03 Apartment For Rent

Lisa and I had been in a relationship for about six months.

I often visited John's home, but one day, as we were sitting there, she looked at me thoughtfully and said,

"You know, you shouldn't keep staying in the guesthouse anymore. It would be good for you to find a place of your own."

Her words resonated with me. It wasn't just a suggestion—it felt like an opportunity, a gentle nudge toward independence.

The idea of finding my own place, of living among people, blending into the rhythm of the neighborhood, and perhaps even becoming part of a community, appealed to me deeply.

So, I set out to look for a rental, and after some searching, I found the perfect place—a small house, once a garage, now transformed into a cozy, intimate space.

It was exactly what I had been hoping for—humble, yet full of character, and brimming with the promise of a new chapter.

I stumbled upon an old cast-iron stove in a secondhand shop.

With a bit of help from a friendly homeowner, I had it delivered and installed.

When I lit the first fire inside it, I watched in awe as the flames flickered to life, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

That stove didn't just warm the room—it breathed life back into the space.

I realized then how even the smallest changes could make a place feel like home.

There was a knock at the door. When I opened it, my landlord was standing there, a curious look in his eyes.

"Let's have a little talk," he said.

He looked around the room.

"A man and a woman visit you from time to time. Who are they?"

I replied calmly,

"The man is a first Class Sergeant , his wife a nurse. Perhaps your family knows her — she works in the maternity ward of the hospital."

At that, he burst into laughter—loud, shaking, almost theatrical.

"You misunderstood me," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "I'm not suspicious. I'm just curious."

"My first wife passed away. I married my second wife when I was 67. I have a 24-year-old daughter from my first marriage. The house you're renting now used to be occupied by my wife's sister. After she got married, they bought a house further down the street. That's all I have to share for now. Now it's your turn—tell me a bit about yourself so I can get to know you better," he said.

So, I briefly introduced myself.

John and Lisa arrived at the little, cozy house bearing a small gift.

I shared with them the words the homeowner had told me, and we all felt a mix of melancholy and reflection.

We turned on the radio, filling the air with warm melodies, and Lisa laid out the dishes she had brought, turning the table into a feast.

As we began to eat, Lisa, glancing at her husband, warned,

"Just one glass tonight."

John, with a sly smile, had indeed brought a small bottle of ouzo.

We each took a glass, sipping the potent drink while the music enveloped us, and we sang softly along to the songs on the radio.

Lisa, intent on limiting her husband's drinking, downed his half-full glass in one gulp, then quickly finished her own. Without hesitation, she refilled her glass for a second round. Turning to John with a determined look, she declared,

"No more ouzo for you tonight."

John's temper flared, and an argument sparked between them. Frustrated, John muttered,

"Fine, I'll just go get another bottle," his voice sharp with anger.

He threw on his coat with a huff and stormed out the door.

Lisa had to run to the bathroom. As for me, I only needed to change my pants. When John arrived five minutes later, Lisa was still in the bathroom.

He immediately noticed that I had changed my pants and asked why.

I told him, a bit angrily,

"Lisa was very drunk and had thrown up on both me and herself."

I knew my sweatpants were in the bathroom.

Lisa had washed up, put on my sweatpants, and came back into the room.

Lisa said, "Honey, I'm so sorry, the alcohol made me feel sick. Let's go home, I feel awful."

The next day, when Lisa came to the door to pick up the clothes, two women walked up to us.

They introduced themselves to Lisa.

The landlord's wife was Maryam, and her sister's name was Sara. Thanks to Lisa, I learned their names. But then, they gently pulled Lisa aside and whispered something into her ear.

Lisa said to me,

"You go inside; I'll have a talk with the women. We're expecting you for dinner on Thursday."

That's when I understood—John wouldn't be home on Thursday because he had the night shift.

Thursday evening, I sat on the couch in Lisa's living room.

She looked at me gravely.

"Dinner's ready," she said, "but I need to talk to you first."

She hesitated for a moment, then continued.

"I think John is getting suspicious. There's a woman watching us—Lieutenant Larry's wife Sandra, or Maryam... Maryam's looks at you are very strange."

I leaned forward, frowning.

"Can you explain what you mean?"

