Vibrations in the Floorboards

I’ve spent the last fifteen years dreaming about moving to Washington with my best friend—planning where we’d live, how we’d build our lives, and what opportunities might finally open for us once we got here. And this year, we finally did it. We moved to one of the islands in the state, near the rainforest. It’s beautiful here.

But moving to this place meant leaving a lot behind—people, routines, comfort, safety. Now it’s just me, my best friend, our essentials, and this apartment.

And fuck, do I love this apartment.

The floor plan fits us perfectly, the kitchen feels like magic, there’s storage for days, a cozy lounge space, and each of us has a big bedroom with a private bath. Once everything’s unpacked and in its place, it doesn’t feel like just an apartment—it feels like a palace. A place where we finally get to be ourselves: confident, sexy, happy, and free.

It should be perfect bliss. Should be... And yet… there’s the upstairs neighbor.

He’s loud and obnoxious, stomping around in boots like a tank. During the day, it’s as if he’s holding auditions for the island’s best moaning woman—windows wide open, girls loud enough to rattle the walls. Of course he’s the quintessential biker bad boy.

Meanwhile, I’ve been single for three years by choice and finally feeling ready to date again… except charming a man here is impossible with his nonstop sexcapades overhead. I’m not jealous. Mostly annoyed. Okay, a little jealous.

Day one of moving in, he partied until five in the morning. We’d just driven two days straight and all I wanted was sleep. Did I get it? Nope.

A couple weeks later, I got a 3AM wake-up call: the asshole upstairs was standing right outside my bedroom window raging over women having no value unless we give good head.

This may be only my personal opinion but, a man complaining about bad head is only telling on himself. The quality of a blowjob is a reflection of the connection he inspires. If it’s bad, the problem isn’t the act—it’s him. Period.

I laughed — he’s shouting that while living above an unapologetic cock worshiper. Never gonna happen, little man. Stay in your tiny bubble.

I moved here for a fresh start — space, inspiration for my writing, and the safety to live for myself again. I’m not letting some little man-child ruin that. And that’s when an idea hit me. My roommate works a lot, so I’m often the only one home…

It started, as all bad decisions do, with going to a bar…

I promised myself the first one was a total rough draft, ok to be a little awkward and messy while I find my footing. This would be a one-off to break through my nerves. He was good-looking, a little shallow, but most good-looking ones are. What matter more was that he was willing, and since I needed a little “breaking-in” before really putting myself out there, it worked.

I named him Car Guy because he came across as a car salesman with his flirting. Overly slick, rehearsed, more imitation of “cool dudes” from movies than real personality. The kind that talks about himself so much that he forgets you exist.

Car Guy was the first person to see my new apartment.

“Whoa,” he said, stepping inside. “Your place is… cool. Definitely a lot of… personality.” He laughed, like he wasn’t sure what else to say. “I don’t really do décor. My place is basically clutter. I don’t clean much.”

I cringed before I could stop myself. Gross.

This apartment is my sanctuary — I take care of it, and it takes care of me. If someone doesn’t take care of their space, does that mean they don’t take care of themselves either?

I forced a smile and guided him quickly toward my room, hoping to redirect before he had more opinions.

But the second he walked in, his eyes went wide.

“Oh. Holy shit.” He says.

“Wow. Okay.” He moves around, not touching anything but looking intensely at everything. “So you’re really… sure about your kinks.” His grin stretched too wide. “Not shy at all, huh? People come over and just… see all this?” He chuckled.

Gentleman, a tip... Always respect a woman’s space. If it’s not your kind of vibe, if she’s showing more confidence than you, that’s your problem. If you insult the ass you wanna tap, don’t be shocked when you’re your own piece to keep.

I’m annoyed. The more time I spend with him, the less I like him. He’s a rough draft, I remind myself. One and done. You need this, so just get back in the saddle and ride the damn pony.

I take a steadying breath, paste on a smile, and pat the bed—inviting, even though everything in me is pulling back.

The moment he shuts up and kisses me, I lean into it. He’s much better when the only sounds he makes are the ones I cause in him. I don’t wait, I don’t tease him into things, I just grab for his buckle and in a flash I have him out in my hand. Then, I suck on his tip. He’s salty, a little musky, and very defined. He has a nice cock.

