Kitsilano (Narrative 4)
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Margot and I had been living together for two years now. Finding Tofino too limiting, we’d reluctantly made the move to Vancouver about a year ago. She’d set up her own small catering company, and I’d left the survey business to resume work as a freelance photographer. To put it mildly, we were now living something of a hand-to-mouth existence.We’d learned a lot about each other in the past twelve months.I wasn’t the golden boy that she’d first believed me to be. I still strayed occasionally, and didn’t always come home at night.She, like many people in the restaurant business, was drawn to the bottle. And then there were her former lovers (men and women) wandering around the city, still smitten, in various states of disrepair.Evidently, we were having issues.____________________We’d lucked out, finding a flat in the old Vancouver neighbourhood of Kitsilano. Taking up most of the second floor in a rambling pre-war house, we were spoiled by high-ceilinged rooms, stained glass windows, and a working fireplace. We may have been short on cash, but at least we were comfortable.A young couple lived above us in a small attic apartment. Cameron was an apprentice architect working at a local firm, and Paige was a struggling writer moonlighting as a waitress. They were both in their mid-twenties, both very attractive, and they both liked to party. A lot.Margot took to them immediately. I suspected she had a thing for Paige, though she’d never admitted it. I, on the other hand, quickly grew tired of hearing old Fleetwood Mac pounding down through the ceiling on Saturday nights. They really weren’t my favourite neighbours.____________________It was early May, and Margot and I were having another one of our rough patches. She’d moved back home to her mother’s place in Victoria to cool off, and I was batching it – enjoying the lack of stress in my life.Taking advantage of my freedom, I’d opted to work from home that Friday. Around 2 p.m., the music from upstairs kicked in once again. I sighed. This was really getting irritating. Heading upstairs, I knocked on the door of the apartment. I heard Paige call out “Just a sec!” and the music cut off. A few seconds later, the door flew open.Paige was standing topless, with an oddly expectant look on her face. It vanished the instant she saw me. Her hands shot up to cover her chest. I stood there speechless: she had the most exquisite breasts I’d ever seen.“Oh…” Paige stammered. “I thought…”“…I was Margot?” I finished.She glanced down at her covered breasts, and then back at me. “Margot… right… well… is she okay?”“She’s gone home to her mum’s for awhile,” I said.“Ah… I didn’t know. We… well, she sometimes comes here on Friday afternoons. We have a smart cocktail or two.”Or three, I thought sourly. And probably more than just cocktails…“Just a minute,” Ankara escort she said. Turning away, she grabbed a sweater out of the closet and hastily pulled it on. I caught another glimpse of her stunning breasts, this time from the side.Turning back to me now fully clothed, Paige asked, “So when’s she coming back?”“Absolutely no idea,” I responded. “Maybe when she’s sick of her mum again? Probably in a few days…”“Huh,” she replied. “So she left you to fend for yourself.”“More like find myself,” I said abruptly. “My choice, not hers. I needed some space.”“Right…” she replied. Living upstairs, I knew they could hear us when things got heated. That happened all too often these days.“Right…” I echoed back. “So – music down a bit? Would that be OK?”‘Absolutely,” Paige said quickly. “Cameron’s away, so yes. Real low. Promise.”“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks.” I turned and walked away. As I reached the top of the stairs, I sensed Paige hesitate before she softly closed the door.____________________It was later that evening, and I was enjoying my time alone. Logs crackling in the fireplace, Nick Drake’s Pink Moon playing on the stereo, a freshly popped bottle of white wine, and an omelette simmering on the stove. Perfect. Until there was a knock at the door.Fuck, I thought. I pulled the door open, expecting to find Margot standing there. It was Paige.She had a fresh bottle of Oban in one hand, and a brown manila envelope in the other. She looked like she worked for Dial-a-Bottle.“Uh… hi,” I murmured, noncommittally.“Hi!” she responded chirpily. “You up for company?”I studied her. She seemed anxious. I almost said, “Not tonight,” and then thought again.Might as well, I sighed to myself. Besides, I’m out of single malt.“You want some omelette?” I asked, and opened the door wider.____________________After dinner, we sat in the living room sipping Oban, listening to Jeff Buckley’s Grace, watching the fire. I was pleasantly surprised: Paige had turned out to be quite charming.She talked about her life – her relationship with Cameron (a bit tense, like Margot and me), her work as a waitress (boring but stressful at the same time), and her love of writing. We ended up focusing on the writing.She’d chosen a difficult path. The chances of getting published were always slim at best, especially for unknown authors. It was the early 00’s, and online options were still pretty rare as well.We talked about her interests (fiction), and her favourite writers (high-toned authors like Faulkner, Lawrence, O’Connor). I asked if she’d ever managed to get anything published.“Only on the ‘net, but not for cash,” she replied quietly.“On-line?” I asked. I knew there were some up-and-coming writer’s sites, but I’d never actually visited them.Paige twisted the brown manila Ankara escort bayan envelope nervously in her hands. “Well… yes,” she said. “Umm, they’re called adult sites.”I looked at her, surprised. “You mean porn sites,” I corrected.