This is my fifth story of Pixie and the boys she needs.
* * *
The night had turned sultry—at least there by the pool. Tiki torches lit the poolside with a flickering golden light, and lamps below the water silhouetted the few who chose to get in and cool off. It was getting late for Pixie, but she stayed to watch the young people play their games.
Tamara sat with Joan on the side of the pool, and they kicked their feet gently so they didn't splash. Each of them had a boy at her side and another was treading water in front of them.
"Another margarita?" Steve asked. It was his party, and he knew he could get Pixie drunk. She only had to walk across the street to get home. For Steve, it was also another opportunity to look at Pixie, because Karen was at the front door seeing guests off.
"Oh, why not?" Pixie said. She handed Steve her empty glass and, without making herself obvious, she posed to let him look. She'd dipped in the pool then pulled a thin, white tube dress over her swimsuit. It clung to her body and did little to hide what was underneath. She wore the bikini version of the one-piece that his daughter wore—same designer, same fabric, same color. Pixie and Tamara chose their swimsuits together just for the party.
Pixie found Paul Russo watching while Steve set to work on her drink, but Paul jerked his eyes away as soon as Pixie caught him.
"Here ya go," Steve said.
"You make the best margaritas." Pixie lifted the glass from Steve's hand and walked to the poolside where Paul would have to turn if he wanted to keep watching. Pixie was twenty years older than Paul, but her fine smile lines were all that gave her away, and smile lines weren't what Paul was looking at. She could almost feel his eyes trace the curve of her butt.
She stepped close to Paul, who pretended he was watching the girls. "Pretty, aren't they?" she asked.
Paul startled and asked, "Am I being obvious?" He was tall enough to look straight over Pixie's blond head, so it was easy to tell where his eyes went. His gaze searched her face, traveled down the lines of her neck, and flirted with her cleavage. "You met Tammy at the mall the other day," he said.
Pixie lifted her well-engineered breasts almost without thinking. "You didn't stay for introductions," she said and extended her hand. "I'm Pixie Tyler. I live across the street. Tamara tells me that you're my neighbor across the alley."
She was pleased that Paul remembered her, pleased by the way his eyes drifted down, and pleased again when he blushed. "If you live across the street from here," Paul said, "then I live across the alley and a few houses away," He gestured in the direction he meant, then remember to shake Pixie's hand. "I'm Paul Russo," he said.
A boy behind Paul shoved his shoulder and said, "Let's get in the pool."
"Go on. We'll talk another time," Pixie said and watched Paul's butt until he dove into the pool. She wondered for a moment how those muscular buns would feel, emptied her drink, and planned to answer her own question.
* * *
Pixie kept her head down, hid behind her sunglasses, and watched from under her broad-brimmed hat. She walked between the fruit stands and art booths that filled a shaded part of the park, and she watched three young men joking with each other at the edge of the market.
Paul Russo was one of those young men. She saw his friends leave and watched him weave through the shoppers and dodge the kids who chased each other among the stands, It wasn't until he was close, and she was sure he was angling for her, that she turned and smiled. "Paul! Why didn't you leave with your friends?"
Paul was surprised. Pixie must have been watching. "I need to get back home," he said, "but I saw you here." Just as inevitably as before, his eyes followed down the lines of Pixie's throat and into the open neck of her blouse.
"Walk with me," Pixie said. She tucked a hand around his arm, and gave him little choice. She pulled herself close; her touch and her perfume tickled his senses. "You guys looked out of place. Let me guess. You were looking for girls."
"We found one," Paul said. "Can I carry that for you?" He motioned to Pixie's basket loaded with melons, peaches, and cucumbers.
Pixie smiled at Paul's line and slipped the basket off her arm, "Would you?" she asked. "It's getting heavy, and I have a couple more stops to make."
She added zucchini and a pound of figs to the basket, and she enjoyed the way Paul watched while she shopped. When her basket was full, Pixie led Paul out of the shady park, away from the squealing kids, and down the alley between their houses.
Pixie leaned against the wall beside her back gate and said. "It's getting muggy." She opened another button on her blouse and watched Paul while she fanned herself. He got that mindless look that she prized so much, and she asked, "What do you have to do today?"
Paul looked up from Pixie's cleavage and closed his mouth before he answered. "Dad asked me to dig out some shrubs. I've been putting it off, but he's bringing Sophia over for the weekend. He wants the place to look good for his girlfriend."
"So your Dad has a girlfriend." Pixie said, and raised her eyebrows. "Do you? I'm guessing you don't since you were in the park looking for girls."
"Not right now," Paul said. "Just, you know, a date now and then."
Pixie stepped close and smiled. "I like the way you look at me," she said. "Come back when you're done with your job. A couple neighbors are coming over for lunch, but I'm free after that. Say about two?"
"Should I bring anything?" Paul asked. It was all he could think to ask.
"Just your libido," Pixie said. She slipped through the gate and smiled back at Paul, who stood open-mouthed and stared.
It was a little after two when Paul stood at Pixie's back gate. He showered when he was done with his job, but he still ran his fingers through his hair and checked his smell before he rang the bell. He didn't know what to expect, but anticipation was already stirring his cock.
Pixie answered the gate with one hand full of fresh-cut flowers. She let Paul step through, and the gate closed behind him with a solid click.
"You look really hot!" Paul said.
Pixie laughed at his wide-eyed expression. She held her sun hat with one hand and turned on her high heels. She wore a long sundress that swirled from her hips as she moved. As near as Paul could tell, Pixie wore nothing under the dress. The afternoon sunlight penetrated the halter top and showed the shape of her breasts; the dark skin around her nipples showed through.
"It was good you were a little late. It gave me time to change," Pixie said. She pushed the flowers into his hands. "I need to get these into a vase. Come with me."
Pixie led Paul into the kitchen while his eyes traced her tanned back from her shoulders to the spread of her hips. She laid her hat on the sideboard and filled a crystal vase at the sink. When she turned back to him he blurted, "How old are you?" then he blushed again. "Oh shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
Pixie took the flowers from Paul's hand, and she answered with a question. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen," Paul said, and hurried to add, "I'll be a sophomore at the U this year."
"Good," Pixie said. She put the vase on the counter to arrange the flowers. "How old do you think I am?" she asked.
Paul squirmed, and Pixie let him off the hook. She stood close and patted the bulge in his jeans. "For now, that's not important. This is what's important," she said, and Paul caught his breath.
Paul hung close over Pixie's shoulder and inhaled her scent while she cut the flower stems to the right lengths. He touched his hands to her hips, but she turned away to put the vase on the end of the counter.
"Do you like figs?" Pixie asked. She settled her sun hat back on her head, opened the refrigerator, and lifted out a plate of the figs she bought that morning. "They don't keep very long, so we should eat some."
"I've never had them like that," Paul said and followed her to the patio. "Just in, you know, Fig Newtons and stuff."
"That's different," Pixie said. She stopped at a small table shaded by a broad umbrella and put the figs down with the bottle of suntan lotion and other things scattered there. She adjusted the umbrella to better shade the chaise lounge beside the table then laid back and said "Sit down here," and pointed Paul to a spot beside her.
Pixie selected a plump-looking fig, sunk her thumbnails into the fruit and tore it open so Paul could see the glistening pink flesh inside. "Does that look like something you'd like?" she asked.
Paul stared at the fruit, and all he could think of was pussy—wet pussy. He was still staring when Pixie tore the fruit in two and held half of it to his lips. "Open up," she said, and pushed it into his mouth.
"That's really good," Paul said. He swallowed, used his fingers to wipe some stray juice off his chin, and watched Pixie pick another fig from the plate.