The man might not be the most deserving of the pleasure I give, but the cock and its gorgeous shape are. Stroking his shaft, I play with his balls. Working him up, seeing him tighten up, I then slow down. I want him to last longer, I need him to last longer, so I take long licks up and down his shaft to help pull him back from combusting too soon.

My lips stretch around his cock, taking him all in and hitting the flap at the back of my mouth. I constrict my throat around him, making him groan and gasp. It feels delightfully odd, and I enjoy the fuck out of it. He may not deserve this pleasure—but I need it. I need moans loud enough to echo through the ceiling, straight into the ears of the neighbor upstairs.

My mission is simple: suck him well enough that every groan becomes a broadcast of my skill, a territorial announcement.

But I don’t go all the way. I can’t. Not with him.

This was my way of hitting back at the asshole upstairs. He’d never get to know this kind of pleasure, never taste it, never earn it. So instead, I dangled it—close enough to hear, but forever out of reach.

Every gasp, every groan, every shaky exhale, every growled “fuck” reminded me of something important: this was my power.

And tonight, I was using it to put a small man in his place for waking me with his toxic bullshit. Car guy enjoyed my tongue so damn much he was squirming in overwhelm, while fisting my hair and holding me closer, begging loudly for more of my sweet mouth. Gotta hand it to him, car guy knows how to dirty talk.

“Holy fuck—your mouth… Jesus Christ.” His voice fractures, eyes fluttering like his brain short-circuited. Then: “Oh god, don’t stop. Just like that.”

His hips start to move, chasing more. “Fucking—yes—swirl your tongue right under the head. Shit.” A laugh escapes him, breathless and cocky. “Where the hell does a girl like you learn to suck cock like a goddamn professional?”

If only he knew.

I have a secret—actually, two.

First: I love sucking cock. Maybe more than I should.

And second? After years of being sick and a few too many surgeries, I ended up with removable dentures.

They turn blow jobs into a goddamn superpower.

Car guy did me solid in the reputation department, and it was all natural; I never asked him to say any of it. As far as he knew, we were just too horny to care past having two willing bodies that needed to get fucked.

Afterward, he showered me with questions about how and where I learned my skills in head, you know, the usual curiosity that comes with a new experience. I didn’t answer him, not really. I don’t give away my tricks to just anyone, after all.

Instead, I just giggled, fulfilling the air-headed bubbly girl routine most guys expect from us until he left. Not before he first begged me for a number so we could hook up again, though. And since he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer on that, I gave him my old phone number.

Once car guy was out the door, I grabbed my plug-in vibrator. Time to give me what Car Guy couldn’t.

The next week, the upstairs asshole had a thirty-minute quickie, and it was loud. Whiny, high-pitched… like an anime girl or a squeaky toy. And yes… I got wet. Hate that I got wet. I love being made to mewl like that… of course I got jealous and needy, but it was him. Ew. I don’t want to be needy for him.

For a second, I was craving an “anime night” of my own, with me as the squeaky eager girl, but I don’t like him so that fantasy is only half made. Hell, I’ve never even seen him. I don’t even know his name.

He was getting to me, and that was all the confirmation I needed. My neighbor and I were in a war, a battle of fucks. And I am going to win! So, I did what any self-respecting, horny woman does: I went out to find another sailor to siren-song into my bed.

I visited the Bar n’ Grill a couple of times with no luck. The only temptation was one beefy slice of sin I kept spotting at the counter… a man who looked like pure pleasure wrapped in denim and leather. We exchanged glances, heat flashing in the space between us, lust simmering, but nothing more.

I wanted him to make the move, to close the distance, to show me what he could do to me with those thick, strong hands. But he never did. And in the end, it wasn’t him who answered my siren song this time… it was someone else.

Blue eyes was a bit more knowledgeable than Car Guy when I brought him home the next day to help me reach that whiny high I craved. He seemed sweet and interesting, though he did hesitate for a moment when he saw what apartments I lived in, maybe he knows these apartments?

But once we went inside his attention shifted firmly onto me, so I let it go. There was a decent connection between us, though I could already tell it wouldn’t be an intellectual one, just lustful chemistry. At least we got along well, on the surface.

He was tall, thick, and blessed with a perfectly groomed beard. After teasing him with a good long cock sucking, as I always deeply enjoy, I rode that beard so hard. His lips, were fat and wet, creating such a suction that when his tongue slide through and around my engorged clit some of me squirted all over that beautiful facial mane.

