Towarzysz


Bdsm

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*

Summer 1970

Kirby McAllister let out a heavy breath as he rolled the last of the heavy metal garbage cans back into the apartment house’s fenced-in storage area, making sure that the matching lid was secured tightly. Moving the cans had been time consuming, but at least it had been a lot easier than moving them out onto the curb when they had been full. A chore he had done last night and would do again next Tuesday when the Sanitation Department made its rounds. Closing the gate behind him, the teenager wondered how twenty families could generate so much trash.

‘Actually, that’s nineteen families,’ Kirby corrected himself, remembering that one of the third floor apartments was empty.

Brushing back his short black hair with one hand, Kirby checked the time on his watch, then pulled out a sheet of notepaper from out of his back pocket. Running an extended finger down the To Do list, he mentally checked off each item as done.

Aside from taking in the trash cans, he’d swept the halls and stairs of the sixty-seven-year-old building, checking as he worked his way downward that the locks of both the door to the roof and the storage rooms down in the basement were secure. Additionally, he had completed a few minor repairs for various tenants and cleaned both the double glass doors that led into the vestibule from outside, as well as the larger single one that led into the building itself. All in all, a good day’s work, the last one, in fact, for the week.

Being a building superintendent was hardly his dream job, and certainly not one that he’d ever consider making a career of, but it was a decent enough summer job. Something to let him put away a little money before he started classes at Brooklyn College come the fall. Originally, given the neighborhood ratio of available jobs and kids looking to fill them, Kirby thought he was going to be spending the summer just waiting for school to start. But luck shone on him one night when his Dad stopped off at Rick’s Bar and Grill one Friday night to have a quick one with his buddies before heading home.

Doug McAllister found himself sitting next to Eduard Kostrova, one of the owners of the apartment building. The two had gotten to talking, and Eduard mentioned that he was having a hard time finding a replacement for his building superintendent, who had quit the previous month. The problem was, he stated, that since he was only looking for a temporary replacement, he’d gotten few takers.

When Doug asked why only a temporary replacement, the white haired sixty-one-year-old explained that he’d arranged for his cousin’s son to relocate from Chicago and take over the job, but that because of family responsibilities he couldn’t make the move until September. Only a few years ago, Eduard would’ve just done the work himself, but age and a heart condition had finally caught up with him, making that out the question.

Seeing an opportunity, Doug mentioned that his youngest son, Kirby, had recently graduated high school and was looking for a summer job. The temporary nature of Eduard’s offer wouldn’t be a problem for Kirby since he would be starting college come the fall.

Eduard didn’t immediately respond, but Doug wasted no time in ordering the older man another beer, forcing him to at least consider the idea, if only out of consideration. As he sipped at the newly poured brew, Eduard recalled meeting Doug’s sons at a church charity function last Christmas. His older son, Doug Jr., would’ve been perfect for the job, he thought, standing at least six foot and nearly two hundred pounds, with a muscular frame defined on both the local high school’s athletic fields and those of the Varsity college he’d won a scholarship to.

Kirby, on the other hand, filled him with more than a bit of reluctance. Barely an adult, only having turned eighteen just before graduation, the younger McAllister was only five six and a hundred and twenty pounds. When he expressed his hesitation, and the reasons, Doug assured him that Kirby was not only stronger than he looked, but highly dependable. Besides, Doug smiled, how many other options did Eduard have?

Thinking that was true, and not wanting to offend a friend, Eduard said he would give Kirby a chance, but only with the understanding that if he could find someone better suited, the kid was out. Doug said that would be fine, knowing that the longer Kirby held onto the job, the more likely it would be his for the summer. After all, if the landlord couldn’t find someone to take the job for only three months, how was he going to find someone for an even shorter period?

When he’d showed up on the job on Monday morning, Kirby had done so with genuine enthusiasm, but it had only taken him one short week to come to hate it. It wasn’t that the work was hard, he’d never been averse to that, ümraniye escort but that there never seemed to be any end of it. Every morning he would pick up his To Do list, and without exception it was always longer than it had been the day before. Not only did it continue to grow, but before long it began to include tasks well beyond what he and Mr. Kostrova had agreed upon as being part of his responsibilities.

