Story: Fast-Forwarding

One of those occasional coincidences; I was heading in my apartment the same time that my neighbor Bert was coming out of his. “Hey, Lee! Glad I caught you, man, I’ve been wanting to get this back to you.”

He ducked back in his doorway and came out with my video camera. “I really appreciate you loaning us this. We taped our whole weekend, it was great!”

“No problem, dude.” And it wasn’t. Bert and Gina were one of the nicest, happiest couples I’ve ever met, and more to the point they were good people to live next to. No weird bumps, no odd smells, no kids, quiet pets, and if they had a loud party they invited me to it, so no problem there. An example was the camcorder in my hand. They’d borrowed it for the weekend and here it wasn’t even dark Sunday night before they got it back to me. Good people. “You could have kept it longer if you needed to.”

Bert grinned. “Might take you up on that. We had a lot of fun with it. I gotta go pick her up from her sister’s, I’ll see you later. Thanks again!”

I walked slowly when I entered my place so as not to kick the cat I knew would be winding himself around my feet. It’s nice to have someone happy to see you when you come home, and Buzz was a pretty happy cat. I bent down and scratched him under the chin for a minute before heading for the fridge. Beer, beer, beer… ah, beer! A cool can or four and already my workday started to fade.

All the elements of a perfect single guy evening were before me – many beers, a comfy couch, and my devoted mistress: cable. Was there ever such a loving and loyal lover? She was always there for me, she could be turned on with a single touch, and she never complained if I twiddled her knobs in the middle of the night or fell asleep while she was still going. I kicked off my shoes, sat back, and waited for her to dance for me.

She let me down, the bitch.

The Simpsons was pre-empted for some political crap. No good shows or games on, no exciting disaster to watch, nobody getting kicked off an island or having their singing voice nationally insulted. Even the Spanish channels were boring, and they’re almost always good for a wild game show or a steamy soap. Feh! What was I supposed to do now? Read?

Ah, well. Like many another guy whose ladyfriend wasn’t in the mood, I turned to porn. Another benefit of living alone: you can whack off whenever and wherever you felt like it, a perk I took full advantage of as much as the flesh allowed. However, this required different props.

Lotion and a towel, first off. Whichever sin I ultimately committed, it would require lubricant and proper cleanup. If you’ve ever woken up in the morning to find that someone had broken into your house in the dead of the night and dripped airplane glue all over your stomach, you understand perfectly why cleanup is so very important. Doubly so if you used lotion, something that isn’t strictly necessary for successful and entertaining whacking, but the difference between slippery strokes and a dry hand was like filet mignon versus a Big Mac. Fortunately I keep both of these essentials close at hand.

Next was inspiration. This presented a problem. I was too wiped out to go online and surf for anything, and everything I had in the house was well-used and familiar. I really, really didn’t feel like going out to see what my favorite sleazy pornshop had going, and that left old memories or pay-per-view. For a brief second I thought back to the wild and intoxicating jackal sex I’d had with my ex-girlfriend, and even managed to start getting hard before the inevitable memory of her hurling a CD player at my head muscled into my brain.

Pay-per-view it was!

I set the tools of my trade on the coffee table and looked around for the remote. Whoops, there it was, up on the kitchen counter. What asshole left it there? Duh, me, five minutes ago, while I was pondering my options and getting another frosty one. I pushed off the couch, stumbled back into the kitchen and started to grab the remote to begin my wank session. Hey, there’s the camcorder!

I’m the first to admit, I’m a slob. I dress okay and keep myself cleaned up, but my apartment is a total wreck. No one here to please but myself, and as long as I know where everything is I’m okay. I’ve found that after a year or so the laundry and dishes have achieved a sort of balance where clean articles are produced at roughly the same rate as old ones are soiled, and most of the rest exist in a dream-state of various levels of dirtiness. But my electronics are different. They represent my main avenues of escape and as such must be kept in top working order at all times, which is why even in my current level of inebuation… inebreehation… inoob… shitfacedness I immediately grabbed the camcorder bag to get it charged up and put away.

Huh. It was fully charged. Now that was really cool of them, to give it back just like they borrowed it. Best fucking neighbors in the world! I raised my can to them, or at least towards our shared wall, and then went to put the camera away.

There was a tape in it.

