Wonderful Life! Ch. 02

All week, Sasha didn't say a word about that night. And I'm not sure that counts as good news, because every time she opened her mouth around me, I was scared weak in the knees that she'd tell our mother something. Helena would have used it against me in a heartbeat.

But, thank God, Sasha only opened her mouth for food and cigarettes. Maybe now and then she also sucked the dicks of the guys who fucked her, but that was something she preferred not to share with her little brother. And I wasn't asking.

That day, a pair of blue lace panties was hanging from the doorknob on the inside of my room. They had a remarkably energizing effect on me when the alarm went off. I was like a bull that's spotted a red rag, except in my case the rag was blue and lacy.

I jumped out of bed, ran to the door, and yanked the panties off the doorknob, and right away I felt like some crazed soccer player who'd just scored a goal.

The blue panties were in my hands, and nobody could catch me off guard anymore. But the euphoria didn't last long. About three seconds.

I suddenly started wondering how they'd ended up on my doorknob in the first place. Sasha must have brought them, which meant she'd come into my room while I was asleep. Again!

Fine, not a huge problem. I'd slept in my shorts, so at least she couldn't have seen anything I wouldn't want to show her. Thanks for that much.

Although after watching her, out of the corner of my eye, taste the cum on those wet panties, nothing would have surprised me anymore. Still, the fact that she'd carried these blue lace panties in here so carefully and hung them so neatly on the doorknob was strange. Because they'd been hanging there like something in a store display before I tore them down.

I stretched the panties out with both hands and realized they were dry and soft. I brought them up to my face and sniffed, because they seemed suspiciously clean. Sure enough, they smelled like the fabric softener Sasha used on her own clothes. Something like peach and lavender. That was how her T-shirts smelled, her towels, her whole room. And now that was how the panties smelled, too, the ones she'd washed for me.

On top of that, she'd sprayed them generously with her perfume, so now I'd even smell like her if I ever got it into my head to wear these panties out in public. Everybody would instantly sense the presence of some grown-up slut nearby. Hilarious.

She hadn't hung up the stockings, which meant she'd kept them. And if I asked where they were, I'd be confirming that I needed them. Which I did not!

The other thing bugging me was that Sasha hadn't asked for anything in return. She rarely did anything for her little brother just because, even though you'd think it would be the exact opposite. In reality, she even passed the salt at the table with a face that said I had some nerve, asking Her Majesty for a thing like that. And yet she'd washed the panties, dried them, made sure they smelled nice, and brought them to me. All without a word.

It would have been a lot easier if she'd spent the whole week laughing her ass off at me, because at least then I'd have understood her.

She could have hung the panties on the outside, for that matter. Then Mom would have seen them before I did, and I'd have been in deep shit. But Sasha picked the inside doorknob, so that only I would see them. So she'd covered for me. For the second time now. I really didn't want to end up owing her.

Okay. I needed to put these panties somewhere so they weren't lying out in plain sight. My first thought was the mattress, but that would be so obvious. Everybody hides stuff under the mattress. Then again, why would I need to hide anything at all? I had a whole closet full of women's clothes.

I opened the closet and put the panties on the underwear shelf. With all the others. I had such a big collection, after all! What a load of crap.

My fingers reeked of Sasha's perfume, as if I'd been up to God knows what. I wiped them on my shorts, but it didn't help.

For a while I stood in front of the open closet, trying once again to take in the fact that I didn't have a single piece of men's clothing, and today I had to go to college. Until now I could just stay inside and pretend the problem didn't exist, but the time had come to make decisions. And there wasn't much to choose from. The shelves looked like the window of a store I'd never walk into in my right mind. A white blouse. A black blouse. Four pairs of pants and skinny jeans. And three of them came in colors that simply cannot exist in a man's wardrobe. Yellow, some kind of cream, and one more pair whose tag flat-out said "dusty rose." I'm not even kidding. That color really exists.

The fourth pair was dark blue. Closer to black. I grabbed them like they were the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

I shook the jeans out and looked at them, holding them above my head at arm's length. Horribly tight, and with a weird rise.

"Okay, maybe I can still get away with these," I whispered bitterly.

Once I'd undressed, I realized I had no clean underwear left. Without meaning to, I glanced at those blue lace panties Sasha had washed.

"No. No way," I snorted, and started pulling the jeans on over nothing.

The fabric fought its way up my skin, which reminded me a lot of the stockings I'd tried on recently. When I was done, I was amazed at how high these jeans sat. The button was practically at my belly button. My ass was wrapped so tight it felt like someone was constantly holding me by the cheeks with a pair of enormous hands. And on top of that there was this lifting, accentuating effect that made my ass look like a fucking medium-rare steak.

My dick stiffened a little from being squeezed like that, and from the fact that I had a perfect view of my own ass in the mirror. I tried to tuck my dick away in the limited space I had to work with. I sort of managed, and I hoped that would be enough.

With that dealt with, I zipped the fly and did up the button. The jeans didn't seem to slide down even without a belt, which surprised me, because I'd always worn belts with my regular pants.

Now I just had to find something for the top. I scratched the back of my head. The women's blouses didn't thrill me in the slightest, and there was no way I'd wear them in public, so I had to improvise. I could have asked Sasha for something, but she was already way too involved in my life as it was.

That's when I remembered that the guys who fucked Sasha sometimes left their stuff at our place. They tended to leave her pretty fast in general and didn't always manage to gather up everything they'd come with. One would leave a charger, another a lighter, and a few especially gifted ones even forgot their shoes. Mom found all of it around the house and silently put it in a box in the storage closet on the second floor. On the box, in her beautiful handwriting, it said: "Not Ours." Throwing out other people's things went against her upbringing. My things, though--that was a whole different story. She considered those her property.

I went out into the hallway in nothing but the jeans, trying to keep quiet and walk on tiptoe. The door to Sasha's room was closed, and downstairs the coffee machine was already humming. The fear of getting caught squeezed something tight in my chest.

The storage closet was next to the bathroom, and its door always creaked loudly. My mother was forever complaining that there was no man in the house who could oil the hinges. I disagreed with her incorrect opinion, but her outbursts didn't stop me from going about my own business. I opened the door very slowly, inch by inch.

The box sat on the bottom shelf, next to the spare towels and the bathroom cleaning supplies. I tried to shift the box of Sasha's fuck buddies' belongings a little, but quickly realized it was heavier than I could handle. I smirked. My dear sister hadn't been wasting any time: she restocked the supply of forgotten items very fast.