Kirby didn’t want to disappoint his father, not after he’d gone to the trouble of getting him the job, but he was so exhausted by the end of week two that not only did he not go out on Friday night, he could barely drag his ass out of bed on Saturday morning. So Monday morning found him standing in front of the Kostrovas’ first floor apartment, mentally reviewing his intended notice.

As it turned out, Mr. Kostrova had already left to run a few errands, leaving the task list with his wife. Kirby had only met Lydia Kostrova a few times, but even in those brief encounters, he’d formed a more favorable view of her than he had of Eduard. Twelve years younger than her husband, Lydia had short curly hair that retained most of its original brown color, although some stands of grey could be seen if you really looked. Standing five four to her husband’s six two, she had a slightly stocky build, but one more muscular than heavyset. Her face was smooth and rounded, with still relatively youthful features that didn’t reflect her age. In fact, if he hadn’t known otherwise, Kirby would’ve taken her for almost a decade younger.

From what Kirby had heard from his father and others in the neighborhood, the Kostrovas had come to the United States soon after the Second World War. Displaced refugees, they were fortunate to find themselves in an Allied Zone when the fighting had ended. Luck shone on them more when a well-to-do Uncle, who had come to the United States decades before, agreed to sponsor their entry into the country, setting them up as the managers of the apartment building that they still lived in. When the unmarried uncle passed away in the late ’50s, he’d left the building to Lydia, his only living blood relative.

Additionally, from actual conversations with Mrs. Kostrova herself, Kirby knew they originally lived in a village called Górnichowa, in a part of Eastern Europe that had changed hands so many times that the residents identified more exclusively with their community than with any country as a whole. Much larger than a hamlet but smaller than most towns, at its largest it never held more than fifteen hundred people. Geography had never been Kirby’s best subject, but out of curiosity he had gone to the library to look it up. To his surprise, the librarian had also never heard of it, and neither of them could find it either on a map or in the encyclopedia.

“Good morning, Kirby,” Mrs. Kostrova said once she opened the door. “How are you today?”

From the outset, Kirby had learned that, despite living in the States for over twenty years, Lydia Kostrova still sometimes had problems with the English language. Her diction usually alternated between very formal speech and short stilted sentences. He’d noticed similar patterns among other immigrants in the neighborhood, especially those who really didn’t socialize much outside a small group of family and friends, most of whom still spoke their native tongues at home.

Once he ascertained that Mr. Kostrova wouldn’t be back for a while, Kirby decided he might as well just get on with the day’s tasks and talk to him either tonight or tomorrow. But when he saw the number of jobs on the sheet that had been left for him, the look of dissatisfaction on his face was impossible to hide.

“Something is wrong, Kirby?” Mrs. Kostrova asked.

Reluctantly, he told her of his intention to quit, adding that he was willing to stay to the end of the month in order for them to find someone else. The announcement surprised Lydia, because she’d heard nothing but nice things about Kirby from her tenants. Her own impression of him had been that he was a great improvement over the man her husband had previously employed. So she asked him if there was any chance that he might reconsider.

“I’m sorry,” Kirby replied as he glanced again down at the list. “it’s just too much.”

Curious as to what he meant, Lydia took the list and gave it a look. From way her face changed expression, Kirby got the impression she’d hadn’t done so before. She let out a string of words he didn’t understand, but from their intensity and volume Kirby got the impression that they were expletives of some kind. It wasn’t until she switched back to English, however, that Kirby realized that he wasn’t the one she was angry at.

Evidently, it hadn’t been enough for her husband that Kirby was being paid less than he’d paid the previous occupant of the job, which he might almost have justified because of his inexperience. No, he had tried to squeeze blood from a stone and had indeed been consistently adding daily pendik escort tasks, some of which had never been part of the superintendent’s responsibility.

Telling Kirby to wait a moment, she took the list to the kitchen table and, using a marking pen, began to cross out a number of items. Then, returning to Kirby, she handed back the list and asked if it was more acceptable.

