Wallbanger(10)

them.

Between what Euan and Antonio told me, the car, the job, and the international house of orgasms from the other side of the wal , I was

beginning to piece together a profile of this man, who I stil had yet to see. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more and more intrigued by the day.

Late one afternoon, after dropping off some tile samples at the Nicholsons, I decided to walk home. The fog had burned off, revealing the city,

and it was a nice evening for a strol . As I rounded the corner to my apartment, I noticed the Range Rover was absent from its usual place behind

the building. Which meant it was out and about.

Simon was back in San Francisco.

Although I braced myself for another round of wal banging, the next few days were uneventful. I worked, I walked, I Clived. I went out with my

girls, I made a great zucchini bread in my now wel -broken-in KitchenAid, and I spent time researching my vacation.

Each year, I took a week and vacationed somewhere total y alone. Somewhere exciting, and I never went to the same place twice. One year I

spent a week hiking in Yosemite. One year I went zip-lining through a rain forest canopy at an ecolodge in Costa Rica. Another year I spent a week

scuba diving off the coast of Belize. And this year…I wasn’t sure where I was going to go. Going to Europe was becoming prohibitively expensive in

this economy, so that was out. I was considering Peru, as I’d always wanted to see Machu Picchu. I had plenty of time, but often half the fun was

deciding where I wanted to spend my vacation.

I also spent an inordinate amount of time at my peephole. Yes, it’s true. Whenever I heard a door close, I actual y ran to my door. Clive looked

on with a smirk. He knew exactly what I was up to. Why he was judging me, however, I wil never know, as his ears perked up every time he heard

noises coming up the stairs. He was stil pining for his Purina.

I stil hadn’t actual y seen Simon. One day I got to the peephole in time to see him going into his apartment, but al I caught was a black T-shirt

and a mess of dark hair. And even that could’ve been dark blond—hard to tel in the muted hal way light. I needed brighter lighting for better

sleuthing.

Another time I saw the Range Rover pul ing away from the curb as I came around the corner on my way home from work. It was going to pass

right by! Just as I was about to get the first peek at him, actual y see the man behind the myth, I tripped and went ass over applecart on the sidewalk. Luckily Euan spotted me and helped me, my bruised ego, and my bruised bum off the concrete and inside for some Bactine with a

whiskey chaser.

But al remained quiet at night. I knew Simon was home, and I could hear him occasional y: a chair leg moving across the floor, a quiet laugh or

two. But no harem, and therefore no wal banging.

However, we did sleep together most nights. He played Duke El ington and Glenn Mil er on his side of the wal , and I lay in bed on my side,

listening shamelessly. My grandpa used to play his old records at nighttime, and the pop and crackle of a needle on vinyl was comforting as I fel

asleep, Clive curled up at my side. I’l say this for Simon: he had good taste in music.

But this calm and quiet was too good to last, and al hel broke loose again a few nights later.

First, I was treated to another round of Spanx. She had once again been a very bad girl and certainly deserved the resounding spanking she

received—a spanking that lasted almost half an hour and ended with cal s of, “That’s it! Right there. God, yes, right there!” before the actual wal s

began to shake. I’d lain awake that night, rol ing my eyes and growing more and more frustrated.

The next morning, from my post at the peephole, I saw Spanx leaving and got my first real y good look at her. Pink-faced and glowing, she was

a soft, round little bit of a girl with curvy hips and thighs, and packing some serious junk in the trunk. She was short—real y short—and a little plump.

She had to stand on tiptoes as she kissed Simon goodbye, and I missed seeing him because I watched her walk away. I marveled at his taste in

women. She was the total opposite of what I’d seen of Purina, who looked like a model.

Anticipating that Purina was soon up on the roster, the fol owing night I gave Clive a sock ful of catnip and a bowlful of tuna. My hope was to get

him wasted and passed out before the action started. The treats had the opposite effect. My boy was ready to party down when the first strains of

Purina came shrieking through the wal s about one fifteen in the morning.

If Clive could have put on a mini smoking jacket, he would have.

He stalked the room, pacing back and forth in front of the wal , playing it cool. When Purina began her meows, though, he couldn’t contain