Multiple Units #105

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*Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.


Venice Apartments had a sign out front, with the name ‘Venice Apartments’ in black against a background of the Italian flag of green, white, and red. Encircling the name was the silhouette of a gondola and gondolier.

The complex was comprised of four separate buildings arranged in a square. Each building faced inward, faced the pool and small courtyard. The first building, the northeast building was three floors, with five apartments on each floor. Apartments 101, 105, 201, 205, 301 and 305 were two bedroom units. The three units in between each two bedroom unit were one bedroom units. The southeastern building had apartments 106 and 107 on the ground floor, each a two bedroom unit. The second and third floors had four single room efficiencies on each. The southwestern building was a duplicate of the northeastern building, each floor with a two bedroom unit on the corners, separated by three one bedroom units. And the northwestern building was a duplicate of the southeastern building, a ground floor of two units, each with two bedrooms, then eight one room efficiencies atop. Behind the northwestern building was a large laundry room and an exercise room.

Across the parking lot in front of the northeastern building was the rental office. And on top of the rental office was the apartment building’s clubhouse. Each tenant had the right to reserve the clubhouse for parties, but they must notify the apartment manager of the desired time that they planned to use the clubhouse.


Chelsea Richards looked around at the living room of her home and felt the sting of tears. How could she have been so blind, so stupid? She’d never given any thought to how they could afford the extravagant honeymoon in Mexico, the exorbitant rent on this Baylor Lake home, the expensive clothes, the fancy dinners, the luxury automobiles.

Drugs. Clayton Richards sold drugs. The Federal agents had burst in, guns drawn, screaming orders.

Her Mercedes-Benz had been seized, Clayton’s F250 had been seized. Chelsea’s father had pursed his lips in disapproval but paid for Nicole Banks to represent his daughter in the trial.

A she was a high school dropout and had her face all over the local news; the first three places she’d applied had not minced words. They would not be hiring a suspected drug dealer, even if the charges had been dropped. Toni Delacroix shrugged and said everyone deserves a second chance.

“Thank you, Ms. Toni,” Chelsea said, blinking back her tears. “I promise, you won’t be sorry you hired me.”

Chelsea’s father had only grunted when Chelsea promised she would pay him back for the attorney’s fees, and the second hand 2004 Toyota he bought for her. But, now, there was the problem of where to live.

“Only paid up through to the end of the month,” Robert Mouton needlessly reminded his daughter as they stood in the squalor of her former home.

Chelsea applied herself at her job. She had every intention to repay her father the money, so worked hard at learning her job. At her lunch break, Chelsea mentioned that she was looking for a place to live. Babette looked up from her pulled pork sandwich, then looked over at Theresa Prejean, a beautiful blonde girl with pneumatic breasts and perpetual smile.

“Hey, Theresa, didn’t you say you was looking for someone share an apartment with?” Babette called out.

“Yeah,” Theresa agreed. “Why? You looking?”

“No, Chelsea here is,” Babette said, nodding toward Chelsea.

“Hey! I’m looking too!” Harris Philips protested. “Theresa, huh? Told you that last week.”

“Hey, I know you!” Theresa enthused when she got close to Chelsea. “God, used to date that, that, oh shoot, lived right up the street.”

“Clay Richards,” Chelsea agreed. “Yeah, you lived in that house right there on the corner.”

“With the blue door,” Theresa nodded, smiling wide.

“Heard me?” Harris demanded. “I’m looking too.”

“Okay, Harris, God, heard you, think whole place heard you,” Theresa snapped.

Theresa pulled up the Venice Apartments web site on her phone. At first, they thought a one bedroom would be fine; the kitchen was small, but the living room was spacious, and the bedroom had two closets.

“Or, hey, a two bedroom’s not that much more,” Theresa mused. “God, kitchen sucks big time, but…”

“I’m serious,” Harris demanded, plopping down across from the two women.

“Closet’s good,” Chelsea agreed. “And, Harris takes the other bedroom, that would be only two hundred and, um, two hundred and…”

“Two sixteen point sixty seven each,” Theresa deduced. “Plus utilities three ways. Want to go look?”

“Yeah!” Chelsea let the first smile in months cross her face.

Theresa izmit escort and Chelsea quickly compiled a list of furniture they would bring into the apartment. Theresa perked up when Chelsea mentioned her tweed couch and matching chair and ottoman.

Looking at the two bedroom apartment, the trio agreed to rent the apartment. The living room and dining room combo was ‘L’ shaped; the dining room abutted the miniscule kitchen, separated by a low counter. The first bedroom was an eight by ten room and had an attached shower and sink and commode. The second bedroom was eight by ten, but had an attached bathroom with tub, sink and commode. The attached closet was long and narrow.

