Emily Uncensored Book 1: The Neighbors Read online

  I say this part a lot quicker: “Yes, she is beautiful and way fucking out of your league buddy so back to the bar you go.”

  I stand up and motion him to scoot backwards. I sit back down and fold my hands together and place my elbows on the table. I don’t take my eyes off of him until he returns to his seat (mostly un-offended).

  What the fuck today?

  Two guys in one day?

  My mom is terrible fucking luck.

  “The nerve!” my mom shouts.

  “Yes, well, that’s New York. No actually, that seems to be right on par with every man everywhere.”

  My mom sips on her lemon water and looks back over her shoulder at the bar. “Well, good for you sweetie. You really told him.” My mother sets down her drink.

  “Nah, he’ll be back. They always come back.” I dig into my burger un-phased. With a mouthful of deliciousness I state: “Assholes never know when to quit, just look at the rape culture in this country.” At the thought of rape, my mind drifts to Jonathan and an image of him tying me down and having his way with me. Why? Who knows. But it’s fucking glorious.

  The next morning I wake up on the couch to my mother watching The Today Show with my cat snuggled on her lap. What a bitch! I am the warmest, most snuggly person I know, and the cat picks…my mom! Ugh, whatever Gertie! I hope you choke on a fur-ball you back-stabbing-gremlin-cat from hell! I wipe my eyes and stretch.

  “Jesus it’s early mom. How long have you been up?” I say as I yawn.

  “Just a little while darling.” She is sipping on her tea in a lavender pantsuit and black pumps. She looks as if she were attending an afternoon tea with the Upper East Side Women’s Society.

  I realize I am in my underwear. I jump out from under the covers and sprint for my room as Gwen takes another sip. Not that I haven’t been in my underwear in front of my mom before, but I hate being in my underwear in front of anyone. Well, maybe not my neighbors. I would gladly undress for them both, but that is fantasy, and my mother sitting on my half-sunken in couch at 6:30 in the morning is far, far from a fantasy of mine.

  I get in the shower and turn on the hot water and let it pour over me for a few minutes. My mind wanders to Molly and her short skirts. I imagine her unzipping my jeans. I imagine Jonathan walking in and asking what the hell we are doing, and then joining in and encouraging ‘naughty’ behavior.

  I take my right hand and slowly caress my nipple. I increase pressure, pinching it hard. I take my left hand and slowly move it down from my belly button past my torso and begin to pleasure myself. I am so turned on. I want to be loud but know that I can’t. I think of Molly’s hair in my face and Jonathan picking me up from my ass as my legs wrap around him. Right as I am about to come, a knock at the bathroom door.

  FUCK!

  “Yes!?”

  What the hell!?

  “Darling, where is your sugar?”

  Are you fucking kidding me right now with this shit?

  I am about to have the best result of a shower daydream in weeks and my mom interrupts me for sugar? I am, for a second, thinking, do I even own sugar? I mean, I own ice cream.

  “I’m not sure mom, just look around!” I yell louder than I need to. How can I get back to where I was? Is it possible? I close my eyes and – ew! OK that was an image of Jonathan and my mom. No, no, no I tell myself. Back to Molly and Jonathan.

  I try again.

  Ugh! Yuck!

  A picture of Molly pouring sugar on my mom. Fuck this, I am out! I turn off the shower and step out. Looking into the foggy mirror, I see a face that has not had enough sleep and too much Gwyneth Hawkins.

  The next day, I have to go to work and so I leave my mom in my apartment for hours alone- heaven forbid. As I am wrapping myself up with layers of clothing in the downstairs lobby, ready to head out the front door, there they come. My fantasy angels, number one and two. Molly and Jonathan. I quickly decide to put my beanie on and try to escape conversation. I realize from their body language that they are fighting again. I think for a short second if I should try and wear some low cut shirts or maybe try a skirt like the ones Molly wears. Maybe I should try and lure them into a situation where they want me as much as I want them. But no, I decide to go with my tried and true position of ‘better to not be seen than to have someone want to talk to me’.

