Estate Stairwell Secret

The lift in Tower B had been broken for three weeks. Council said they were "waiting for parts." We said we were waiting for basic human decency.

Fourteen flights of stairs. Every. Single. Day.

That's how I met Shanice.

She was struggling on floor eight, shopping bags cutting into her hands, breathing hard. Proper thick—curves that her leggings couldn't contain, hair in braids, face glistening with the effort of the climb.

"Need a hand?"

"Fuck yes." She didn't even look embarrassed. "Thought I was gonna die."

I took half her bags, started the climb beside her. We were both struggling by floor ten.

"Which floor?"

"Twelve. You?"

"Fourteen."

"Poor bastard." She managed a laugh. "I'm Shanice."

"Mason."

We climbed in companionable silence, save for the heavy breathing. By floor eleven, we'd both given up on dignity.

"This is bullshit," she panted. "Paying rent to climb fucking Everest every day."

"Write a complaint."

"I have. Three times. You know what they said?"

"'We're working on it?'"

"'We're working on it.'" She mimicked a posh voice. "Wankers."

We reached twelve. She fumbled for her keys, dropped them, swore.

"Come in for a sec? Water? You look as dead as I feel."

"Cheers."

Her flat was lived-in—cushions everywhere, telly on, the smell of something cooking. She handed me a glass of water, collapsed onto the sofa.

"Life's too short for this many stairs."

"Tell me about it."

"Sit. Rest. Before you tackle the last two floors."

I sat. The sofa was soft, comfortable. She was close—close enough that I could smell her perfume mixed with the exertion of the climb.

"You live alone?" she asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Same. Since me ex moved out." She rolled her eyes. "Useless, he was. Couldn't even carry shopping up stairs."

"Some men have no stamina."

"You seem alright though. Made it to twelve without dying."

"Barely."

"Still counts." She moved closer, something shifting in her expression. "Can I ask you something weird?"

"Go on."

"You got a girlfriend?"

"No. Why?"

"Because I've seen you around the building. Thought you were fit. And life's too short to wonder 'what if.'"

She kissed me before I could respond. Her lips were soft, her tongue confident, her hands already finding my shirt.

"This okay?" she asked.

"Very okay."

"Good." She climbed onto my lap. "Because I've been wanting to do this since you helped with the shopping."

"That was ten minutes ago."

"I'm impulsive."

Her body pressed against mine, all warmth and curves. I grabbed her arse—couldn't help it—and she ground down against my lap.

"Bedroom's a mess," she said. "Sofa work for you?"

"Sofa's perfect."

She stripped off her top, revealing a purple bra struggling to contain her. I unhooked it, watched her tits fall free.

"Like what you see?"

"Love it."

I buried my face between them while she worked at my jeans. Her hands found me hard, stroked once.

"Fuck, you're big."

"Complaints?"

"Absolutely not." She stood up, shimmied out of her leggings. No underwear—just curves and heat. "Condom?"

"Wallet."

"Quick then. I'm impatient."

She straddled me on the sofa, sank down in one motion. We both groaned.

"Yeah—fuck—needed that—"

She rode me with abandon, tits bouncing, moans filling the small flat. I grabbed her hips, thrust up to meet her.

"So good—don't stop—"

I didn't. She came within minutes—clearly it had been a while for her too—shaking and clenching around me.

"Your turn—inside—"

I came hard, pulling her down, feeling her pulse through aftershocks.

We stayed there, connected, catching our breath.

"Well," she said eventually, "that was better than the stairwell."

"Much better."

"Same time tomorrow? I'll make sure I need help with shopping."

"Deal."

I started "running into" Shanice every day. The lift eventually got fixed, but we kept using the stairs.

Exercise, we told ourselves.

Best cardio I've ever had.