The Flirt

I started thinking about an old housemate yesterday, after a PM conversation with a friend here on WL. He was one of the boys who lived upstairs from my female roommate and me, and he's a minor character in my post Ain't That a Bitch, so you can check that out first if you want some background on the setting, but its not necessary. Of the boys who came and went in the house, Nick stayed around the longest. He moved into the upstairs apartment one fall, right after my roommate Michelle and I had signed our lease, and we all left within months of each other after a three year stay. In the beginning, Nick appeared to be your typical upper-class-suburbia teenage boy; he wore Polo shirts, khakis, and Dockers, and his brown hair was short and a bit unruly. At first he was a bit reserved around Michelle and me, and his most endearing quality seemed to be his boyish and uncontrollable belly laugh. But once we got to know Nick, it didn't take long for us to develop a fond attachment to him. Through the years Michelle and I, who were a few years older than Nick, got to witness this boy's slow metamorphosis from a preppy rich kid into a flamboyant, fine-looking young man. First, his unruly hair grew into a mess of soft brown curls, which he sometimes held back in a pony tail. A bit of scruff appeared on his chin, and his Polos and khakis gave way to vivid tie-dyed shirts and groovy, vintage clothing. In time he would show off his feminine streak by painting his nails bright colors and wearing an occasional tube top or long skirt. This revealed dimension of Nick was very sexy to me, as I tend to be attracted to guys who challenge cultural norms as he did with a positive, playful attitude. In the spring and summer, Nick went shirtless around the house while he gardened, wearing baggy shorts that hung low on his hips and showed the curly strip of hair that started at his belly button and disappeared beneath the band of his colorful boxers. It was around the second spring that Michelle and I began to noticed that our little Nick, as we teasingly called him, was not so little anymore. His shoulders, his chest, his calves, his arms -- everything about him was so much bigger than we remembered from the past year, and we discussed his changing physique in great detail as we spied on him from our kitchen window. Nick was quite the extrovert; if he spotted us peeping at him he would pose for us or unzip his pants in an attempt to flash us. We had no doubt that he would show us all he had if given the chance, and the heat would rush to our faces as we turned away in embarrassed laughter. In all his flash attempts, he did get me one time when I was in his apartment. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him come into the room, then I heard a noise and looked over to see him standing there with a huge grin, his pants and boxers pulled down to his thighs, and his cock, bigger than I had imagined, hanging heavy between his legs. In the split second that it took my brain to register this image and my hands to instinctively covered my eyes, I felt a surge of heat and wetness between my pussy lips. Then I somewhat regained composure and heard his laughter as I repeated the common household phrase, "Nick, put your cock back in your pants." It was perhaps because we thought of Nick as a kid, and were thus disarmed by his sexy evolution into manhood, that he got away with so much without getting slapped in the face. Anytime he had a chance to grab an ass or feel a boob, he took it, and anytime a female voice was heard to yell "Nick!" from the first floor apartment, his unmistakable laugh always followed. One day he snuck into my bedroom, grabbed me from behind, and kissed me on the cheek as I sat at my computer. My body stiffened until I realized who was behind me. I had had minor surgery on my left breast the month before and the scar on its curve was still healing, so I reminded him to watch out for it. He said "was it this one?" and I looked down to see that his hand had snaked around my chair and was now carefully cupping my left breast. As I opened my mouth, more out of shock than to speak, he pulled his hand away and laughed. I said, "I can't believe you just got away with that." And he said, "you mean like this?" and his other hand squeezed my right breast. I admit that Nick's flirtatious nature made my days brighter and my masturbation sessions much hotter. In the mornings I drank my coffee in the gazebo and talked with Nick while I watched him plant flowers or work on his little garden and get all hot and sweaty and dirty. When he watered the lawn, he would turn the water hose on himself and then on me, dousing my shirt and my already-wet pajama bottoms. Then he would announce that he was off to take a shower and ask me if I wanted to come with him, since I was already wet. I did want to join him, but I always held back because I liked our little game the way it was. Once he went up his steps, I would go to my bedroom and take off my wet pajama bottoms and masturbate to the sound of running water, fantasizing that I had accepted his offer and was now teasing his soapy, hard cock with an ever-so-slow hand job and, for once, watching HIS reaction.