You had to admit, shit has been a little difficult trying to adjust after Dawn. Sure, you missed your wife, but fuck that. It was mostly that pussy you missed. You and Dawn may not have been the best romantic partners, but she could do a split on the dick. On command. For starters.
With nothing keeping you down south, you split y'all's shit, packed yours into boxes, and headed west with no job, no family waiting on you, not even an idea of where to stay. Luckily, your contacts came through. You ended up getting hired to a firm almost exactly like the one you'd left doing very similar work, and as a bonus you'd been able to close on this sweet house near the mountains.
Work was cool, especially because there were some talented women at your firm, but nights with just you, chat buddies, and your hand were getting lame. It had been eighteen months--well, shit, more like a couple of years--since you'd had someone to play with. You missed hard nipples between your fingers, slick clits on your tongue. You'd have given your left nut to have a woman moan in your ear, and the right one for a woman to put her tongue in your ass.
The house made up for it, though. Thoroughly modern cabin build, with a loft upper level. Waking up to views of the mountain felt like living in an Airbnb, except without the tacky Ikea decor. The best part, though, was the windows. They were huge, insulated, and were designed to maximize sunlight and visibility during winter months.
The rear lower level was a heated sunroom with a glass door that led out into the mountains. A well-maintained trail spiraled out the back of the house and into a thick patch of forest kept clear by the state. Your realtor was even able to convince the seller to knock a little off the house because of inevitable wildlife nuisances from the forest. But now, almost two years in, there was rarely any wildlife around. More often than not, it was your crazy ass neighbors walking around on the forest paths.
You didn't have a ton of neighbors, but you had a few. There was Barry, a single dude in the biggest house on the block house who only seemed to want to talk about golf and fantasy basketball and asked if you were interested in fucking his wife, which you politely declined. Most of your neighbors were carbon copies of Barry, only fatter, skinner, younger, or drove a better car. There were also always about three or four Karens or Jennas or Ashleys married to various the Barry-shaped dentists and doctors. Most of them were nice enough. A couple of them had made passes, a little too interested in being crushed by the new dick on the block, but none were quite your type.
Then, there was Charis and Desmond, who owned the cabin that was merely a short walk through the trees, making them essentially your next-door neighbor. They'd come by with a glass of wine when you'd arrived, making nice. Desmond was a loud, chubby, preacher looking dude who wore trendy glasses and off the rack Black Uncle wear and was mostly unassuming. He liked light craft beers ("I'm watching my shape") and talked mostly about his work in IT and how much he hated his coworkers.
You knew schlub-ass Desmond had money because Charis was gorgeous. Petite and heavy on the curves, with glowing brown skin, a crown of kinky natural hair, a smile to die for. Charis had auntie energy as well, but it was sexy auntie energy. The kind of auntie who'd drain you dry and leave you wanting more.
"Here, let me pour your wine," Charis had said that night and let her fingers brush gently over yours. That was the first time you knew that you wanted to fuck her. Her smile said she was interested, if not willing. While this was going down, Desmond was focused on the Commanders/Wolves playoff game on your TV, cursing and yelling at the refs, players, and coaches.
"Can't go to game three down one, goddamn!" He looked at you, incredulous, for support. "Dudes always fucking up when you got money on it!"