The three of them walked across the parking lot to the manager’s office and filled out the paperwork. Keisha, the manager handed them each a blue ink pen and had them sign two leases; one for her and one for themselves.

“Why blue?” Chelsea asked.

“So you can tell the difference between the original and a photocopy,” Theresa guessed.

“Exactly,” Keisha smiled. “Not a whole lot of people would have guessed that.”

Theresa then used her phone to contact St. Elizabeth Parish Public Utilities and scheduled to have the electricity turned on for Apartment 105. Harris complained when Theresa asked for his third of the one hundred dollar security deposit. Chelsea pulled two worn twenties from her wallet,

“I’ll catch you on pay day,” Harris promised.

“You better,” Theresa said tersely as Chelsea sighed and pulled to five dollar bills out of her wallet. “Now, we going want cable?”

“That don’t come with it?” Harris asked as the trio left the manager’s office.

“Seriously, Harris? This your first visit to this planet?” Theresa asked, hanging the ‘Resident’ Tag on her rear view mirror.

“I vote for cable,” Chelsea agreed.

PC Nation had a Basic plan that didn’t offer much more than local stations and a few extras, such as Discovery and TLC. Advanced, the next plan up wasn’t much better than Basic, but did have Lifetime, Lifetime Movie, and Hallmark Movie stations. There was also ESPN with the Advanced package.

“Damn, one nineteen a month? Stuff isn’t cheap, huh?” Chelsea said.

“That’s what? Twenty five each?” Harris asked.

“One nineteen divided by three and somehow you come up with twenty five?” Theresa asked. “And they say blondes are dumb?”

“Closer to forty a month, Harris,” Chelsea threw in, now understanding why Jennica Richards, her sister in law did not want to date the somewhat cute young man.

“And that’s on top of,” Harris tried to remember how much a third of the rent was.

“Plus whatever you going eat; I’m not buying your groceries for you. Thank God water’s paid for,” Theresa said.

“Man!” Harris complained.

Robert and his partner Frank came with Frank’s pickup truck and helped Chelsea with the couch, the matching chair and ottoman and queen sized bed and matching nightstand and tall dresser. In lieu of payment, Chelsea appeased Frank by agreeing that they could have the washing machine and dryer from the utility room.

“Table and chairs?” Frank asked, admiring the heavy furniture.

“Going to the apartment,” Chelsea said.

“Well, thank goodness we still have my grandmother’s table,” Frank said.

“Which is truly hideous,” Robert whispered to his daughter, prompting a giggle from Chelsea.

Harris had a full sized bed that his aunt had donated to him. He and his cousin struggled mightily with the bulky mattress and box springs and bed frame. Harris also had a desk he’d had since childhood, with a matching chair that looked ready to collapse.

Theresa had clothes. Lots and lots of clothes. Her mother looked around, admired the couch and chair and ottoman, decided she’d gift the three young people with a television from Miller’s Electronics and left to purchase the television.

“I wish she wouldn’t,” Theresa confessed to Chelsea. “She’s just about maxed out on all her card.”

“Okay, look, I threw out all of Clay’s stuff,” Chelsea said to Theresa, pulling open the last three drawers of the five drawer dresser. “You can put some of your clothes in here, okay?”

“Thanks! You’re so sweet,” Theresa smiled and dumped her panties and bras and socks into the first drawer.

Chelsea hugged Mr. Frank and hugged and kissed her father after they finished unloading Frank’s pickup truck. With a wave, Chelsea’s father and his lover left.

“And, let’s see,” Chelsea said, checking her purse. “Yeah, okay, I’m going to Burns to do some groceries.”

“Oh! Hey, you pick me up a bread and um, peanut butter and, oh! Some grape jelly?” Harris asked, coming out of his room.

“Okay,” Chelsea agreed, holding out her hand.

“What?” Harris asked, looking at Chelsea’s hand.

“Uh? What? What you mean, what? Harris, groceries ain’t free,” Chelsea said, quickly becoming exasperated with the immature young man.

“Oh, izmit anal yapan escort oh, let me see,” Harris said, patting his pockets.

“Harris, really?” Theresa asked, pausing in putting away her blue jeans. “You think we going feed you?”

“Well, I kind of figured you know, we’d share,” Harris admitted.

“Okay, why you think we said, ‘top shelf, put your name on your milk or juice, Harris gets second shelf, Theresa gets middle shelf, and Chelsea gets bottom shelf?” Theresa asked.

