Amanda

When my spine had stopped tingling and my hands had stopped trembling, I got up and took another shower. This time I got dressed. I had work to do. There were two ad campaigns I was working on, one for fruit-based cosmetics, and one for pet food. Hmm. Maybe there was a cross-over here. Health food for animals and a shampoo that made you as slick and clean as a just-licked cat.

"Get a grip," I told myself. "Get to work."

But whatever I tried to wrap my mind around, there was Amanda. I paced my office, willing myself to think. Amanda. I wandered through the house. Amanda. I didn't want coffee, I didn't want food. I wanted Amanda.

She'd said she was going to pick up the kids at day-care. She'd be busy doing whatever mothers do with their little darlings in the afternoon. There was no way I could be jealous of children, was there? Evidently there was.

I picked up the phone.

"Hi. It's me."

"Henry? Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I can't get you out of my mind, Amanda. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Well, it's very nice of you to call, Henry. Lawrence junior is sitting beside me, painting a picture of his father. And Sybil needs me right now. Let me get back to you."

"Wait. Amanda. About yesterday. About this morning." I was blathering.

"I know, Henry. I'm so glad you came, too. We'll have to do it again sometime soon. I've really got to go now."

She hung up and I was alone. It had been idiotic of me to call her, knowing she had the kids with her. But she'd covered pretty well, and I thought there was some promise in the way she'd answered me.

It was obvious I wouldn't get any work done today. I leaned back in my chair and tried to remember every time I'd seen her. Sipping her wine when we'd had them over. Chance encounters outside, at the mailbox, over the back hedge. An unexpected sighting at the mall.

Then my private pictures of her. Sun-bathing by her pool, her trim, small-breasted body almost hidden by her bikini. Looking up into my eyes, a drink in her hand at their party. Feeling her warmth as she led me around the yard, greeting her guests. Upstairs, her hands guiding my head to the view of my study. Amanda sitting on my lap with her skirt up around her thighs, my cum soaking through my trousers and into her panties.

It was all driving me crazy. I trekked back and forth through the study, willing myself to think about anything else. A car pulled up outside and I looked out the window. It was Lawrence, home from work. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly five-thirty. Then another spear of jealousy shot through me. Lawrence. He'd go inside and throw his arms around Amanda. Kiss her. Tell her about his day. Would she kiss him back, as if nothing had happened? Would she smile up at him? Laugh? I couldn't contemplate it.

Gravel crunched, and Sherry's SUV came to a standstill in our drive. Lawrence was leaning into the back seat of his car to grab his brief-case when Sherry closed her door.

"Hi, Lawrence."

He walked around the back of his car. "Hi to you, too, Sherry. Good day at work?"

"OK, I guess. Well, no. Not really. I kept thinking about our discussion last night."

I thought I saw Lawrence blush. He spent some time fiddling with his keys before he looked back up at Sherry. "It was more a hypothesis, wasn't it? Strangers with a fatal attraction. Right?"

"I'm pretty sure I said neighbors." Sherry flicked her hair back over her shoulder and stepped across the thin strip of grass that separated our driveways. "Whatever. Two people who know they'll never see each other again. They both feel the attraction, but it doesn't necessarily have to be fatal. They could just go with it, see what happens. In the worst case, they regret it at their leisure. Or they could let it go and regret it forever."

Sherry took another step forward, so that her breasts were almost brushing Lawrence's chest. She was smiling up at him speculatively. He turned and looked at his front door. I have to give it to him. He tried. He coughed and ran his hand through his hair. But Sherry was still there.

He looked back at her and cleared his throat. "I, um, I haven't really had time to think about it."

"You don't want to think about it too much, Lawrence." Sherry shed her flippancy. "Say he found her by his pool. Naked."

"By his pool?"

One more step, and her breasts were squashed between them. "By his pool. Naked." She spun away and stepped back over the grass. She glanced over her shoulder. "At one o'clock in the morning."

Lawrence's head swiveled back and forth between his front door and Sherry's retreating form. I had just enough time to back away from the window and get seated behind my desk before I heard Sherry call out. "Honey, I'm home."

We had drinks and supper, made small talk, but it was all a little strained. We were sitting on the couch in the living-room, sipping cognac, when Sherry stood up. "I'm sorry I'm not better company tonight, Henry. I'm beat. I think I'll go to sleep."

