Message-ID: <14772eli$9808281622@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {MikeHunt}JDR"High Rise A"(MF voy)[1/2] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to . Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6s0aot$nnv$1@sparky.wolfe.net> JOHN DARK REPOST The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk. The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week. These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way to encourage them to continue entertaining you. The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. ===================== I swear there are two of me. The shrinks will tell you that "multiple personalities" are rare, but they're wrong. I think everybody has them. Like I'll be driving down the highway, and suddenly I'm five miles further than I thought. Who was doing the driving for those five miles? It must have been the other me, because it wasn't me. Or some mornings I'll be in the shower, and I'll wonder if I've shampooed yet. And while I'm shampooing I'll remember that I've already shampooed. Except it wasn't me, it must have been the other me. This is a story that was written by the other me. It's, well, different. But hell, if Sears can have a softer side, I guess I can too. It's still just for adults. No matter what side I write from, it just comes out that way. Maybe me and me aren't so different after all. ===================== High Rise by MIKE HUNT MrM1KE@aol.com Section A: The sun always came in the window at the same time, plus or minus a few minutes. When I'd rented the place in November I thought the apartment was sunny and bright. I'd toured it in the early afternoon, and the large window in the bedroom was flooded with the crisp light of a late fall afternoon. "I'll take it," I said, making a snap decision. "Can you do any better on the price?" "Afraid not," the building manager said. "It's $1200 a month, not including utilities. Still, it's a pretty good rent for the location and the view." "Yeah," I said, doing some quick calculations in my head. Add electricity, phone, hot water, and I'd just make it. "Heat's included, right?" I asked. "Yes, heat and air conditioning are included. Central system. You control it with the thermostat back in the living room. We'd appreciate it if you wouldn't control it by opening the windows, cause that just wastes energy and then everybody pays more." "Sure, sure," I said. "OK, I'll take it." It took another half hour to return to the rental office and fill out the paperwork, and 24 hours before the company did a credit report on me and checked with my last landlord. I moved in the following Saturday. On Sunday I noticed the light. There wasn't much. With the advantage of time and leisure I looked out the bedroom window and noted that the adjacent building blocked the morning sun. I'd seen the building next door, of course, I just hadn't taken time to calculate the angle and figure out that the sun didn't pop over it until late in the day. Ah well. In truth it was a great place anyway. From the living room I could go through a set of sliding glass doors to a tiny porch, and from there actually see Lake Michigan. OK, I could see a sliver of Lake Michigan in between some of the other high rises that were closer to the water. Still, up on the 8th floor I had quite a spectacular view if I chose to avail myself of it. The building that blocked the light was just as tall as mine, just as new, and similarly designed. From my bedroom window I looked out into a set of little porches, the wrought iron railings stacked almost like fire escape landings one atop another all the way to the ground. The ones that I could see all were outfitted with the same "building approved" furniture, two white plastic chairs and a tiny round table suitable for two coffee cups and maybe a danish. The one directly out and below the window had some flower boxes perched on the railing; they were filled with brown dirt. I went about my business for the next several months. I arranged furniture. I rearranged furniture. I hung pictures. I painted the bathroom. Mostly I suffered through another bitter Chicago winter, went to work, and came home. Once in a while I went to a movie or maybe a bar on Rush Street. In four months I spent less than 20 minutes on my porch. If you think it's windy and bitter on Michigan Avenue in January, try it 8 floors up near the Lake. No matter how inviting it looks from inside the glass, it isn't. I had a date up there sometime in December, I forget exactly when, but she insisted on going out to see "the view." So we bundled up in our heavy winter coats and went out and sat in the stupid little chairs. We lasted about five minutes. It was in early March that I happened to glance out my bedroom window onto the porch on the adjacent building. There were some small towels draped over the window boxes, and they looked