By: Tommyhawk1
I was glad when my next-door neighbors moved out. Noisy, drunken, abusive, and screaming at each other every Saturday night at 2am. (Sunday morning, that is).
The apartment was vacant for a month, and then suddenly it was occupied. I knew this when I walked by and saw that the windows, which had been shut with blinds closed, now stood with blinds open and things piled inside. Our two apartments shared an alcove and our doors faced each other. As I walked by, I craned my neck to look in the window when I nearly tripped over a pair of work boots.
My new neighbor had left his work boots on the mat at his front door. Large, round-toed, size-13 work boots, dark brown, badly scuffed, with a yellow rectangle that said "Caterpillar" on their outsides at the tops. I lurched, caught myself, put them back into their original side-by-side position, and went into my apartment. At the time I saw those boots, I was mostly annoyed. The alcove was small enough, and now I was in constant danger of tripping over his work boots. But they were gone in the morning when I got up to go to work, and so I figured I could live with it.
For days my neighbor was an enigma to me. I knew nothing about him besides the fact that he wore work boots to work. I could look out my window beside the door right into the window of his apartment (the usual scatter-brained design of such cheap buildings) but for the fact that the drawn blinds stayed drawn. I saw nothing of him other than an occasional shadow against the blinds at night; not that I was especially looking back then, mind you.
But the weather grew warmer rapidly, and the apartments had no air-conditioning. I knew he would eventually be forced to do what I had done, open the blinds and the window. First during the day only, but in the heat of July and August, you had to leave every window open at night or roast inside your own apartment.
It happened, first the window was opened, then after a few days of that, the blinds went up and I could, at night with both our lights on, see him just fine - god, it was the really hot guy that I had seen at the pool a couple of times. I thought he lived up on the second floor. I could see the shapeless masses that were his furniture, some sort of mattress, a beanbag chair, and a television set seeming to be his only possessions; my own weren't much more than that.
I had seen him at the pool, hair glistening from the recent dip, and him lying on the patio chair, his black hair lying neatly in place, his well-defined chest formed of his strong pecs, ovals topped by two off-centered brown nipples, then the lines of his abs down to his narrow waist, and the nice package that formed below. His legs were nicely shaped without bulging, with widened areas showing the muscles. His toes were...
"Like what you see, faggot?" was his sardonic comment when he spotted me looking at him. I turned and walked away, muttering, "jerk" under my breath, and after that, when he was at the pool, I stayed indoors, and vice versa.
Shit, now the guy was right next door to me. I thought about it and snapped off the lights in my apartment. If I hadn't known he was next door to me, odds were he didn't know the same about me. Hidden in the darkness of my apartment, I stood and watched him.
He was in that beanbag chair - I suppose it was - he had a Western-style throw over it, making it an undefined mass, but it let him slouch low and watch his television. I couldn't see all of him, but I saw he was bare above the waist, and that he was watching television, which was his only light source. It was spewing that off-brown color all over him in rippling movements that made it clear he was watching porn of some kind. His arms were down in such a way that I wondered if he was playing with himself! I leaned forward, but I couldn't tell; it seemed like it. Would he do that, whack off with the blinds open?
I thought about it and stealthily opened my door and went over to peek inside. Just a quick look to tell me if he was whacking off or not, and I would dart back inside before I could be spotted.
That was my plan, anyway. I tripped over those damned work boots of his again and darned near fell down. I cursed under my breath and went back indoors, and back to my window again. His arm was moving kind of funny. If only I could see just a little lower down. I got my old steamer trunk I had picked up at a garage sale and pulled it over to the window and got up on that; I could see.
Yes, he was whacking it! God, that hard cock of his was a monster! He was making long strokes up and down that shaft, which must have easily been ten inches! Watching the screen, whacking his meat, wearing only a pair of black baggy shorts that he had lowered to mid-thigh, stretched out, his window absent of its coverings, feeling secure enough to whack off like that, he was watching and he was stroking.
