This summer I got a new neighbor. I recall seeing him around the yard from my balcony, across the wooden fence between our yards. He lives alone. I worried about him seeing me skinny dipping in my pool, afraid that he might call the cops on me, so I was careful to be discrete at first. For a while I thought he was an ardent gardener, as every time I went down to my in-ground pool for a dip, he would soon appear through the cracks in the fence, tending to his nasturtiums and fresh herbs. We spoke once over the fence, when I offered him some of my mint, which was taking over my garden. He accepted it, red-faced, and thanked me profusely, stating that he'd get a start of something going for me in return. I thought nothing more about it.
But then the weather cooled and I wasn't out in the pool as much. I would see him sitting on his back porch when I was watering the chrysanthemums on my balcony. Sometimes I would wave and smile, and he would give a friendly salute.
Then it warmed back up. Given the capricious weather in Buffalo, I wasn't surprised, but wanted to take full advantage of it before I had to cover my pool for the long winter. For about a week I went daily to my fenced back yard, discarded my clothes and lay poolside in the hot sun, working on a lineless tan, and dipping under the water when I became too warm.
Then I noticed, though his flowerbed was largely spent for the season (he liked the summer bloomers best, apparently), that my neighbor was visible right on the other side of the fence, as if he were tending to his brown flowers. That's when it clicked that he was just the kind of neighbor I'd been looking for.
I reached for my tanning oil and squirted an ample amount across my breasts, taking my time to rub it in, massaging each boob for a few minutes, my nipples turning erect. I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper. I let my hands trail down my oily stomach and began to rub the oil down between my legs, spreading them wide enough so that my vagina could be clearly seen from his vantage point at the fence. I kept my eyes trained on his outline through my dark sunglasses as I began to smooth the oil over my engorged clit. I took my time, in no hurry, smoothing, stroking, massaging myself. I heard the fap-fap-fap of his foreskin against his shaft as he peeked through my fence at my masturbation and worked his cock, his ragged breaths drifting over the fence, his occasional soft, low moans.
Every day that week I saw him lingering on his back porch until I went down to the pool. Like clockwork, here came my neighbor with his wheelbarrow, under the guise of doing yard work. Once I would come out of my clothes, however, and start with the oil, he'd move close to the fence, out of sight except for the cracks of him visible between the planks. I played with my oily, squishy breasts, masturbated with my legs spread eagle, my oily fingers sliding in and out of me, teasing my clitoris. He watched, jerking himself off against the fence. Once, I saw a jet of white liquid squirt through a crack and land on the patio in a wet splatter. I thought of glory holes, and wondered if one day I would see his throbbing, hard cock emerge from between the planks of the fence.
It's fall now, and my pool has been closed up for a month. I decide to bake him a chess pie-a remnant from my Southern upbringing-and take it over to him one day. I choose a white cotton dress that hugs my curves, forgo a bra and panties, and strap on white sandals with wedge heels that lift my shins and butt when I walk. I pull on a shawl to hide the protruding nipples and pink outlines of my areolas that show through the dress. I don't want him to think I'm desperate.
I walk next door and ring the bell, vivid red maple leaves twirling to the ground from the trees in his front yard as I wait for him to answer the door. He finally appears, wearing khaki chinos and a white tee shirt, his face reddening to a dark russet when he sees that it's me. I hold out the pie with a friendly smile. "Care if I come in for a bit?" I ask.
"Not at all," he says, awkwardly opening the door wider for me. He looks nervous as I step onto his soft carpet. He gives me a taciturn tour of his home, not noticing that I notice his jerk-off station (a bottle of lotion and a box of tissues next to a chair that is positioned facing the window that looks out onto my bathroom window. I never pull the curtains in my bathroom when I shower, and he must have noticed this and taken advantage. I discreetly peer out the window to check out the view. You can't see the toilet, but you could certainly see most of anyone stepping naked into the shower. I take note of this and think I'll have to put on more of a show for him from now on when it's bath time. I make a mental note to watch for him at this window the next time I get ready to take a bath.
After the tour, we wander into the back yard, where he shows me his flower beds. "I'm not much of a gardener," he admits.
