Christian Beauvoir lives in a decaying four-story, fifty-unit apartment complex located in what used to be an upscale and trendy neighborhood. Southern California beaches, including this one, were once the toast of the state long before Jamaica, Cancun, Rio or other exotic locales. The only appeal to this heap of rotting decay, affectionately referred to by residents as the “Dump,” is that it is located just a few very short blocks from the beach and the rents are dirt cheap. Most of the residents moved here with the understanding that if they ran out of funds and couldn’t afford to pay the rent, they could simply relocate cheaply and quickly to the near-by beach. In addition to the always-teeming beach, the apartment complex is a half a block away from fast food joints, massage parlors, and liquor stores. The streets are filthy and the gutters are filled with trash, garbage and the unmistakable refuse of base human perversions.
Christian is physically striking. He is in his prime, thirty-six, and easily ascends the crumbling staircase. His good looks, confidence and upscale grunge clothing signals that he is out of place in this sketchy neighborhood, and even more so at this crumbling apartment complex. Christian, is perhaps 6’2” or 6’3”. His frame is well toned and muscled, but not bulky. His muscles flex in sync as he scales the stairs, three or four at a time. His hair is chestnut brown, his skin tone, golden spun honey.
Christian pauses briefly at the top of the landing. He pauses not because he is out of breath but to peer into the window of a female neighbor. A wolfish smile spreads across his tanned features. Today is his lucky day. He leans back against the railing, waiting for the show to begin.
The show begins with a lady on the couch. Melissa, is over thirty, single, gorgeous, and burdened by an adventurous, unquenchable sexual appetite. Her voluptuous, almost perfect body is packaged with natural, unenhanced large breasts, a very trim waist and well-shaped, full hips. Her skin tone is a rich, deep golden tan. Melissa is a picture-perfect advertisement for California’s mythic endless days of sun, sea, and beautiful women. Melissa’s body is as taut and toned as a twenty year old. She tells new acquaintances and possible suitors that she is an underwear model, often doubling for Victoria’s Secret models. But she earns the bulk of her income as a high-priced escort. Her tastefully dyed, ash blonde hair is swept up and away from her almost beautiful face. Her mouth is full and inviting, almost always posed in a perpetual pout.
Melissa is awake early today, bored and in a heightened state of arousal. She had almost given up hope that she would get to display her magnificent naked body to a complete stranger while engaged in masturbation. Melissa smiles at the building’s subliminal sway in response to Christian’s ascent. She quickly rushes to the window to raise the closed blinds. Melissa is always partially clothed and fully aroused. She assumes the position on the couch; head elevated, back arched with her long, very well shaped tanned legs slightly open. Melissa’s signature short silk kimono barely covers her aroused, bountiful breasts.
As Christian peers in, Melissa feigns sleep. She instinctively knows the man in the window is staring at her, devouring her with his eyes. In Melissa’s world, anything is possible. Perhaps this one is her Prince Charming? Who says that the Prince couldn’t visit a dump like this in search of the girl of his dreams? Maybe this is the one? In truth, it doesn’t matter to Melissa if the guy at the window is Prince Charming or not. The only thing that matters to Melissa right now is the building heat between her legs and her need to extinguish that heat.
Christian watches, waiting. Melissa flexes her toes and then pulls her knees up, to simulate a sensuous stretch. Melissa moves slightly and her kimono slides off to the side and reveals an erect nipple. Through lidded eyes, Melissa clearly sees Christian watching her. Knowing that she has his full attention, Melissa suggestively licks her lips, pouts, stretches, and then languidly spreads her legs to reveal her nakedness. Melissa reaches for the exposed nipple and begins to gently caress and massage it as her other hand snakes down between her legs.
Christian is enjoying the show, the best he has seen in quite a while. In the window, their reflections merge and appear to be joined, skin-to-skin. Melissa’s hand appears to caress Christian’s chest as he leans in for a closer look.
Christian’s interest is interrupted by a sound somewhere down the corridor, off to his left, in the shadows above him. A second, indistinct sound further breaks the spell and Christian, on alert, moves noiselessly towards his apartment door. Melissa sits up abruptly, her heat and passion interrupted and unsatisfied.
Christian hears the familiar rustle of nearby, dead palm fronds. Although no one is visible, Christian senses danger. Two people, a man and a woman in dark suits, stride with cold authority and purpose towards Christian. He enters his apartment and attempts to close the door but a foot is shoved into the gap.
Reflexively, Christian steps slightly back from the door and readies himself for the imminent interrogation.