The way he ate my pussy, it was as if he were smashing his face into a juicy peach, not caring at all if he made a mess. Moans tore out of me, raw and unrestrained, the kind that left my throat scraped and my body limp when they finally died down. Grabbing a clean hand towel from nearby, I cleaned up his beard as I kissed his lips clean of me. Delicious.

Blue Eyes was fun, competent, solid—but the rhythm never hit perfectly, like ordering a pizza that seems amazing on the menu but comes too doughy, too saucy, or with weird toppings. Blue Eyes was that pizza: tasty enough to satisfy the craving for a night, but I wasn’t thinking about him the next morning.

The next morning, there was a mysterious sticky note on my door: Solid 8, would’ve been a 9, but you sounded like an anime porn girl with a frog in her throat. Drink more water and careful on the floors, might lose your deposit. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. ~Upstairs~

Oh, so we’re critiquing now, huh?!Two can play that game!

Our war went on for about three months. Every few days to every week, we traded off on bringing someone to our homes and fucking their brains out loud and proud. Competing for who can cause their partner to make the best, loudest, and most inspiring sounds to drive one another absolutely crazy. The sticky pad scores left on our doors with feedback, became a regular thing too. It’s a miracle our other neighbors never complained!

The rating was 1-10, ten being ‘master level’ and one being ‘needs improvement’. A couple of times, I reached an 8, but he only reached a 7. Should’ve started scoring back when he had anime girl!

On a Thursday, he had a full two-hour fuck fest with what sounded like multiple girls, and that intimidated me so bad. I’ve always wanted to explore having more than one guy worshiping me, even a gangbang fantasy has plagued me for over a decade, but I’m scared to set something like that up with nothing but strangers who can gang up on me in bad ways, so I shy from it.

Waiting, instead, to delve into those fantasies when I have a partner who can protect me. So, I stressed over what else to do. It got harder to handle with every dirty phrase I caught and moan I endured, I’m pretty sure he opened every window in his apartment for that.

“Yes! Right there! Oh, your Monster cock feels so good!” Yells one girl.

“You’re stretching me so far with your big monster cock, unh, yeah, fuck this cunt, it’s all for you!” I mean, did he make them say those things? Sounded a lil sus to me.

I got lucky with us not keeping the score until after anime girl made me pine for a moment, but this time, I would have to lie. He deserved more, but I only gave him an 8… Just between you and me, reader, the sounds coming from his ‘buffet of pussy’ got me so hot that I silently fucked myself with my dildo while listening to them playing. I face palmed myself afterwards for it in shame.

Later that night I left a sticky note of my own on his door…Solid 8. But they sounded rehearsed about your ‘monster cock.’ Maybe you should invest in a better script writer. ;p

Blue Eyes and I got along great, and fucked even better, but… he disappeared so a round-two wasn’t happening. He’d said I intrigued him… and then nothing, he just vanished. I don’t know why, but somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny, nagging fear crept in:

What if he was my asshole neighbor?

What if he figured it out the moment I brought him here, and that was the hesitation I remember seeing?

Maybe he decided to go for the free trial period, being accidentally dangled before him. I mean, I’ve never seen him. I don’t know his name, how old he is, what he looks like, I know absolutely nothing about him except for his early morning rantings and afternoon sexcapades. So, it could be possible. I really hope not though.

Maybe he chose to smash and dash, leaving me to look foolish and dumb. I realize this could be intuition… could be me crafting a dramatic conspiracy theory. Either way, Blue Eyes split on me, so I moved on.

I shook off the sting from being ghosted and returned to the bar n’ grill for another hunt, hoping to find something that might help me compete with Asshole’s multi-girl-pileup. I went to my usual table, ordered a drink, and pulled out a book. Not long after, a familiar pair of jeans steps up to my side.

Big Daddy was a gentle man, large and with this power emanating off him so strong I felt weak in the knees. Finally, the beefy meal I had been eyeing for months was now making a move, and I am all for it. We chatted for about an hour, laughed hard, and flirted harder, then I decided to invite him over…

“Wait, this is your place?” Big daddy asked.

