The Neighbour

What a lovely sunny autumn's day. Perfect for working on the house, sheltered from the wind by the building, exposed to this clear and brilliant sun I work, stripped to the waist, enjoying the heat, the effort and the sweat trickling down.

Behind me a voice, a woman with dark hair, about my age, a little shorter, a nice smile; her name is Aline and she's pleased to meet me, my new neighbour. She's bought the house where the old lady lived and she'll see me again soon, but right now she needs to eat and then leave for work.

I liked the way she looked. I liked the way she looked directly at me, with bold eyes, 'til she glanced away, looked at her house, the window with its reflections of the trees and down too, as if she was looking at my chest, wet with sweat, powdered with dust, at my arms, muscles tense, swollen from the strain of lifting and hammering.

What a lovely sunny autumn's day. Perfect for getting out a sun-bed, stripping naked and laying on it in the sun, absorbing the last rays of the summer, drifting in the warmth, relaxed and reposed, instead of this eternal building work.

It didn't take me long to convince myself that this could be the last really warm day of this year, that work could and would wait.

The sun-bed carefully placed, I hesitate; will my new neighbour be shocked by my sunbathing naked? I've always sunbathed that way. The old woman had been used to it, or at least said nothing. To hell with it, anyway, if she was going to be shocked, then that was too bad. I stripped off my shorts and briefs, sat on the bed and kicked off my shoes and lay back, pulling on my sunglasses, polarising one's that I prefer.

Ah! So beautiful to lay in the sun, to feel it's heat, kissing my body, warming me, making my skin tingle. I lay there and saw through my half-closed eyes, my new neighbour - Aline - clear through the reflections of her window, thanks to Polaroid, looking at me. Well, she would complain or not complain, forget it. After five minutes, I looked at her window again and she was still there watching me. Ok, so she can have a little show: I rolled around on the sun-bed, letting her see all of me. I admit, I wore a secret little smile on my face, feeling her watch, feeling sexy. A little later, I heard her door closing, so she's going to work and I am alone with the singing birds, the sun and my laziness.

A little later, feeling my skin, dry from cement and dust, I went in the house and showered. Taking a bottle of sweet almond oil, I went back to the garden, sat on the bed and slowly rubbed the oil on my arms and chest and as far around my back as I could reach. While I have the oil, I rub some on my legs, liking the slippery feel of the oil on my skin, putting on more than necessary. Through sheer sensuality, I stand and slowly, enjoying the feel, stroke oil over and between my buttocks, then on my sex, seeing the shine of the oil on its skin and glistening in my pubic hair.

Lying back on my sunny bed, I revel in the touch of the slight breeze, cooling my skin wet with oil. Soon though, the sun's rays magnified and concentrated by the oil, warm me again and begin to feel burning hot. I turn on my stomach, spread my legs, feeling the caress of the sun between my cheeks, feel them almost burning my anus and feel the stirring of my sex under me. My hands slide around over my oiled cheeks, spreading my ass to the sun, letting the sun love me.

I turn over, my sex half erect, feeling heavy with blood, swinging against my thigh as I roll over. The sun, my lover, starts it's magic on my sex, through the film of oil, as If I can only feel my sex, heating and hotter, swelling, sensitive to each breath of wind, to each movement of my body, until it seems to throb with each heartbeat.

My hand creeps to my cock, pulls back the foreskin, the oil shining on its head, the sun beating on it. My fingers and thumb resting gently on the shaft, I start to stroke myself, my eyes close and I remember Aline, a dark, smiling, attractive woman, with those eyes that watched me. A sigh escapes my lips, my hand stroked, I look at my sex swollen now; tight with its fullness of blood, its head shining with oil and now my own wetness seeping out coating the purple skin, a fat ripe plum.

My other hand is cupping my balls, feeling their weight, their hardness, their fullness, squeezing a little, just enough. Holding the neck of my sack, I pull my balls down, as my hips start to lift in their instinctive movement of penetration, a spare finger strays down to the oil-coated entrance of my anus, slips inside me, muscles gripping as I imagine her muscles gripping me. I moan with the image, feel the pressure mounting, the urgency, the lift of my balls pulling up inside me. I start to cry out with the onset of my orgasm, my breath fast, ragged, I open my eyes.

She stands there, seven metres away thinking herself unseen behind light on her window, a hand kneading her breast, the other buried between her spread thighs. I feel the rush of blood to my cheeks, embarrassed. Too late: Too late to hide, too late to stop the climax that is shaking my body, too late to stop the jets of semen leaping high, landing hotly on my chest and belly, even my mouth. The semen leapt high because of her, at her, for her. I see her swollen lips, swollen as must be her sex, her eyes half-closed as she came, shaking in the those of her own orgasm, her legs weakening, lowered her down, out of my sight as I lay there emptied confused, ashamed and wondering, Looking forward to get to know Aline.