Naughty Neighbor Paint Job

Naughty Neighbor Paint Job

It was a few hours in when I finally admitted that painting my apartment alone had been a mistake. I had pain everywhere on my legs, my arms, and my tank top. The living room smelled like fresh paint, and the open windows didn’t help. I wasn’t even thinking about my next-door neighbor or that this would end up being a naughty neighbor paint job.

Standing in the middle of the room on the drop cloth with my roller in hand, my shoulders ached, and my patience had all been used up. All that I was looking at, was a wall with uneven lines and patches. I heard the knock at the door, just as I was considering giving up.

I already knew who it would be.

Somehow, my neighbor always knew when my life was going a little wonky. He would always show up just in time with a grin on his lips. Neither of us knew this was going to become a naughty neighbor paint job.

I opened the door, and his tall, muscled body filled the doorway. He looked me over, seeing the paint smudges and an exhausted look in my eyes. Then he peered over my shoulder to see the mess inside. My cheeks went red with embarrassment.  He walked inside and took in the chaos.

This was a job for my naughty neighbor, the painter. You could tell he was amused as he saw the paint trays everywhere and used rollers leaning against the freshly painted walls. He was kind and didn’t mention how poorly some of those spots looked. After assessing the job at hand, my neighbor picked up a paint roller and started painting. My naughty neighbor paint job came to mind.

I had noticed him in the hall, and we had said hello here and there. I was aware, and I was interested. Now he was here working on my paint job. The room was quiet except for the soft scrape of the roller and some music I had put on for background noise.

He moved confidently, smoothing over mistakes I’d already ruined trying to fix. It was a struggle not to fixate on him. The heat in the room became unbearable, whether it was from the open windows or him passing so close to me. I picked up a paintbrush to start working on the edges.

Naughty neighbor paint job gets dirty.

Painting together turned strangely intimate. I liked this naughty neighbor helping me paint, had been working on a corner when I felt a drop of paint fall on my face. I looked up, and it was him. Instantly retaliating, I took my brush to his chest. His t-shirt covered chest. That was my first mistake. He playfully flicked some more paint on my shirt. I was getting ready with some more paint when he pulled off the wet paint-stained shirt. The teasing disappeared, and I noticed the telltale wetness between my legs.

My pulse sped up as he handed me the ruined shirt to clean up the paint on my body. The shirt did no good, though; it just smeared the paint around. At this point, it felt like the heater had been turned on in the room.

I noticed everything: his paint smears, his jawline, his warmth next to mine. He slowly looked me up and down, like he had looked at the room. It felt different when I knew that he was assessing me, and that wet spot was growing bigger. The naughty neighbor’s paint job had been forgotten. Neither of us was interested in the walls anymore.

The naughty neighbor paint job forgotten.

His hands grabbed my waist as he leaned closer. There was no other choice but to kiss the man. The kiss deepened, and the room started to spin a bit. The drying paint on the walls, forgotten. He backed me gently towards the wall while we were still kissing. His hands were moving slowly down my hips. I ached for more as my heart was racing. His pace slowed and became teasing. I tried to match it, but it was hard. That’s when his back touched the wall, my arms around him, and we felt the wet paint. We both laughed and then got back to the naughty neighbor no longer paint job.

The half-painted walls and abandoned rollers left to dry, the painting could wait, the desire in my belly needed to be satisfied.

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