“Well, you know, because you drink that skim milk stuff,” Harris said. “So you saying, I’m out of food, y’all aren’t going share? Y’all just going let me starve?”

“I’m saying, you got a job. Oh! Hey! In fact, you got a job at the same place we do,” Theresa said. “So, we know how much money you making. And, you out of food? I know you got a momma.”

“I’m leaving,” Chelsea said. “I’m leaving before I say something I can’t take back.”

“See, Harris?” Theresa said, returning to the other bedroom. “That’s why, when you was standing there, saying, you wanted get an apartment I was ignoring you. I knew it’d be like this.”

While Chelsea was at the Burns just put it on that.”

The last thing Theresa got from her car was a tattered old fleece blanket and a Memory foam pillow. Theresa’s mother gave her daughter a hug and kiss, then left.

Chelsea returned with a few bags of groceries. She opened a packet of markers and wrote ‘C.M.’ on the half gallon of milk and the half gallon of orange juice. She also wrote ‘C.M.’ on a bag of frozen blueberries before putting the bag into the small freezer.

“Pantry; which shelf is mine?” Chelsea called out.

“Pick one,” Theresa said. “Not like there’s a whole lot of room anyway.”

“Bottom one, just like the fridge,” Chelsea declared.

She also wrote ‘C.M.’ on a jar of apple jelly and grape jelly before putting those jars into the door of the refrigerator. Her task concluded, Chelsea sat down on the couch next to Theresa and let out a sigh. She then looked at the top of the couch where Theresa had put her pillow and blanket.

“Theresa, there’s, my bed’s a queen,” Chelsea said. “You’re not sleeping on this couch, huh?”

“I, you sure?” Theresa asked.

“Theresa, we’re sharing a closet, and a bathroom,” Chelsea said, taking her hair out of her two ponytails. “It’s a queen; you can’t take up much more room than Clay did.”

“You snore?” Theresa teased.

“I don’t think so,” Chelsea said. “You?”

“I don’t know; I know my mom does. Is snoring hereditary?” Theresa asked, taking her pillow and blanket down from the back of the couch.

Chelsea got out a skillet and made quick work of dicing up two chicken leg quarters, some bell pepper and onion and made a simple meal. She called out for Harris and Theresa to join her for supper.

“Don’t expect this all the time,” Chelsea warned her roommates, particularly Harris.

“Wow, this is good,” Theresa said. “How’d you make a gravy?”

“Flour and butter,” Chelsea shrugged.

That first night, Chelsea and Theresa stayed up a little late, just chatting and giggling. Theresa confessed to Chelsea that she’d gotten the reputation in her neighborhood of being a slut, even though she’d only had sex with five, maybe six guys.

“I had sex with one guy, Clay,” Chelsea confessed, trying to find the remote control for her television. “I mean, we didn’t wait until we were married, but, still.”

Theresa also shared that she had a major crush on Chelsea’s father in law. She playfully pouted when Chelsea disclosed that William Richards was remarried, and his second wife was just a few years older than Chelsea and Theresa.

“Oh my God! Clay was about to have a fit,” Chelsea whispered, then adopted a deep male voice. “God damn, believe that shit? You know he’s just doing it to piss my momma off.”

“And me,” Theresa giggled. “Damn it, I saw him first.”

“But he is cute, isn’t he?” Chelsea agreed.

In the morning, Chelsea quickly took a shower, brushed her teeth and dried her hair. Opening the bathroom door, she checked that the bedroom door was shut tightly before dropping her towel and grabbing a bra. Theresa climbed out of the bed and scurried into the bathroom.

Chelsea dressed for church then left the apartment. She drove to St. Thomas Aquinas and joined her mother and Jimmy Couvillion in the third to last pew.

After church, Chelsea went with her mother and her mother’s boyfriend to Tornadough’s for some still very warm doughnuts and freshly ground and brewed coffee. Jimmy’s three sons tried to act like they were too cool to enjoy the treats and the chocolate milk.

Chelsea’s mother had said there was room in the trailer for Chelsea, but Marie Mouton had not sounded very enthusiastic about Chelsea living with her. And Chelsea had not wanted to live with Jimmy; the man made Chelsea somewhat uncomfortable. And his izmit yabancı escort three sons were balls of hormonal acne. Chelsea was sure she’d never get a moment’s peace from the three horny adolescents underfoot.

Arriving home to Apartment 105, Chelsea entered and saw the remnants of whatever Harris had made himself for breakfast. Entering the bedroom, Chelsea almost collided with Theresa as Theresa came out of the bathroom, still dressed in short tee shirt and skimpy panties.

“Hey!” Theresa happily greeted Chelsea. “Where you been?”

