “Now to learn your dance skill.” She slid her hands down my chest to my pants. Her eyes had turned masterful. She was no longer the small Mexican woman who was still working on her English. My vision followed her hands as they found my hardening cock. Looking down, I saw the deep darkness between her lovely breasts.
She undid the button on my khakis and slowly pulled down the zipper. Having peeled me open, she knelt down. The exotic woman glanced up for a second as if getting my permission to proceed.
My mind told me to object. It shot me warning messages. What if Ricardo found out? What would he say? What would he do to me? I didn’t want to live in the same apartment building as a man who would be so infuriated enough to hunt me down. But my mouth would not speak to Catalina, telling her to stop.
Seeing no objection, she focused on the dick she had wanted to see.
As my mind warned, she drizzled a bit of sticky saliva onto the head of my fully erect dick and smeared it around with her tongue. Without a look, she gently kissed the tip. Then, her mouth opened achingly slow. I waited for her to wrap her mouth around me.
Her lips enclosed me, and I felt her tongue rub against the underside of my cock. It was a soft rub. Before my mind comprehended the situation, she was already deep-throating me and bobbing wildly. When I could open my eyes, I noticed her breasts like pears hanging from a tree.
My mind overtook my mouth. “Catalina, please, don’t. I can’t … “
She stopped abruptly, pulling her mouth away from my cock. She looked up, her lips plump and her chin glistening with drool. “You don’t like my job?”
“It’s not that, it’s Ricardo. What if he … “
“Do not worry about Ricardo.” She naturally rolled the Rs in the name.
Thinking of the rolling Rs, there was a new presence in the room. I turned my head, and he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Forget Ricardo, he will never find out.” He almost growled the word exaggeratedly. Then the lean man strode into the bedroom.
Catalina stood up quickly, directly in front of me. I remained against the bed, in shock.
“Ricardo, I didn’t know, I just … I came to ask you to turn down the music, not all this. You believe me, right?” My tongue fumbled in my mouth and seemed to leave as much drool on my chin as Catalina had on hers.
Ricardo stepped behind Catalina and flung up her skirt so it was on her head. Her ass was still bare.
“You like her sucking?” He stared into my face. “She does good. She can do better, right, Catalina?” He smacked her butt hard. The flesh jiggled.
I didn’t respond. I still feared that a violent fallout might erupt.
“I do better,” she said to me. “Better with two.”
I gulped. Ricardo had his dick out and was rubbing it up and down her ass. He found her rosebud and urged himself in. She winced with the beginning of anal, but soon relaxed and exhaled in pleasure. When he started to rock back and forth, she went back to me. She, in fact, worked harder than before. She sucked much better with a man fucking her ass. She sucked my dick and rubbed her tongue over my head and all around it.
In no time, I felt the deep surge of pleasure boil and rise inside of me. I tried to suppress it, to calm my body. But she was too good.
“Catalina, I’m going to…” I cringed in pleasure. My thighs tightened. My butt tensed up. I grabbed the blanket on the bed, pulling it toward me.
“Fuck her face and cum in her mouth. She love it like that,” Ricardo ordered, easing his thrusts.
So, I grabbed her black hair and pulled it back and forth, gagging her with my length. She gurgled deep in her throat. Her eyes rolled up as she felt the pressure of two men. Suddenly, I exploded in her mouth. She swallowed it all, her tongue slurping in the remnants out of the corners of her mouth. Then she licked the last bit of ooze from my head.
I collapsed against the bed, but Ricardo returned to his fast-paced rhythm and fucked Catalina hard. Her cheeks had a rosy hue of heat, and her forehead beaded with sweat. Richard’s face and neck were tensed as he rammed her mercilessly from behind. Catalina braced herself against the bed, her hands around me gripped the sheet. I saw her breasts flailing and swinging wildly. Her hair had covered her face, some sticking against her overheated cheeks. Suddenly, she shrieked as they both climaxed.
They eased themselves out of their state of erotic fury. Ricardo regained his breath and looked at me. “She always do better with two dicks. Agree?”
Her eyes still sought my approval. I smiled at her. “Yes, she is best with two.”
Having gathered my wits about me, I decided to head back upstairs. I needed to rest, to regain my senses, to determine if this was true. But when I stepped out of the bedroom, I was shocked again.
Ana sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. Her arms were spread wide. That white tank top pulled high. Two men were on their sides and sucking and nibbling on her large breasts. I gasped when I heard her exhale a low, slow moan.
“Mama’s here, ready to feed you,” she said dreamily, running her fingers through their hair.
She, Catalina, Ricardo, the whole crowd, were too much. This all was too much. I only wanted to have my neighbors turn down the music.