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In my first few years after college, when I was finally living my dream of working and living in the city, I bounced around a lot between different apartments, always “leveling up” into places that were somehow both nicer and more affordable than the previous one. The best one of those without question was the sublet I practically stole from my college friend Dan. He had a really nice one bedroom in the hip neighborhood I always wanted to live in, and it was newly rehabbed with all the cool modern finishes of the time. But the ultimate feature of this unit was its access to a large rooftop terrace with one of the best skyline views I had ever seen. The terrace was available to all tenants of the building, but in all the times I hung out at Dan’s place, I never saw anybody else use it.
After only about six weeks of living in that apartment, Dan was offered a job in another city that he just couldn’t pass up. He asked if I would be willing to sublease the apartment from him for the final ten months of his lease, but I knew there was no way I could swing it on my salary.
“Dude, I love your place but I just can’t afford it,” I told him. “I’m probably only paying half of what you are right now.”
“I thought about that,” Dan said. “But listen, at my new job I am going to be making a lot more money, and rent is going to be so much cheaper there. If you can afford to pay 60% of the rent, I’ll cover the other 40%. I just want someone cool to have it.”
I was stunned. This was basically my ideal apartment, and it could actually be mine for the better part of a year.
“I’ll even keep the electric in my name,” he added, as if he needed to sweeten the deal.
“I fucking accept.”
It was sometime in the middle of April when I took over the apartment. I technically still had until June 1 at my other place, but I could not get all my stuff into the new one fast enough. Completely over living with roommates, and eager to call that sweet new apartment with the rooftop terrace my home, I rented a truck and moved all my meager possessions over there on a Saturday afternoon. Fortunately Dan left some of his furniture and even his TV for me, so I didn’t really have all that much moving to do. I spent the next couple of weeks setting it up to my personal taste, with some original art that talented friends of mine had made, and some indie band posters and whatnot. In one corner by the window I set up my turntables and little record collection, promising myself that I would work on my shitty DJ skills more now that I had my own place.
Just about every night I would sit by myself out on the terrace in an old folding camping chair that Dan left for me. I would drink a beer or two or six and look out at the city and marvel at how lucky I was. I got in the habit of smoking a single cigarette as I sat out there, but not because I particularly enjoyed smoking. It just seemed like the right thing to do outdoors in nice weather with a view like that.
In May, some new neighbors moved in across the hall from me. They had movers bringing everything up the stairs and into the apartment, so I didn’t actually get to meet them in the hall. But I got a peek through the doorway and saw what appeared to be a couple about my age, attractive, and most likely Indian. They seemed nice enough, though I hoped to myself that they wouldn’t discover the terrace we shared, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful moments of solitude I was beginning to covet.
A few days later, I walked out to the terrace on a Friday night with a couple tall cans of beer and was a bit disappointed to see that I wasn’t alone. My new neighbors from across the hall were sitting in some newer chairs, drinking a red from some oversized wine glasses. Both were smoking cigarettes, and both turned to face me when they heard the door open.
“Hi there,” said the man.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I replied.
“Not at all. Have a seat if you like.”
I sat down in my ratty old chair and introduced myself, cracking open my can of beer.
“I’m Raj,” my neighbor said politely. “And this is Nisha.”
Raj was a pretty handsome guy, tall with rugged, movie star-like looks and hair. He had a warm smile that made me feel immediately comfortable. And Nisha was absolutely gorgeous, petite with long black hair and eyes that sparkled. She didn’t smile but I felt welcomed by her as well. They were dressed casual and hip, in the neighborhood uniform of the time, which was something like dark skinny jeans and v-neck American Apparel t-shirts.
“Have you lived here long?” Nisha asked.
“I moved in just a few weeks ago actually,” I replied.
“We were wondering if anybody ever actually came out here,” Raj said.
“Honestly I have no idea why, but nobody else ever does,” I said, pulling a cigarette out of a pack I bought two weeks prior.
Nisha handed me a lighter.
“Well I hope you don’t feel as if we’ve intruded. We really love it here,” she said.
“Not at all,” I assured them.