There was no telling what you'd find in there. I didn't even know some of these things existed in this world. While I dug through the box, I came across several USB-C chargers, disposable razors, and even some kind of gold cufflink. Among the more interesting finds was a baseball cap with the logo of a company I'd never heard of. A crumpled pack of XL condoms, which I eyed with mild envy. For some reason I opened it to take a look, and my fingers immediately met something slimy. I didn't realize what it was right away. I pulled it out of the pack and my eyes bugged out like a lunatic's. I lifted it slightly above my face and stared for a few seconds. Naturally, it was a used condom. Stretched into a nasty, slippery rubber band more than eight inches long. Holy fucking hell. Why was shit like this lying in this box?

Disgusted, I stuffed the condom back in, wondering as I did how something like that had even fit inside Sasha. Then again, she does have a pretty big ass.

I wiped my fingers on the towels and kept searching, until at the very bottom I hit some kind of gray lump. I pulled it out and unrolled it. It turned out to be a hoodie. Huge, as befits one of Sasha's fuck buddies. Thank God there was no writing on the chest or the back. I couldn't even remember anybody coming to our house in a hoodie like this. Hopefully Sasha and Mom couldn't remember either.

The hoodie smelled of almost nothing. Maybe Sasha had managed to wash it before Mom decided its fate. Still, it was funny that the only men's clothing left in our house belonged to the men who'd fucked my sister. I envied them a little. Well, not because they'd fucked her. Because they got to wear the clothes they wanted.

Actually, this is starting to look like a family tradition. Sasha sleeps in her fuck buddies' T-shirts, and I'm going to college in her fuck buddy's hoodie. All that's left is to come up with the same kind of gag for Mom, and the circle will be complete.

I laughed and put the box back where it belonged. I slowly closed the storage closet door and ran back to my room. There I pulled the hoodie over my head and at first actually got lost inside it. It was two or three sizes bigger than it needed to be. The sleeves covered my fingers completely, but all that bagginess up top didn't change the fact that the hoodie was only long enough to cover half my ass, and only if I didn't raise my arms. Apparently that particular fuck buddy of Sasha's hadn't been very tall.

After adjusting the hoodie a little, I got my ass to stop looking like a juicy steak. Or rather, it still looked like one if you lifted the hoodie; all I'd managed to do was hide it. God, I hope nobody notices. In the mirror was an ordinary scrawny guy in tight jeans and an old, forgettable gray hoodie. There are hundreds like me at any college. Nobody will figure it out. Please, let nobody figure it out.

I let out a breath, rubbed my face with my fingers, trying to psych myself up for a hard day, grabbed my backpack by the strap, and left the room.

Downstairs, the familiar smell of coffee hung in the air. Mom was sitting at the table in her work clothes: a gray business suit with a knee-length skirt, her hair pinned up at the back of her head. And honestly, she actually looked more feminine in her pajamas than in this, even though, you'd think, it's a pretty interesting outfit.

Sasha was in work clothes, too: a black blouse and white jeans. She changed jobs constantly, so a couple of years ago we'd stopped discussing the subject and asking where she worked now and as what. She was sitting on the windowsill with a cigarette in her mouth that she hadn't lit yet. Mom didn't allow smoking in the kitchen, so all my sister could do was pretend to smoke, as if it were a toy cigarette.

Mom looked at me. It was a very long look, and an insanely tense one for me. First she looked at the jeans. I noticed her lips twitch a little in an attempt at a smile. Then she raised her eyes higher.

"What is that you're wearing?" she asked with disgust, as if I'd done something unacceptable and didn't even realize it.

"A hoodie," I said, knowing right away what she meant.

"I can see that. Where did you get it? I threw everything out."

"Bought it," I tried lying.

Mom didn't seem to remember putting it in that box of other people's things. Of course not; the hoodie had been at the very bottom. Sasha didn't say anything about it either.

"You see, my parenting is already bearing fruit," Mom said with a smirk. "You've already learned to buy your own things."

"Yeah, I guess," I mumbled, and shrugged.

Mom pursed her lips.

"It's too big for you, by the way," she said.

"Everything's always too big for me."

"Not everything. Not anymore."

She looked at the jeans. At that moment I wanted to tug the hoodie down lower, but Mom looked so pleased to see me in those jeans that I'd have been a terrible son if I didn't let her admire them for a couple of minutes.

Granted, the hoodie was still right there in her face, so her joy didn't last long. She rarely did joy for long in general. Probably didn't have the patience for it. She took a sip of coffee and set her mug on the coaster, and then she asked the question I'd been dreading.

"And where did you get the money for it?"

My stomach suddenly clenched with a rush of fear. My mouth opened a little as I realized my head was empty. Twenty-five dollars every Saturday, and she knew what I spent every single one of them on. A hoodie, even one this pathetic, would have cost thirty at the least.

"Saved up," I said.

"How, exactly?"

"Well... I put some aside from my lunch money."

"You never mentioned that."

She was a notary, after all. Every day she checked goddamn contracts and knew how to find the loopholes in them. That's what she got paid for. And here I was, trying to con her with a hoodie.

"Will you show me the receipt?" she asked suddenly.

"I gave it to him," Sasha backed me up from the windowsill.

Mom and I both looked at her at the same time, as if for a couple of minutes we'd actually forgotten Sasha was in the kitchen, too. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and studied its spit-softened tip like she was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough.

"A twenty. Last week. He whined all week that he had nothing to wear, so I gave it to him just to make him finally shut up."

Needless to say, nothing of the kind had happened. I hadn't said a single word on the subject, let alone "whined," as she put it. But better a whiner than a guy caught by his own mother in a lie that stupid.

"You gave him money?" Mom repeated. "You?"

"So what? I can be a good sister sometimes. Once every couple of years."

Mom looked at her for a long time, then at me, like she was trying to put two and two together and wasn't getting four just yet. I nodded along diligently, playing my part like a terrible actor, but at least one who was deeply invested in the success of the operation.

"Next time, clear it with me first," Mom told Sasha, and went back to her coffee.

Phew. Looked like I was in the clear.

For some reason she'd believed my sister right away, while I'd practically have had to produce the store's security footage.

Sasha stuck the cigarette back in her mouth and looked at me. She wasn't smiling, but she raised her eyebrows a little. She was still helping me, but why? God only knows.

Mom took her wallet out of her purse and put ten dollars on the table.

"For lunch," she said.

"Thanks," I said.

"And stand up straight. You slouch even more than usual in that sack."

I straightened up. That made the hoodie ride up higher, which made me uncomfortable, but slouching isn't great either. Mom's got a point.

