When I arrived at Hickory Run, an artists' colony in New York State, my intent was to have a two week writing retreat with no distractions so I could finish my novel. The setting was perfect—a small log cabin tucked in a grove of trees with a view of Indian Lake. Each cabin, however, had two separate apartments. For a hundred dollars more a week I could have had a cabin without an adjoining space, but, as it was, I could barely afford this luxury. Fortunately, the apartment next to mine was empty and I was eager for complete solitude.
There were ten other cabins surrounding the lake—each fairly far apart. The only telephone was in the main house where they also had a small dining room where you could have a continental breakfast if you paid the extra fee. I brought my own food and stocked the cabin's refrigerator with breakfast and lunch stuff—eggs, bread, cans of soup and peanut butter. I also brought a bottle of Jack Daniels and a few bottles of wine. I noticed a small café in a nearby town and a general store, so I knew I could re-supply if wanted to, or treat myself to a dinner at the café.
Each cabin had a fire place, a sofa, a desk, a small kitchen, a tiny bedroom with a double bed—that was it—simplicity. The small porch had a large stack of fire wood and some kindling. It also had two rocking chairs—in case you had someone stop by for conversation. I got myself into a routine of getting up at 4:30, making a pot of coffee, having a little toast and writing from five in the morning until about ten. Around 11, I'd take a break and walk along the path at the lake for some exercise. I'd see smoke coming from several of the cabins across the lake, but for the first three days, I didn't see another person. I took another walk after dinner and then sat on my porch with a glass of Jack or some wine and think about my novel and how lucky I was to be here in such a beautiful spot. It was late September and the leaves were just beginning to change. It was warm during the day and chilly at night.
While I was writing the fourth morning, I heard a car drive up and park in front of the next door cabin. I went to the window and saw a woman getting out of her jeep then carry her laptop and big backpack inside.
At first I was annoyed that someone was going to be next door, but when I noticed how attractive she was, I wondered whether she would become a distraction. She looked to be in her thirties. She had tight faded jeans, a heavy wool flannel shirt and a baseball cap over long brown hair that came down past her shoulders. When she came back to her jeep to get a few more things, I could not take my eyes off her round ass in her tight jeans and knew I was going to have a hard time concentrating on my work with someone so sexy next door.
I was determined however, to not let anything stop me from finishing my novel while I was here and made a promise to myself—don't let this woman distract you from your work. I went back to my laptop and was able to write all afternoon then made myself some soup for dinner and took a long walk along the lake.
I hadn't heard a sound from her side of the cabin and didn't see her after that first glimpse. After my walk, I sat on my porch for an hour, looking out over the lake and thinking about my book. It was getting late so I decided to get into bed and read for awhile before going to sleep.
While I was lying bed, looking up at the ceiling, the quiet was shattered by her screaming coming through the wall, "Ohhhhhhh! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me! Harder. Come on, baby, give it to me harder. Ohhhhhhhhh yes, Fuck me Fuck me!"
I wondered whether she was alone and masturbating or did someone come to visit her while I was out walking.
"Give me that cock, baby," she screamed. Her hot shouting was getting me aroused. "Fuck me, god damn it. FUCK ME!"
In my wildest dreams I never imagined I would be in a situation like this.
'Ohhhhhh god, yes, Harder. damn it. FUCK ME! FUCK ME!"
My cock got hard, aroused by her screams through the wall. I closed my eyes and imagined I was fucking her. I grabbed my cock and started jerking off faster and faster, responding to her shouting, "GIVE IT TO ME. HARDER! HARDER!" My hand was moving over my cock faster and faster and I felt my sperm rising. I shouted out, "I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING!" as gobs of sperm shot out of my cock "I'M CUMMING! I'M CUMMING!"
If I could hear her through the wall, I was sure she could hear me because I heard her shout in response, "CUM IN ME! THAT'S IT BABY! FUCK ME!"
After I exploded, I lay back in my bed wondering if she was aware what just happened and where this would lead.
The next day, I started in on my routine, took a break about noon and my walk right after lunch. When I returned, she was on the porch with her laptop writing. She looked up at me and smiled. I nodded hello and went into my cabin. I was determined not to let her presence or what happened last night, interfere with my writing.
I was just getting down to work, when there was a knock on my screen door. I looked up and saw my neighbor and said, "Come in."