  I cover my head with my beanie and pull my coat up around my neck. As I try to sneak out the door past them and their arguing (which happens to be about money or bills or something boring), Jonathan catches sight of me.

  Shit!

  “Hey, Emily? Where are you headed?”

  I look at Molly and she looks away trying to ignore me by opening her mailbox and rattling the key back and forth.

  “Oh, hey! Um, I am heading to work actually.” Trying to speed up the process I sprint out the door. “See you!” I say and then quickly open the door.

  Jonathan walks outside with me and while it snows white all around us he asks me a very simple yet odd request. “Wait up a minute…um, I wanted to know if maybe you could watch our cat this weekend while we go out of town?”

  There is a pause, partly because this is the last thing I want to hear out of his mouth. A much better question might be: will you sit on me while I rub your breasts? But no- silly me. This is my life we are talking about here. That would never happen.

  “Well, my mom is in town and um…I guess she leaves in a few days.” I am trying to come up with any excuse to not be pulled into the ‘being paid to watch one's cat-zone’, but it’s hard.

  “It would just be Saturday afternoon to Sunday evening, and I will totally owe you!” He says.

  Now this I like. He will owe me. This is good shit. He starts to speak and I interrupt him, “Yes!” I say awkwardly.

  “Oh. Great. Thank you so much. I will leave the key under our mat.”

  He is so fucking handsome I can’t stand it. I really just want to suck on his ears but instead I hold up my hand and give the gesture for him to high-five me. Yes Emily, this will for sure get you away from the ‘friendly’ zone and into the ‘I want to fuck your brains out’ zone.

  He high-fives me reluctantly, and I can feel him watching me as I walk away, my skinny jeans wet from the snow and my hands freezing from standing outside for five minutes. I shuffle forward more than strut sexily as I had envisioned in my head. Fuck it- it’s winter, I’ll bust out the cute clothes and sexy struts come spring.

  Saturday morning and Mother is leaving. I take her to the airport, and she hugs me and thanks me for a “wonderful visit”. She has someone help her with her ever-multiplying suitcases, and I wave to her as she slips away, clicking her heels on the tile floor. I sit there for a moment and watch her. I’m stalling. My next adventure will lead me to the neighbor’s apartment, their cat, and insight into their lives!

  I’m scared and gloriously excited all at the same time.

  5

  Apartment 103

  My heart is racing.

  I take the key from under the mat and unlock the door. I’m expecting a modern and pristine environment with pictures of family hanging on the walls. Possibly a few ferns and of course a cute and fluffy feline. When I enter, my jaw drops and I am paralyzed with fear. It’s barren. There’s a couch, leather and black, standing alone in the middle of the living room. A flat screen hung on the wall, but besides that, no décor, no pictures and definitely no ferns. The hardwood floors are much like the ones in my apartment but there are no rugs and while I’m shutting the door, the cat tries to escape. I would too kitty. I would too.

  I bend down to pet her and she takes to my hand with a welcoming purr. I begin to search the apartment. There would of course be encouraging details of how Molly and Jonathan live, right? I am probably even more intrigued now that I have seen the front room and its simplicity. Nowhere do I find magazines or books or any interpretation of who they are. It’s just bland. Everything is picked up. Everything is tidy. They are minimalists!

  As I wa
lk through the apartment I begin to wonder if these two ever have sex. Maybe I would be their teacher. Maybe I could be the one who unleashes every pleasure they ever desired.

  The kitchen: white with stainless steel appliances. There is one knife sitting out on a cutting board. The fridge has exactly one magnet that says: NYU Alumni on it.

  There’s a small note under that magnet which reads:

  “Molly,

  one scoop cat food.

  Fill water bowl.

  That’s it!

  Thanks again

  -J & M”

  I do what the note says.

  I continue into the bedroom. Here is where it gets interesting. There is a bed, large and comfortable. I lay down on it to check. There are two nightstands, both with matching lamps. On one side there is a bottle of lotion, lavender scented. This must be her side. I smell the lotion. There is a gold watch and a book: “The art of decorating”. Weird Molly, since nothing in this fucking place is “decorated”. Molly, who are you? The other side is a glass of water, a pen and pad of paper (like the one on the fridge) and a book titled “18th CENTURY AMERICA”.