I tried to slip the money into the front pocket of the jeans, but there wasn't one. Just a line of stitching on the fabric that pretended to be a pocket, and nothing underneath. I poked at it with my fingers like an idiot. Who the hell makes jeans without pockets? And where do women put their stuff? It was all so unfamiliar. I looked at Mom's purse, then noticed Sasha's bag as well. I put it together in my head and realized the answer had been right in front of my eyes the whole time.

"There's a pocket in the back," Sasha offered. "Something flat will fit. And only if your ass allows it."

I put the ten in the pocket of the hoodie.

In the entryway I sat down on the ottoman and started lacing up my sneakers. At least it hadn't occurred to Mom to throw out my shoes yet. Either she hadn't gotten around to it, or she figured sneakers work for boys and girls alike. I didn't have any socks. I did have stockings, but I wasn't about to put those on, so I went barefoot in my sneakers and hoped I'd somehow survive the day.

Sasha came out after me and started putting on her shoes beside me. She put her heels on standing up, one hand on the wall, gazing distantly past me. Mom was clattering around in the kitchen like she was loading the dishwasher.

"I'll pay you back the twenty," I said quietly, so Mom wouldn't hear.

Sasha matched my tone and spoke just as quietly.

"What twenty?" she asked. "I never gave you anything."

"Well... Uh... Got it. Thanks, then."

"Don't mention it. A big sister's supposed to help her little brother." She smiled more sweetly than she ever had before.

Sasha fastened the strap on her shoe, straightened up, and came closer. She was looking down at me from above, and it looked so commanding, so sinister and strange. From that angle her chest seemed several sizes bigger and jutted out in front of her face like two enormous mountains.

I swallowed. Sasha put her hand on my head and started petting me like a goddamn cat.

"He was nothing special, by the way," she said. "Came in about two minutes, every time I got on all fours. Like just the sight of my ass spread open was enough for him. That hoodie suits you."

I couldn't tell whether she'd complimented me or insulted me. Probably the second.

"Who?"

"The guy that hoodie belongs to."

She headed for the door and opened it.

"And next time, you'd better put the panties on. You'll rub yourself raw on those seams, dumbass."

The door closed. I stayed on the ottoman, tying my laces. Then it occurred to me that the jeans must be so tight you could tell at a glance whether I had panties on. Which was so dumb, because even if I had put on those blue lace panties, everybody would have instantly noticed the lace pattern showing through my jeans. I don't even know which would have been worse.

The seams, by the way, were already rubbing.

There was a whole crowd at the bus stop, even though just a week ago hardly anyone had cared about that stop at all. Now it had become one of the important places in people's lives. Flyers were stuck to the pole several layers deep: "Apartment for rent to a cute female student," "Room for rent, no pets, no guys," "Computer for rent!" How nice not to need any of that.

I stood off to the side, away from everyone, so I wouldn't be in anybody's way. On the bus I tried the same tactic, but it didn't really work out. So I ended up wedged between several people. The air smelled of other people's deodorants and perfumes, though there was no shortage of unpleasant smells either. A free seat was beyond dreaming of.

I was sure everyone was staring at me, because it was impossible not to notice that I'd put on women's jeans. The whole bus had definitely figured it out by now, same as the fact that there was nothing under them. And the fact that a week ago I'd come in a pair of women's lace panties, on all fours in front of a mirror--everybody knew that, too. It felt like it was written on my forehead.

Some woman with a big bag was staring at me. For thirty seconds, at least. Point-blank. My back broke out in a sweat from that kind of eye contact. Then she asked:

"Young man, are you getting off at the next stop?"

I wasn't, but I was too shy to answer her. So I just shifted over a little to let her by.

Some guy in headphones was looking at me, too. Somewhere in the region of my chest, like he was trying to find the tits he felt my look was missing. He studied me long and hard. I was already working out what I'd say when he started talking. Then I realized the bus route map was hanging right behind me.

By the fifth stop it began to dawn on me that nobody gave a shit. Absolutely nobody. People were riding along on their own business, zoning out on their phones, and yawning. The girl across from me was putting on lipstick, looking into her screen. Some dude was asleep on his feet. I'd spent a whole week bracing for a spectacular humiliation, and in reality there were none of those porn scenarios where guys on the bus start hitting on me because I'd put on women's clothes.

You know, it's actually a little insulting. I even started to think I was some kind of freak who couldn't get people's attention.

I relaxed a bit and spent the rest of the ride holding on to the rail, the same gray worm as everybody else on that bus.

I need to find a job as soon as possible. Any job, even the sketchiest one. Buy myself a normal pair of men's jeans and never think about this again. As if it had all been a bad dream. But so far I hadn't done a thing about getting a job.

The bus stopped in front of the college, and the crowd carried me out before I'd had time to decide whether I was ready to get off.

The college was made up of several buildings, and not all of them went well together design-wise. For example, there was an old red-brick building with ivy on the walls and narrow windows. It looked like a place where they'd paddle your ass for every mistake. And right next to it they'd tacked on a glass building that looked more like a car dealership. A short walkway ran between them.

People were already sitting on the lawns. The bike rack was so packed that the bikes had to be parked two rows deep. I walked along the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd, taking tiny steps, because the seams of the jeans were now rubbing for real. I'd also picked up a nervous tic... Almost every minute I tugged the hoodie down, like I was wearing a very short dress and was embarrassed about it.

The turnstile at the entrance was acting weird. It blinked red and beeped, and the security guard was letting everyone through by hand, with a face that said he was doing each of us a favor.

There was a bulletin board in the lobby, with so many pieces of paper on it that it looked like a layer cake. "Calculus tutor, cheap!" Handy--I could look into that if I ran into trouble. Off to the side, on a sheet of pink paper with glitter, it said: "Cheer squad tryouts! We need YOU, girl!" I smiled, thought that I, of all people, was definitely not who they needed, and walked on. Then I went back, because out of the corner of my eye I'd seen something I hadn't had time to register.

In the very corner, on a plain white sheet, was printed: "Office seeks part-time assistant. No experience needed. Neatness a must." At the bottom, a phone number on tear-off tabs. Not one had been torn off. Probably everybody had problems with neatness. The ad scared me, too, but I took out my phone and snapped a picture of it. That didn't mean I'd call.

The whole crowd from the bus ended up in front of the class schedule. It was posted on three sheets, and on some of them someone had written corrections in pen. They probably hadn't finished it on time, or there'd been some kind of problem with the rooms.

I squeezed in closer and started looking for my group.

"Freshman?" somebody suddenly asked right over my ear.