Oh, man, that’s too bad. They forgot their tape! Shit. I’d better get it back to them, they might be going crazy trying to find it right now. I got halfway to the door before I remembered that Bert had left for Gina’s sister’s place, and that was an hour away. Oh, well, they can pick it up tomorrow, Maybe I can put it in their mailbox or something. I popped it out and looked at it. No label, and it was rewound. Maybe it was blank? I flipped the little window out and switched it to Play to check it out. No sense giving them back a blank tape, it might even be one of mine I left in there.

Nope, it wasn’t. Right away I saw Bert’s silly grin. He backed away from the screen and I could see a bedroom behind him, he must have been playing around with the camera to see how it worked. Ha! Too bad he didn’t point it at Gina! There’s someone I’d love to see barefoot up to her eyebrows. Hot, hot looking babe there. I hadn’t talked to her as much as I had Bert but every time I did I had to fight to keep my eyes above her neck. The cool thing was that it was always obvious she knew it, and was trying not to smile. I must’ve gotten points for trying. With any luck she’ll be home tomorrow when I hand this back, and she’ll smile at me again.

On the tiny screen, Bert sat on the bed, said something, and waved at the camera. I waved back, and then started to turn it off when Gina walked into view.

She wasn’t naked, but it was a near thing. It looked as if someone had thrown scarves at her from all directions and some of them had stuck. She stopped in front of Bert and a scarf slid off her thigh and fluttered to the ground. Bert took a deep breath. So did I. She was glorious. Thick auburn hair curled in jungle snarls halfway down her back, and there were no visible tan lines on her very visible ass. She put her hands on her hips and started to sway back and forth in a very slow, very rhythmic movement that had Bert’s full attention. There wasn’t a man alive who could tear his eyes away from that sight.

I slammed the screen shut. Holy shit holy shit holy shit!

Five minutes later I was still rocking back and forth on the couch with my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the camcorder on the coffee table in front of me. I was proud of myself; I had only started to turn it back on about a thousand times. My neighbors, my incredibly attractive neighbors had taped themselves fucking and I had the tape. And they weren’t around. And I had no idea what to do about it.

I couldn’t keep it. Leaving it in the camera was too obvious a mistake, they’d ask me about it sooner or later and I always was a shitty liar. “Say, Lee,” they’d say. “Did we happen to leave one of our tapes in that camera?” And I’d say something brilliant and debonair like, “Why yes, I believe you did. Hang on while I go get it out of the bathroom.” I couldn’t hand it back because then they’d know I watched it or I wouldn’t have known it was theirs. “Here, this must be yours, I dusted it and none of my prints were on it.” What did that leave? Mail it to them anonymously?

You have to understand, I was a nervous wreck. Not only was I half-drunk and in a state of high arousal from just a glimpse of Gina’s scarf-wrapped behind, I was seriously worried that I was witnessing the crashing end of what should have been a pretty good friendship. If this had been two total strangers, or if I hadn’t liked them, no big deal. But even if they didn’t know I had seen this, in my mind it would push our relationship over an edge. All over a stupid mistake. Better if they lost the goddamn tape. Maybe I could destroy it and just act stupid if they ask about it.

Or… wait wait wait wait wait. If they can’t find it at all they’ll be worried sick wondering where it’s going to turn up. How about… how about if I just left it in the camera and stuck the whole thing in a closet somewhere? Then if they ask I could go, I dunno, lemme check, and we’ll find it together! Perfect! Then they’re happy and relieved, I’m happy (and relieved), and the problem is solved.

Except for one thing. I really, really wanted to watch that tape.

I mean, damn. Gina was probably the most incredible woman I had ever seen in real life. Bert wasn’t a dog himself, and if I were being completely honest (which I was, as long as no one could hear me) I wouldn’t mind seeing him naked either, but there was no question which one would have my attention. How could I let this once-in-a-million opportunity pass? My dick had already voted with a big thumbs-up. Maybe I could just watch the strip show part, and then stop before it got too intense. Maybe I could swim to the moon if I could hold my breath long enough.

I suddenly realized I was gripping my cock through my pants, just at the thought of watching the tape.