She was wearing the tight faded jeans, a white T shirt and no shoes. I could see her big tits straining the T-shirt.
"Sorry to interrupt. I won't be long. I just want to say hello."
"That's nice of you." I said, not sure if I should ask her to sit or not.
"I'm Angel," she said. "What's your name?"
"Thom," I said. "Thom with an h," I added. "Glad to meet you, Angel."
After an awkward silence, she said, "Well, I guess we heard each other last night."
"Yes," I nodded. "The walls are pretty thin."
"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, "but I was writing and got myself pretty horny."
"Really. What are you writing?" I asked.
"I write Chick Lit," she said. And I sometimes get carried away."
"What's Chick Lit?" I asked, though it wasn't hard to figure it out. I just didn't know what else to say.
"It's a kind of new market, you know, books for young women that's one rung up on romance novels—much hotter."
"I see, so it's kind of like Literotica—an on-line site," I said.
"Yeah," she said. "I've had stories on there, but I get paid for these books. I'm working on a second novel right now."
"How about you, what are you writing?"
"It's definitely not Chick Lit," I said. "It's an historical novel for young adults about the Revolutionary War."
"Cool," she answered. "Wow!"
Again, there was an awkward silence as we looked at each other. I could see her nipples poking through her thin T-shirt, but kept looking away so she wouldn't notice. She smiled at me.
Finally, she said. "That was pretty hot last night, you jerking off and cumming while I was fucking myself."
I was stunned by how blunt she was. I did not respond but saw how she was smiling and looking at my eyes. "Sorry to shock you," she added, "I say what I think," she said.
I just looked at her unable to think of a word to say, but there was something in the way our eyes met and how she smiled, that said more than words.
"Well, I better go," she said, turning and went to the door to leave. I still hadn't spoken but could not take my eyes off of her round ass in the tight jeans and thought to myself, "God damn, she's sexy."
At the door, she looked back at me over her shoulder, waved a goodbye with her hand and smiled. "See you later, Thom," she said, seductively. Looking at her, I felt my cock get hard and knew the two of us were going to have an adventure.
I had a tough time getting back to work, thinking about what had just happened. I went to the door and saw Angel writing on her laptop and went back to my laptop and managed to get back into my novel. I was determined not to let her distract me from my writing.
After dinner, I took my evening walk and sat out on my porch. I could see a lamp on in Angel's cabin. I had a glass of Jack Daniels and was sipping and looking out at the lake. About a half hour later, Angel came out. She must have just taken a shower because her hair was wet and she was wearing a short flowery kimono that was loosely tied at the waist and barely covered her ass. She was bare footed and I noticed how long and well-toned her legs were.
It was getting dark and she did not see me at first. When she turned and saw me on my rocking chair, she came over and asked what I was drinking.
When I told her it was Jack Daniels, she said, "I'd love some. Do you mind sharing?" She took my glass, sipped and handed it back.
"There's more," I said. "Would you like a glass?" "Sure." she said. I'd love a glass."
When I returned, Angel was sitting on the other rocking chair. Her legs were crossed and the short kimono was barely covering her crotch.
"How'd the writing go today?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink. "Fine," I said. "How about you--did you get much done?" I asked. "Yeah, I did, but I stopped just before a real hot scene. I like it to percolate in me before I write then it just pours out like steam," she said.
She took a big swig of her drink and put the glass down on the floor. She looked at me and smiled. "Let's get stoned, I have some dynamite weed."
"I don't know," I said. "I haven't smoke pot in years."
"Oh come on. It'll do you good to let loose. It'll help your writing too," she added. "And this is a perfect spot to get fucked up."
"Okay, what the hell," I said, "Why not?"
"Cool," she said and got up and went into her cabin and returned quickly with a rolled up joint.
She sat down on the edge of her chair, lit it, took a deep hit and handed it to me. I coughed at first and handed it back to her and then took another hit and another. Before I knew it, I was stoned. We were talking and laughing. She told me she was thirty four and just broke up with a guy. I told her I was sixty-two, divorced and live a pretty simple life in a cabin in Maine.
She had a Masters degree in English and was a graduate assistant for a few years but quit so she could write. She worked as a waitress in a small town outside of New York City. She said she always wanted to come to Hickory Run since she heard about it from another writer. So she saved and gave herself two weeks to finish her new novel. She made a little money from her first book which was titled, "Ravished."
"Some title," I said.