I spun around and nearly died of fright. Behind me stood a guy with light stubble and the look of someone who'd already seen everything here and enjoyed none of it. Next to him, a girl was drinking lousy coffee from the vending machine.

I nodded. It was all I had the strength for.

"Who've you got for philosophy?"

I turned to the schedule and a couple of minutes later found the answer.

"Somebody named Beladonna."

The stranger made a noise I'd call a sneer aimed at me, because it was like he'd spat in my face. The girl stopped drinking her coffee and put on a face full of sympathy. The way men look at a dog that's about to go to the vet.

"Well, good luck to you," he said.

"What's wrong with her?" I managed to get out.

"Nothing's wrong with her. Everything's just incredibly great." He dug into his backpack and pulled out a stack of printouts. It looked like somebody had scanned a notebook and printed it. "Last year's notes. Only ten bucks."

"What, they'll help with philosophy?" I didn't understand what I'd need those notes for.

"Nope. But it'll cover my beer," he laughed.

I had exactly ten dollars, and they weren't meant for that. I shook my head.

"What about computer science? It says Erik teaches it..."

"Oh, him." The stranger shrugged and put the printouts away. "Passes everybody. You don't even have to show up."

They left. I looked at the schedule one more time and took a picture of it. Tuesday, philosophy. Wednesday, computer science. Friday, phys ed.

Today was Monday, and the only thing on the schedule was an introductory lecture for the whole class.

The lecture hall had about a hundred seats, in rows that sloped downward. The wooden fold-down seats creaked when students sat on them and slammed shut when they stood up. The desks were covered in all kinds of artwork left behind by previous generations. You could have compiled their opinion of education from it, but all that caught my eye were assorted carvings of dicks. The funniest part was that they were all a little different, just like in real life.

I picked the third row, a seat by the window. I didn't want to sit up front, so I wouldn't get called on. And not the last row, so nobody would think I was a loser. Only once I'd sat down did I realize a whole lot of people could be looking at me from behind. But hopefully they wouldn't. It was too late to move anyway.

Sitting with no underwear on also turned out to be its own special kind of pleasure, one I didn't share at all. My ass felt the cold seat that much better. So my sister had turned out to be right again. I should have put on something, at least.

A girl with a tablet was making her way along the rows. Asian, small, with perfectly straight bangs just below her eyebrows and an equally straight bob. She had big black eyes, a small nose and small lips, and gold hoop earrings. As for clothes, she had on dark gray business-style shorts, a white T-shirt with a deep neckline that showed off her C-cup tits, a dark gray blazer, and white sneakers with matching socks.

She didn't say hi to anyone and generally looked stern. At first I even thought she was a professor or somebody from the administration.

She'd stop in front of each person, look at them, and write something down. Soon enough it was my turn.

"Last name."

I told her.

"Group."

"I don't know, they haven't told me--"

"One-oh-four. I'm your group rep, Kimmi. Email."

I started dictating my email address, which more or less openly announced that I considered myself a rainbow destroyer of worlds.

"I need a normal email." She didn't even look up from the tablet. "One that won't be embarrassing to see on a list. Not the one you made when you were a kid. And honestly, what kind of idiot do you have to be to create an email like that?"

To be honest, she scared me, so I couldn't come up with any objection. I just dictated a different email. A more official one.

"Thank you," she said, and moved on.

Next up was a girl sitting one row below me. Small and very fair. She had long blond hair, pink eyes--contacts, by the look of it--and heavy makeup that made her look permanently flustered. A very short pastel-brown plaid skirt, a pale pink cardigan, a cute little white top with a huge neckline offering a view of her absolutely enormous tits. A D-cup, or even a double D. Kimmi's frown deepened when she noticed that difference in sizes. The girl's name was Charlotte, as I heard a moment later.

Then I heard a tapping. Crisp and unhurried, heels on wood. That's how Mom walks when she's heading out for the evening, and Sasha when she's sober. I turned around, expecting to see a professor.

Coming down the aisle was a very feminine guy. That it was a guy was clear from the shoulders, the hands, and the Adam's apple. Everything else was debatable. He had on a short plaid skirt, black tights, and high heels. Blond hair a little shorter than Kimmi's, and a cute little face. He walked so calmly, as if he were the biggest star in the place.

I waited to see what would happen next, picturing myself in his place. I could have looked more or less like that, too, if I did everything Mom said. But nothing happened.

A couple of guys shot him a glance. And that was it.

The guy sat down across the aisle from me, crossed his legs, got out a notebook, and clicked his pen. Then he must have noticed me staring, because he turned toward me. He looked me over as if searching for something to latch on to in my unremarkable appearance.

"Nice cut," he said. "I shop at that store, too."

"Huh?"

"The jeans." He nodded at my legs. "But the hoodie's a bit rough for them, in my opinion. Ruins the overall look. It kind of doesn't belong."

"That's the idea," I said confidently.

"Ah." He smiled with one corner of his mouth, like someone who'd heard something dumb but didn't feel like arguing. "That's an option, too. I'm Emma."

"Niko," I introduced myself.

He... Or she nodded and turned back to the board.

Unbelievable. I'd sweated all week over having to put on women's clothes, and today I'd nearly dropped dead just getting to college. And this one had shown up in a motherfucking skirt. And felt so comfortable in it that all I could do was envy her.

I don't get it. How does it all work? How can you walk out of your house in the morning looking like that and not die of shame right there on the porch? Where do they hand out that thing that lets people not be afraid? And why didn't I get one?

The lecturer was droning on about the history of the college and how important it was for all of us to preserve its heritage with respect. Yeah, well, my desk had no fewer than several dicks scratched into it. Some heritage.

Gosha showed up to the lecture late. His blond hair was sticking up all over his head, like he'd slept upside down or something. He found me with his eyes, broke into a grin, and climbed along the row, stepping on everyone's feet and apologizing to each person. Then he dropped into the seat next to mine, and it creaked for the entire hall to hear.

"Technically I'm not late," he informed me in a whisper. "For some reason they started the lecture before I got here."

"You're twenty minutes late," I pointed out.

"That's what I'm saying, they should've started the lecture twenty minutes later."

He started pulling a notebook out of his backpack and noticed my jeans.

"Okay," he said. "Hold up."

He accidentally said it not in a whisper. Down below, the lecturer stumbled on the word "traditions" and raised his head, and so did a lot of the students.

"Later," I hissed, practically begging.

"Niko, what the hell are--"

"Later!"

Gosha shut his mouth, and I could see how hard that was for him. He got out his notebook, and we sat through the rest of the lecture in silence.