That did it; there was no way I could ever sleep again if I didn’t deal with it. I jumped over the coffee table and leaped at the video rack by the TV, hunting furiously for the minicassette adapter. Bad enough I was going to violate my friends’ trust, but damned if I was going to do it on a teeny little video screen. I found it under a stack of old vacation tapes and reverently laid Bert and Gina’s sex life into its snug container as I knelt before the TV like a kid watching cartoons on Saturday morning.

Then I panicked, and ran to lock the door and pull my shades down. And lock the cat in the bedroom. And unplug my phone. For the first time in two years I was feeling masturbation anxiety, and it was an odd sensation indeed. The feeling that there were eyes everywhere, that the second you let your guard down and relaxed in the moment, someone would bust the door down and catch you shooting goo all over your belly. It’s a truth that during masturbation the most sensitive part of your body is your ear. No matter how much your mind tells you that you’re deep-dicking Angelina Jolie in the forgotten tomb of an ancient pyramid, your ears know that your mom, wherever she is, can hear you, even if she’s dead. The feeling is exponentially worse relative to the amount of accessories or procedures you regularly enjoy. If someone strolls in while you’re just yanking away it’s not nearly as bad as if they caught you with a bucket of baby oil, a handful of goose feathers and a catcher’s mask on. It looks more premeditated.

In this case it was even worse. What could you say to someone who walked in you while you were pleasuring yourself to their sex life? “Hey, I was just thinking about you!” It lacked something.

I stopped short of taping over the keyhole, then I taped over it and the peephole anyway.

On the couch, got my beer, got the remote, lotion and towel are standing by. I clicked the remote and Bert was grinning at me again. Once more I watched him back away and sit down, again I watched him say something and wave. I didn’t dare turn up the sound for fear of hidden listening devices my priest might’ve planted (masturbation anxiety is a crippling thing) so I contented myself with pulling my pants down and waiting.

Gina came back out, and I thanked the gods I had popped for the 36″ Trinitron. Oh, Jesus. I couldn’t find a flaw on her, and I looked really hard.

This time when she danced I let her keep going. She kept eclipsing Bert as she jerked her hips in little hula movements, but I could tell he was smiling wide enough to hurt. She turned around and bent over a little, which put her exquisite butt in his face and let her breasts swing free and heavy under her scarves. I reached for the lotion. And she smiled at me.

What the fuck?

I paused the tape. She was bent low, hands on her knees, while Bert was gripping her legs and busily doing something between her legs. And she was smiling at me.

Duh! At the camera! She’s smiling at the camera, she doesn’t know I’m alive. Fucking paranoid idiot, drunk idiot. I clicked the Play button and she said something, still smiling, and suddenly it was vitally important to me to know what she said. I stood up and waddled to the set, pants around my ankles, turned it up (fucking remote’s for the VCR, no idea where the TV one is) and hit rewind. She wiggled crazily for a minute and stood up; I hit Play again and watched her bend forward slowly and smile up at me. “You like?” she said.

That didn’t sound like they were making it for themselves. Unless she was talking to some future Bert, and that didn’t sound right. I rewound the tape and started it again, and this time when Bert sat down he said, “You ready? Hope you like it.”

This was too fucking weird. They made a sex tape for somebody. They meant for someone else to see it.

Maybe me?

Maybe they left it in the camera on purpose?

No way. This doesn’t happen, I’m not one of those “I never thought it would happen to me” people, I’m not a student at a small Midwestern college, and I didn’t order pizza or maid service. They must’ve made it for friends. Only I’ve never noticed them socializing with other people. Their parties are usually people from the building or from their jobs, and I didn’t see them mailing it to her sister. Or maybe they did, what the fuck did I know?

Or – the thought wouldn’t go away – maybe they made it for me.

My cock certainly seemed to think so, but I couldn’t bring myself to continue. It still didn’t seem fair to me. What was I supposed to do now? Hand it back, go, “Thanks, nice tits, see ya later”? Whatever you can say about me, and people have said a lot, I believe in balance, fairness. And I was just drunk and horny enough to think of a way to make it seem right, or at least even the potential humiliational playing field.

I showered and shaved. Brushed my hair, put on nice clothes, the works, just like I was going out on a date. I set up the camcorder with a fresh tape and my tripod, pointing at the couch. I even cleaned up a little in that area, shoving papers and cups out of range. Then I hit Record, and sat on the couch. “Thanks,” I said to the camera, loud and clear, and I hit Play on the remote and watched my friends play with each other.

