Council Flat Confessions

Tower blocks have thin walls. That's how I knew my neighbor was having man troubles—could hear her on the phone most nights, telling her mates about her useless ex who'd left her with two kids and a kitchen tap that wouldn't stop dripping.

The tap, I could fix.

"You sure?" Kayleigh answered the door in an oversized t-shirt and leggings, hair piled up in a messy bun, no makeup. Still gorgeous. "Don't want to be a bother."

"No bother. Got me tools and everything."

She let me in. The flat was a mirror of mine—same layout, different chaos. Kids' stuff everywhere, telly on in the background, the persistent drip-drip-drip from the kitchen.

"Can I get you a brew?" she asked, filling the kettle.

"Go on then."

I got to work under the sink while she pottered around, making tea, tidying up, stealing glances at me every time she thought I wasn't looking. The tap was an easy fix—just needed a new washer—but I took my time.

"Kids at their nan's tonight," she said eventually, handing me a mug. "First peace I've had in weeks."

"Must be nice."

"Lonely, actually." She leaned against the counter, watching me work. "Forgot what quiet sounds like. Not sure I like it."

I tightened the last fitting, ran the tap. No drip.

"Good as new."

"You're a lifesaver." She didn't move from the counter. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Neighbors help neighbors, yeah?"

"Still. I should do something." She bit her lip—nervous, calculating. "You eaten? I was gonna order pizza. If you wanted to stay."

I should have said no. She was vulnerable, clearly. But she was also fit as fuck—curves for days, big brown eyes, a smile that could stop traffic.

"Pizza sounds good."

Two pizzas, a bottle of wine, and some truly terrible reality TV later, we were on her sofa, closer than when we started.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, wine making her bold.

"Anything."

"Why'd you really come over? Could've left it dripping another month."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Wanted to see you. Hear your voice properly, not through the walls."

She went red, but she was smiling. "You hear that?"

"Sometimes. You've got a nice laugh. Wished I could hear more of it."

"That's... really sweet." She moved closer, close enough that I could smell her shampoo. "No one's said anything sweet to me in ages."

"Then the men round here are idiots."

"Present company excluded?"

"I'm standing right here, aren't I?"

She kissed me. Soft at first, tentative, like she was waiting for me to pull back. I didn't. I pulled her closer, one hand in her hair, the other finding the curve of her hip under that oversized t-shirt.

"We shouldn't," she breathed against my mouth.

"Probably not."

"The kids could—"

"Nan's, you said."

"Till tomorrow." She was convincing herself as much as me. "Fuck it."

She straddled me on the sofa, the t-shirt riding up to reveal thick thighs and a pair of cotton knickers that were already damp when I slid my hand between her legs.

"Been wanting this," she admitted, gasping as my fingers explored. "Heard you through the walls too. Showering. Wondered what you looked like."

"And?"

"Better than I imagined."

I pulled the t-shirt over her head. No bra—just full, heavy tits with dark nipples that hardened under my gaze.

"Like what you see?"

"Love it."

I buried my face between them, tasting skin that was warm from the wine, from wanting. She moaned, ground down against my hand, her fingers working at my jeans.

"Need more. Been too long—need more."

I gave her more. Two fingers inside her, my thumb on her clit, my mouth on her nipple. She fell apart in minutes—gasping my name, her whole body shaking.

"Inside," she demanded, barely recovered. "Please."

"Condom?"

"Bedside drawer. Bought them months ago. Optimistic, wasn't I?"

Her bedroom was small, dominated by a bed that creaked when we fell onto it. She stripped off her knickers while I grabbed the condom, then spread herself out like an offering.

"Don't make me wait."

I didn't. When I pushed in, she made a sound that was half sob, half moan—relief and pleasure and need all at once.

"So good—fuck—you feel so good—"

We fucked slow at first, me trying to make it last, her clearly starved for exactly this. But slow didn't last.

"Harder—please—I can take it—"

The bed hit the wall with every thrust—hopefully my flat, not the other neighbor's. She wrapped her legs around me, pulled me deeper, her nails raking down my back.

"Yes—right there—don't stop—"

She came again, tighter than before, and I followed—burying myself deep, filling the condom while she milked every drop.

We lay there after, tangled in sheets that smelled of her perfume.

"Well," she said eventually, "that's one way to welcome a neighbor."

"Better than a casserole."

She laughed—that laugh I'd been listening to through the walls for months. "Stay the night? Kids aren't back till lunch."

"Twist my arm."

I stayed. And the night after. And the one after that.

The walls don't bother me now. I hear her laugh from the right side of them.