And the whole time I was thinking about how I was going to stand up and what I'd say to my best friend. Until he showed up, everything had seemed fine, but the thing was, Gosha knew I didn't wear clothes like this, and the others didn't.

I came up with a plan: wait until everyone had left and walk out last. It seemed like a fantastic plan, but Gosha wasn't part of it.

"Let's go eat," Gosha said, and stood up the second the bell rang. The seat slammed shut behind him with a mighty bang.

"You go ahead, I'll catch up."

"Nope, nope, nope." His face spread into an idiotic grin. "You first."

"Gosha, fuck..."

"Get up already."

People were already walking past us up the aisle. Emma was climbing the steps, her skirt bouncing prettily with every move. Nobody was looking at her, or at least I didn't notice anyone.

I got up and yanked the hoodie down. I squeezed past Gosha into the aisle and headed up, trying to keep my steps short.

It was quiet behind me. I'd already begun to hope there wouldn't be any dumb jokes. But Gosha only managed to stay silent for three steps.

"Holy shit," Gosha said to my back.

I walked faster, mortified. He caught up with me in the hallway by the coffee machine, grabbed me by the sleeve, and turned me to face him. Then he realized he'd turned me the wrong way and spun me back around, with my back to him.

"Gosha, you asshole!"

"Hold still. Hold still, let me get a proper look."

"There are people looking."

"So let them look, what's that got to do with me?" He walked a circle around me like he was inspecting a car before buying it. "Those aren't your pants."

"They're mine."

"Niko, I've known you since we were six. Your whole life you've walked around in baggy shit you could fit a couple more people in. And what's this? These are some kind of denim leggings."

"They're jeans."

"That's what I said."

He said it so calmly, while I was practically dying of shame and just kept getting redder and redder.

"My mother threw everything out," I confessed. "All my clothes. And bought this. She said she's not buying anything for men."

"What do you mean, all of it?"

"I mean all of it. Underwear, socks. All of it, gone."

Gosha looked at my sneakers and noticed I didn't even have socks on.

"And here I thought you borrowed them from your hot sister to try on," he joked.

I didn't smile.

"Your mom's fucked in the head, no question," Gosha said. "No offense, but she's completely nuts."

"What offense... I know all that."

"But listen." He bent down and, without a shred of shame, hiked up my hoodie to check out my ass. "She's got great taste."

"What the fuck?"

"Your ass in those jeans is fucking better than my ex's."

"Gee, thanks."

"That's a compliment, FYI. I still miss her. Her ass, I mean. I dream about it every single day, the bitch."

"Gosha, shut up, please."

"No, seriously. I was walking up the stairs behind you just now and forgot where I was going. I thought, holy shit, where did my ex come from? And it was just you." He spread his hands. "I've got to live with that now, by the way."

Now he laughed. Not at me, just at the whole situation. At my mother, at himself for ogling his best friend's ass. And I felt better right away. Gosha's a total dumbass, but what he said loosened me up.

We headed toward the cafeteria. Or rather, I headed there, and Gosha did what I called a tactical slowdown. He walked half a step behind me.

"Don't you dare do that to me," I protested.

"Oh, come on."

"Gosha, fuck!"

"Okay, okay." He pulled up level with me and immediately sniffed. Loudly, like a fucking dog. "And you smell like a chick. Some kind of sweet perfume."

Damn it. I'd gotten Sasha's perfume all over me when I was handling the blue panties.

"It's Sasha's perfume. She's doused the whole house in it."

"Ah." Gosha nodded respectfully. "Your sis is sex on legs... That ass. Tell her I said hi."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Good call. Better not tell her, she kind of scares me."

After that we walked in silence. That blonde, Charlotte, came toward us with a couple of girlfriends. We exchanged glances.

"Where'd you disappear to last week, by the way? I invited you. My mom left, I had to party on my own. I was miserable, Niko!"

"I was sick."

"With what?"

"With myself."

"Ah, well, with you that's chronic by now." He nodded along. "The idea's gone stale, by the way."

"What idea, anyway?"

"You wouldn't have liked it. Doesn't matter now. There'll be another one."

In the cafeteria I got only soup. It was three dollars, and the combo meal was eight fifty. I'd decided to save a little. Gosha hauled over a tray with nearly the whole menu on it, including several drinks. He looked into my bowl, said nothing, and moved his meat patty over to me. Right into the soup. It sank, and everything inside me boiled over.

"Gosha, for fuck's sake!"

"Shut up and eat. Roxy shoved a bunch of sandwiches in my bag on top of this, I'll explode if I eat all that."

He never said anything about me not having money or anything along those lines. He preferred to pin the blame on himself. For moments like that, I could put up with any of his jokes. Well, almost all of them.

After lunch they kept us for another hour in the glass building and told us about the library, the fire exits, and the student council, which nobody wanted to join. Gosha fell asleep almost immediately. I sat there thinking about how badly I was chafed between my legs, and about what was apparently a blister on my right heel.

At my stop, Gosha slapped me not on the shoulder, like usual, but on the fucking ass.

"Hey. Don't throw those jeans out."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'm serious. They fit you like you were born in them."

The bus doors closed, and through the glass I could see his smug grin.

From the bus stop I walked like an old man. Limping on my right leg and going pigeon-toed, trying to find a way of walking where nothing rubbed. The sun was already going down, and the streets were turning orange and empty. I could see our porch and dreamed of nothing but taking off these fucking jeans.

Something crashed nearby. Then somebody swore in a language I didn't know.

In front of the house next door, the one where the lights were never on, a bicycle lay on its side. One of its wheels was even still spinning. On the porch stood a large cardboard box wrapped in packing tape. Under the box were legs in gray sweatpants. The box seemed to be trying to open the front door, and it wasn't getting anywhere.

"Hey!" the box shouted. "You, in the gray sack! Hold the door, would you? I'm out of hands."

I looked around. There wasn't a soul in sight, and if you factored in the detail about the "gray sack," it was easy to narrow the list of suspects down to just me.

I went up onto the stranger's porch and pulled the door toward me. The box squeezed through the doorway with difficulty, even bumping me a little, then crashed to the floor in the hallway. The girl who'd been carrying it straightened up, pressed her hands into the small of her back, and moaned in a way that made me blush. It didn't sound at all like she'd strained something at practice, more like something out of a porn clip.