to be spiked down with nails or bent up coat hangers or something. Someone was getting an early start on Spring. A couple weeks later I saw that the towels were rearranged. I probably wouldn't have noticed, except now one of the towels had a "Chicago Magazine" logo. I would have remembered that, since I worked for another publication in town. I vowed to keep a closer eye on the porch. It wasn't easy, since the porches didn't exactly line up. The floors of our buildings were "off" a little; the street had a gentle slope to it, and the neighboring building was down the hill. Of course in Chicago that's a relative term, since a "hill" there is anything that's not perfectly flat. I joked with some friends that where I was raised in upper New York state my front yard would have been called a "mountain" by Chicagoans. Heck, in Chicago a speed bump is practically cause for a Kodak moment. Anyway, the porch next door was about four or five feet below the sightline of my bedroom window, so I had to be standing right at the window and look down just right to see it. Which I did with increasing regularity. Several days went by, then a week, then two. The towels changed places, and it was obvious that someone was tending the boxes, trying to get a jump on the growing season, protecting the incipient plants from the vagaries of Chicago's unpredictable weather. It was a Tuesday afternoon in late March when I finally saw her. She busied herself removing the towels, watering the half-dozen boxes, pulling the occasional weed, and replacing the covers on the planters. It took her about 20 minutes to complete the exercise. What I noticed was *her*. She was about my age, maybe 28 or 29. Brown hair, cut in a real short pixie haircut. A nice figure. Sort of cute. Far from a stunner, but attractive in her own way, with a little upturned nose and round cheeks. She didn't wear a trace of make-up. But what I really watched was her breasts. She wore a comfortable low cut top with spaghetti strap ties around the shoulders. It was a dark blue, and as she bent over the flowers it billowed out giving me a perfect view down her blouse. She was completely unaware of my presence, above and 15 feet away behind the glass of my bedroom window. I stared. I started spending more time at the window, waiting for her appearance. I only caught her a couple times each week, though I could tell by the movement of the chairs or towels that she was there more often. She wore the same top most times, although even when she changed it the view was just as good. She obviously preferred "comfortable" when she was on the porch. I'd enjoyed my voyeuristic little pleasure not quite a half-dozen times when she caught me. I was standing at my window, staring down into her blouse as usual, when she suddenly raised her head and stared straight at me. Oops! I didn't know what to do, and then, blessed be, she waved. I unlocked the tab that held the window shut and yanked on the sash. It groaned but slid up a couple of feet and I leaned out. "Hi," I said, trying to be nonchalant. "Hi," she said. "Watching my garden for me?" "Sort of," I lied. "I've seen you up there a couple of times," she told me. I blushed. "Are you a gardener, too?" "Uh, no, not really," I replied. "I have a couple of houseplants I manage to keep alive, but not much more." I made a mental note to go buy some new plants for the apartment. I'd killed the one my folks sent me as a housewarming present. "Oh," she said. "Well, that's how I started. Then I found I liked it so much I started putting plants in the window boxes. And this year I'm growing everything from seeds. It makes me feel like they're all mine." "Well you're doing great, apparently. I can see the little tips sprouting." I caught the unintentional double entendre of my words and blushed again. "Yeah, I think they're growing nicely," she said, apparently unaware of my near fax paus. "I'm surprised the building allows you to have those boxes on top of the railing," I offered. "If one of them fell..." "Well it's not really allowed," she answered. "but this high up who's going to see, except maybe a neighbor in the next building?" "Good point," I said. "Anyway, I had my brother come over and attach them. He's a carpenter, so I'm not worried they'll fall off." We made idle chatter for another few minutes, and then she was done. She said her goodbyes and retired indoors. I went into the bathroom to masturbate. The memory of her swaying breasts inside her loose top was as crystal clear as a 70mm film print. And the fact that she had made no effort to conceal herself while we were talking was even more sensual, and I came into the toilet with little effort but with great pleasure. A couple of days later I saw her again. I raised the sash. "Hi, it's me!" I called out. "Hi, it's you," she replied. "What's new?" "Not much," I said. "Just getting ready for