The list still had a good day’s work on it, but now it was more in line with what he had originally agreed upon. So, after thinking about it a bit, Kirby said he would give it another try. Pleased, Mrs. Kostrova thanked him, adding that she couldn’t believe that he’d put up with her husband’s underhanded conduct for two weeks before deciding to quit.

Kirby considered saying, that had been the way he’d been raised, but instead inquired if she was sure that Mr. Kostrova was going to be okay with the revised workload.

“You no worry about that,” she said with a knowing smile. “You do good job and everything be fine. I take care of this.”

Remembering how angry she had been when she saw what had been added to his To Do list, Kirby decide he wouldn’t want to be in Mr. Kostrova’s shoes when he got back home.

“Well, I better get to work then,” Kirby said with a smile, holding up the revised list. “Thank you, Mrs. Kostrova.”

“Lydia,” she unexpectedly said. “You are grown man, not boy, you call me Lydia.”

All of his life, Kirby had been taught to always refer to his elders by their last name and the appropriate preface. First names were reserved for friends and contemporaries. Still, if she was the one asking him to make the change, it might be considered insulting not to honor the request.

“Okay, Lydia then,” Kirby said as he made his leave, “and thank you again.”

That had been a month ago and things had gone great since. In fact, Lydia had gone out of her way to make up for her husband, always having a snack waiting for Kirby when he took his afternoon break. She also satisfied much of his curiosity about her homeland by sharing numerous stories about it. It certainly sounded different from the world he’d grown up in. In fact, some of its customs seemed taken, not only from another world, but another time as well.

The village was run by a council, which in itself was not unusual for that part of the world. What was different was that, for as far back as anyone could remember, half the council seats had been occupied by women. In fact, the speaker of the council was usually a woman. Even back when Lydia’s great-grandmother was young, women in Górnichowa had rights modern feminists would envy, some of which even exceeded those of the men.

So it was no wonder that Lydia had been confident in her ability to take care of her husband in regard to her changing of Kirby’s responsibilities.

-=-=-=-=-

Putting the list back in his pocket, Kirby headed up the stone stoop and into the vestibule, with the intent of letting Lydia, as he had finally gotten used to calling her, know he was leaving for the day. Ever since he had almost quit, he’d had very few personal dealings with Mr. Kostrova, and he found that he liked it that way.

He’d just opened the inner door when he nearly collided with Mr. and Mrs. Moretti, who lived up in apartment 15 on the top floor. If ever there was a mismatched couple, Angelo and Sophia Moretti were it. At least in Kirby’s opinion.

Angelo Moretti was in his middle forties and worked on the nearby docks as a longshoreman. Five nine and still built like the boxer he was in his youth, he had a face that truly reflected his former profession. Sophia Moretti, who was a decade younger, had a face and figure that looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. It was obvious what he saw in her, but what she saw in him was a mystery.

On his third day on the job, Kirby had found Mrs. Moretti on his To Do list, the sink in her kitchen had been draining slowly for almost a week and had now finally clogged completely. Deciding that was an easy enough repair to start with, he’d put it at the top of the list and found himself knocking at her door first thing in the morning.

When she’d answered the door, opening it just far enough to stick her head out, Kirby had introduced himself and explained that he was there to fix the sink. She took a long moment to look him over, then said that Mr. Kostrova had left her a note that someone would be by today to do just that. Then, with a laugh, she joked that if she’d known it was going to be such a cute young man, she’d have broken the sink months ago. Figuring it was better not to respond to a comment like that, Kirby merely gave her a half smile as she opened the door wide enough for him to come in.

“The kitchen is just off to the left, down at the end of the hall, just past the bathroom,” she said as he passed her and stepped inside. “Watch your step, the hallway light went out last night.”

Kirby had already known where bostancı escort the kitchen was, most of the apartments having the same layouts, and as he walked he made a mental note to come back later with a replacement bulb. He could hear the door being locked behind him and waited by the sink for Mrs. Moretti to catch up to him.