Now I had a great view of this girl. She was a little taller than me. Black, with very dark, almost chocolate-colored skin that glistened with sweat on her shoulders and neck. Short black curls, the sides shaved down to nothing, and several small rings and studs in her ears. A broad, cheerful face with big brown eyes, full lips, and teeth so white that not looking at them was just as hard as looking at them. She had on a white sports top, soaked through with sweat, so in front you could see her areolas showing through very clearly, and the outlines of her nipples themselves. Not that there was much in the way of breasts there. A double A, or an A-cup at best. But she had broad shoulders, like a swimmer's, and a stomach with abs that for some reason I wanted to lick. I'd always dreamed of abs like that, but that dream was never going to come true.

She turned to prop the door open with her hip, and I saw the rest. A waist so narrow you could have wrapped two hands around it. And right below it, an ass that even those baggy sweatpants were plainly too small for. Huge and round, but not soft like Sasha's--more like hard as steel. She probably does barbell squats purely for fun. The fabric was stretched so tight over it that I could make out the outline of her underwear. Unlike me, she'd put some on.

I stood there gawking like an idiot until she spoke.

"Thanks, cutie. You saved me. Which one are you from?"

"Huh?"

"House. Which house are you from?"

I pointed at the house next door.

"Oh! So we're next-door neighbors. I'm on the second floor, window facing that way." She jabbed a hand upward, then at my house, and worked something out in the air. "So what's in that window of yours? You know, the one across from mine."

I didn't know what to say. That was my room, and it would have been weird to start our acquaintance with a lie about it being a laundry room or something. I don't have a curtain anyway, and the truth would come out soon enough.

"That's my room," I admitted.

"Oh, so you and me are window to window, then. I'm Chioma."

"Choma?"

"Chi-o-ma."

"Chioma."

"No, you're saying it wrong again. Okay, whatever, 'Choma' it is. My coach just calls me 'Charlie,' it's easier for him. And you?"

"Niko."

"Niko." She tasted the word. "Not bad. Short. Listen, Niko, do people run anywhere around here?"

"I don't run."

"I can see that," she said, without any malice at all. Just a fact. "You're probably more of a cheeseburgers-and-video-games guy. Anyway, I was asking about people who do run."

What a stunningly accurate hit.

"There's a park behind the college. It's got a running track."

"How many meters is a lap?"

"I don't know. Big."

"'Big.'" She laughed. "Fucking great help, neighbor."

She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the strap of her top, which made her breasts jiggle slightly. And she so completely didn't care that I was standing right in front of her. I even felt awkward, though more on my own behalf.

I shifted my gaze to the bicycle so I wouldn't be looking at her incredibly beautiful abs.

"You go to the college?" she asked offhandedly.

"Today was my first day."

"And how was it?"

"Well, okay."

"I'm going there too, just on an athletic scholarship. Track and field. I can blow off lectures, the main thing is to run faster than everybody else."

"Cool," I said.

"Not really. Run badly and you can get kicked out. Break a leg, you're out too. Get knocked up, you're out too, but that's not a risk for me."

She didn't explain why, and I didn't ask, figuring it wouldn't be appropriate.

"You limping?" she asked.

"No."

"You're limping. I saw you walking down the street. What's up with your foot?"

It took me a moment to even understand what she wanted from me.

"Rubbed it raw."

"Show me."

"No, it's fine."

"Show me, I said. I've seen so many of these blisters in my life."

I let out a breath and, for some reason, obeyed. She sat down on the porch step and patted the spot next to her. I sat down and took off my sneaker. She took my foot in both hands and laid it on her knee. Her hands were hot and rough, and her thigh was hard as a rock.

"What, were you walking around without socks?"

"It just worked out that way."

"Dummy." That, too, was said without malice. "You've rubbed the skin down to the meat. Stick a Band-Aid on it and keep it on for a couple of days. And don't forget socks."

"I don't have any."

"What do you mean you don't have any? Socks?" She laughed.

"It's a long story."

"All right," she sighed, like she had to listen to that sort of thing a lot. "I'll give you some. I've got plenty."

She let go of my foot. I put my sneaker back on and realized my ears were burning. I mean, a sweaty girl with an ass like nothing I'd seen even on Pornhub had just been holding my foot, and you could see her nipples through her wet top. This could have been the best moment of the past year of my life.

She pulled off her running shoes, then her socks, and wiggled her toes with relish. She didn't stop talking while she did it. I got the impression she didn't know how to be quiet at all.

"You guys have it so easy. Honestly. You wake up, throw on whatever's lying around, like you with that gray sack, and you can go anywhere. Nobody asks why you're not wearing makeup or, the other way around, why you're made up like a slut. Nobody asks why you're in sweatpants. My mom still sends me dresses. Every three months. With floral prints, for fuck's sake. I tell her: Mom, I look like a wardrobe somebody hung a curtain on in those. And she just keeps telling me I'm a girl."

"And what do you do with them afterward?"

"Keep them in a box. There's quite a few dresses in this one, actually. I drag them with me from house to house. Feels bad to throw them out, but I can't wear them. I could trade them for something."

"What?"

"Nothing." She laughed. "Kidding. What would you ever need dresses for?"

I smirked a little.

"All right, neighbor." She stood up and tucked her running shoes under her arm. "Thanks for the help."

I nodded, and she went off up the stairs, her bare feet slapping on the steps. For another couple of seconds I sadly watched her ass move away from me.

Chioma was nice to talk to, if only because she hadn't paid any attention to these goddamn women's jeans. But doubts were floating around in my head. Either she didn't give a shit about me and that's why she hadn't noticed, or she just wasn't very observant.

At home, the first thing I did was peel off the jeans. It was like being let out of prison. There were red lines from the seams on my thighs and stomach, and a couple more nasty red patches between my legs. Hopefully it would all go away fast. I changed into my around-the-house shorts, which had survived Mom's purge only because I'd been wearing them on that fateful day, and stuck a Band-Aid on my heel.

Dinner was at eight, as always. Not a second later. Phones are banned at the table. Mom sat at the head of the table, already in her pajamas, which made her seem no less commanding.

"How was your first day of college?" she asked, looking at her plate.

"Okay."

"Did anyone laugh at you?"

"No."

"You see."

She said it with such pride, like she'd won a tournament. I wanted to say that nobody had noticed because nobody gave a shit about me, but those are details.

"Somebody moved into the house next door," Sasha said, reaching for the bread. "Saw a bike by the porch."

"Yeah." I nodded.

I seemed to have answered too fast. Sasha raised an eyebrow and looked at me across the table. Her mouth was full, and not even with dicks, but that's a detail, too.

"A student?" Mom asked.

"Yeah, an athlete. On an athletic scholarship."

"On a scholarship." Mom looked at me like I was the worst child in the world.

