I lived in a third-floor apartment. Tashita lived under me, in the second-floor apartment. How we met was pure happenstance, as was what transpired after we met.
It was a warm spring afternoon and I decided to play hooky from work, to stay home and just chill. I had the stereo cranked up and admittedly, was jamming, having a good afternoon. I didn’t think anyone would care because surely, most folks would be at work.
The banging on my door startled me. I quickly turned down the music and cracked open the door. She was a small woman, dark skinned, black, and cute, but obviously a little perturbed.
“Can I ask a favor?” she asked, her hands folded across her chest in front of her.
“I already turned it down,” I told her, offering an apology.
“Thanks,” she replied, turning to walk back to her apartment.
“Hey,” I called out, peeking out my open door, “What your name?”
“Tashita,” she replied, looking back in my direction as she approached the first step of the stairs.
“Do you want my phone number?” I asked.
“Why would I want or need your phone number?” she asked, stopping as she stepped on the first step, looking back at me.
“So if I make too much noise, you can just call me,” I replied.
To my surprise, she turned and stepped back towards my apartment. She stopped in front of my apartment where I stood holding open my door. I invited her to step inside while I got something to write on.
She stepped into my doorway, but not all the way into the lion’s den.
I grabbed a scrap piece of paper off the counter top and scribbled down my phone number. As I handed the paper to her, she asked if I lived here alone.
“Usually,” I replied cryptically. “Most of the time, it’s just me, except when I get company.”
She looked at the paper that I had handed her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Robert,” I replied.
“Cool,” she replied, “Nice to meet you. What do you do?”
“I am an attorney,” I replied.
“And you?” I asked.
“A nurse,” she replied.
“Cool,” I replied, “Next time I’m not feeling well, I’m knocking on your door.”
Tashita chuckled.
“On no,” she countered, “Don’t come and infect me.”
“Okay,” I replied, “Can I knock on your door any other time?”
“Sure,” she responded, stuffing the piece of paper that I had handed her into the front pocket of her cut-off shorts.
Tashita was a knockout and I suspected she probably knew it by the way she flipped her hair back over her shoulders as we chatted.
“If I make too much noise,” I instructed, “just call me.”
“I will,” she replied, stepping back into the breezeway outside my apartment and heading down the stairs. I was hooked. She was crazy good looking!
A couple of days went by and I couldn’t get Tashita out of my mind. Then, as luck would have it, about a week later, on another day in which I decided again to play hooky a from work, I could hear Tashita’s stereo blasting away below me. I stepped down the stairs and tapped on her door. No answer. I knocked again, this time rapping harder on the apartment door. I could hear the pulsating sound through the door. I knocked again, a little harder. The volume of the music lowered. Tashita opened the door to her apartment.
I smiled.
“I’m sorry,” Tashita proffered. She was wrapped in a terry-cloth pink bathrobe that was tied at the waist.
“I think your base beats mine,” I said.
“I was in the shower,” she said, “I didn’t realize it was so loud.”
“It’s all good,” I told her.
“Do you want my numbers?” she asked. I chuckled.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Come in,” she proffered, holding the door to her apartment open. I stepped in and she stepped past me, to look for a pen and some paper on which to write. Her apartment was spectacularly decorated in cherry wood and a mix of pink, light gray and white colors. I complimented her on her choice of décor.
“Thanks,” she replied, searching through her purse for a pen. Frustrated at not finding anything to write with, she asked if she could call me and leave her phone number on my answering service.
“Sure,” I replied.
Tashita ran her fingers through her damp curls.
‘Can I ask you a question?” Tashita inquired.
“Sure,” I replied nonchalantly.
“Do you work from home a lot?” she asked. “Sometimes I’m here during the afternoons and I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother,” I replied. “If you play it loud enough, I may just stop work and come down here and jam with you.”
Tashita smiled and offered another apology.
“Besides, I replied, “I like your choice of music.”
My disclosure of music preferences seemed to surprise her. When I mentioned several black rappers and groups by name as some of my favorites, Tashita quizzed me about other artists, by name, in the “rap, rhythm and blues” genre.
“Wow,” she remarked. “”I didn’t figure you to be the rapper type.”
“There’s beauty in all types of music and people,” I replied.
“Do you want something to drink? Tashita asked adding, “You’re cool.”
“Sure,” I replied.
“I’ve got tea, lemon-aid, beer- what do you want?” she inquired.
“Got any wine coolers?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” she replied. She slipped into the kitchen and fetched a four-pack of peach/raspberry wine coolers from her refrigerator.
“I’m not keeping you from work, am I?” she asked as she stepped back into her living room with the four pack. “Sit down.”
I sat on her couch as she took up a seat on the opposite end of her stylish couch, with its numerous throw pillows between us. She stretched out her hand and offered me on of the wine coolers. As she did, her terry-cloth robe separated just enough to allow me a quick glance at her rack.
“You keep an odd schedule, “ I remarked as she grabbed the remote control for the stereo and turned the music back up a small notch. She rocked her head and upper body to the beat of the music.
“Nurse scheduling,” Tashita responded, “It sucks. I work rotating shifts. My body doesn’t know if it is coming or going.”
