Salt Lake City, UT – 1996
By the age of sixteen I had my own apartment. I had three roommates: my girlfriend, her brother, and his girlfriend. On this particular day, I was home alone. It was around noon and everyone was working until five. I had the house to myself for the afternoon.
As a young man in the throes of puberty, there was only one proper, nature-driven thing to do with the house to yourself. I retrieved my favorite video tape from its hiding place in my closet (this was before the benefits of internet access) and popped it into the VCR in the living room. I undressed fully and made myself comfortable on the sofa.
Taking my time, I commenced my business. It was glorious to have the place to myself. I basked in the satisfaction of my alone time and reveled in my indulgence.
Before long I heard footsteps on the stairs. The noises didn’t concern me; we lived on the third floor and had neighbors on our landing. There was always foot traffic on the stairs. Certain it was not my roommates, I continued.
The footsteps got louder as they approached the third floor. I heard what sounded like three or four girls talking amongst themselves as they approached. Again I was unconcerned; these were surely the neighbors. I had no reason to expect company at this time of day.
The footsteps got closer and stopped outside the door of my apartment. This was alarming. I sat upright and listened intently. In a single motion, a key hit the lock, twisted open the bolt, and a hand shoved the door wide open. In the doorway stood three teenage girls and the apartment manager.
Fully nude and worse, I scrambled to my feet trying to cover my most important parts. Porno blared on the TV as we all stared at each other for longest two seconds of my life. “Get the fuck out of here!” I screamed for lack of a better idea. “I’m so sorry!” the apartment manager shrieked as she slammed the door.
I heard quick footsteps across the landing to the opposite apartment. I peeked out the blinds. Hiding behind the door I cracked it open and asked, “May I help you??” Four bright red faces turned toward me. “Wrong apartment,” the manager stammered with a sheepish grin. She opened the apartment door and the four girls filed in. Peals of laughter exploded from the apartment as soon as they shut the door.
I was suicidally embarrassed. It took several days before I could tell anyone the story. When my friends found out they laughed for days. They couldn’t believe I had banished four women from my afternoon delight; “You know that’s how most porno movies start, right?” one friend asked. “What did you do, rub a magic lamp?” asked another. “I choked!” I joked with embarrassment. I never mentioned it to my roommates, or my girlfriend.
Thankfully the girls never moved in next door. I’m sure their version of the story is equally entertaining.