While it played through the opening scenes I unbuttoned my shirt. When it got to where she turned and bent over I let my hands roam over my chest the way I wanted to touch her tits. I was suddenly glad my job kept me in shape. I wasn’t Brad Pitt, but at least I wasn’t packing a spare tire yet. On the TV she cupped her magnificent breasts and held them up for me to see, and I let a hand drift down to rest on the length of my jeans zipper. She caught her nipples between her fingers and rubbed them for me. I spread a bit of lotion over my chest and my own erect nipples. One thing I’ll say for my ex-girlfriend, she helped me discover a lot more fun things you can do besides pump your dick.

Gina stepped away from Bert, who was looking a bit frazzled. His hair was messed up and his pants were definitely full. Gina walked towards the camera, curves combining and swaying, and adjusted it until it was focused tight on Bert’s crotch. While she walked back to him I unbuckled my belt and laid my right hand flat, ready, just underneath my waistband. She knelt on the floor by their bed and, watching something offscreen for guidance, she turned him so the camera caught them in profile. She rubbed her hands back and forth over the tented front of his shorts, and I ran my hands over my own bulging jeans in response.

A quick zip and my cock, impatient and angry, leapt forth even as she yanked Bert’s shorts down to release his own happy flagpole. She seized it in both hands, stroking and rubbing, before giggling at Bert. Then she turned and smiled at me, and, never losing eye contact, she opened her mouth and swallowed him.

I began to stroke in time with her.

Up and down and around and around she went. There are some girls who act too hesitant when they blow a guy. They’re afraid they’ll look weird, or they don’t want to do it in the first place, or they don’t really know how. Gina sucked cock like she lost her wedding ring in there and had to get it out quick. The urge to jackhammer myself and come right away was overpowering, but I restrained myself. I had my pride, and permanently recording my premature ejaculation on tape wasn’t the best way to win friends. Instead I downshifted and just gave myself maintenance strokes to keep things hard. Like it really needed it, my dick was so hard it felt like my entire lower body was erect.

Gina was using her hands on him now while she sucked. That seemed like a really good idea, so while I kept stroking with one hand I moved the other down to my balls. I tugged at the loose skin there and got everything in one hand, mostly, and gently squeezed and moved it around in a circle while I let my right hand slowly stroke from base to tip at the same time. Every time my hand hit the sweet spot under the head, my whole cock jumped and I made a little “ah!” noise that I hoped the camera was picking up.

Bert had had enough. He sat up, momentarily pushing Gina’s head out of the picture, and I was treated to a view of his wet cock bouncing madly as he twisted around on the bed. This was replaced with Gina’s stomach as she sat down, and then her beautiful pussy when she laid back and spread her legs. She had thick and meaty lips, already glistening and starting to gap open, and I hungered to taste them. Bert did it for me, with loud smacking sounds, and Gina made some loud smacking sounds of her own to encourage him. I stopped stroking almost entirely, afraid I’d lose it and wanting desperately to wait until he and I entered her. Also because, while I love few things better in life than to go down on a juicy woman, I usually fast-forward past that part in my porn. Not visual enough, I guess. Doing so here seemed rude however, so I waited it out and imagined being Bert just then.

He kept at it for an admirably long time until she finally came hard enough to bruise his nose, and the sound of that almost caused me to lose it no-hands. She sat up and kissed him deeply. I reached for the lotion and doled out a handful. Keeping one hand firmly on my nuts I brought the lotion-filled one around until it was just above my straining dick, and I waited. On the screen Bert laid down again and Gina straddled him, facing me. She lowered herself slowly until the head of his dick nudged the dripping lips of her pussy; I let my hand drop until my cock pushed against its slippery bottom. At the same instant he slid into her I forced my dick into my fist, and almost immediately I came hard and fast, long ropes launching from me like Silly String. My hips jerked over and over and I grabbed my cock with both hands, fucking them harder and harder until the spasms subsided.

When I could breathe again I was sitting half on and half off the couch, my hands and lower body a gooey mess, and on my television a beautiful girl was bouncing madly on a good-looking guy’s crank.

Okay, so he lasted longer than I did. But in my defense it must be noted that I had been saving up, and I had plenty more tape to fill before I gave the camera back to them.

Boy, I really, really hoped they did mean for me to see this.

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