I reached into my own shorts and pulled out my dick and pumped it, intending to shoot when he did, if I could. But I had no more than gotten it out when, without any sort of movement from him, no thrashing or groaning I could spot, he suddenly shot his wad onto his stomach. It took me a moment to even spot the quick small jets as they arced over. And he was done and wiping his stomach with a corner of that Western-style throw. I wondered if it was thick and stiff with his loads; it seemed to be. He finished cleaning off, turned off the television with the remote, and was in darkness. Show over!
But I was left with a hard-on and nothing but a few brief memories. Damn, if those work boots hadn't been out there I would have gotten a good look at him! Those fucking boots had ruined my fun... or had they?
I pulled up my shorts over my hard dick and opened the door. They were out there, alright. I grabbed the right one and took it back to my place.
He must use the outdoors to air them out because they were pretty funky-smelling. I got a whiff of it - which was partly old leather but a lot of male sweat - and grinned evilly. Call me a faggot just for looking, who the fuck did he think he was? I'd show him, even if I hoped he'd never catch on.
I pumped my cock, turned on by the brief glimpses of the worked-out, big-dicked stud and the thought of what I was going to do to him. Turned on by the furtiveness, too, I got to the edge pretty quickly and I grabbed that boot in my free hand and I pumped my wad right inside that grungy work boot. Thick clumps of my jizz made it inside, along with a couple that only hit the outside of it, but when I caught my breath and looked, I had plenty of it inside there like I wanted, clustered around the heel.
I lifted it up and let the sperm flow down into the toe, and it did, like syrup, a clump on the outside falling in a splat on my floor. Then I carefully opened the door and set it back beside its mate. The sperm would dry before morning, and my nasty, hunky neighbor would go to work while walking on my dried cum. And he'd never even know it! Revenge is sweeter (and safer) when you take it anonymously.
But I decided the next day after I was sure he hadn't suspected a thing, that one load of jizz wasn't enough. I needed to put another load in that boot's mate. That would be it - he would know before much longer who his neighbor was and any suspicion about the stains in or on his boots would be a dead giveaway. Safety lay in knowing when to stop. A load in his other work boot and I would stop entirely.
I was confirmed in this decision when I arrived home from work that evening to see him just getting home as well, taking off his boots by his front door. He gave me a look – more of a snarl actually - as if he was wondering what the hell I was doing there, and then I heard the word "Shit!" and his door slam as he watched me enter my apartment. I peered through my window and saw the blinds had been drawn and the window closed.
I had never heard him go out in the evenings, not during the week anyway, so I decided to go ahead and get the rest of my revenge for his one-word insult at the pool, and put an end to it. I waited until it got dark and then I stepped out and grabbed his work boot, making sure this time I grabbed the left one and darted back inside.
This time, it was harder for me, without the stimulation of the recent sights and the lesser fear of danger. I beat my meat for a good long time before I managed to get off. Only the realization that if my neighbor noticed his boot was missing I'd be stuck with it and have to toss it someplace discreetly, gave me the impetus I needed to finish the job. This time I held the boot up to my crotch and shot the entire wad right inside it. I got a few globs on the inside of the tongue, but the rest spewed inside. I think I coated its insides thoroughly, from the drainage of the last slow spurts onto the tongue where it oozed down inside.
I was done and slipped the work boot back outside, leaving my own door open. No more reason to hide, my neighbor knew I was here.
His door opened about five minutes later and my heart jumped. He grabbed his work boots and I saw to my horror that he was about to put them on, bare-footed! Some quick trip to the store or something, I guessed. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Leather tends to soak stuff up in a hurry. Maybe...
"Ah, god damn it!" my neighbor yelled. "Shit! What is that? God damn!"
I settled myself in my chair and grabbed a book. He muttered some more and then I heard him walk over to my door - clomp, pat, clomp, pat, clomp, pat. One foot shod, one foot bare.
I looked up with what I hoped was innocence, seeing him standing there red-faced and angry, wearing those black shorts and a red pullover, wielding the left work boot.
"What the fuck did you do to my boot?" he demanded.