When she did, stepping out of the dimness into the bright light of the kitchen, Kirby’s jaw dropped. The long-haired brunette was wearing a full-length nightgown — and only that. One made of such thin material that he could see, not only her breasts, but the large dark nipples that capped them. Additionally, when she stepped in front of the window, the gown became even more translucent, making the dark bush between her legs quite visible as well.

‘Holy shit,’ Kirby thought as his eyes reactively fixed on her well-proportioned breasts, “Steve and Rob are never going to believe this.”

Like his two best friends, Kirby’s actual experience with the female body had been quite limited. Aside from a few girls who’d let him feel them through their blouses, the closest thing he’d seen, as far as an actual bare breast went, had belonged to his older sister who, before she’d moved out on her own, tended to strut around the house braless. Still, seeing your sister’s boobs didn’t really count.

Yet here was a woman only a decade or so older than his sister, with a body that equally matched the twenty-three-year-old’s, showing off the goods. And she seemed totally oblivious to the fact, casually standing there as she explained the problem. It was all Kirby could do not to stare.

“Not a problem,” Kirby finally managed to say, assuring her that he’d have it clear as could be in no time.

Leaving him to his work, Mrs. Moretti stepped into the living room and turned on the television, tuning it to a morning news show. Opening his tool box, Kirby fervently prayed that she hadn’t noticed him staring, or worse, that her impromptu peep show had given him a hard on.

Clearing the drain took a little longer than he’d originally figured, but Kirby finally got the job done. He was just putting his gear away when he heard heavy steps behind him.

“Who the fuck are you?” a loud rough voice asked.

Kirby turned to find himself face to face with Angelo Moretti, or as they called him down on the docks, “Big Angie.” It didn’t take much imagination to guess how he got that name. Wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, the balding, barrel-chested teamster had arms and legs like steel cables and looked like he could bench press a small automobile. A deep shudder went through Kirby as he imagined how this bear of a man might react if he had even the slightest suspicion that the teen had been ogling his wife.

“I’m Kirby McAllister…” he stammered. “Mr. Kostrova sent me up here to clear out the clogged drain.”

Big Angie stepped closer to Kirby and looked past him at the still open toolbox and the now cleared sink. It was all the teen could do not to let out a sigh of relief when the older man grunted and nodded his head.

“Baby, you’re awake,” came a much softer voice from the direction of the living room, one which caused Kirby’s fear to reappear.

A heartbeat later, Sophia Moretti stepped back into the kitchen and for what seemed like a lot longer than the few seconds it was, Kirby held his breath. He let it go when he saw, much to his relief, that she was now wearing a heavy terry cloth robe over her nightgown.

“You’re good to go, Mrs. Moretti,” Kirby said as he quickly packed up the last of his tools.

“Angelo, give the boy something,” she said to her husband after looking first at the sink, then at the thick pile of crud in the trash pail that had been removed from it.

Kirby had accepted small tips from other tenants, for which he had been grateful since Mr. Kostrova wasn’t paying him all that much, but it only took a quick glance on Mr. Moretti’s face to know that he wasn’t at all happy at his wife’s suggestion. He could just see the unhappy tenant saying something to the building owner about it. Besides, the little show Mrs. Moretti had given him early was indeed been priceless and he’d appreciate it a lot longer than he would any loose change that her husband was willing to part with.

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Moretti,” Kirby quickly said. “This is my job.”

Angelo Morelli merely gave an noncommittal grunt and turned away, leaving his wife to show Kirby out. She did so with a warm smile, again thanking him for his help. Nice as her smile was, Kirby couldn’t help but prefer the view of her tits still fresh in his mind.

Two weeks later, Kirby heard about a fight over at Rick’s that showed exactly how lucky he had been that morning. It seems that Big Angie had taken exception to another patron taking a look down Sophia’s dress and in expressing his dissatisfaction had broken the man’s nose. The cops had been called, but the aggrieved party had declined to press any charges.

Remembering the incident, Kirby was quick to apologize for the near collision and even held the large door open for the couple. Sophie thanked him with a smile while Angelo barely acknowledged his existence, which suited the teenager just fine.

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