Loving My Neighbor

Chapter 1

I first noticed my neighbor about 3 months ago. That’s not to say that I hadn’t noticed her, but instead that I hadn’t really noticed her. I had just closed my front door behind me and was fumbling with the key when I saw that she had dressed for an evening out somewhere. The dark colors of her dress set off her face nicely, and what caught my attention was that the dress she wore looked as if she were molded inside it, or perhaps, it was just the way she moved inside it: the way that only women move. Her full figure was round and shapely with flaring hips and a curve to her tummy that hinted at other things. I thought about her all the way to the ballpark, through and after the game, into the laundry nook to dump my uniform, and into the shower to rinse off the sweat. I thought about her while I was putting the analgesic on the bruise on my forearm from the line shot that I should have handled easily, but that bounced off my wrist instead because I wasn’t focused on the game. I think that the Southern Europeans call emotional distractions like that “the Thunderbolt.”

Feelings are curious things. Most men, I believe, share a dominant reliance on the conclusion resulting from the analysis of the nuts and bolts representing a bucketful of facts. We mentally sort the bolts and screws according to length, girth, head size, thread pitch, etc. Now, I confess that at best I have a poor perspective on feelings, and don’t understand them most of the time. Nevertheless, I realize that feelings are actually the nuts that fit the machine screws and bolts in the bucket. I simply have a hard time seeing how they thread together, but I know that no mechanism can work unless both the nuts and the bolts are securely fastened together with the appropriate tension. All that said, I suppose that I earned the bruise on the wrist by not fully understanding the systems that were at play in me—in effect, not having tightly connected the bolt with the nut.

After a night of somewhat fitful sleep and waking to find myself thinking though all the factors that I understood, I decided that I would defer my departure for work from the normal 5 a.m. to around 7:15 when she left for work. Perhaps if I were to gallantly perform some service for her she would notice my existence. I thought about slashing a tire so that I could change it out for her, rejected that, then considered pulling the coil wire, but the door was locked. Finally, I decided just to say, “Hello!” I might follow that up with, “Nice morning, huh?” or, “It looks like another hot one today.” What came out was, “Howdy!” followed by a long silence punctuated by my red face and my inability to do anything but smile. It seemed to me that my smile probably made me look like Howdy Doody or perhaps more fittingly, the Village Idiot. I drove to work, and somehow avoided wrinkling any of my fenders—a tribute to the defensive driving skills of the other commuters that day.

I drove home that evening, despairing for my next step. Here I was, behaving like an 8 th grader wondering if the girl two seats back and one over might like me, and I was unable to develop any lucid series of actions that might allow me to meet her.

It’s said that sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. When I arrived home she was out front, trying to do something to hold back a flood of water springing up from near her front hose-bib. I sprinted across the street, and was able finally to do a chivalrous deed for her. Ahhh! A knight in shining armor—saved her from the fierce dragon of a broken water line by braving the spurting flood and deftly turning the main ball-cock 90 degrees. Although her cotton blouse and jeans were drenched through to saturation, she was so relieved that she for a moment forgot herself and hugged me close. My face must have communicated the wrong message. I intended for it to say, “Wow! I love this. Never stop. Please!” what my face must have said was “Is there a looser woman on the planet? We only just said hello this morning and already you are rubbing your boobs on me and trying to get me to bed you.” Fortunately (see the first sentence in this paragraph) the disconnection between my emotions and my brain resolved themselves to just the facts (Now we’re getting somewhere because I know how to do this), and I said, “Hi, my name is Bob, and I’m really glad that I came along when I did to help you, but it isn’t every day that I get my suit and tie washed instead of dry cleaned.”

She looked down at me and laughed, and we chatted for a bit about who we are, what we do and what we like. I could feel the connections growing between us to a level that I had hoped for. Still, I needed to change my clothing and get my tools to make a permanent repair to the PVC feeder line for her sprinkler system. I finished a while before sundown, and she asked me if I’d like to share dinner with her that evening, and I agreed without hesitation.

What was served for dinner wasn’t as important to me as being with her. She had changed to a housedress that allowed her freedom of movement, but gave her the girl-next-door look. I think that somewhere near the middle of the conversation she began to see that I felt attraction for her. I noticed that she looked at me differently, and that her voice was deeper and had more a breathy sound when she talked. Perhaps some stray voltage from my thunderbolt had randomly trickled through an open conductor and across the table to her. We closed the evening talking late, and she said OK when I asked her to let me take her to dinner the next evening. When I got home I thought about taking a cold shower, but instead decided to handle the situation more directly. As least I was able to sleep, and work was easier to concentrate on the next morning.

Chapter 2

The next evening I picked her up and took her to a small steakhouse. She was in the same dress that first caught my attention. There was something about it that made her femininity so clear and well defined. It wasn’t that it was that revealing—not like the slash and drape that you see at the Oscars. It just looked like something a girl should wear. After dinner, we went to a bar that has a dance floor and a live band. They were OK, but I remember thinking that I might change some of the chord progressions they used. Still, they were fine for dancing, and as we cruised around the floor feeling the grace of smooth muscular interaction we noticed the escalating warmth of each other’s body. With her cheek against mine, it was impossible to see her face directly, but the careful study I conducted earlier at dinner was now paying off as I refreshed the visions of her face from memory.