"You've already managed to talk to her, too?" Sasha finally finished chewing. "My little brother talked to a live girl?"

"I held the door for her while she carried boxes in."

"A gentleman in girly jeans."

"Sasha," Mom huffed.

"Shutting up."

Thankfully, she really did shut up. But under the table she found my foot and stepped on it. Not hard. Just so I wouldn't get a big head.

I finished eating, put my plate in the dishwasher, and went upstairs.

My room was dark and stuffy. I closed the door behind me and for a few minutes just stood there, leaning back against it. I couldn't believe this day was finally over.

I couldn't get the conversation with Chioma out of my head. I'm not exactly a master at talking to girls. Sure, there had been exceptions to the rule, but that was more thanks to the talents of particular girls than to mine. I was good at jerking off to girls, but that's a slightly different skill.

What would I ever need dresses for? Really, what for? She'd laughed like it was a joke. Guys don't need dresses. Of course they don't. I gave a sad little smirk. But for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Okay. I'd had enough of this shit. I reached for the light switch.

And at that moment a yellow rectangle of light fell across the wall of my room.

At first I thought it was headlights or something like that. But then the light would have moved on, and this one stayed put. I glanced at the window. In the house across the way, in that very room that had been a black hole for several years, the light was on.

I jerked my hand away from the switch as if even the plastic were giving off shocks. Then I ducked down and covered the whole distance to the window in a few bounds. My heart was pounding in my throat. I stood against the wall like an action hero who needs to look around a corner. Then carefully, very slowly, with one eye, I peeked out from behind the edge of the frame.

Twenty feet between our houses. I'd never thought about how little that was.

Ever since I started seriously watching porn, I'd asked the universe every day for a hot chick to move into that room. There was no way the universe had been writing down my requests all this time.

Chioma was on her knees in front of the boxes left over from the move. The same gray sweatpants, a different top, black this time, her hair wet from the shower. She was looking for something, and as furiously as I do when I've lost something. She pulled things out one after another and flung them in every direction without looking. Running shoes. Another pair of running shoes. Track spikes. A jump rope. Sports bras, about six of them, all different colors. Underwear went flying in a fan: black, gray, white--like men's socks. A yellow floral dress hit the floor like it was a rag for mopping.

The first box was empty. She swore, kicked it, leaving a hole in the cardboard, and started in on the next one.

I got curious about what a person could be hunting for that stubbornly at ten at night. All that came to mind were a passport and pills.

"Where the fuck are you..." I heard her exasperated howl through the half-open window vent. "Ah! There you are, you little rascal!"

She pulled a black box up from the bottom. Small, like a shoebox, with nothing written on it. She sat back on her heels, took off the lid, and smiled the way I smile when I find a few forgotten tens in my pocket.

First she took out something that looked like a little penguin.

I wouldn't have believed it myself. But it was a fucking little penguin. Black and white, plastic, with a bow tie, about the size of her palm. For a couple of seconds I tried to understand what made a toy penguin so precious to a grown woman, because she was looking at it with such tenderness. I don't even know what to compare it to. Then she pressed on its belly, and it lit up a little. It started to dawn on me. I'd seen those in ads on Pornhub. The thing supposedly sucks on your clit.

She switched the penguin off and took something else out of the box.

I swallowed, and my jaw dropped a little in surprise.

It was a cock. Rubber, but from a distance it looked so realistic that I felt uneasy. With veins, a thick head, balls, and a suction cup at the base. About eight inches long, and roughly as thick as my wrist. And it was white--as in the skin color of a white person. Kind of pinkish, with a darker head. In her hands it looked like something that made my jaw ache with lust.

Chioma gripped it in her fist like a dumbbell and stood it on the desk. She sat the penguin down beside it. The two of them stood there together like a very strange emergency response team.

Then she got up and started undressing.

She was in no hurry. She took hold of the hem of the black top and pulled it up, slowly, baring her stomach an inch at a time, her ribs, and then her chest. Maybe it wasn't actually slow, but right then everything in my head was in slow motion.

Her tits were really small. Two little mounds with dark, almost black nipples, pointy and sticking upward. Everything else was muscle, but unmistakably feminine. She tossed the top onto the mattress, ran her palms over her stomach, then over her chest, and squeezed her nipples between her fingers. She tipped her head back and let out a soft moan.

My dick got hard so fast it actually hurt. My shorts rose up in front like a tent. I immediately made the strategic decision to undress.

God, I could feel my prostate throbbing with insane desire. With a woman like that in the same room, I'd have come in about three seconds.

She turned her back to the window, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, and pulled them down. Underwear and all. Also pretty slowly. The fabric slid off her ass with such difficulty, like it didn't want to part with it. I could relate.

First the cleft appeared, then both cheeks in full, huge, round, and firm. The sweatpants dropped to her ankles, and she bent over to step out of them.

Good God almighty.

Not long ago I'd seen my sister's ass through a crack in the door and thought I'd never seen anything better in my life. Time to take that back. When Chioma bent over, her cheeks parted, and I saw absolutely everything. The small dark ring of her asshole. Below it, plump lips, just as dark on the outside and bright pink where they were already starting to open a little. She was shaved smooth, and it was already glistening between her lips.

I kept forgetting to breathe, and before long I noticed I was standing practically right up against the window. Good thing she had her back to me. I couldn't even remember when I'd stepped forward.

She straightened up and started warming up, like before a workout. She rolled her shoulders, stretched her arms out to the sides, and I could see the muscles moving under her skin. Then she turned to face the window. I'd already made it back behind the wall.

Chioma set her feet wider apart and bent forward until her palms touched the floor. Then she sank into a deep squat, knees spread wide, and rocked there, stretching the muscles of her thighs. As she did, her lips opened up like a flower.

I grabbed my cock, which was already dripping precum like crazy. Even the shaft had gotten a little wet.

Chioma took the dildo from the desk and picked up a stool. She set the stool in the middle of the room, then licked the dildo's suction cup with her tongue and slammed it down onto the seat. She wiggled the cock with her hand, checking how well it held. It swayed like an antenna.

Then she spat into her palm several times and smeared the spit over the rubber head. She repeated that, fast, until the whole cock was slick. Her movements looked so practiced and businesslike, as if she were doing something routine, like brushing her teeth.

Finally Chioma stood over the stool with her back to me, a foot planted on either side. With one hand she spread her lips, and with the other she guided the head of the cock. And she began to lower herself.

I watched the white head press against her dark lips, part them, and disappear inside. Watched the pink ring stretch around the shaft. She went down slowly, savoring that moment of first penetration. In the end her ass settled onto the stool, and the rubber balls wound up pinned beneath it.