work." "Oh? Where's that?" she asked. "I'm a part-time writer for the Sun-Times." I answered. "Really?" she said, pausing for a moment. "I read it. Maybe I've read you?" "Maybe," I nodded. "But probably not. I do some of the high school sports. Mostly weekends. I get the swing shift and a little vacation fill. I only work about four days a week, although during vacations I might work ten days straight. It varies. My name's MIKE, by the way. But my byline is Billy Billings." "Why don't you use your real name?" she wanted to know. "It's a long story," I answered. It wasn't a long story, of course, but I didn't want to get into it. "Billy Billings," she said. "Weird name. I can't say I remember it. Anyway I don't read the sports section much." "I'm not surprised," I said. "Like I said, I'm pretty irregular. At the paper, I mean." She giggled. "Anyway, I noticed the Chicago Magazine towel on the porch. It sort of caught my eye." "I get it," she said. "Say, how about coming over for a drink or something?" I asked. "No, I don't think so," she replied, a little too quickly. She offered no explanation, so I probed. "Boyfriend?" "No, definitely not. Say, I don't mean to be rude, or coy. I just, well, I just broke up with someone and I'm not looking to get involved. Nothing personal." "No offense taken," I answered. "It was just for a drink. Or maybe to see the view. I have a lovely view of somebody's garden from up here." She giggled again. "Honestly, I lived with a guy for six years, and we just broke up in December, and I'm just not in the mood to socialize. I'm sort of in a 'hermit' mode. Really, nothing personal." "OK," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I stood there. Just staring. "Anyway," she said, filling the uncomfortable silence, "once in a while I go on-line and chat with people, but I'm really not ready to plunge into the social scene yet. I'm still hurting a little, frankly." "Honest, no offense taken," I repeated. I wanted to protest and try to talk her into stopping by, but I thought better of it. "You go on-line? You have a computer, I take it?" "Yeah," she said. "An old Mac. It's plenty for me. All I do is some occasional letter writing and go on AOL once in a while. How about you?" "Not really," I said. "I have an old laptop here, and I use a machine at work, but don't use 'em for recreational purposes." It was a bit of a fib, but not much. "Ah," she answered. And our time was up. She was done with the days duties, and while she had a variety of reasons to be on the porch, I had only one to be hanging out of an 8th floor bedroom window. With her gone, I had none. I went inside to the dining room and sat at my computer. The familiar AOL screen came up, the modem squawked, and the host computer greeted me. I looked for the Digital Chicago area. With some effort I found it, and began putting notes on various bulletin boards asking for help. Gardening help. Seems I was trying to start some window boxes in my apartment without success. Could anyone help me figure out what was wrong? 24 hours brought five responses. Three from guys. Two from women. None from her. I waited a couple of days and tried again. Seven responses. Two from people who had responded to my earlier messages and wondered why I hadn't written. Three from other guys. Two from women. None from her. The next time I saw her I steered the conversation around to her computer and found out she didn't look at the gardening section of the bulletin board at all. She just went to the Great Outdoors chat area. She said being cooped up in a high rise made her like talking to people who enjoyed chatting about the trees and flowers and plants and camping and other things outdoors. An hour later I was in front of my computer and headed straight for the Great Outdoors forum. There weren't many messages, but I thought one about boating might be from her. It asked where could he/she rent a boat for a day. I did a tiny bit of research and answered the question with an e-mail. A couple of days later I saw her at the window. I leaned out and enjoyed the view as she worked. She bantered with me as she bent over the boxes. We talked about nothing in particular, and even though I tried to steer the conversation around to boating without being too obvious, she didn't take the bait. Our 20 minutes was up. She went inside. I went back to the computer. I honestly don't know why I tried so hard. There are a thousand girls out there, but the clubs are a meat market and I enjoyed chatting with her and I just, well, felt comfortable. I'd had a dozen sessions at the window, and I knew I liked her. I thought she felt comfortable with me, too, in spite of her self-imposed "hermit" status. Eventually I found her. It wasn't that hard, because the "outdoor" area wasn't well traveled, even in a city as large as Chicago. And I almost slapped myself silly when I realized I'd