It was just after ten on a Thursday night when I heard the light rap on the front door.
Knock, knock.....
My trusty chocolate lab, Shane, who had been curled up by my feet on the couch, immediately jumped up, perhaps more surprised than I was. "Rrruuuufffff," he growled huskily, which as anyone knows, is the canine equivalency of "Who's there?" Shane can play along with knock, knock jokes with the best of them.
I lowered the volume of the pay-per-view porn movie that I had just ordered minutes ago, and looked down at my bare chest and burgeoning hard-on threatening to poke through my sweat pants. I wasn't exactly dressed for visitors, from either the waist up or the waist down. Well, I guess that would depend on the visitor.
I pondered whether or not to ignore the knocking, hoping against hope the person had a mistaken residence and would simply move on. The eighties song by the Australian reggae band Men at Work rattled in my head. "Who Could It Be Now.....?"
But there it was again.
Knock, knock.......
Shane bounced on the balls of his four paws as his head swiveled from the door to me, then to the door again, in nervous confusion. A guard dog, he was not. "Yap," he uttered this time, much less ominously than before, but the meaning was the same thought as the one running through my own head. "Who the fuck IS that at this hour?"
I placed the remote on the coffee table next to my glass of chardonnay, pausing the action on the screen just as a promising FFM threesome was beginning to unfold and walked to the foyer, calling out obediently to the only proper response anyone can make when they hear 'knock, knock'. Yep, you guessed it.
"Who's there?" I asked through the door, peering through the eyehole which hadn't ever really worked, and seeing only blurred darkness. Gotta get that fixed someday, I thought.
I most certainly wasn't expecting the voice I heard, a woman's voice. "It's Andrea Price, your new neighbor."
My mind began to filter this information as she continued. "From 123, two doors down? Your son and my son met yesterday."
Oh, yes, THAT new neighbor, the one with the great tits who smiled at me from the side of the U-haul truck earlier in the week, moving into the vacant townhouse just down the street. At the time, I had made a mental note to find out if there was a husband who accompanied those two nice tits. Looks like I had my answer.
Knock, knock, indeed. Or was that knocker, knocker? My jokes are really getting worse, I thought, as I opened the door, forgetting that I was without a shirt.
The door swung open. She stared at my chest. I stared at hers, clad in a tight black turtleneck. If she was willing to give me the shirt off of her back, I'd willingly play right along. It'd be the neighborly thing to do, after all.
It wasn't until she began to speak that I noticed the bottle of wine she held in her right hand. Chardonnay, how did she know?
"Oh, my," she stammered, continuing to look at my bare pecs. "It's just that I wanted to say hello, to introduce myself, and I noticed your son being picked up by his mom earlier tonight, and my own son, Andrew, is with his dad, and....." She stopped, embarrassed, blushing, stepping back slightly. It was then that I noticed her mouth. Huge, wide, with big, full, ruby lips, a textbook mouth for cocksucking if ever there was one.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, looking as if she would cry suddenly. Her eyes were already slightly bloodshot and I could smell liquor on her breath. Not that there's anything wrong with that. "I shouldn't have come. I don't know what I was thinking about. It's just that I don't know anybody here yet, and..."
This broad used a lot of run-on sentences, I thought, realizing that I hadn't yet said a word. Shane took a tentative step out onto the porch and began to sniff inquisitively at her jean-covered crotch. Wouldn't it be nice if humans could get away with that as a greeting?
"Shane, stop that," I commanded, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back inside. He continued to sniff from a distance, and his tail began to wag. He apparently liked dad's chances.
"No, no, please, how rude of me. I'm John. John McCullough. And yes, I do remember you, and my son Timmy told me he played catch with your son. Please, please, come in," I said, gesturing to her to enter. "But leave your shirt at the door, please," I thought. For some reason, I recalled a sign I once saw in the entrance of a tavern. "Men - no shirt, no drinks. Women - no shirt, free drinks."
I gripped her elbow lightly, escorting her into the vestibule. The smell of liquor became more noticeable. This gal had indeed been drinking, and seemed more than a little tipsy. My kinda woman.
"Andrea, did you say?" I asked, not really caring what the answer was. What's in a name, anyway? They're so overrated sometimes, especially when you have tits like that. A guy's auditory senses, things like hearing and listening, seem to be rendered useless when confronted by a pair of new 36 C's.
"Yes, Andrea. But friends call me Andi." Naturally. Andi's mountains, how appropriate. At least now I had a word association that was conveniently geographical and anatomical enough to remember.
I rubbed my hands self-consciously over my own naked chest. "Um, I'm sorry. Uh, I didn't even have time to get a shirt on. Let me go upstairs and get one."
It was her turn to grab my elbow, stopping me in mid-turn. "No!" she nearly shouted. I stopped in my tracks, surprised by the volume of her command. "Um, I mean, you don't have to, I don't mind." Her voice was much softer this time. One might say, husky. "Besides, you have a nice chest. I don't mind at all." Her gray-green eyes sparkled with mischief, and she twirled a manicured nail around her frosted blonde, short spiky hair.
With those words and that sultry look, the sexual tension rose exponentially, in tandem with my dick, tenting in my sweat pants, my only clothing. Shane lay down on the carpet, propping his head on his front paws, probably thinking with Labrador intuition, "This is going to get good."
I decided to test the waters early and see what her intentions were, though I already had an inclination. I returned her gaze. "Thank you. And if I do say so myself, strictly as a neighborly compliment, of course, that I couldn't help but notice you have a very nice chest of your own, Andi." All along, even when I first saw her next to the U-Haul, I'd been trying to place who she reminded me of, and it finally hit me. Jennifer Tilly, especially two very prominent and similar attributes.
I guess I was expecting her to blush, but instead, she proudly arched her back and huffed out her globes for apparent closer examination. No bra was visible, and these things defied gravity. "Thank you yourself, kind sir. It's a wise investment I made from my divorce settlement last year. I figured in the middle of a recession that these are two things that wouldn't lose value in the short-term."
I couldn't help but laugh at her bold and brazen self-evaluation. "You've chosen wisely," I told her, sincerely meaning every word. "Yes," she nodded in reply, smiling a conspiratorial grin. "I'm glad we can get things off of our chest so easily." Now that sounded suspiciously like an invitation. But I didn't nibble at the bait, not yet, anyway.
Instead, perhaps foolishly, and only serving to prolong what seemed to be the inevitable, I tried to take the conversation in a different direction. Reaching for the wine to chill, which she willingly offered, I asked over my shoulder while walking to the refrigerator, "So, to what do I owe this honor? A lovely neighbor bringing me gifts at such an hour?"