The Şişli travesti three of us, plus an occasional friend of mine or theirs spent a lot of time together on that terrace as the weeks went by and spring evolved into early summer. We were getting to know each other pretty well through the conversations held over lots of beer, wine, and cigarettes. Raj had some kind of finance job, while Nisha’s job had something to do with one of the major advertising firms downtown. It turned out that we all went to the big state college together, even taking many of the same classes. But our circles did not intersect at school. While I had a large group of diverse friends, mostly musicians and artists, bartenders and baristas, Raj and Nisha it seemed only really hung out with other well-off Indian kids.
Raj became somewhat of a good friend, and started making a habit out of trying to impress me with some new band or rapper he had just discovered, insisting we listen to it right away on the crappy iPod dock speaker he always lugged out there. Of course, he was way behind on most of the stuff he was trying to introduce me to, but I usually played along, nodding approvingly whenever he played the hot track off that new album that I already had the leaked version of months ago.
Nisha I didn’t connect with as closely, but we were certainly friendly with one another, and honestly she was just so easy on the eyes I would still probably like her if she never said a word. As the weather got hotter, her shorts and skirts got shorter, and it became harder for me to try to avoid staring at her legs. The outfits she wore on weekend nights while pre-partying for a night out at the bars were sometimes a bit too much. One such night, when she wore a skin-tight, dangerously short navy blue dress, I decided I needed to say something.
“I think I’ve decided I like Indian girls now,” I said playfully. “When are you guys going to hook me up with one of your cute friends?”
Raj and Nisha both laughed.
“We actually have a group of friends coming over tonight actually. And Ritika is single. Let me know if you think she’s cute and I’ll set you up,” Nisha offered.
Raj scowled at me and shook his head, letting me know Ritika was probably not the one for me.
Within an hour I think six or seven people showed up on the terrace to party with Raj and Nisha. All of the couples were similar: gorgeous young Indian women and sort of average looking but very well dressed young Indian men. Nice people, obviously pretty well-off, but sort of painfully boring. It was clear Raj and Nisha were the cool couple in their friend group.
“Nice place! Surprised I didn’t get stabbed outside though,” joked one of the guys in reference to our still-gentrifying neighborhood. I absolutely hated comments like that. I made a mental note to try to steal that guy’s girlfriend.
When Ritika showed up, I understood immediately why Raj had made that face. I wouldn’t call her fat, but she was a lot curvier than her other friends, to put it politely. And lots of makeup, accessories and jewelry could not disguise the fact that she just wasn’t as naturally pretty as her other friends. Still, when Nisha introduced her to me, I feigned interest and ended up talking with Ritika for most of the night. I read once somewhere that if you give the most attention to the least attractive female in a group, that the others will take notice, making you more attractive to them. Plus, Ritika was very easy to talk to, and she was stroking my ego just the right way by laying the flirt on as thick as her thighs.
The more we drank, the more Ritika seemed like a viable option. Sure, compared to the other four gorgeous models on the terrace, she wasn’t much to look at. But she was the only single one, and was at least engaging and had some pretty nice boobs. And maybe if we hooked up, word would get around to her friends that I was a good lover with a big dick, which might increase my chances with one of the hot ones down the road. This is the type of perverse chess game only a drunk me could play.
We drank and flirted out on the terrace (and probably made out a little) until very late at night, and eventually everybody including Raj and Nisha had called it a night. Ritika asked to come in to use my bathroom, but as soon as I opened the apartment door she threw herself at me, aggressively kissing me while asking me to take her to bed. She pulled off her dress, and I unhooked her bra, revealing some pretty impressive breasts, not at all saggy despite their size. I started to go for her panties when she stopped me.
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Oh, okay. I’m sorry,” I said, taken aback. “I guess I misread this.”
“I’m a virgin,” she explained. “And I am waiting for marriage.”
This was pretty surprising to me as this girl was at least about 23 years old and gave off a vibe of being a very sexual person. She was the one throwing herself at me after all.
“But I can still make Taksim travesti you happy,” she said, unbuckling my belt.
I gave her some help and dropped my pants and underwear down to the floor to let her have access to my erect penis, which despite all the alcohol was still very much ready to party.
“Not going to lie to you, this is the biggest I have ever seen,” she said, genuinely seeming impressed.
She took me in her hand and began kissing the tip, performing what I assumed was going to be the foreplay to a real good blowjob. However, the kissjob continued for several long minutes, and despite my obvious attempts at trying to thrust my dick a little more into her mouth, she never let more than about an inch go past her lips.
“Are you close?” she asked.
“Uh…no,” I said, wondering if she was kidding. “Here, let’s try this.”
I laid her down on the bed and got on top of her, rubbing my dick all over her nice big tits. Instinctively she pushed them together to allow me to start fucking her cleavage. It wasn’t as good as a blowjob, but it felt nice. It was going to do the trick anyway.
After maybe ten minutes of this act, with Ritika doing some surprisingly decent improv with dirty talk like “oh yeah fuck my tits baby,” I announced my intention to come.
“Yes, come all over my tits,” she said.
Right on cue I shot my load all over her neck and chest, and continued going at her tits until every last drop was drained out of my cock and onto her nice brown skin where it seemed to belong. Fighting the urge to immediately drop down to the bed and fall asleep, I made the absolute bare minimum amount of effort by grabbing a nearby t-shirt so she could clean up.
When I woke up the next day, there was no sign of Ritika, except for the unmistakable scent of perfume on my bed. I spent the rest of the weekend inside, half because I was hungover and didn’t feel like being social, and half because I was not looking forward to the embarrassment of talking to Raj and Nisha about Ritika. What if she liked me? Did she think I was her boyfriend now? It seemed safer to just remain inside forever.
By the following Saturday, I was ready to face the terrace again. The weather was absolutely perfect, sunny and 80 degrees. I cracked the door open around noon to sit and relax in the sun, when I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. My gorgeous neighbor Nisha was there, all alone, stretched out on a towel reading a magazine. She wore a black two-piece bathing suit, and her skin was glowing in the sun. If there was such a color as neon brown, she was it.
“Well hello there neighbor,” she said, grinning at me behind large aviator sunglasses.
Seeing so much of her amazing little body and perfect skin all at once was more than a bit overwhelming. Nisha was very thin, but for the first time I noticed she actually had a surprisingly full and round little butt for someone with her frame. And of course those legs were killing me. I almost wanted to go back out the door and pretend I never saw her. But she saw me, and was beckoning me to come sit down next to her.
“Hey, where’s Raj?” I asked, genuinely curious. I don’t think I had ever seen her without him.
“He’s actually in India for the next two weeks visiting his grandparents.”
“Oh wow, that’s cool.”
“It’s whatever. So how did it go with Ritika last weekend?”
“She was nice. I had fun talking to her.”
“Just talking?”
“Why, what did she say?”
“Well she said she had a lot of fun ‘talking’ to you too, and that you are a really sweet guy.” Nisha did air quotes when she said the word talking, letting me know that she knew it was more. After a contemplative pause, she added, “But you’re not really her type, so don’t worry about her stalking you now or anything.”
That was a relief. Our conversation moved onto what each others plans were for the evening. Neither of us had any.
“Have you ever seen any Bollywood movies?” Nisha asked me.
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Oh, we have to watch one tonight. They are really cheesy but great. And you’ll like the actresses.”
I couldn’t believe this stunning brown babe in a bikini wanted to hang out alone with me. We formally agreed on a time that I would come over to watch a movie, then parted ways for the afternoon. When the hour came, I grabbed a bottle of wine off my counter, then went across the hall and knocked on the door. Nisha answered looking amazing as usual, even in her simple gray t-shirt and short blue athletic shorts. I felt way overdressed in a button down shirt. She invited me over to the couch, and I placed my bottle next to the open one on the coffee table she was already working on.
“Let me get you a glass,” she offered politely.
An episode of Seinfeld was playing on the TV. Kramer was pitching his idea for a new fragrance based on the smell of the beach.
“I love this one,” she said, plopping down next to me and pouring me a glass of wine.
“You Gümüşsuyu travesti kind of have a beachy smell about you,” I said.
“It’s my suntan oil,” she said, seemingly ecstatic that I noticed her scent. “Isn’t it the best? It makes my skin feel so soft. Go ahead, touch it.”