  Wow.

  OK, to the closet. I open the door and it is a walk-in. Bitches! I don’t have a fucking walk-in (insert image of my pouty face). They must have remodeled. The right side is obviously Molly’s, with skirts and cute tops, a million boot and shoe boxes. I assume there are shoes in there but I peak just to make sure. Instead of a heel or a tennis shoe, I find: a vibrator, lube and condoms… Jackpot!

  I decide to hold off on Molly’s deviant side of the closet and check out what Jonathan is hiding. I see his suits are hung perfectly. Ties and Clarks in a row. I notice there is a large red box on top of a shelf and I have to reach up on my tip toes to grab it. I can barely reach so I jump up and tap it with my fingers. I grab the edge and apply too much force. The whole box comes tumbling down on me, all of its contents falling around me.

  Shit!

  I start to pick them up and realize they are photographs. They are photographs of women. There are a lot of photographs of women. Jesus. There must be hundreds of photos. All of different women. I am stunned and intrigued. I start looking through them one by one. The cat enters the closet. These are not of Molly. Does Molly know? Shuffling through them, I don’t recognize any of the faces. They’re all different types of women. Beautiful. Young. Business types. Party girls. Ones with glasses. One had a Mohawk. Was this part of his job? Was this part of a case he was working on?

  The second to last picture in the pile is of a young girl, black beanie, good style. Wait. It’s me! What the fuck? I squint my eyes and turn the picture over to see if it is labeled. Nope. Shit.

  I look harder.

  Yes, definitely me.

  He’s a sick fuck. I like it. My heart is racing. I look around the room. I have that strange feeling someone is watching me even though that’s not possible. The cat rubs up against my leg and scares the shit out of me. I jump and drop my picture. I get back to reality. I start to pick up all of the women’s faces and stack them in the order that I remember them being in. I try to be precise about how they are arranged. I look down at my hand and I am still holding my picture. My hand is shaking. I steady it.

  “We will just have to see how intrigued you are sir.” I realize I say this out loud. The cat is still rubbing up against my leg. I get the red box back up and into position. My heart is pounding. I take off my jacket. I am sweating.

  I step out of the closet and close the door. I got way more than I fucking bargained for. I keep the photo in my hand. I feel a rush of heat run down my back and into my loin. I am excited. I am scared. Most people would probably be worried or call the cops right about now. Nope, not me. Emily Hawkins will lure her prey into her dingy domain by leaving little breadcrumbs. Jonathan has been bad. And he will (hopefully) notice the missing piece to his red-box-puzzle of women.

  I wonder what Molly thinks? Is every man like this? Do they all have some hidden secret hiding up in their closets? Oh, I do hope so. Because this just got fucking interesting.

  Steps to my scheme:

  1) Keep the key and pretend that I accidentally forgot to place it back under the mat. Jonathan will have a reason to come over. He needs his key back.

  2) Jonathan at some point will notice his missing picture. He again will need to see me. Fucking brilliant.

  3) Feel myself up in the shower until above said steps are completed.

  I am a genius!

  I look over the apartment one last time before exiting. Gosh, pathetic. So cold. I should have smelled Molly’s skirts or something but I’m not a pervert, just a curious young lady with natural instincts. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  Out the door! Holding the cat back from escaping with one foot, and slipping my body (jacket in hands) free from this apartment. The door shuts and I can finally breathe.

  What a rush!

  Lock the door Emily. But take the key! (I’m telling myself as if I would forget this one detail) This one detail, which I will use as bait.

  Done and done.

  I head to my apartment. I won’t feel accomplished until I am inside. Finally, I am in and I lock the door and I grasp my picture tightly. A shower is in order. A shower and Netflix and ice cream. Fuck! I just remember I have to work. Shit, fuck, god dammit! I must have been in their apartment for a while. What time did I go in there?

