I Seduced My Neighbor the Day He Came Over for Lunch

We’d been running into each other for weeks without knowing anything about the other beyond the landing we shared. In the building entrance, in the elevator, in the line at the supermarket on the corner: a quick smile, a “good morning” that always came up short, and each of us going our own way. I didn’t even know which apartment he lived in until a breakdown forced me to find out.

My computer had been turning itself on and off for three days for no reason. A coworker had mentioned that the guy in apartment 4B knew about computers, that he had a small repair shop a couple of streets away. So one afternoon, summoning my nerve, I rang his bell.

He opened the door with a towel knotted around his waist, his hair and chest still wet from the shower. The two of us were left speechless for a second that lasted far too long.

—Sorry, am I catching you at a bad time? —I said, trying not to look lower than his face and failing.

—It’s fine. Tell me.

I explained what was going on with the computer. His name was Diego, he told me, and there was no problem taking a look. We exchanged numbers “just in case” and agreed to talk. We didn’t set a price: we’d see depending on how the repair turned out. He sent me off with a smile that was part tender, part playful, and it stayed with me all the way back to my door, three meters from his.

This is going to get complicated, I thought. And far from scaring me, the idea pleased me.

***

I’ve always been far too horny, I admit it. Ever since I was young, my mind has run off on its own and built stories no sane person would dare say out loud. And with Diego, my imagination gave me no peace. Days went by with no word about the computer, and instead of getting impatient about the repair, I got impatient to see him again.

Friday he finally wrote to me.

—I found the problem. It’s an internal part, it has to be replaced. I can get it at my shop and have it ready for you by Thursday.

—Perfect, thank you very much —I replied—. And on Saturday we’ll meet and talk about what I owe you?

—Sounds good. I’ll text you Saturday 😉.

I locked my phone with my heart racing. That wink was a half-open door, and I’d been waiting weeks for exactly that. I spent the whole day turning it over in my head: at work, on the bus, under the hot water in the shower. When I got out, wrapped in a towel, I’d already decided I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

I picked up my phone again.

—Hi again. Sorry to insist. I was thinking that, if you feel like it, we could have lunch together and talk calmly about what I owe you.

—That sounds great. I’ve got the day off, though in the morning I’m running a few errands and I’ll take the chance to leave your computer ready. Around 2:30? That way we can get to know each other a little better.

—Perfect. Tell me what you feel like eating and I’ll make it, the least I can do is invite you.

We argued a little about who was hosting. I won, of course. I wasn’t about to give up having him on my own turf.

***

On Saturday I got up early and went down to the market. I decided to make oven-baked ribs, potatoes, and a fresh salad; something simple that would leave me time for the important part. Diego would take care of the drinks. I went home, tidied up, washed the dishes, preheated the oven, and set the table. And then I got to work on myself.

I took longer getting ready than cooking. I wanted to be comfortable but, above all, I wanted to provoke him. I went for fishnet stockings, a short cotton skirt, bare feet with my toenails freshly painted red and my pedicure immaculate. On top, a tight white top with no cleavage, the kind that shows nothing and hints at everything, and a cropped sweatshirt over it to fake innocence for as long as possible.

I left the last detail in the bathroom. I hung a sheer pink lace babydoll from the coat hook behind the door, placed right where the eye naturally falls. If Diego went in there, he’d see it. And I wanted him to see it.

At exactly 2:30, the doorbell rang. A couple of dabs of cologne, a couple of seconds of making him wait, and I opened the door.

Two kisses. The brush of his cheek, the smell of his fragrance mixed with his voice when he greeted me, set my cheeks burning at once. I turned so he wouldn’t notice and led him into the living room. He’d brought red wine, a couple of sodas, cold water, olives, and some potato chips. He set everything on the table with a natural ease that disarmed me.

—How about we start with a drink while the meat cooks? —I suggested.

While I went to get the appetizer plates, he asked me where the bathroom was. I pointed to the second door by the kitchen. I heard him turn on the light, go in, close the door. And from the kitchen, holding back both laughter and my breath, I heard him let out a quiet “fuck” that wasn’t meant for my ears but came through perfectly clear.

We’re doing well, I thought. He was following the exact path I’d drawn for him.

***

When he came out, we both acted casual. We sat across from each other, our glasses poured, and started talking. We were the same age and, to my surprise, had far more in common than I expected: the same music, the same shows, the same slightly twisted sense of humor. We put on a playlist in the background and toasted.

—To neighbors who take three days to say hello properly —he said, raising his glass.

—To that —I replied, looking at him over the rim of the glass.

The conversation flowed, but underneath it something else was growing, a tension you could feel in every silence that lasted a little too long. It was starting to get hot, or so I told myself. I took off my sweatshirt with a lazy gesture and, as I did, felt his gaze drop to my nipples, clearly outlined beneath the white fabric of the top. I got up to check on the meat and, from the kitchen, caught him subtly adjusting the bulge in his pants.

I smiled to myself. The meat was perfect.

We ate with a music video on low volume so we could keep talking. In the middle of the meal, Diego dropped his napkin on the floor. I couldn’t say whether it was clumsiness or strategy, but I didn’t care: when he bent down to pick it up, I spread my legs under the table just enough, slowly, unhurriedly. It took him only a moment longer than necessary to reappear. Enough to let me know he had seen exactly what I wanted him to see.

He straightened up with flushed cheeks and shining eyes, and neither of us said a word about it. There was no need.

***

Dessert came next, homemade custard, and with it some shots I’d bought “just in case.” They came in handy. The questions got bolder with every little glass, the answers more shameless, and our chairs, without my remembering moving them, kept inching closer and closer.

There was a silence. The kind that isn’t empty but quite the opposite. Our eyes met, his breath was inches from mine, and there was no need to decide anything because it had already been decided. We kissed. A long, hungry kiss, dragging along weeks of brushes in the landing and secret fantasies.

I took him by the hand and led him to my bedroom without breaking the kiss. I pushed him against the wall, clothes coming off in rough tugs along the way, my skirt, his shirt, everything piling up on the floor. I knelt in front of him, holding his gaze, and traced him first with my tongue, slowly, with kisses and caresses that made him rest his head against the wall. Then I took him all the way into my mouth, to the back of my throat, until I felt him throbbing against my palate and his thighs tightening.

—Come here —he panted, pulling me up.

He grabbed my waist, threw me onto the bed, and buried himself in me in one stroke. I felt him fill me completely, parting me inch by inch as we kissed and rubbed against each other, and I could feel myself soaking more with every thrust, more aroused than I remembered ever being.

I asked for my turn with a push to his chest. I straddled him and started to move slowly, making lazy circles with my hips, leaning back against his torso, gripping my own ass to set the rhythm. I rose and fell using only my pelvis, mouth to mouth, our two bodies pressed together and slick.

My breathing quickened when he brought his hand down and started rubbing my clit without stopping his movement inside me. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper. I held on for a few seconds, biting my lip, until I felt I couldn’t take it anymore and let go. I came on him with a moan I didn’t bother to hold back, and he, hearing me, lost control too: he exploded inside me, grabbing me tightly against his body, his fingers digging into my back.

We stayed still, sweaty, wrecked, breathing in ragged gasps and letting out a weak laugh that escaped both of us at once. The computer was still broken on the living room table, completely forgotten. Neither of us had mentioned it again.

—We should take a shower —he murmured against my neck, still not letting me go.

—We should —I replied.

But what happened in that shower I’ll tell you another day.