NOT EVERYTHING IN MY BUILDING IS UNATTRACTIVE
**trigger warning: this story contains scenes of sexual and physical assault**
NOT EVERYTHING IN MY BUILDING IS UNATTRACTIVE
I have been happily divorced for a few months now, living alone in my new condo. The condo has an ugly as hell 80s kitchen, two bedrooms and quiet neighbours. Formerly a seniors’ complex, there has been a lot of turnover as of late – like me. I share custody of my youngest with my ex, but we get along well so no issues there.
I have a job I love, and an amazing circle of friends. Especially my best friend, Allison. She has been my rock through the divorce, and my soul sister for even longer. She recently married the love of her life, so we don’t see one another as often as we’d like. True friends, we both know that the other is there at a moment’s notice, if needed.
I’m in my 40s, so the thought of starting over is terrifying. I had to decide which was scarier; starting over alone or growing old with someone I wasn’t in love with anymore. I opted to part ways with Cory, this way we might both have a chance at true happiness. It was the worst conversation of my life, having to break his heart like I did. But now that everything is over and done with, we’re both much happier. As much as I hate to admit, he’s ‘moving on’ far faster than I am.
With the settlement; I was able to put a lot of money into my condo, so now my mortgage payment is small. I don’t have a car payment, so thankfully my household expenses are manageable. While I hope to do some travelling in the future – the condo is still tying up all my extra money right now. I’ve already had the entire place painted, and I’m working on getting quotes for the kitchen. I really don’t like the orange oak cabinets I currently have. They have got to go! Eventually I’ll redo the bathrooms, but they’re not the priority.
I live on the third floor, in the back corner of my building. There are eight buildings in our complex; six set up as three in a row on one side, three in a row opposite. Then there is another building that caps the rows on each end. I’m kind of centered, in building two. My balcony opens out onto the center courtyard area; which is a fancy way of saying I overlook the driveway, all the other balconies in the middle, and the small stretch of grass and trees that line the driveway. It isn’t a great view, but I feel secure, and that was an important consideration when I was house hunting.
My daughter Megan is at her Dad’s, for an indefinite period. Her last stay with me did not go well – I have ‘too many rules’, which apparently is ‘fucking bullshit’. She’s 20 now, with high ambitions of accomplishing nothing. So, in the interest of our relationship, we’re taking a cool off period. As much as I don’t like being away from my children, I’m absolutely loving being alone. It’s a great contradiction. I haven’t been anybody beyond Mom or Wife for a very long time. I forget who else I used to be, and I look forward to rediscovering her.
Or, meeting her.
Our oldest is our son Jeremy, and he’s the classic overachiever. Thank God for scholarships – Jeremy is planning to go all the way to specialize in Oncology. He’s doing brilliantly and will have his choice of residencies. He’s living on the coast and going to school there – just a better program for what he is planning to achieve. Fucking sucks having him so far away!
Jer is excellent at staying in touch; through phone calls, video calls and text messages. I’m a scrapbooker so he also mails me items he thinks I’ll want to keep; which is why I’m in the front vestibule of my building, swearing at my mailbox. The mailman left me a key for the bigger box, but how he got my package in is beyond me - it sure as hell does not want to come out. There is no place for me to put my fingers in – not on the sides, bottom or top. How do I grab it?
What the hell man?
As I stand there contemplating the situation; what I’m thinking is how much I want to tell the mailman off. I mean, really? Who does this? Kind of a dick ass move man.
“That is fucked up.” A male voice behind me. I turn to seek the source – wow. I’ve never seen him before, because I don’t think he’s possible to forget. At least 20 years younger than me – so eye candy and nothing more; the right kind of muscular, tousled, dark blonde hair and dark blue eyes. Holy shit he’s a fucking god. I am totally going to masturbate to thoughts of him later. Later? In like, 10 minutes.
I try to shake those thoughts loose; I have the worst poker face. I do not need him running scared, thinking I’m some lecherous old lady - I am, but he doesn’t need to know that. I see he’s indicating my package stuck in the mailbox situation.
“Yeah. I am not impressed.” I resume looking at the mailbox, looking at him is too dangerous - God he’s hot. I suddenly feel every day of my age, and how underdressed I am. I slipped on sandals to come downstairs, otherwise I am wearing a simple sundress and bra. That’s it - I don’t even have panties on. I never wear panties when I’m home alone – why would I? I prefer the freedom, and only concede to bras because otherwise my boobs are at my belly button. No one told us that little tidbit when we were breastfeeding. My brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail – Thank God I showered today.
“Really? I am.” Huh? What is talking about? Oh shit, he’s talking about me.