I really didn’t intend to release my libido from the normal imprisonment imposed on it by my ego. Best intentions weren’t good enough, because somewhere in all the dancing and closeness my hormones took control, and before I realized it there were those familiar tingling and physical reactions. It was lengthening downward and was thickening. “Get control of yourself," I commanded me. But it was no use. It was relentless; it was out of control, and my effort to will it back into submission only made matters worse. It was also becoming painful as the downward direction was now straining out and up, tenting my slacks rudely as it strained to stand tall. It was only a matter of time that my struggle to avert a contact would fail. There was only one stanza left in the tune, and I had high hopes I would be able to maneuver her to the booth before she discovered me. A slight misstep and the tip briefly contacted the inner front of her left thigh. I was mortified.

For a few seconds there was no change in her behavior. Then, there was a perceptible difference in the posture her body took, and she moved closer to me and the formerly inadvertent touch was reestablished. The connection was not so direct or overt, but rather it felt like a tentative exploration that made brief but sure contact, abandoned the field momentarily, then closed in again. It was if she was carefully examining it without looking at it or taking it in her hand to gain full comprehension. When the song ended, I led her back to the booth, and although we still sat across from each other, we now maintained contact at the ankles and both spoke more gently and studied each others faces more intently than before. I had a few misgivings that the glasses framing my face probably denied my attraction to the outdoors and sports, but felt good that sitting in the booth probably made me look taller than I am. I do know that looking in her eyes did little to help slow the pace of the thoughts that were suddenly urging me to action that would meet with disapproval under my mother’s socialization training. We sat there and talked a long while, but eventually I decided to take her home so we could both get a good nights sleep before work the next day.

We kissed at the door a bit longer than either of us had intended, but bid each other good night and went into our respective abodes.

The second thing I attended to when I made it into my bathroom was taking a leak. Those that advise taking a cold shower as a means of deferring lusty thoughts have no sense of time or sequences. They erroneously assume that one will be able to give appropriate attention to the duties associated with disrobing. Then, naked as nature, the subject will have the composure to ignore the knob that has the undivided attention of every neuron located between the neck and the knees to instead grab the “Cold” handle and turn. Hah! I don’t know about women, but there is no man alive that could accomplish that under the distraction I felt that night.

Chapter 3

I had to leave for work early the next morning, but when I came back I saw her car was there, and so I knocked on her door before I changed out of my suit. I planned to ask her out again, but she asked me in, and as I passed by her as she opened the door, she gave me a fleeting kiss on the cheek, and we went inside together. As soon as the door was closed behind me, she took my hand to stop my forward progress, and as I turned, kissed me full on the lips. Thankfully, she was beginning to share my attraction, and this sudden expression fanned my own ardor and within 5 seconds my loose fitting slacks were tented out and the familiar hardness was pressed firmly against her upper leg. When we broke, we both were flush in the face and although I felt embarrassed by the suddenness and intensity of my feelings, I felt a warm, soft glow inside that contrasted the hardness and aggressive needs that were driving the engorgement of my whole pelvic area.

She suggested that I get comfortable, and lose the tie and suit coat. This was good advice, except that the coat was partly covering the full-blown evidence of the lusty thoughts I held about her. She suggested that I could put them in her bedroom/office, and as she sat on the sofa and turned on the television with the remote, I walked through the door to her room.

The bedroom at first glance met my expectations. It was frilly, but it was functional with a computer and shelving against one wall and a bed/nightstand against the other. The computer hummed at idle, and the blank screen stared into the room and at me.

As I passed the computer table, I happened to bump it with my leg, and the screen flashed into operation. There, on the screen was an image of the front room of the house, with my host sitting there with the remote controller, apparently watching a program that I could neither see nor hear from the vantage point provided by the camera. I gave it little thought as I removed my tie, then my coat, then unzipped my pants to relieve the pain that was caused by the restraint of my clothing. I unbuckled my belt, and let my pants drop to my knees and dropped my underwear to the same level. Ahhhhhh! As I stood there facing the bed, I happened to glance at the computer. She was still watching television, but was now caressing her breasts, and had opened her knees and had hiked her skirt so that I could see the white panties at the confluence of her legs. She must've used this computer camera to be sure that her kids weren't misbehaving as she worked at the keyboard. How lucky for me, I thought. She has no idea that she left this on, and I'm getting a private show from a woman that has captivated me in every way. It was wrong to take advantage of this, I know, but I couldn't stop. I reached down and put my hand around the middle of the shaft, and stroked it upward, gently and slowly as I watched her caressing continue. As I gripped it, I noticed that she took one of the hands that had been attending to tweaking her nipples and dropped it down across her belly and between her legs, hiking the dress higher, and then dropping to the Y formed in the front of her panties. As she touched herself there, I wanted to rush outside and tear them off and insert my hard tool as deeply as possible. Nevertheless, I realized that such an abrupt change would likely end my growing relationship with her immediately. Furthermore, it would have been very embarrassing for her if I had opened the door to the living room and surprised her in that position. Better not do that. So, in those few moments I decided to go against the character that was drummed into me from childhood that good people don't take advantage of other people. Here I was, though, taking advantage of a woman that I cared about in a way that if discovered would likely end the association.