I watched her trim, shapely figure climb the stairs, and poured myself another drink. I had a lot to think about. Had Sherry ever been unfaithful to me? I thought not. Had I been unfaithful to her? Using a modified Bill Clinton defense, I guess I could say no. But that was just waffling. Whatever Amanda and I had done, or not done, there was no way I could pass it off as just neighborly interaction. It was adultery. No more, no less.

I suppose morality's never easy, unless you're applying it to someone else. I thought some more, not coming to any conclusion other than I wanted to see Amanda again. See and be seen.

Somewhere into my third drink I realized I was curious. Curious about Sherry and Lawrence. Naked, by the pool at one o'clock, she'd said. Would she do it? She might. After all, she'd made the suggestion. Would he? He had a lot more to lose than Sherry did: kids, a new job. But Sherry's a force, with her looks and her body and her determination. I figured the odds at seventy-thirty against, at least for tonight. A hundred to zip over three weeks if she really decided she wanted it to happen.

Thinking clearly didn't seem to be my strong suit this evening. I knew what I was doing with Amanda was wrong, but I didn't want it to stop. Whatever Sherry and Lawrence had planned, or more accurately, whatever Sherry had planned for Lawrence, was something I couldn't make my mind up about. I could nix the whole thing by just staying up until one o'clock, but I wasn't even sure I wanted to do that. I got up and brought the glasses into the kitchen. I decided I'd just play it by ear.

Upstairs, I undressed quietly and slid under the sheet. Sherry was breathing slowly and regularly, and I couldn't be sure if she was sleeping or faking it. It didn't matter. As long as I've known her, Sherry's never set an alarm clock. She decides what time she wants to get up, and invariably she's awake with five minutes to spare.

My plan was basically to stay awake until one o'clock. I thought about the work I'd have to get cracking on tomorrow. I had a few ideas, nothing concrete, but enough to get started with. But working meant sitting at my desk, and sitting at my desk meant Amanda. I tried to put her out of my mind. I crossed my arms behind my head, tightening my biceps for a count of twelve, and then relaxing them for another twelve. It would have worked if I weren't using the syllables of her name to count by. I felt a tension in my groin, and I turned onto my side, away from Sherry. A little squeeze, a little stroke wouldn't hurt. I closed my eyes. I may have dozed off.

The mattress shifted and Sherry stood up. She came around to my side of the bed and poked my shoulder. "Henry, are you awake?"

I lay still, eyes tight shut, and she walked into the dressing-room off the side of our bed-room. A few seconds later she came back out and padded off downstairs. I caught a whiff of her perfume. Apparently, all Sherry's systems were go.

I gave her five minutes, then looked at the illuminated numbers of the clock on my bed-side table. 12:58. My Amanda semi-erection had wilted by the time Sherry got up, and I was surprised, rolling out of bed, to find that I was as hard as a rock. My cock bobbed as I walked down the stairs, and I followed it as silently as I could.

The sliding door onto the patio was half open, and I edged around it carefully. A three-quarter moon lit the houses and trees, and the night air, soft and caressing, warmed my skin. I looked to my left, at the hedge dividing our lawn from Lawrence and Amanda's. There was a wide, low hole torn in it, made by their kids to expand their play space. I imagined Sherry crawling through it, full of lust and conquest, and my hard-on slapped up against my belly.

I walked bare-foot to the gap in the hedge and poked my head through it. God damn. Sherry was lying on her back on one of their pool chairs. Naked. At one o'clock. A goddess. Her skin shone alabaster in the pale light, blotched in spots by the shadows cast by her breasts and her bent left leg. The deep red polish on her nails gleamed black, as dark as her mascara. She must have put it on before she went to bed.

The sight of Sherry, and the thought of what might happen, drove my hand between my legs. I knew it could be a long evening, a long wait, and I took it slow. I edged upwards, stroking to just below the head of my cock, and then down, feathering my loose skin, until my hand nudged my balls.

Sherry was getting impatient, her head turning repeatedly to the back door of our neighbors' house. Somehow, her frustration turned me on even more. I picked up my tempo just enough to stoke my lust.

The click of the latch was like a rifle shot in the silence. It made me jump. Sherry flinched, and then settled back onto the chaise, the goddess again.

"You shouldn't tease me like that, Lawrence. I'd almost given up on you."

Lawrence was speechless at the sight of her. He raised his hands in a shushing gesture.