“It is, you like?” I don’t know why I asked, maybe self-sabotaging, please don’t answer…

“Ha, it’s fucking perfect!” He almost growls, then slips his hands to my hips, his rough palms sliding under my top and appreciating my bare skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he pulls me in, taking a kiss and showing my mouth how good a demanding, hungry man can feel. My nipples perked at the kiss, begging to be the next thing he sucks after my lips.

We get to my room, and he pauses long enough to take in everything. “A woman after my heart!” He says, then he continues to make out with me even more intensely, as he removes each piece of clothing from both our bodies.

“Is this a bondage bed? Wait, what’s that for?” He asks while nodding his head at the pure-white projector screen strung up at the foot of my bed.

“It is, that’s the movie screen.”

“Movie screen?”

“Sometimes I watch movies in here; sometimes those movies are X-rated. Spices up the play time.” I add. Really, I watch regular movies mostly, but sometimes porn does make its way up on the screen too. I’m trying to be a little funny, and flirty, but my humor is overruled by horniness, so I shut up.

He laughs.

“Set it up, let’s see how hearing and seeing others fuck, inspires the way you fuck.”

“A man after my heart!” I return his earlier sentiment then set things up, turn the volume high, and realize this is how I make Asshole think I’m being railed by my own multi-male-review. Perfect.

He was a force—strong, demanding, and unrelenting. I rode him, teased him, and lost myself in the chaos, every moan a mix of pleasure and mischief. The apartment echoed with our sounds, a perfect distraction from the upstairs asshole. Nothing about it was neat, nothing was perfect—and that was exactly what made it fun. With big daddy I let go…

His hands were wide, fingers long, thick, and his grip—strong. I appreciate a good eating out, but I adore, absolutely cherish being finger fucked the most.

“Look at you,” he growls against my mouth, his fingers sliding through my slick as moans from my speakers accented the space between us. “So fucking wet for me.”

His thumb strokes lazily, teasing—not giving, just promising. “This needy little cunt wants my fingers, doesn’t it?”

A flush creeps up my chest. I always get shy when someone focuses there—too many partners who treated my pussy like an inconvenience left ghosts behind.

But he doesn’t give me time to retreat. Neither do the actors on my screen, as Big Daddy plays with my body, my hole, my clit, the two males on the screen play with the woman between them.

“Don’t you dare close those legs.” His voice drops darker. “Keep them open for me. I want you trembling in my hand.”

His fingers press deeper, finding rhythm and intent. Just as the men on my movie set up begin to fuck the woman they hold down on the couch they share. My apartment sounds as if I have an orgy going. While my goal is to dupe the asshole upstairs, I can’t hide how lost to it all I’m getting, how much pleasure I feel at the ruse of being surrounded while being fucked. I wonder what the real thing would feel like…

“You’re going to come all over me,” he whispers against my ear, “like the desperate little slut you are.”

My breath shatters into a moan. “Louder,” he demands. “Let the world hear how good I make you feel.”

He curls and pumps inside me, tongue closing around my nipple, and my whole body jolts — shaking, arching, unraveling beneath him.

And this is only the foreplay…

But big Daddy wasn’t just a good fuck… and I quickly learned that the more we explored one another. There was a definite spark between us that went farther than just sex. He’s not just a partner in mischief. He’s the one who matches my chaos with care. He sees me—not just my loud, lustful side, but the whole messy, complicated person underneath too. Being with him doesn’t just fulfill my fantasies—it lets me rewrite them, shaping them into something real, safe, and joyful.

Was all of this revenge? Maybe a little. The asshole upstairs certainly earned every decibel I gave him. But more than that… it was empowerment. Every night I pushed my boundaries, explored my fantasies, let my body feel everything it wanted without shame, I was rewriting the rules for myself. And I was taking up space, in this new home far from anything I’ve ever known, I was learning to claim my existence here.

I realize now that the sex war, the sticky notes, the quick flings… they weren’t just about men. They were about me, claiming ownership of my desire and of my new life. Learning that I can be bold, loud, messy, and still be loved. Still be wanted. No matter where I am.

When I glance at Jake, grinning at me from across the room, I feel it deep in my chest: I am not a passive participant in my life anymore. I am the orchestrator. The queen of this little empire of pleasure, laughter, and chaos. And yeah… I’m going to keep winning.

Do you remember me saying at the beginning that this was a bad choice?

I lied. This was a poor choice, turned happily ever after story with a lot of sex. In my opinion, the perfect kind of story.