Once the decision was made, I decided to look for some tissues to be sure I left no mess in her room, and I pulled my pants up, and went to the bathroom to find some. Since there were none on the cabinet top, I opened the cabinet door below, and was surprised to find an electric massager that was slightly longer than my shaft, but not quite as thick. "Well," I thought, "this might come in handy after I get to know her better." I was able to find the tissues, and as I returned to the computer I saw that she had slowed the pace as if she were going to stop and make dinner instead. As I watched her, though, my hand was moving slowly to massage the tent, and fortunately, at about the same time, she quickened her pace, too.

I dropped my pants fully to the floor so that I could have both hands free, and began to stroke it again. As I did, she lifted herself off the sofa slightly and pulled off her panties and put them between the pillows to hide them. I moved closer to the screen to get a better look, and sat down in her computer chair, leaning back and thinking that I wished she would get up, come into the bedroom and straddle me, then impale herself down on me and stimulate herself to orgasm using me as a replacement for her electric massager. My hand emulated the tantalizing confinement that only a vagina provides, and I held it loosely along the shaft with my right hand, but gripped it more firmly near the base with my left. I love this feeling.

On the screen in front of me, her hand was slipping up and down inside the folds between her legs and she seemed to be intently watching the show on the television. It must've been a cable porno show, because her eyes never left the screen as she fondled her breasts and rubbed her slit. I was enraptured in my show, too, and as I watched her, my humping hips drove my shaft upward while my hand moved downward. I felt that delicious sensation building, and decided to build it up to just short of cumming. My humping pace continued stable, but the stroking of my hand increased to nearly a blur as I stimulated the nerves to build the pressure and increase the pleasure. As I watched the screen, she was now focusing more attention to her clitoris, and as she pulled the folds up toward her navel with her left hand, the tip of the middle finger of her right hand wriggled and danced at the same pace that my hand was stroking my shaft. I was almost unable to overcome the urge, but did. Ohhhh! I could feel my heart racing and the blood was pounding in my head. I got control, slowed, and again enjoyed the pulses of pleasure that gently throbbed in my pelvis.

I noticed that her pace had slowed, too. What a wonderful coincidence. She was relishing the feelings that I felt, and it almost seemed telepathic that she would match my lustful activities. As I watched, she reached between the pillows and withdrew a vibrator like the one in the bathroom. She switched it on, and began moving it up and down the slit as her fingers had been formerly. It was so sensual to watch. Her hips were responding, and I could see the tensions in the muscles in her inner legs as they reacted to the feral stimulation being imposed on her by the vibrator. My stroking matched her pace now. I began to gasp and sigh as the wet swellings increased and the slurpy sounds of the fluids now gathering at my own slit beat out the tempo. She began to focus the vibrator more on her clit, and her back arched backward as her head strained forward to watch the porno show on her television. I could sense her orgasm, and could actually hear her moans of pleasure and cries of delight as they sneaked through the door between us. There was no restraining me now. I felt my entire pelvis contract as all the muscles worked in concert to jet the fluid high into the air above me, and to repeat the process several times.

I was short of tissues. Watching her had emptied me, and so I returned to the bathroom and used toilet paper to clean up the rest. It took a few minutes to rearrange my clothing and my composure and then I walked out into the living room. She had adjourned to the kitchen, and called to me to join her. As I passed the couch, I glanced at the television, and saw her bedroom on the screen, apparently from the camera on the top of the computer screen that I had hardly noticed when I was in there.

Chapter 4

I passed through the archway into her kitchen and as I entered she was just straightening from having been bent at the waist to reach something at the bottom of the refrigerator. In the half-second that she was fully flexed I could make out the outlines of her full hips. She was so female in her form, and as she straightened, and I noticed again the narrowing of her waist and the flaring of her breast away from her chest as she half turned toward me. I felt those tingles below my belt again, surprised that my recent orgasm had not completely emptied all my reservoirs.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked.

“You obviously already know that this critic rated the show five stars.”

She laughed, and closed the space between us with a few steps, then pulled me close to her, and kissed me full on the lips. I could feel the warmth of her body and the outlines of her breasts and my erecting member was pressed against her. Her legs were slightly apart and the mound of her pelvis was fully against my leg. It felt as though she was somehow using my leg to open and spread the lips and to press all the inner parts against me through our clothing.

Our mouths merged, withdrew, teased and tickled and we sucked and licked each other’s lips and tongues feeling the wetness and slippery vacuum of love. We held each other close for several minutes, abandoning the need for food that evening for another human need.

“Look,” she said, “the kids are staying with my sister, and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon after school. I’d like you to stay with me tonight.”

“She’d like me to stay with her?” I thought, “She couldn’t possibly have any idea how much I want to stay with her.”

“Yes, I’d like to stay.”

“I can tell you enjoyed watching me masturbate. Would you like to do it again?”

I said nothing, but nodded and smiled as I began to rub myself absent-mindedly.

She took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom.