The Boy Next Door

As I unpack the boxes of my meager possessions, I look around my parents' house. Unbidden, memories of my childhood, and early adulthood keep springing to mind. While I admit there were some bad times, overall, my years in this house were happy ones.

"What took me so long to come back home."

The timing was perfect, word of dad's death reached my just as my bitter divorce proceedings were nearing an end. Somehow I had allowed my husband's controlling nature to isolate me from my family to the point that I hadn't even known of mom's death a few months ago.

As I place the last of my clothes into mom's old dresser, I notice the family photo album in one of the drawers. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I flip through page after page of pictures: growing up, as well as friends and family long forgotten. And then, my heart wants to stop because there he is in black and white: Tony – the boy next door...

The Past

Tony was my first crush, and later my first love. But, we never could figure out how it was supposed to work.

Tony's family moved in next door when I was eight. At first, all he was to me was someone who was forced to watch me when an emergency arose. Not that I minded much, since he didn't want to be there, he rarely paid enough attention to me, and I more or less did as I pleased. But all that changed the year I started high school, and he began college. All of a sudden, he was all I could think of. I thought he was the most handsome, intelligent, and athletic person I ever met. But, to my dismay, he still thought of me as just the little girl next door. My crush on him was so intense; I never got very interested in dating guys my own age. I was popular enough, and frequently went out on dates; I just didn't have any interest in starting or continuing a relationship.

Things between changed between us when I was a senior. I went to an early season beach party, and got into a fight with my date. The fight ended when he told me to find my own way home. Tony overheard the last of the exchange, but had only seen me from the back up until then. Since he was at the party alone, he decided to try his luck and see if he could interest a pretty girl in a ride home. When he got there, he was astonished to see that it was me.

Looking at me in a new light, Tony invited me for a walk on the nearby boardwalk. We walked for a while, and stopped at a secluded spot to watch the stars sparkle on the water. He was standing right behind me, so close that I could feel his presence, even though we never touched. As the wind began to gust stronger off the water, I could feel the hairs on her arms stand up.

"You're cold!" he said, as he ran his hands down my arms without touching them, "We should head back to the car."

I felt him step back, and assuming he had started towards the car, turned to follow. As I started to step forward at the end of my turn, I noticed that he had merely stepped back, but not in time to prevent me from walking into him ...

And his delicious lips. As our lips bumped, I felt him grab my elbows and pull our already touching bodies even closer. I felt his tongue press gently against my lips until they parted, and permitted him inside.

It was my first French kiss. I can still remember the way his tongue caressed the inside of my mouth, questing deeper and deeper. Suddenly, I realized my goose bumps were no longer just from the cold. When the kiss ended, I was so giddy that I was surprised I didn't fall as he loosened his grip. I never could remember walking to his car that night.

We dated on and off over the next four years. Mom hated him. I still have the speeches memorized about how he was only out to steal her "most precious gift", and leave her broken and alone. I didn't care. I was happy with Tony. Besides, part of me already believed that sex didn't have to wait for marriage. But, I was also still innocent enough to want to believe that my mother knew what she was talking about.

Tony was always the big man on campus with his pick of any girl. I was his first experience with the reluctance of virginity, and that occasionally put a strain on our relationship.

I still fondly remember the many firsts I experienced with him:

One night, we were over at a friend's house watching videos. He sat in a corner chair, and pulled me onto his lap. As his mouth filled mines with the warmth and passion of his kiss, I felt his hand slowly move toward my breasts for the first time. I thought about stopping him, I just wasn't sure I was ready for it, but, I couldn't bring myself to break the kiss in order to do it. I felt his hands gently caress my breast, occasionally giving a light squeeze. A thrill ran through me with every squeeze. Later, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I noticed that he had unbuttoned a middle button on my shirt, and had actually been caressing my bra. I was mortified and thrilled at the same time. If I had realized, I definitely would have stopped him, but I loved every minute of it.

There are many memories. One night, he shaved me in a spot that I had never dreamed of shaving. Taking a shower together. The first time he kissed me on a different set of lips. Even the vibrator he bought her that I always left in his car, because I was terrified of being caught with it at home. But through all the years, and all the good times, we never went "all the way."

A night that I clearly remember is the first time I gave him a blow job. We were sitting in his car, talking and playing. He unzipped his pants and worked his cock out, and pulled me tight into his shoulder.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just put your head in my lap for a minute." I let him slowly lower my head to his lap, knowing that this was something I would never do; it was just too kinky for a good Catholic girl like me. After a few minutes, the nearness of his scent started was intoxicating, and I started to sit up before I got carried away. But first, I reached over and gave his cock a quick kiss. As my lips touched the head, I felt his hands on my neck, encouraging me to go deeper. Before I could decide what I wanted, I could feel him filling my mouth. I wanted to gag, but couldn't. I wanted to stop, but was curious to see what it felt like. Through it all I felt Tony's hand guiding me, gently, never forcefully, until he exploded into my mouth, and knew this was something I would want to do again.

My memories of him are all jumbled up. What happened first, what happened later I'm no longer sure. What I do know is that I never trusted another man the way I trusted him. And despite what mom always thought, it was never just physical. We had so much in common and always enjoyed just being around each other. Even during the times when we weren't dating, we often did things together, sometimes as part of a group, but sometimes it was just the two of us. Movies, concerts, ballgames, whatever came up.

But everything comes to an end eventually. For a graduation present, my parents sent me to Europe for a month. I always suspected mom was hoping that the distance would lead to a permanent breakup, and in a way it did. While I was away, Tony's firm transferred him to California. I didn't even find out till I was back at home. We wrote regularly for about a year, but the distance dulled the romantic spark, and eventually we lost touch.

The Marriage

Jake was every woman's dream. Talented, successful, and good looking. He had everything going for him, and easily swept me right off my feet. From the very beginning, Jake would bring up the topic of marriage and family out of the blue. This was so unlike my previous experience. All my other boyfriends would pretend they didn't hear me whenever I tried to talk about a future to the relationship. And, for the first time, I was dating someone less experienced then me, and it was fun being the teacher in that area.

He was also my most solicitous boyfriend. He was constantly asking me detailed questions about my life. It seemed to me like he could never know enough about me. He even encouraged me to wait for our wedding night. We seemed to have so much in common, as he always seemed eager to do whatever I suggested. Our life together was perfect ... until we were married.

Almost from the start, it felt like someone had replaced my Jake with an imposter. It seemed like everyday I found out that I was mistaken about one thing or another. But I was raise to view divorce as a sign of failure, so I kept quiet, and promised myself to work harder at my marriage. I tried reminding him of things he used to say when we were dating. I tried behaving in the way he seemed to expect. Everything I tried seemed to just make matters worse.

Two years into the marriage, we moved to a small town in Ohio, and I began to feel isolated. It became harder and harder for me to see my family, and the more I felt unloved by Jake, the more I felt he was all I had. After all if even my husband didn't think there was anything worth while about me, who would.

We never had a passionate marriage; Jake always seemed to treat sex as an act to be completed, and nothing more. As the marriage wore on, things got worse. Jake talked more and more often about the children we didn't have, and touched me less and less. Over the last few years, his sulking and averted glances had become a constant around the house. Then the business trip came up.

Jake was up for a promotion, and his company sent him on a business trip for the first time. I had just started a new job, and couldn't take time off without jeopardizing my position. I could tell that Jake was upset that I wouldn't go with him, but in typical Jake fashion, he never said anything directly to me. One night, in the middle of the trip, I awoke in the empty bed with one thought clearly in mind. It had been more than three months since Jake had done more than give me a platonic goodbye kiss as we left for work in the morning. I cried myself back to sleep. As Jake returned home, I greeted him with words I thought I could never say, "I want a divorce."

The Present

I stuff a garbage bag full of used packing material, and head for the curb. It might be years since I've been home, but I still remember that tomorrow is garbage pickup. As I start to return to the house, I find myself looking over at Tony's.

"I wonder if they still live there."

As I stand there daydreaming, the door opens, and Tony walks out carrying his garbage. "Jennifer Louis Dowling," he always did like to use my full name, he innocently asks, "When did you get home? How's the husband? Any kids yet?"

At this, the tears begin to fall. Tony brings me into his house, and makes me a cup of tea, the kind we both like, while I sob out the story of my life since he left. Not just the generalities that I had been telling co-workers and neighbors during the divorce, but all the gory details. Things I never dreamed of telling anyone, and barely admitted to myself, come out. Tony always had that effect on me, he was my best friend. I've been angry at Jake for so long that I never really admitted how hurt I am as well. As I get control of myself and dry my tears, I realize that they were long over due. After apologizing for my outburst, and thanking him for listening, I ask when he got back home.

Tony now catches me up on his life. His dad had passed away several years ago, and Tony was now running his own consulting business from home. So, when his mom got sick last month, he put his house on the market, and moved back to care for her.

We talk for several hours about old times, together and apart. Tony tells me about several mutual friends that I lost touch with. As the conversation continues, the topics easily drift into common interests, bands we both like, movies we have seen over the years, sports, anything that comes up. Before either of us realizes it, the hour has gotten rather late. As I get up to go home, He reaches for my hand, and pulls me gently into his lap.

"I always thought of you as the one that got away," he whispers. As his lips brush my ear, I feel a tingle race across my body. It's a familiar tingle that had been missing from my marriage for quite some time. I start to protest that we really shouldn't do this right now, but his delicious kiss smothers all but the first few syllables.

"Damn," I think, "I never could resist his kiss."

As I felt his hand slide up my body and cup my breast, I slide my arm around him and press his kiss even deeper. His tongue caresses the back of my throat, and it takes all my willpower to resist the urge to reach down and find out how far he was prepared to go. As Tony switches his attention to my other breast, I ease my grip, and he pushes my body away to get a better angle, breaking the kiss.

"Tony, we shouldn't. Your mother's upstairs and I'm still hurting from the divorce."

"You're right. We need more privacy," he said, as he slid her from his lap and helped her to stand while rising himself. As he leads me up to his room, I think to myself "I need this, and I've never had anyone better. I know he didn't mean what he said before. He's just trying to help an old friend get over a rough spot. He knows I haven't had this kind of attention in too long. He only wants a one night stand, and afterward, we'll just be friends."

As we reach the top of the stairs, he renews his kiss, this time slowly working the back of my T-shirt out of my pants. I return his kiss with equal passion, and reach down to determine how much he still wants me and I am not disappointed. Leaving his belt buckled, I unzip his pants, but before I could free him, we cross the threshold into his room, and I hear the door click shut behind us.

As he pulls my shirt over my head, he leans in and gives first one nipple, and then the other, a gentle nip through the thin fabric of my bra. As soon as my hands are free, I reach for his belt buckle. Tony starts to help, but I push his hands away, and up my body. He takes the hint, and returns his attention to my breasts, increasing the intensity of pinches and nips while I free him from his pants. His pants finally fell to the floor, and I slip one hand inside his briefs, while squeezing his ass with the other.

Tony renews the kiss, and is now working on my jeans. He gently pushes them and my panties downward until they begin to fall on their own. As they fell, he grabs both legs just below my ass, and pulls me onto his waist. The pressure of his body against my exposed pussy is already making me wet and ready. He carries me to the bed that way, undoing my bra as he walks, so that it falls to the floor when he lowers me to the bed.

Kissing me, he gently pushes me until I am lying flat across the bed. He begins to move his mouth and hands slowly down me body, lingering in all my favorite places. He works my nipples until I can feel my eagerness begin to seep out. As he moves across my flat stomach, I let a soft moan escape my lips. I can feel the fullness of my other lips as they swell in anticipation of his touch. First his fingers, then his mouth find my sweet spot, and my moans cease to be sweet. He alternates between playing with my clit, and moving deeper inside, while also switching between his fingers and his tongue. His pace quickens, and his pinches and bites become stronger, and I can't help but remember a long ago night in his mother's car, when he had pushed my over the edge into the most blissfully intense and mind-numbing orgasm. Using nothing but his fingers, he had given me the best orgasm of my life so far. As my mind returns to the present, I become aware that he is now using a two-pronged attack on me. As his tongue flicks across my clit, his fingers were deep inside me, alternating between massaging my wet walls, and slamming in and out. I feel myself approach the edge, and cross over. I repeatedly scream for him to do it now. His mother surely hears me, but I don't care, I am in the throes of ecstasy, and completely at Tony's mercy.

I feel his pace slow as my orgasm crests. I remember him as an expert with his hands and mouth, but this was definitely a new trick. He allowed me to come down to a point where I am no longer moaning, but he keeps me worked up enough for my breathing to be labored, and my legs to feel like Jell-O. "He's not done with me yet," I realize. Not that I want him to stop, but my excitement was so rampant, that I am not in control of the situation.

He begins to quicken his pace again, while gently repositioning me to lie on the bed the right way. As he props my head with a pillow, I feel my excitement begin to climb again. I didn't want to cum without him the first time; I certainly don't want to do it a second time.

"Now, please," my anguished moan escapes.

"Now, please, what?" He teases, slowing his pace just enough to let me back off from the edge.

"Tony, please," I cry as I try to make my brain work the pleasure haze.

"Say it," he commands gently. "I'm not doing anything more till you tell me what you would like."

He stops completely now. This is torture. I can feel myself begin to cool off. I can feel his hands as they rest on me, not moving, not applying pressure. I am beginning to panic. I can't stand the idea of not finishing, but I had never actually said the words he wants me to say. Finally, I can't stand it anymore.

"FUCK ME," I practically scream in his ear. As my mouth starts to open, his hands already begin to move. One to my breast to tease my nipples, the other finds my sweet spot, and he begins to slowly slide a finger in and out, while rubbing my clit with his thumb. His mouth finds mine for a short intense kiss, which quickly brings me back to the point of readiness.

As I watch him put on the condom, I notice how much weight he has gained over the years. "God, he's gotten so fat. Why do I still find him incredibly attractive?" Just then, he turns his head to look at me. The motion catches my eye, and as our eyes meet, I feel my breath catch in my throat and know nothing else matters. I think of reaching between my legs to keep myself moist for him, but I realize he has finished and is reaching down for me. I allow him to position my legs, and feel his tip slid teasingly between my legs, not yet pressing in.

"Last chance to change your mind," he teases, as his hands spread my already open legs and his tip gently caresses my clit and opening. The passion has my mind too clouded to think, but I attempt to raise my hips into him only to find that his hands have me firmly against the mattress. I moan in pleasure and frustration as he kids, "Anxious, are we?", and pulls back slightly.

"Please", I beg, as his hands finally began to guide his penis into me. He stops partway in, "I don't think you're ready yet. You need a little more help to enjoy this fully." Without removing himself from me, he reaches back into the night table. After a moment, I feel him pour something over my anus. His hand gently and vigorously rubs it all over, outside and in.

My curiosity keeps me from thrusting my hips and capturing him deeper within. I hear the hum of a small vibrator, and feel a light pressure between my checks. He suddenly thrusts forward, and I feel myself pinned between him and the vibrator, as they both fill me simultaneously. He holds himself there as his mouth finds mine. He guides my hand to the vibrator to replace his. As I feel his hands slide towards my breasts, he begins to rock inside me, slowly at first.

He continues to tease my nipples, even as his pace quickens. I begin to move the vibrator in and out, sometimes practically removing it, teasing him as well as myself. His mouth only leaves mine long enough to replace one hand or the other for additional stimulation. This is the only chance I have for any verbal release of the tensions tearing through my body, and my moans and shouts are quite loud. As my pleasure soars, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep my pleasure in check, my moans deepen, and I silently beg him to cum already.