"You look a little shaky," Sherry told him, but she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Relax. It's just the two of us."

"But Amanda. Henry," he managed.

"You think she wouldn't want to see me here? Like this? I bet Henry would." Sherry flexed her body, and I had to take my hand off myself.

Lawrence's eyes flicked up at the dark windows of his house and then back at Sherry. I gave him a ten for courage, but a barely deserved two for style. He was wearing black socks and slippers, and clutched a bathrobe tightly to his chest.

"I, I don't, we shouldn't be doing this, Sherry."

"Of course we should. Why would we be here otherwise?"

Lawrence was silent for a moment, his eyes filling with my wife's body on the chaise.

"All right. OK. Listen. We talked last night. I guess I knew what you were getting at. And it made me, well, I admit it. I was thinking of you all day."

"All day? That must have been distracting. I hope it was distracting. But tell me, you just said it made you something. What did it make you?"

"Oh, god, Sherry. Why do you have to make this so hard?"

"Is that what you're telling me, Lawrence? I made you hard?"

Lawrence glanced down. I saw it, too, and so did Sherry. His robe was tented out in front of him. I was stroking again.

"Oh, jesus. What am I doing? What are you doing to me?"

Sherry knew exactly how to play this. "You're nervous, Lawrence. I am, too," she lied. She patted the chair. "Just come sit next to me. We don't have to do anything. Talk to me. I don't have anyone I can talk to."

God, she was a slut. A gorgeous, moon-lit, irresistible slut. I knew that if he did what she wanted, if he took those few steps and sat down beside her, he was lost. My hand closed tighter around me.

And he did it. Like I knew he would. Like Sherry knew he would. And I guess like Lawrence, if his brain were functioning normally, would have known, too.

"Oh, thank you, Sherry," he spilled out as he sat. "You're right. I am nervous. I'm a wreck. As, well, as exciting as this is, I mean, you, me, here, in the middle of the night, as much as I've thought of you today, it's just too much. Would it be, would you mind if I just went back inside?"

Oh, you poor fucking fool, I thought.

"That's all right, Lawrence. I don't really know, either, what I was thinking when I came here." As if lying naked on your neighbor's lawn chair at one o'clock in the morning wasn't a clue. "You go on back inside."

The relief on Lawrence's face was palpable, even from where I crouched in the bushes. He started to stand.

"But, Lawrence,' Sherry said. There was always going to be a but. "I did come all the way over here, dressed like I am." A little girlish giggle. "I even crawled through that hedge to get here." I instinctively ducked back, but Sherry wasn't looking my way. She was looking at Lawrence.

"It hurt, you know. I got all scratched. Look." She leaned back, stretching her body to its full length. A glance showed me that she was unblemished, but Lawrence was inspecting her more closely. His adam's apple rose and sunk in his throat.

When Sherry was sure she had him, she laid a hand on his thigh and whispered, "Just so this assignation, oh, I know it's not really that, but just so this isn't a total bust, could you kiss me, Lawrence?"

"What?"

Sherry sat up and cupped his neck with her hand. "Just one kiss." Her breasts were pressed against his arm.

Lawrence looked up again at the windows, and turned back to her. He pursed his lips and leaned forward. When his lips touched hers, Sherry tightened her hold on his neck. I saw her jaw drop down, opening her mouth, and I imagined her tongue pushing into him. I realized I was stroking faster.

He pulled away, looking dazed, and stood up. "I, I really should go now," he gasped.

Sherry lay back on the chaise, the goddess, the definition of languid. "One question, Lawrence. I have to know. Would you have?"

His indecision was evident. Another look at the house, and then back at Sherry.

"Would I have what?"

"You know what I mean. If there was no Amanda." Her eye-lashes drooped and she looked down at her body before looking up at him. "I have to believe you would. There's no way you could have left me here like this."

I could barely hear his reply. "Like what?"

Sherry opened her legs and her engorged sex was exposed to me. To both of us.

"Look at me, Lawrence."

There was nothing else he could do. Sherry was there before him, spread wide, an invitation. He gulped, he tugged his robe tighter around him, but he had to look.

A sigh, almost silent, a gentle release, escaped him. But I heard it. Sherry turned her head to take in her perfect body. Her fingers traced an invisible line over her skin and delved into the shadows. She sat up, clutching her hand between her thighs.