“Not porn,” she snapped back. I was obviously using the wrong term. “Erotic fiction,” she said.“Erotic,” I echoed. “On the internet?”“Mmmm. There’s some great sites where you can submit pieces for people to read. They tell you what they think…”“And you do that?” I asked. I was flummoxed.“I really enjoy it,” she answered defensively. “If I get good enough at it, maybe I can find a publisher who’d be interested in my work, publish an anthology…”“An anthology…” I said sceptically.“An anthology,” Paige cut in. “They say there’s good money in erotica. People buy it, and some writers even make a decent living at it.”I sat back, unconvinced.“Anyway,” she hurried on. “I was thinking if I could get a portfolio of my writing together, along with some really good photographs, maybe I could get a publisher’s attention.”I felt the other shoe suddenly drop. So this is why she was here. She wanted to know if I had any images that might help her sell her stuff.I put my hands up in front of me, silently waving no. “I really don’t have any material like that…” I started.“I didn’t mean it that way,” she quickly interrupted. “If you could just take a look at some of my pieces, I was hoping you could tell me how to find someone to work with me on the photos.”Jesus. She wanted me to read her stuff. I didn’t know how to respond.“Look,” she hurried on, “How about I read some to you, and then we can talk about it.”I sat back, feeling boxed in. If I said no, I’d be telling her I didn’t believe in her. If I went along… What? I thought. So I listen to a few minutes of smut, tell her I really don’t know anything about that side of the business, and then change the subject?Wanting to be as gentle with her as possible, I opted for the latter. “Okay… sure,” I sighed. “Let ‘er rip.” I pulled my legs up onto the couch, spun sideways to face her, and relaxed back against the rolled arm.“Great!” she burbled. Her face lit up, and she turned to sit the same way at the other end of the couch. I waited for her to start.She looked lovely. Wearing a short cotton dress that showed off her long legs, her stellar breasts obviously braless under the thin material, her shoulder-length brown hair swept up in a loose bun, she looked every bit the innocent ingénue.She started reading.____________________Ten minutes later I sat there, now at a loss for words. She had exceptional talent.She looked up at me after the read-through of her second piece. Her face was furrowed with worry; concerned I was going to dismiss what I’d just heard.”That was… remarkable,” Escort Ankara I stammered. “Amazing. I felt like I was right there…” I was now incredibly aroused. My cock was jammed up against the waistband of my jeans, begging for air. “Really?” she asked, breaking into a huge smile of relief. “That’s so what I’m trying to achieve – make people feel like it’s actually happening to them…”“Well you definitely pulled that off,” I said. I repositioned my hips awkwardly on the couch, trying to relieve the pressure on my trapped prick.Paige glanced down at my crotch, her eyes growing wider. The music seemed to pause for longer than normal between songs. She looked back up at me.“So it really turned you on?” she asked quietly.“Mmmm,” I hummed. “One way to describe it. If you weren’t here right now, I’d probably be… uh… you know…”“Masturbating?” she asked. The way she formed the word sounded almost naïve. Innocent, even.“No question,” I breathed back, throwing caution to the wind.“Wow,” she murmured, looking down at her papers. She shuffled them. For a moment, I thought she was getting ready to leave.She glanced back up at me. “Do you want to hear another one?”I nodded. “Oh please…” my cock whispered.“Great! And… umm… if you want to make yourself more comfortable, feel free…” She looked down at my bulge.Christ… really? I thought to myself. Do I do this? Ah Jesus why not? I was so fucking turned on.Throwing caution to the wind, my heart pounding and my hands shaking slightly, I reached down and undid my belt. I popped open the snap on my jeans and slowly pulled down the zipper. I was commando: my rock-hard prick sprang out into the open. I could almost hear it sigh with relief. Pushing my jeans down my legs, I kicked them off.I heard a sharp intake of breath. Looking up, I saw Paige staring intently at my cock. Her hands, still holding her papers, were shaking slightly too.“Go ahead,” I croaked.She looked down at the pages, took a deep breath, and began reading out loud again. Her voice quavered slightly.Like the other pieces, this one was exceptional. The story of a first-time encounter, it unfolded with skill, and passion, and extraordinary grace. I was mesmerized.As she read, my hand slid down over my cock. I couldn’t resist. Gripping myself firmly, I began gently squeezing my shaft. A drop of fluid oozed out of its slit, making my strokes ‘snick’ with moisture. Paige shivered at the sound, licked her lips, and kept on reading.As my pace picked up, so did her difficulties reading the story. She began to stumble over her words, going back, repeating herself.Finally stopping, she let go of the papers and let them flutter to the floor. Dropping her hands to her lap, she slowly started hiking up her dress, still staring at my swollen prick. I could see her pale blue panties coming into view: a dark damp patch had spread across the crotch.“I promised myself I was going to stay professional,” she stammered. “But… ah Christ…” She spread her legs further apart and pushed both hands roughly down inside her panties. She began rhythmically fondling herself as she watched me…
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