Part Two: Cody Cock
(Thanks to Jen Lit Girl for the edit.)
Young Cody Hall, unaware of the events across the street, was taking a shower. He'd gotten home from his summer job at Fat Jack's Pork Palace, sweaty and grease-stained after a particularly grueling day. The manager behaved shittier than usual and the daily quota of obnoxious, entitled customers exceeded its limit. Cody needed a good shower and a good fuck. Unfortunately, in Cody's case, fucking was a solitary activity.
It wasn't that Cody was unattractive. The first impression most girls had of him was "geek". Upon closer inspection, the girls saw a boy who was actually kind of cute. His nose, maybe, was just a little too large and his mouth, perhaps, a tad wide but his face, overall, was symmetric.
He had these startlingly deep blue eyes and an unruly mop of slightly curly dark brown hair. A smattering of freckles across his nose contributed to a youthful appearance. His body type was slender, not exactly athletic but not bone thin either. He didn't measure up against the pumped up jocks but certainly he wasn't average. Other than freckles, his skin was clear and relatively hairless, in part genetic and partly because he shaved most of it off during a brief stint on the swim team.
The few girls not spoken for by the football team were taken in by his wide, goofy smile He had a squeaky high voice people compared to Michael J. Fox. The girls dated him for a couple of seconds, and he managed to score a few, but an undeserved reputation put most prospects off. Everyone thought Cody was a peeper.
Cody acquired the rep at fourteen. Jill Scott accused him of peeping on her in the girl's restroom. Actually Cody had gotten vinegar splashed in his eyes in chem class, rushed to the nearest restroom to wash it out, and didn't realize until too late that he'd gone through the wrong door. Jill was a chronic liar, a mean girl, and didn't like him, and relished the idea of trashing a geek's reputation. A little exaggeration, gossip, and social networking turned Cody from geek to creep. It didn't help that Cody had an unfortunate habit of constantly being in the wrong places at the wrong times...or right places at wrong times...or wrong places at right times, pending on perspective.
So he just happened to be looking in Mrs. Berenson's window when she walked through the kitchen naked. It wasn't his fault she forgot to close the drapes or hired him to mow the back yard. It was just a quick glance, and she saw him before he looked away, but the damage was done. No more mowing Mrs. Berenson's lawn after that. The memory of her big tits kept him up most nights.
And then there was the time he was up on the roof, replacing some tiles at his Dad's orders. He could see the entire neighborhood from there, including Mrs. Morris in her backyard sunbathing...nude...with Mrs. Porter, his English teacher. He knew Mrs. Porter was hot, he knew Mrs. Morris was hot. Now he knew just how hot. When Mrs. Porter reached for some suntan lotion, she glanced upward and saw him. He nearly fell off the roof. Things got weird after that in school. Sometimes he caught Mrs. Porter looking at him funny.
Some of the girls started whispering behind his back. A few of the families stopped hiring him to mow their lawns. Officers Burke and Hayes, who patrolled the neighborhood, stopped him once to give him a warning. Overall the past four years were a strange adventure for Cody.
"Boy, I'm glad school's over," Cody thought as he washed his hair. School didn't give him much to miss. Sure he'd miss some of the girls, at least the few who didn't believe that bitch Jill, and some of his friends but, really, he felt like that girl in "Easy A". He was looking forward to the end of summer, then it was off to Chicago to spend his gap year with his mother; after that, Yale. It would be good to get away from the neighborhood.
Not to say he wouldn't miss some of the ladies. Mrs. Berenson with her big tits and large aureolas, "Plus that ass." Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Morris, bodies gleaming with suntan oil, shiny from tits to bald pussies, light tan skin glowing in the sun. Mrs. Morris had a niece visiting, June Wallace? Wapner? Walker. God! She was hot! Tall and slender, c-cup breasts... "Man!"
Cody looked down at his unsurprising erection. "I better take care of it." A little shampoo for lubricant helped. Stroking was easy because his crotch was still free of pubic hair. He'd shaved his pubes during his brief swim stint because they chaffed against the swimsuit. Two pleasant side effects were a bigger looking cock and greater sensitivity. Currently the fantasy girl stroking it was June Walker. "Man what I wouldn't give...," he thought as fantasy June stroked him up. His cock spasmed and a stream of white cream splattered the tiles.
Cody rinsed off and turned off the shower. Reaching for the towel, he stopped and thought, "Why not? Dad's gone for the week and it's not like anyone's going to visit." Air drying wasn't something Cody did often but he saw nothing wrong with private nudity. He headed for the kitchen to pop a Marie Callendar in the microwave. As he passed through the living room something caught his eye, a discrepancy, innocuous at first but then, as the implication struck him, chilling; the front door was open.