passed right by her screen name a couple of times before. She called herself "Hi Rise". Of course. I made contact. She had no way of knowing it was me, since I used one of my screen names, "SCOOTER". I kept up the on-line conversation with her, and over the next few weeks our e-mail went from helpful to friendly to occasionally downright sexy. At one point we got into a private chat room, and she let her guard down. I might have helped. SCOOTER: So what's new in your life? Hi Rise: Not much. Still seeing the guy at the window. SCOOTER: He bothers you? Hi Rise: Oh no. I think it's kind of funny. He watches me while I garden my window boxes. I think he likes to try to look down my shirt. SCOOTER: Oh, that would be fun. Maybe I'll come watch you garden, too! Hi Rise: No thanks. One "watcher" is plenty for me. SCOOTER: Aw shucks. Hi Rise: Well you can just be my on-line friend. Anyway, as I told you I'm not looking for more companionship. At least at the moment. SCOOTER: Well let me know when ;) Hi Rise: lol SCOOTER: Do you like the guy at the window? Hi Rise: Yeah, sure, I guess. We talk. He's the only person I see outside of work! And I can't really say I "see" him. He just shows up sometimes. SCOOTER: Good looking? Hi Rise: OK. Anyway, I TOLD YOU I'm not looking. SCOOTER: I know. Just wondering. Someday you might be. This "hermit" thing will pass. It always does. Hi Rise: I suppose. I'll know. We got into a sort of routine. She'd come out in the afternoon to tend her garden. I'd "happen" to be in the bedroom getting ready for work. We'd talk. I'd look down her blouse. She'd pretend not to notice. After another half dozen encounters I told her I was renting a boat that weekend. Maybe she'd like to come along? She demurred, mumbling something about visiting her folks. I didn't push. That night I found her on line. SCOOTER: So how's the friend? Hi Rise: He invited me out boating this weekend. SCOOTER: Great! Where are you going? Hi Rise: I said no. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings. SCOOTER: Why did you say no? Hi Rise: I dunno. I lied and said I was going to visit my folks. It was dumb, I guess. SCOOTER: Boy you have me stumped. You say you like him. Well not like him, but he's OK, right? Hi Rise: Yes. SCOOTER: And he's not a dwarf or something, right? Hi Rise: lol SCOOTER: So take the shot! Goodness girl, get a grip. Hi Rise: Well, maybe I should have but I just got nervous and said no. SCOOTER: I think you blew it. Maybe he'll ask again. You should say yes. Hi Rise: Well he won't ask again, and now that I've throughbt about it I probably would say yes, but it's too late. Hi Rise: throughbt=thought SCOOTER: I know. Hi Rise: I would be nice to get out, at least. SCOOTER: Well maybe you'll get lucky. Ha ha. Didn't mean it THAT way. Hi Rise: lol It was Tuesday. I didn't see her on the porch until Thursday night. She waved. "Hey how you doin?" I opened. "Fine. How 'bout you?" "Good. Just getting ready for work. Today is my Friday. I'm off for four days now." "Wow great. Wish I could say the same," she replied. "So are the folks coming in to visit? Or are you going there, wherever 'there' is?" I asked. "Oh, that got canceled. One of Mom's friends got sick, so they're staying home," she fibbed. I played along. "Sorry to hear it," I pretended. "So what are you doing this weekend? Catch a movie or something, maybe?" "I don't know," she said. "I really haven't thought about it. I'll probably just stay in and play hermit again. I'm getting good at it." "The offer for the boat ride is still open. I pick it up Saturday morning at 10AM. I've got it for the whole day, but you could come out for just an hour if you want. I'm not going out far or anything. Just going to float around for a while." "That actually sounds like a nice invitation. You sure you wouldn't mind entertaining a hermit for a while?" I chuckled. "Not at all. No entertainment provided, though. It'll just be a couple of high rise mopes floating around enjoying the great outdoors." I sealed the deal with a sly reference to her on-line activities. She didn't seem to catch it. "In fact you don't have to do anything. I'm going to pick up some sandwiches at Terfaro's and maybe bring a bottle of wine. I have both reds and whites here in the apartment. Which do you like?" "Which do *you* like?" she asked. "Doesn't matter to me," I said. "They're all good. I have a Zinfandel I don't know anything about, but I won't bring that one since I don't want to be trapped with a lousy one if I don't like it." "Whatever," she said. She was finishing up. "I'll pick you up in your lobby at about 9:30 on Saturday, OK?" I asked. "OK," she said. And that was it. She clapped her hands together to get rid of the dirt clumps, waved, and disappeared. I grinned. ===================== High Rise by MIKE HUNT Section A -30- -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----