  Oh well, no time to think about it now. I need to hide the picture (under my pillow?). Yes, it would seem that I am fifteen years old, hiding such a critical piece of evidence under a pillow, but in fact a pillow is the last place a person would look. I mean it’s so obvious. Maybe a little too obvious. I have no time to think so I shove it under my Hello Kitty pillow, put on some clothes and my beanie and kiss the cat. She swats at me but misses. It’s my lucky day I guess.

  “Bye Miss Bitcherton-flufferpuff! See you later!”

  The walk to work is cold but I am still sweating. I imagine Jonathan coming to my door and swinging it open, shoving me on the couch and punishing me. I have to get myself under control before work, so I stop for some coffee.

  Yes.

  Coffee.

  Is.

  Perfect.

  It steams up into my face and helps me to feel again.

  When I get to work, Derek is already at the front waiting for me. He is still in his work uniform and there is no sign of a treadmill, so my up-chuck reflexes relax.

  “Hey Emily, how’s it hangin’?” He says, very proud of himself.

  “It’s hanging low, Derek, very low.” I’m trying to give off the impression I’m not the incredibly happy, mad genius that I am. I don’t like braggers and I don’t ever want to be one.

  “Aw, that’s too bad because my day just got a whole lot better.” Derek stares at me for a very long time. I should be heading to my locker but instead I let this one play out. How long will he stare? And, second question I ask myself, what will come of it?

  Thirty seconds pass, maybe more.

  “I mean, ‘cuz you’re here now!” Derek says in a high pitched squeal. I tip my head upwards and smile coyly.

  “Oh, now I get it. Good one Derek.” I try to be genuine.

  I love him really. Derek is kind of like that dog you find that has no back legs so they have to make him a wheelchair. But he still looks so fucking happy because he can still run around. You know the kind? Like a tried and true optimist. Crazy fucker.

  I head to my locker and as I do I wonder: if Jonathan, a seemingly super normal, handsome, lawyer from New York, has a box of women’s pictures hidden in his closet, what kind of sick shit does Derek have? Now I am intrigued. Not because of Derek of course, but because men in general are sneaky little bastards and I am going to report them. Like I am a criminal investigator and all of the women of New York are counting on me to solve this crime.

  Well, not a crime, but a mystery. The mystery of men. Of sick and crazy and who would have thought? …Men! It may take
some sexual promiscuity and a scandalous rendezvous, but I think I am up for the task.

  Right after I finish my shift.

  6

  The Waiting Game

  It’s now the Holiday season. I know my sex angels have returned from their getaway but it has been weeks and they have yet to come over for a sexcapade, or to retrieve their key. Either Jonathan knows that I have my picture and he is stalling, or, he plum forgot about the key and never looks in that damn box. Either way, every night at shower time my mind has been running wild and it’s really not fair.

  Last week, I got so desperate, I invited Derek and another co-worker (Ross), out for drinks. I got so drunk that I ended up groping some stranger and puking in the alley behind the bar. Derek took me out for waffles afterwards and I felt much better. But my ego will never recover.

  I have been on my couch for two days straight, just waiting. I go pee, shower, grab food and return to my couch. I am trying to keep order here. I want my house to be clean enough that when Jonathan shows up he thinks “wow, this girl has her shit together.”, but not so clean that it looks like I put any effort into it. It’s fucking exhausting being a crime fighter.

  I adjust my hair for the millionth time. Black strands keep landing in my cereal and I think to myself “Is this healthy?” Eh, who cares? This is fun!

  I wish that my little naughty downstairs neighbors were really naughty, sexy across the street neighbors, so that the binoculars I bought last Tuesday would be of some use. They were on sale for $6.99, which is a hell of a steal. But no. I am Emily and I do not think through my purchases. I just buy.

  I am watching Jessica Jones and getting inspired. I pace around my apartment talking to my cat, asking her what her little fuzzy-nugget self would do. Should I get dressed and make my way downstairs? I look to her after I ask the question. She is still. Should I send an anonymous letter to Jonathan’s firm, made out of cut-out letters from my magazines? (Which include but are not limited to: Nerd Nation, Cosmopolitan, and Adult Corner). I’m just like The Zodiac from San Francisco.