“Church,” Chelsea said. “You just now getting up?”

“Hey, it’s Sunday, huh?” Theresa defended, smiling. “Harris hadn’t made so damned much noise, I’d still be asleep.”

Going into their closet, Chelsea wiggled out of the summer dress she’d worn to church. The mirror at the rear of the closet showed Chelsea a reflection of an attractive young lady dressed in bra and thigh high stockings and flat pumps. She had waist length brown hair, large brown eyes, small button nose and pouting lips.

Unhooking her bra, Chelsea looked at her 31B breasts with large areolae and long nipples. She looked at her nipped in waist and thirty inch hips. She looked at her freshly waxed pussy, looked at the prominent pubic mound bisected by a tight crease.

“No sir,” Chelsea heard Theresa exclaim to Harris. “That’s your mess. You need to clean it up. Harris, that’s how we get cockroaches.”

“Problem?” Chelsea asked, slipping on her terry cloth robe.

“Little ass hole made a mess out of the kitchen, wants me to clean it up,” Theresa snapped, slamming the bedroom door shut.

“Theresa, you went out there? Dressed like that?” Chelsea gasped, seeing that Theresa was still in her snug tee shirt and skimpy panties.

“Yeah!” Theresa giggled conspiratorially.

Chelsea sat on her side of the bed and rolled her stockings down and off. She walked to the chest and slid open the top drawer. She dropped her stockings in and pulled out a pair of panties. She found a tee shirt and a pair of shorts.

Theresa helped Chelsea make the bed, then proceeded Chelsea out of the bedroom, still in her sleepwear.

“Harris, there’s till, what is that, what’d you make anyway? There’s still food on the burner; Jesus, you learn how to cook at the Helen Keller School?” Theresa snapped as Harris sat in the living room, watching a sports program.

“Spanish eggs,” Harris said, not budging from the couch.

God, Harris, wipe the table, huh?” Chelsea snapped, seeing something sticky on the surface of the table.

“Oh my God! It’s even under the burner. Harris, seriously? Seriously?” Theresa snapped. “Chelsea, I need to use some of your cleaner, okay?”

“Yeah,” Chelsea agreed, rubbing the oak table with a paper towel. “Harris, what is this stuff? It’s all sticky.”

“Um, jelly,” Harris admitted.

“Jelly…You didn’t,” Chelsea snapped and stomped into the kitchen.

Someone had opened her jar of grape jelly. Someone had helped themselves to one third of the jar’s contents.

“C.M. It says C.M. right on it,” Chelsea screamed at Harris. “C.M. That means it’s mine.”

“Jesus, shit! I’ll get you another jar when we get paid,” Harris yelled, stomping to his room.

“I knew it would be like this; I just fucking knew it,” Theresa snapped, popping the electric burner back into place.

By Monday morning, Chelsea and Theresa were fast friends. And both friends had a hatred of Harris Philips. Preparing her lunch, Chelsea saw that Harris had also helped himself to her peanut butter. Theresa wanted to know what had happened to her can of vegetable beef soup.

Monday night, the two girls settled into bed. As they had done on Saturday night and Sunday night, the two girls talked and giggled together. Mostly they talked about, and giggled about sex.

“I mean, Tommy, you ever knew Tommy?” Theresa asked.

“Tommy, Tommy, no, don’t think so,” Chelsea shook her head.

“Had that Camaro? Anyway, wants to, you know, stick it up my butt,” Theresa said.

“No!” Chelsea gasped, giggling.

“And I’m screaming, mother fucker, stop, quit, fucking hurts,” Theresa admitted.

“Oh my God!” Chelsea gasped, fascinated.

“Dumb ass never figured out, you going do that, need to use something, you know, get my butt ready,” Theresa said. “I mean, shit…ever heard of Vaseline?”

“Right?” Chelsea agreed.

“You ever?” Theresa asked, even lightly touching Chelsea’s buttocks through Chelsea’s sleep shift and matching G-string panties.

“I uh, yeah,” Chelsea agreed, blushing hotly. “Clay, he uh, we you know, we seen this movie and this girl; they did it and Clay wanted to do it and I’m pretty drunk so we did it.”

“You like it?” Theresa asked, voice a strangled whisper.

“I uh, yeah, yeah I kind of did,” Chelsea confessed and the two girls squealed together.

On Wednesday, Babette asked Chelsea if it was true, that both she and Theresa were fucking Harris. Chelsea stared at Babette, horrified that anyone would even think that she would ever have sex with Harris.

“I mean, that’s what he’s telling Ferguson and Miller,” Babette said, pointing to where Harris was holding court with the two young men.

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