The next time Jake was over, I took my time riding him slow and deep, letting every inch of him fill me while his hands teased my nipples and traced the curves of my body. I could feel him tensing beneath me as I pushed and ground against him, pressing, squeezing, and milking him with every stroke, tightening my pussy around him as I guided him closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, babygirl, I love watching how you ride me.” He looks deep into my eyes as he says it, “So beautiful.” I change rhythms and bounce a bit, challenging his patience with each deliberate movement, every jiggle, every undulation. And then, when he gripped my hips and took control, pounding into me with that urgent, delicious intensity... all I could do was throw my head back, feel my tits bounce and sway wildly to his movements and moan his name loud, for the very first time.

“Yes! Fuck me, Jake, ruin this cunt with your perfect cock. Harder! Use me, break me open, make me your sloppy little fucktoy.”

He earned my honest interest in him at this point. I wanted him to be a repeat offender in my life, so I dropped his nickname, and when I did, the biggest cheese smile spread across his lips. Then, still jackhammering himself into me from below, his massive spongy head banging me into oblivion, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

A man answers on speaker. The voice is familiar. Too familiar.

My stomach tightens.

“Hear that?” Jake boasts, thrusting as if punctuation. “That’s her winning.”

My movements and sounds stopped dead as I looked at him with an expression that said, What the fuck was that?

“Don’t look at me like that, babygirl. I promise, I didn’t plan this, or you. But I’ve decided I wanna keep you, so I gotta fess up. Chaz is an asshole, you didn’t get that wrong. I knew he was your neighbor, but I didn’t think it’d matter. Then you told me he was bugging you and that battle lines had been drawn, so I had to join in on the fight. I’m only guilty of not telling you I know him; everything between us has been completely honest and heartfelt. I like you and would really like to stay in your life, if you’ll have me… You know, unless you secretly want him.”

“What? No, he pretty much ensured I’d never be interested when he chose to be mean and rude without any reason. But you should’ve been honest up front.” I answer.

“Look, do you like me?” He grips my hips harder, then, still inside me, he slowly thrusts in deep.“Mmmmm, Yes,” I gasp out at the feel of him.

“Enough to actually want to know me, scream my name, and love on my dick? For true intent, not just payback? Because let’s be adults here, while yes, I should’ve said something sooner, you’ve been taking men to your bed just to mess with Chaz.” He thrusts again, his point valid. How can I judge like a saint when I’m so obviously a sinner?

“Yes, very much… point heard and valid.” I bite my lip and roll my hips with him, so he gets even deeper.

“Fuck, this pussy’s perfect. You feel that baby? You take me like you were made for it. Be mine, I dare you.” His lips brush my ear. “Choose us and get on your knees, wrap that perfect little mouth around my cock, and let me finger you into another messy round, then I’ll take you on a proper date and this thing between us will get real.”

Ok, calling it a ‘bad choice’ was simply to get you to wanna keep reading, because honestly… I dismounted his behemoth dick, got to my knees, and worked my esophageal magic on him, happily. Life is messy, and sometimes we make poor choices that somehow still work out in our favor, this was one of those times.

We ended the night with Jake licking ice cream off my slit after we got back from that dinner date… just like we have every night since.

A couple of weeks after Jake and I became a real thing though, we ran into Chaz for the first time. Pizza dude! That’s why blue eyes vanished, he was my upstairs asshole, and his weird reaction to where I lived now makes total sense.

I feel lucky, because I realize that I found my perfect slice… in Jake. Goldilocks has nothin on me. Clearing my throat and looking away, as we pass Chaz. Acting as if I don’t even recall him from our one night mistake, Jake guides me past him and over to his bike.

Handing me the helmet Jake recently bought for me, he reaches for the chin strap to help me get it secure. “So, where do you wanna go, baby?” He asks.

“Take me somewhere pretty… then, fuck me so hard on the back of your bike, everyone will know I’m not just some lay, I’m yours.” I say with a sweet smile.

“Shit! You’re so perfect for me, get the fuck on, right now… I’ll find a good spot to park so I can pound that pussy till it squirts, I’ll worry about detailing the bike later.”

Jake was a bad boy like Chaz, sure—but the real danger was how he made me laugh and scream his name like a fucking god, sometimes at the same time.