Johnny Drake just turned eighteen. He had lived with his parents in the apartment next door to mine for the past three years. He was very shy and quiet, but he was a very handsome young man, and I admit I have had a few fantasies about him.
He is over six feet tall and very muscular. His buns are tight and look hard. He must be an athlete in school. His hair is dark, and a shock of it is always falling over his forehead, I have an urge to gently brush it back for him. The fact that I am almost thirty does not enter the picture. He is handsome, and I am attracted to him.
For the past two years, he has definitely been noticing me. His apartment door faces the long hallway to the elevators, and mine is on the side of the hall. When I go out, I get the distinct feeling that he is watching me walk down the hall through the peephole in his door. A moment after I reach the elevator bank, he often comes out and walks to the elevators. We smile and greet each other, but we have never conversed. The doors open, we get on, and he always tries to stand behind me. I think he wants to smell my perfume. I have noticed his hand in his pocket. I wonder if he masturbates as he stands behind me? A few weeks ago, his parents went on a two-day trip, leaving him home alone. I decided to find out what he was really like.
I took a long bubble bath. I dried myself with a big, thirsty towel and then went into my bedroom. I sprayed myself all over with perfume. From my lingerie drawer, I selected a pair of frilly pink French silk panties and slid them on. The silk felt cool and smooth against my warm skin. I coaxed my breasts into a cute little nylon satin bra that barely covered me and fastened the clasp. I sat on my vanity seat and began to pull on my stockings. They were very sheer thigh-highs with lace tops and felt sensuous on my legs. Then I slipped on a pair of black patent three-inch heels.
I brushed my long honey-auburn hair until it shone. Then I put on my makeup. I created mysterious eyes with shadow, pencil, and liner. I added a little blush to my cheeks and carefully applied my lipstick. I put on rhinestone drop earrings and a delicate little rhinestone choker.
From my closet, I took out an ivory chiffon poet’s blouse with nylon ruffles at the neckline and cuffs. When I buttoned it up, the ruffles framed my cleavage nicely. Then I pulled on a flirty little black jersey mini-skirt that was very short. It barely covered my panties, and I only wore it when I wanted to make a very special impression. I was satisfied when I looked in my mirror. If I knew men, anyone male should be very impressed.
From the armoire, I selected my frilliest, sexiest, laciest nightgown. It is black nylon satin with a tiny rose at the décolletage of the lace bodice. I took it into the living room and draped it casually over the back of the ladies’ chair in the corner.
I undid the clasp of my purse. Into it, I placed my lipstick, perfume, eye shadow, compact, my little lace hanky, and some change. After all, I did not plan to leave the building. I surveyed the apartment. Everything looked right. My delicate Queen Anne furniture complemented the soft pastel wallpaper. My black nightie was very apparent on the chair.
I picked up my keys and purse and went out the door. As I locked the apartment, I could feel Johnny watching me through his peephole. I dropped my keys into the purse and let it slip from my hands and fall to the floor. My things spilled out and rolled all over, just as I planned. I bent to pick up the handbag, making sure my back was to Johnny’s door. I know he could see up my skirt and was getting an eyeful of my panties. Sure enough, as I straightened up, he came out his door. “Miss Townsend!” he exclaimed. “What happened?”