I so badly wanted to reach out and stroke her thigh, but opted a little more conservatively for the forearm instead. Indeed it felt soft.
We watched the entire episode of Seinfeld, with Nisha laughing along with the laugh track, almost too enthusiastically. But she was really paying more attention to her phone. She seemed distracted, almost certainly bothered by something.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. No. Raj was supposed to call me tonight. It’s really late over there now, so I don’t think he will,” she said with a frown.
“I’m sure he just lost track of time catching up with his family,” I said, trying to console her.
“There’s a girl over there they are trying to get him to marry.”
“What?”
“Oh yeah, arranged marriages are still very big in his family.”
“And yours?”
“No. My parents wouldn’t care who I marry. Well, as long…,” she paused.
“As long as he’s Indian,” I finished for her.
“Hindu. And from a good family,” she added.
Another episode of Seinfeld started. I wondered if we were going to actually watch a movie. I got the idea that I was really just there to give her someone to talk to. So I was content to sit and listen. I learned that the girl in question was only 16, and likely a cousin to Raj. He was making fun of the idea, even showed Nisha a picture of the girl in order to laugh at her. But Nisha said she was actually very pretty, and fairer-skinned than she was, which was supposed to be attractive. He had repeatedly told her not to worry, that he was able to stand up to his family, and insisted that he would not have any interest in this girl.
“Nisha, I am sure you have nothing to worry about,” I said. “Raj is a smart guy, and choosing some teenage cousin over you would be the dumbest thing ever.”
“Thank you, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
After the second Seinfeld ended, and before we even opened the second bottle of wine, and without any mention of the move, Nisha announced to me that she was getting really tired. I took the hint and left right away, without even so much as an awkward hug.
Early the next evening I had a knock on my door. It was Nisha, holding the bottle of wine I left, as well as a DVD.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “Can we try this again?”
We ordered thai food, drank wine, and watched this silly movie she brought over. We had a lot of laughs making fun of some of the cheesy action scenes and flamboyant dance moves. She was way less distracted than the previous night. It was great to see her laughing and smiling so much, and fun to finally connect with her one-on-one.
At some point, Nisha’s phone rang and she went into my bedroom to answer the call, which I assume was from Raj. I paused the movie. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her being alone in my bedroom. It was a good thing I had recently done laundry, so at least it wasn’t too much of a mess in there. Hopefully there wasn’t anything embarrassing like suspiciously placed bottles of lotion or used napkins or anything like that. Actually it had been a few days since I jerked off, so I was pretty sure I had nothing to worry about.
Nisha came out maybe fifteen minutes later and sat next to me on the couch.
“Press play,” she said.
“How is Raj?” I asked.
“He is fine. He admitted he has been hanging out with that girl, but only in a large family setting, and never alone. And nobody from the family has brought up marriage or anything like that yet.”
After the film’s predictable happy ending, we caught the last ten minutes of a Seinfeld episode while finishing our wine. Afterwards, she let me know that she had to be up early for something, so she had to go home to sleep.
“Can I at least call you a cab?” I joked.
“It’s a nice night, I think I’ll walk.”
I walked her across the hall to her door, and she turned and gave me a really warm, tight hug.
“Thank you for dealing with all my bullshit,” she said.
“What bullshit? I had fun.”
“Me too,” she said, closing the door behind her.
We hung out a couple more times in Raj’s absence. One evening we just chilled on the terrace listening to a trip hop mix I made, looking up at the three or four stars the light pollution and cloud cover would allow to filter through. Neither of us were in the mood for a full cigarette, so we shared one, passing it back and forth after each of us had a drag or two. This felt pretty intimate, at least on my end.
Another time we relaxed at her apartment, watching TV and eating pizza. We were getting comfortable enough with each other where it seemed a little physical contact was okay. When we sat on the couch, it wasn’t exactly cuddling, but she sat directly next to me in a way our bodies were touching each other. A couple of times I put my arm around her shoulders. There was never a hint at anything beyond a platonic friendship, but it felt really nice to have that kind of friendship with this beautiful, smart, funny girl.
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