"Oh, fuck..." she cried out, so loudly that even I heard it. "Yes..."

She sat like that for a couple of seconds, rolling her hips in a circle. Then she braced her hands on her knees and started to move.

Chioma rode that cock as hard as if she were doing squats at the gym, the kind where you have to get in as many reps as you can in a minute. Her cheeks slapped against the wood, and the white shaft kept appearing and then vanishing inside her again, all the way.

I started jerking off slowly, afraid that any sudden moves would make me come.

Without getting off the dildo, she reached over to the desk and grabbed the penguin. It lit up. She lowered her hand between her legs, and her body instantly jerked like she'd been hit with an electric shock.

"Aaah! Fuck!"

Now she wasn't riding anymore, she was pounding that stool with her huge ass. Her back began to glisten with sweat. She lasted half a minute at best. Then her thighs started to shake, she dropped all the way down to the base, arched her back, and screamed out loud, not the least bit bothered that the window vent in her room was open.

I squeezed my cock at the base, holding back a powerful urge to come, so I wouldn't finish along with her. I barely held on.

I thought that was it. But she just caught her breath and changed position. She swiveled around on the cock, threw one leg up on the edge of the desk, and started all over again.

Now I could see her face. Her small breasts, which jolted with every thrust. Her stomach, where her abs kept tightening. And most important of all, the dildo disappearing into her body. It even seemed to me that her belly bulged out a little when she sat all the way down.

The second time, she came faster. She threw her head back, opened her mouth, and gave a low moan, and then laughed through the moan.

What I thought about wasn't how awesome it would be to trade places with that dildo, though thoughts like that crossed my mind, too. But I'm not even close to that size.

I was looking at her face. At the way she was shaking. And I thought: what's that even like? Having something inside you so big that you scream with pleasure loud enough for the whole house to hear. With a faint sense of fear, I chose to steer clear of that thought.

The hand on my cock started moving faster.

Chioma climbed off the stool. The dildo slid out of her and wobbled from side to side. Her legs were shaking. She stood there for a bit, holding on to the desk, drank a little water from a bottle, and splashed some on her chest.

Then she moved the stool and stood over it, facing me. She spread her legs and dropped onto the dildo in a single motion, all the way down. She leaned back and braced one palm on the seat behind her ass, then spread her knees as wide as she possibly could.

I could see everything in such detail, like I was her gynecologist. Her stretched pussy gripping the dildo tight. The penguin buzzing on her clit. Wet thighs. Abs. Tits. And her face, full of sexual agony.

She was looking straight at my window. I knew she couldn't see me. Her light was on and mine wasn't. I knew that, and I still felt her eyes on me.

And nevertheless I stood there and jerked off.

Chioma's third orgasm was the most brutal. She was slamming herself onto that stool so hard it was skidding across the floor. The penguin was doing its best on the highest setting. She wasn't moaning anymore, she was growling through her teeth.

"Yes... Yes... yes, fuck..."

The wave hit her. She dropped all the way down and shook from head to toe. Her mouth opened, but there was no scream, only a breath. Then she flung the penguin aside, and she squirted. A clear jet shot forward, onto the floor. Then another, shorter this time.

That I couldn't take.

I didn't even have time to decide anything. A puff of wind on the head of my cock would have been enough to set me off. My balls drew up tight, my prostate started to quiver, and I began to shake. The first spurt of cum hit the glass with a sound like I'd shot the window with a high-pressure water gun. Then about ten more just like it. I was coming so hard. The cum ran down the glass in heavy white gobs and slowly crept downward. My knees buckled, and I nearly gave myself away.

"Ah... fuck," I breathed.

When I was able to open my eyes, Chioma was still sitting on the stool, looking at my window.

At a window with unmistakable drops of cum running down it. There was no way not to notice.

A few minutes went by before Chioma got off the stool. She stretched and flicked the light switch in her room.

The window across the way went dark.

I made it to my bed and fell asleep, too, trying not to think about what had happened.

In the morning it wasn't the alarm that woke me but Mom's voice from the first floor.

"Niko! It's Tuesday!"

In our house, that meant it was time to take out the trash. I lazily pulled on yesterday's jeans and my sister's fuck buddy's hoodie. As for the panties, I decided to think about that after the trash.

Downstairs I grabbed two black bags, went out through the back door, and hobbled toward the bins around the corner.

The morning was so cool and quiet.

I deliberately didn't look in the direction of the house next door. I looked down at my feet, at the asphalt, at the grass. If you don't raise your head, the house next door might as well not exist.

I flipped the lid of the bin open and tossed in the first bag.

"Hey, neighbor!"

The second bag fell out of my hand.

That's it. Looks like I'm done for.

I turned around.

Chioma was walking toward me from her porch. She had on short running shorts and a yellow tank top, with headphones dangling around her neck. She was drenched, which meant she'd already managed to go for a run somewhere while I was asleep.

She was smiling like she knew something.

My knees started to shake with fear.

"I saw you from the window," she said.

Oh God. I knew it, she'd seen everything. I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn't make a sound.

"Figured I'd better catch you before you left." She stuck her hand in the pocket of her shorts. "Here. Take these."

She held out something black. I stared at her hand and didn't understand what I was seeing. I was ready for anything and for nothing at the same time. It's probably a court summons.

I looked closer.

It was socks. About four pairs.

"I promised, didn't I?" Chioma said. "They're running socks, just so you know. Might be a size bigger than yours, but that's just because you've got small feet."

"Thanks," I said in a hoarse voice, like I hadn't had a drink in a couple of weeks.

"No problem. Did you put a Band-Aid on?"

"Yeah."

"Good boy. Show me later if it doesn't heal."

She was looking at me, and I was dreaming of her leaving as soon as possible. Her face was so calm and cheerful. Ordinary, really.

"What's up with you, why so weird?" she asked. "Didn't get enough sleep?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Me neither. First night in a new place, it's always like that. I just couldn't fall asleep." She stretched, raising her arms over her head. "Had to do a little warm-up."

I breathed out, but still kept quiet.

"All right, neighbor. I'm hitting the shower. See you at college!"

She ran off toward her porch. Lightly, on her toes, and her ass in those shorts moved in a way that made me forget about the trash.

The door slammed behind her.

I stood by the bins with a wad of someone else's socks in my hand and a bag of trash at my feet. Chioma hadn't said a word. Not about the window, not about the night, not about the cum on the glass. Nothing.

She'd seen it, though. She couldn't not have.

I picked up the bag, tossed it in the bin, and closed the lid.