Lisa nodded slowly.

"It's more of a feeling. A woman's instinct. Sandra—she told me she wants to meet me. That's... unusual. And as for Maryam—her eyes don't lie. The way she looks at you... it's like she wants to sleep with you. Don't forget, I'm a woman too. I can understand these things."

She kept silent for a moment and then said,

"I really want a long chocolate dick before eating."

We undressed at once.

"Did you miss licking my pussy too, baby?" Lisa said, smiling.

Lisa lay down on the couch and put a pillow under her ass. I got between her legs. I pumped her. She turned on the video player with the remote control.

Lisa said,

"Let's take the spoon position."

Lisa was in front of the couch, and I took the position behind her. I put my dick in her pussy. I pumped Lisa slowly while she was watching TV in the side position. I pulled out 4 inches and slowly inserted 8.12 inches.

Lisa sometimes closed her eyes and said to me,

"Do you want the two-women position in the porn scene we watched?"

I was watching TV when she said this. I matched my rhythm to that of the man in the porn. Lisa moaned.

While I held her breast, Lisa put her hand between her legs and made small circular movements on her clitoris. I kissed her neck and earlobe. She held the back of my head with her hand while playing with her clitoris.

When she pressed her ass firmly against my dick, I continued to pump back and forth. I took my hand off her breast. This time, I found her clitoris with my middle finger, and when I made circular movements, she screamed.

Since Lisa's breathing changed, I took my hand off her clitoris. I increased the speed of my pumping.

When Lisa said,

"I am close,"

I was squirting in her pussy.

She immediately shouted from behind,

"I will cum."

We lay there hugging for a while. When Lisa's breathing calmed, she said,

"King, you fucked me for a long time tonight. Did two women make you horny?"

I said,

"I'm starving,"

Lisa replied,

"I'll take a shower — the table's already ready."

As we sat down to eat, Lisa suddenly caught me off guard with a question.

"So, what do you think about a man with two women—or the other way around?" she asked casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Startled, I lost grip of my fork, and it clattered noisily onto the floor. Lisa laughed...

After a brief pause, I managed to answer with a sheepish smile,

"How would I know? You're the one who just taught me about all this. I've never even thought about it before."

"Alright then, I'll teach you all about it as soon as possible," she said.

I was stunned once again—caught off balance, speechless, almost foolish.

Was she playing some kind of game with me, or was this her idea of a joke? I couldn't tell. Her eyes were calm, maybe even amused, but there was something unreadable behind them.

"Are you serious about this?" I asked, searching her face for any hint of irony.

She didn't hesitate.

"Yes, I'm serious," she said, her voice smooth and composed.

"I have to choose—a woman and a man."

She turned her head toward me and looked into my eyes.

"You seem strange tonight... do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

I looked back at her face, took a deep breath, and said,

"My mother had a stepsister. Sometimes, on certain weekends, she would come and take me from the orphanage and bring me to her home. She had a daughter—my cousin—about the same age as me. We used to play together.

Those weekends felt like little escapes... little pieces of a normal life."

On the day I turned 15, my aunt came from the orphanage to take me to her home once a month, on the last weekend of each month.

Those visits were a lifeline in a world that often felt cold and empty.

For a few days, I escaped the gray walls of the orphanage and stepped into a place that smelled of warmth, of familiar voices, and of memories I longed to make.

At first, her visits were filled with laughter and stories, moments where I felt seen and valued.

But as the months passed, her presence grew distant.

The once warm greetings turned into brief nods, the laughter faded into silence.

The weekends together, once anticipated with hope, became shadows of what they used to be.

Eventually, her visits stopped altogether. I waited, counting the days, hoping for a knock on the door that never came.

The emptiness settled in deeper than before. I was left wondering if I had been forgotten.

Then, after years of silence, a letter arrived.

Somehow, she had found my address.

Her words carried a mixture of regret and longing—she said she had been searching for me all these years, that she missed me deeply.

She wanted us to reconnect, to write to each other again.

She even included her new address.

Now, I stand at a crossroads, torn between the past I barely knew and the uncertain promise of a future.

I haven't decided what to do yet...

"That's your decision," Lisa said softly, her eyes filled with understanding.