"Show me, Lawrence. Show me what I'm missing."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Lawrence. Look at yourself. All hard and sticking out ." She was really into it now. "Does Amanda do that to you?" Sherry dropped back onto the chaise. "Tell me I made you like that. Show me what I did to you."

I almost would have sympathized with him if my consciousness hadn't shrunk down to the triangle of Sherry fingering herself, Lawrence's jutting erection, and my hand racing over me. My breath caught, waiting.

"I, you know I can't do that."

"Shh. Of course you can." Sherry's body arched up off the chaise, her hips and her perfect white breasts pointing up at the moon.

"Oh my god," Lawrence choked out.

Sherry turned her face to him, wantonness gleaming in her eyes. "Do it."

My breath slipped out in a silent moan as Lawrence untied his robe and let it fall. His thumbs hooked into the waist-band of his boxers and he pushed them down to his feet. When he straightened to step out of them, he stumbled, catching his balance only when he stood at the edge of the chaise.

Sherry raised up, the rush of blood to her cheeks darkening them in the moon-light. Lawrence was bobbing before her, and I was gratified to see that he was smaller than I am. Sherry licked her lips.

"Oh. Lawrence. That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." His cock jerked. "You're so much bigger than Henry."

"You cunt," I whispered to myself. But I kept tugging. I couldn't stop now. Sherry put her hand on Lawrence's knee, and his legs shook. "Thank you for showing me. For showing me what I did to you." Her hand inched up his thigh, and the sound that came out of Lawrence's mouth was like a baby crying in its sleep.

"This is killing me. Lawrence. I've never seen anything like that. Don't be mad at me, please don't, but I've got to touch it. Touch you. Just a touch. Just once. Please?"

Lawrence shivered like it was the middle of winter, not a sultry summer night. I could imagine the conflict raging in him. I almost felt sorry for him. His shoulders pulled back, as if he wanted to tear himself away, but at the same time his hips thrust forward. Sherry's hand slid over his balls and her fore-finger traveled up from the base of his cock to rest lightly on the silvery droplet at its head.

Lawrence gasped. I groaned. Sherry smiled.

"There. That's not so bad, is it?"

Lawrence's mouth was open, his jaw working, but no words came.

"God, you're huge, Lawrence," Sherry purred. "Does Amanda tell you that? Or maybe you only get this way for me." Keeping her finger in place, she looked up at him until he was forced to return her gaze. She looked down then, at her finger on his cock, and his eyes followed hers.

"I'm going to hold it now. Wrap my hand around it and hold it. I want to feel you big and hard and hot in my hand. I'll know it's because of me, and I can believe you would have, Lawrence. Then you can go inside, if you want to."

Holding my breath, squeezing my erection as hard as I could to stave off my orgasm, I watched Sherry's hand open and slip loosely around Lawrence's cock-head and slide gradually down his length. Every millimeter, as it came into view above her hand, was slick and shining with his pre-cum. When the heel of her hand was resting on his drawn-up balls, her grasp tightened and she tugged slowly upwards until only the bright, swollen head was visible. A flood of clear liquid gushed out of it and oozed over her fingers.

Lawrence's knees buckled, and he had to put a hand on Sherry's head to steady himself. He took a couple of deep breaths and seemed to find a little control. But his hand still rested on her head, and stayed there as she raised he eyes to his.

For a split-second, time stopped for me, and I was looking at a still-life, a snap-shot: my wife, seated on the chaise before him, legs open, gleaming, her hand full of his hardness, eyes lifted, triumph and lust written all over her features. My neighbor, his muscles tensed, sweat standing on his forehead, the expression on his face a mix of anxiety and desire, his hand on Sherry's head.

Then I was back in real time, and Sherry was whispering, "Really? Is that what you want? OK, but just a little kiss." She bent her head forward.

Lawrence, too, seemed to snap back from some distant place. His hand jerked away from her. "No. That's not what I, I didn't...Oh. Oh shit."

Sherry's lips were touching her fingers, and the head of Lawrence's cock had disappeared. She pulled back, and his bulb popped out. A shiny thread stretched from his prick to her bottom lip.

She sat back, and the thread broke and dangled.

"You'd better go now."

But she was still holding his cock, and his hand had returned to her head. The muscles in his arm tensed, pulling her forward, and Sherry's lips surrounded him again. They followed her retreating fingers until her nose was pressed against his belly. Then she eased back slowly, agonizingly, and Lawrence's thickness was waving in the air between them.