Cody tended to leave the door unlocked, much to his Dad's annoyance. It wasn't that the neighborhood was crime free, just Cody didn't give home safety much thought, at least during the day when he was at home. "I'm strong enough to handle trouble," he figured. The neighborhood was relatively safe. There hadn't been a burglary in five years, the cops were good, and the serious crimes were in the city. Complacency was part of the neighborhood's character. Still, if someone walked in, Cody would expect the visitor to announce his presence first, or if his father came home early, he would have closed the door and Cody would right now be listening to another reprimand. But the door was open, nobody rang, and Dad wasn't here. So that meant someone else was in the house....and Cody was naked, wet, and unarmed.
Common sense told Cody to leave the house immediately. "Don't go chasin' after Jason," Cody thought, glancing around nervously. But that would mean running out stark naked, trying to get help. "I can see how that will look. 'Hey Mrs. Morris, there's a burglar/pyscho-killer/boy rapist in my house. Oh! And don't mind the fact I'm stark naked and the designated neighborhood pervert.'" Staying in the house, however, wasn't an option. "I need my clothes."
Cody went to the kitchen and found a cutting knife. "Okay Cody. You're going to go to your room, get some shorts, hopefully the cell phone, get the fuck out, and call 911. Please God, don't let him have a gun."
He crept down the hall, holding the knife in front. The slight wavering of the blade betrayed his fear. "Damn! I should have locked the door. Dad was right." Furthermore, his bedroom was at the end of the hall, past his Dad's bedroom and the bathroom. "On second thought, maybe I should go to the bathroom and just grab something from the hamper."
A sound from his Dad's room froze him. It was a soft sound, a hush of air like a summer breeze, a sigh. A low moan, husky and alto, followed. "What?!" Cody asked. Earlier, he'd passed his Dad's room on the way to the kitchen but hadn't noticed the slightly ajar door. "That means they were in Dad's room while I was in the shower," he realized, shuddering.
Three options presented themselves. "I could still run, screw what everyone will say, I can't stay here with burglars or killers who probably have guns or knives or something." The second option, "Still, if I'm quiet, maybe I can grab my shorts and get out." The third option, "Should I get a look at them first? Why are they in Dad's room? He keeps the safe and TV in the den, and what are they doing? It doesn't sound like burglars ransacking. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it sounds like, well, fucking. And what's that smell? It smells like...peaches."
Cody stood in the hall, conflicted. Curiosity warred with common sense. Every time he inched towards the bathroom, the sounds from the bedroom brought him back. Faint moans, gasps, sighs, and soft grunts drifted through the door. Light, rhythmic creaks of the bed springs stirred his suspicions further. "That definitely sounds like fucking," he thought. "Why would people break into the house just to fuck on Dad's bed? Are they perverts?"
Cody's sexual experience was limited but he knew enough to recognize the sounds. Common sense warned him once again to leave. If these guys were pervs then a naked teenage boy would be right up their alley. Cody was turning towards the living room, preparing to run, when two words, whispered froze him in place. It wasn't the words "Fuck," and "Cock," so much as the tone. One was a soft husky alto, the other slightly higher but Cody knew what the sounds meant. "Women?! The pervs are women?!" Two women fucking in his Dad's room? "I have to see," he thought. "Just a peek. Something to tell the cops."
Cody padded to the door, still holding the knife. "They might be dangerous." The closer he came, the stronger the odor of peaches. Cody was surprised to feel stirrings in his groin. The peach perfume seemed to cause a response Cody found sensual. "They're wearing some perfume. It must be powerful to drift this far into the hall."
The voices became more distinct and familiar. "I've heard them before. Do I know them? Burglars from the neighborhood?" Cody was at the door, "Deep breath Cody." He raised the knife and peered in....and dropped both knife and lower jaw in utter, stunned shock, "Mrs. Berenson?! June Walker?!"
They were on the bed, legs entwined, arms wrapped around each other, hands sliding over their oil-slick bodies. Their mouths were locked together; soft, plush lips kissed with pink tongues flickering between them. The lovers' fingers danced over the curves of their asses, sometimes plunging between the moons to plumb their bungholes, other times into their wet, pink flowers. The women were shiny-wet with oil, sweat, and cum. Their skin blushed rose with just the faintest hint of orange-tinted tan. No other sound than faint gasps, moans, and sighs issued from the two women. Occasionally a random word, "Fuck," "Cock," "Want," Like," gasped forth like a soft grunt.
The vision, so beyond Cody's imagination, cast doubt on its own reality. Two of the hottest women in the neighborhood, on his Father's bed, enacting his wildest shower fantasies? "I'm dreaming," Cody thought, gaping. "This is too fucking cool to be real."
