I was sitting on a stool at the breakfast counter as my wife came into the kitchen. She was dressed in a lightweight, beige muslin blazer and skirt set. The pleated skirt was rather on the short side for business attire, but her long, well-defined legs were covered with glittery, semi-opaque hose and and elegant, matching beige pumps with only a moderate heel. She looked appropriately professional for a real estate agent. In deference to the Arizona heat, she wore her sun-bleached hair up, off the back of her neck. Ringlets of blonde curls that had escaped her bun and a pair of dangly gold earring framed her face. She looked damn fine for 34. Her mother had been a professional model at one time, and thanks to genetics and her strenuous workout routine, she still had the sort of firm, toned body plenty of 25-year-olds had already given up on. Her booty was a bit more generous than it had been in college, but it only made her sexier.
She noticed that my spandex swim trunks were my sole piece of clothing. "Are you headed next door for a swim?" she asked. Our neighbor, Maureen, allowed us unrestricted access to the pool in her backyard, a fairly typical Arizona amenity our house lacked.
"Mmhmm," I mumbled, slurping the last of the Cheerios from my bowl. "Sometime this morning. I need to rewrite that last chapter first." Being able to spend my workday in just a pair of lycra jammers was one of the fringe benefits of being a freelance writer.
"I need to take off pretty quick; I have a showing over in Scottsdale at nine," she said, walking past me. "But I need to have a word with you first." She grabbed a commuter mug and stepped over to the coffeepot.
I watched my wife's shapely legs as she moved. "Evie, you are going to burn up out there." I volunteered. "You should lose the hose."
"Ha!" She chuckled dismissively. "Not in this outfit."
"Everybody dresses for the heat this time of year; bare legs wouldn't get a second notice."
"You just want me to do it because you think short skirts and bare legs are sexy. I need to remember that that's all you think about." It was mostly true; on the inside, I'm still a 12-year-old boy looking at his first nudie magazine. I've had a high sex drive for as long as Evie has known me, and it didn't slacked off when we hit our thirties. Fortunately, she usually responds enthusiastically to my erotic impulses. She says I encourage her to stay in touch with her inner nympho.
I got up and carried my bowl and cup to the sink. "Maybe the idea does turn me on," I responded. "So what? More comfortable AND sexier; that's a win-win."
"Sorry, I don't think so."
I came up behind her, lifted up the back of her skirt, and slid my hand over one smooth, pantyhose-covered cheek. I realized she wasn't wearing any panties underneath the the semi-sheer hose.
She slapped my hand away in mock indignation and smoothed her skirt. "Thank you for demonstrating my point. This skirt is short enough as it is. I don't need to give anybody ideas. You men are all alike, you know."
"Suit yourself," I shrugged. "But it's already almost a hundred degrees out there." As she reached to pull up a barstool, I observed nothing but a white lace bra inside her blazer. I put my finger inside the lapel and pulled it away from her as I positioned myself for a better look. "No camisole? It seems that you've taken some countermeasures to combat the summer heat after all."
"Do you think I need one? This neckline isn't too low, is it?"
"Do you think I would actually tell you if it was?" I said playfully. Evie knows that I love when she wears revealing outfits in public. "No, it's fine," I reassured her.
"Well, it's fine unless I lean over like that in front of my clients," she said with a smirk.
"What do you need to talk to me about?" I asked.
"Let's sit down," she said and guided me back to the barstools at the counter.
"Whoa. This must be serious," I said.
"I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to promise you'll answer honestly." I nodded for her to continue. "Well..." she sighed heavily. "David, you think Maureen's still an attractive woman, don't you?"
"Excuse me?" I said in disbelief.
"You... Um..." she stammered. "I mean... You... You find that, sexually... she can be arousing. Sometimes, at least. Don't you?"
I didn't like where this line of questioning was headed. Despite the fact that she was more than twenty years older than my wife and me, the fact was that I had ogled Maureen's body many times. She may have developed a bit of a middle-aged pooch to her belly and crows-feet around her eyes over the years, but she had a warm smile, full lips, smooth limbs, and a killer rack that she wasn't shy about showing off. She often wore blouses and swimsuits that revealed plenty of cleavage. I'd fantasized more than once what it would feel like to bury my face-or my cock-between those mounds. And when I did, I was fortunate to be able to visualize exactly what those tits actually looked like. You see, the window in my upstairs office has an unobstructed view over the fence, and more than a few times I'd caught her sunbathing topless. Her tits were surprisingly firm for their ample size and cone-shaped, so they jutted prominently away from her body and swayed delightfully when she walked around bare-chested. The least flattering position for a well-endowed woman of any age can be lying on her back, which often turns even the sexiest nipples into fat, flabby puddles within a sea of flesh. But Maureen's tits always looked great, even fully reclined. When she stretched out on her lounger, two large, puffy, dark areolae kept her substantial nipples standing proud atop her melons. Frankly, her breasts were masterpieces.
I struggled to answer. "I... I..." Inside, my thoughts raced through all our past interactions with Maureen. I always though I had hidden my fascination with our neighbor's body well enough that nobody would notice. Obviously, something had tipped my wife off. Had my wife seen me? Had I let my eyes dwell too indiscreetly on her breasts while we were all in the pool together? Had Maureen seen me at the window and complained?
My mind went back to the time I had secretly watched her husband, Hal, fondle those gorgeous tits as he fucked her. I was working in my office late at night, about 1 AM, when I noticed Maureen swimming topless in the moonlight. As I watched, Hal came out and got in the pool. He grabbed her hand, led her to the shallowest end of the pool, and bent her over the side. She spread her hands out in front of her on the concrete to steady herself as he slipped out of his swim trunks. He stroked himself fully erect, pulled her bikini bottom to one side, and immediately entered her. Damn, I thought at the time; either she's used to putting up with zero foreplay, or she gets horny and wet easily. Or both.
"Would you say Maureen appeals to you?" my wife asked again. Evie searched deep into my eyes. "David?" I still hadn't answered her question. If she felt threatened by our widowed neighbor, I needed to reassure her that nothing could be further from the truth.
"Honey, you're the only one I could ever love."
"Oh, I know that, baby. If I didn't, I wouldn't be asking." She smiled warmly and reached out to touch my cheek, in the process giving me another downblouse view of her lacy bra. "I'm just talking about your most basic, sexual response."
I still wasn't sure how to respond, but we had been married long enough that she knew when I was lying, and I knew she'd stick with me even if the truth made her angry. I had to admit, she didn't seem very aggressive at the moment.
"Yes, I'll admit that she's attractive-for an older woman." I tried to hide behind my gender as a defense: "I think any man would say that she definitely has sex appeal."
She sighed and put her hand to her heart. "Oh, good."
"Good?" I repeated in disbelief. "Wh...what? Why is that good?"
"Well, this is the tricky part," she said cautiously. "I had Maureen over for coffee a couple days ago. Hal has been gone over two years, and she's desperately stick of being alone."
"I can only imagine how lonely she feels. Hal was a great guy, and they were a very close, loving couple."
"I didn't say she's lonely; I said she's sick of being alone." She just looked at me for a moment, saying nothing. There was some connection I was not yet making here.
"What are you getting at?" I finally asked with a puzzled expression.
"David! I mean PHYSICALLY alone-celibate."
"She wants a MAN?" I said in amazement.
