In September of last year, my mother and I moved into an older apartment complex on the West side of town, a few miles from our old house. I had just turned eighteen about a week before my father decided he wanted a divorce. My name is Bonnie, and this is how I got to know the old man in apartment J.
My dad, mom, and I stayed in the house for six months before it was foreclosed on; after that, we were on our own. Dad shacked up with another woman while Mom and I surfed a few sofas here and there before landing on a friend's couch.
For a few months, we stayed with a friend of my mother's because she was struggling to find a job, but once she could afford it, she found us a place of our own. It was a good thing, too, because the husband of Mom's friend was starting to get a little weird around me. I didn't tell my mother, but I noticed that he was lingering around when I was alone, and he seemed to be conveniently nearby after my showers when I was wrapped in just a towel.
My mother's name is Sue, she's a bit older than most other mothers, and she had me late in life. She's in her late fifties, about five-seven, chubby, and rather small-breasted, it's kind of a family trait of the women on her side of the family, unfortunately or maybe not, I have inherited my father's side of the gene pool, evident by my large breasts and athletic build.
I stand 5'5" and weigh just barely 114 lbs. I was on the swim team before we moved, and I am still quite fit. My dad, who has always been as inappropriate as possible, would tease me because my breasts were somewhat large for my age, claiming I could never drown and noting that I inherited them from his side of the family.
Mom worked full time, but she could still barely afford our low-end apartment. This was fine, except that I would be spending a lot of time at home alone.
The neighborhood is kinda sketchy, even during the day. After we moved in, and for a couple of months afterward, I tended to stay home after school and hide in our apartment. I find myself missing out on a lot of things because my mother can't afford much. And I get it, I understand she's doing her best for us, but I can't help feeling a little depressed these days.
As a consequence of my self-imposed seclusion, I got to see how life was in our apartment complex. Lots of older tenants and only a few kids, all of whom were under the age of eight or ten, and most don't speak much English.
Eventually, I would venture out into the pool area to gather some sun on a Saturday afternoon. Mom was at work, and as usual, I was home alone. Turning up the volume on my earbuds, I sink into the deck chair and become oblivious to the kids in the pool. But as I sat there soaking up sun rays, I happened to catch a glimpse of him as he walked past the pool with a basket of dirty clothes, headed for the laundry room.
People in the complex called him "J," and that came with a bit of subtle gossip and a warning of sorts. A handful of old widowed or divorced ladies held him in a rather low regard, as did some others who believed the stories about him, but practically all the other old men just considered him one of the guys.
I would eventually discover his real name, as well as why he was gossiped about. He said I could call him by his real name, but only when we were alone together. It was my privilege as someone close to him, and I made sure to keep it to myself. It was a small price to pay for what we had together.
"J" is in his late sixties, widowed, and lives alone. He's just over six feet and very slender yet weirdly muscular for an old skinny guy. As I watched him walk past the pool fence, I got the impression that he wasn't particularly a friendly or talkative type. I remembered thinking I should probably steer clear of him, and that was even before I heard the rumors about him. Anyway, it was just a moment in passing, and I went back to oblivion and my music.
As time went on, I would see him frequently as I left for school or made my way through the apartments when I got home. Each time, our little encounters were brief and inconsequential; he always looked at me sternly yet with a sense of interest. I always just smiled and said hello politely.
From time to time, my mother and I would sit out by the pool and talk teasingly about the old retired men who would be out for a swim.
Mom had always been a very shy woman, never to utter a foul word or turn of phrase. So it was a delight to tease her about the men in their wet swim trunks as they would parade around the pool in front of us, secretly, I think she liked it. Secretly, I did as well; those old men were not shy about their manhood being on display, flopping around and jostling about as they walked around the pool after a swim.
I guess Mom and I teasing about them was a way for me to hide my very eager interest from her. I don't know why, or what changed in me, but lately seeing older men made me very wet and horny, especially if I thought about what they might want to do to me if they could.
When I was on the swim team, our coach was this older guy like the old men in my apartment complex, a little chubby but very much a man in his little deck shorts, kneeling and squatting poolside. His bulge was big and very evident, and when he knelt poolside to speak to us, it slipped down to one side of his shorts like a small sack of potatoes. The girls on the team all talked about him.
To be honest, at some point when my father teased me about my breasts, it kinda made me feel tingly to think that older men might like me in that way. It made me wonder about things adult men liked and wanted. My father could be an inappropriate asshole at times, and because of that I began to notice men and eventually noticed he was just a man as well. One afternoon, I discovered my dad had a bulge in his pants too, like Coach did, but not as big, and I very often looked at him curiously.
Since I was often home alone and left to my own devices, I discovered many ways to pass the time. Most were typical teenage girl activities, but increasingly, I found that being home alone gave me ample opportunity to reflect on things I probably should not be thinking about. Not the least of which were those old men in their wet swim trunks.
I didn't have a cell phone because Mom couldn't afford two. I did have a laptop, but we couldn't afford wifi, so I was forced to entertain myself in other ways.
So as my horny desires became a force to be dealt with, I had to do things the old fashioned way. I started to toy around with being nude around the house while my mom was at work. It was fun, but that led to playing with my body, and that led to a very delightful discovery. Suddenly I had a very naughty habit, and I would spend hours rubbing and fingering my pussy.
Over time once I realized how to do it, I couldn't believe how much I liked to make myself cum and I endeavored to do so in as many ways as I could imagine.