I smiled.
“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” I teasingly replied, testing the waters.
“I don’t know,” She replied. “I’m twenty-five but sometimes I feel like I am forty-five.”
“Maybe all you need is a good massage,” I replied.
“I wish I knew a good massage therapist,” Tashita replied.
I smiled.
“If you want a good massage, “ I replied, “I can hook you up.”
“Really?” She replied.
“I worked my way through law school as a massage therapist,” I replied.
Tashita looked at me with a skeptical look.
“Yeah right,” she replied.
“You’re just looking for an opportunity,” She shot back.
“Maybe so,” I countered, “You are cute.”
“Are you for real?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “If you want, I can prove it to you.”
“OK,” she replied, extending her legs and bare feet in my direction.
I took one of her feet in hand and began to press under her toes.
“Oh wow,” Tashita exclaimed after only a few seconds. I cupped her bare foot in the palm of my hand and used my second hand to gently move her foot in a circular pattern. I gently worked my hand to the back of her chiseled and very muscular lower calf.
“I’m glad I just shaved,” She remarked. She shifted on the couch and closed her eyes as I continued to massage her foot and lower leg.
I pushed upwards and arched her leg, which parted her robe ever so slightly. I shifted legs and worked on her right foot and leg.
“Gee,” she replied, “You are good.”
“Would you like a full body massage?” I asked.
“You don’t mess around do you” she shot back.
“Hey, I know a good thing when I see it,” I deftly replied, quickly adding, “I’ll be a gentleman.”
She rearranged herself on the couch, slipping onto her stomach. She folded her arms and rested her head in the fold, looking back at me.
“I’m watching you,” she said. “I know the martial arts, so mind your manners.”
“I will,” I promised, pushing her robe midway up the back of her upper thighs.
I worked on her calves for several minutes then worked way to her upper calves, one leg at a time. I casually placed a hand under her right knee and re-positioned her leg, so there was a small space between her legs. I dug my fingers into the inside of her thighs as I worked my way up her leg, being careful to not do anything inappropriate. I could tell my touches were having the desired effect by the musty smell of her womanhood that began to seep out from under her robe.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“Good,” she replied.
“Do you want me to work your glutes?” I asked.
“Sure,” she replied, to my surprise. I pushed my fingers up under the edge of her robe and deep into her gluteus muscle over the top of her pink satin panties. She hummed as I pushed my fingers back and forth.
“Oh my Gawd!” she exclaimed, “That feel so good.”
I slipped my fingers towards her inner hamstring, just to see what reaction I might get since I was getting dangerously close to the forbidden zone. When she didn’t object, I pressed on, working my hands and fingers deep into her tight muscles.
“You have a hard ass,” I remarked.
“Uh-huh,” she replied.
“How about your back?” asked.
“That too,” she replied.
I repositioned myself on the couch, placing a knee on each side of her hips and settling on the back of her thighs, as I pushed her robe up and began to work on her lower back. Tashita sat up on her elbows and silently stripped out of her robe, dropping it on the floor beside the couch. I now had unrestricted access to her entire back. She pulled her long black curls up over her head as I reached to massage her shoulders and neck.
“That feels do good,” she said.
I worked my hands across her back and dug my elbow into her shoulder blades. In an effort to gain a better position, I silently readjusted myself, slipping my knee between her spread legs, while keeping my other knee to her left side. I could feel the warmness of her womanhood as I pressed my knee against her pubic area. Her panties were damp.
I pressed down on her upper back using the open palms of my hand.
“How does this feel?” I asked. “Too much pressure?”
“No,” she responded, “You’re fine.”
I worked my hands deep into her shoulders then worked my way back to her lower back, scooting down on her extended legs, ensuring they stay parted. I placed one hand on each of her buttocks and squeezed. My thumbs were near her womanhood and I dug them in deeply. I could tell she was getting turned on.
Her breathing became more labored.
“Oh, my gawd!” she whispered, her head buried in the fold of her arms.
Slipping my fingers under the edge of her panties, I asked, “Can these come off?”
To my astonishment, she agreed.
I peeled her panties down past her thigh and her well-toned legs, then past her calves and ankles. She was cleanly shaven and fresh. I settled back on the couch and resumed my probing of her glutes, working my thumbs ever closer to her exposed vagina. The more I massaged, the more she hummed her approvals.
I gently allowed my thumb to caress the edge of her vagina.
“Someone is getting a little turned on,” I remarked.
“That’s not my fault,” she replied.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “I like it.”
I slipped a lone finger along the edge of her vagina and up to her hood. I pressed against her hood with my finger and she let out a deep moan. Then, I casually slipped the same finger into her wet pussy and her entire body shuddered.
I reached behind my back and pulled off my t-shirt.
“Would you like to turn over?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
I lifted myself off her legs and she silently flipped to her back, under me. He bare breasts were topped with light areolas and her nipples were small and hard, like pencil erasers. She pinched them with her fingers.
I placed my hands on top of hers, as she covered her c-cup sized breasts.
“Relax,” I instructed.
I gently massaged her breasts, working my hands up to her shoulders, her neck and then back to her exposed breasts, as she stretched out her arms over her head.
