A Valentine's Day contest entry from me that doesn't have a proper home. In my opinion this piece doesn't sit in Gay Male, not since there's a lot of activity centred around Michelle. I'm torn between Fetish or Novels and Novellas, and I hope the category it ends up in attracts the readers.
In this one a young man has a keen desire for his mature and sexy neighbour. He sends her a Valentine but gets caught in the clandestine act of delivery. She's flattered by his attentions but points out she's so much older and already has a boyfriend.
The young man eventually accepts this but is then further confused when Michelle admits she wants to kiss him. Then, at work he receives a card -- it's from Michelle!
After that, Alan's day gets very exciting, culminating in an adventure he most certainly didn't foresee.
Okay, enough waffle from me. I hope you enjoy the story. Feedback is appreciated.
Thank you for reading.
GA -- Da Nang, Vietnam -- 3rd of February 2015.
One
I had just posted a Valentine's card through the neighbour's letterbox. It was a clandestine act and supposed to be a secret. I knew I'd been caught when I heard the door open behind.
The plan, as per my usual
modus operandi
, had been to get the deed done much earlier in the morning. Originally I had meant to move under cover of darkness, a wraith in the pre-dawn creeping to her door. However, a mistake in setting the alarm combined with my eagerness for Michelle to receive the card before the day began became my undoing. When I awoke and realised the error, my impatience took me to her door at an extremely risky 8 a.m.
It was insane to think I would get away with it.
When I heard her call my name it was like a bullet between my shoulder blades.
The shock hit me. I couldn't believe I'd been caught.
I turned slowly and saw the envelope in her hand.
Michelle's expression questioned me. "It's been you all along?" she said, pausing before adding, "I think you better come in."
She stood there, one eyebrow raised, a hip cocked. It was one of those moments where time compressed and somehow stretched simultaneously. Adrenalin surged through me. I was torn by indecision. I wanted to follow Michelle into her house but was daunted by the prospect of what might follow. Embarrassment washed over me in a hot tide, with beads of sweat forming on my back and forehead regardless of the morning chill. I boggled for an instant, my brain registering her plum-coloured blouse while also sucking in the detail of long sleeves and the promise of Michelle's generous bosom beneath. I saw the top two buttons unfastened and a tantalising hint of cleavage. During those few seconds I also soaked in her light-brown bobbed hair and a necklace of dark beads around her delicate neck, her smile all bright red lipstick. Hazel eyes confronted me when I glanced up, sparkling and amused to match the curve of her mouth. To me, in the moment, Michelle was elegance personified, immaculate as usual.
I took it all in, anguish churning my guts while Michelle appeared cool and collected, her head canted, enquiring, the evidence in her hand.
She had me bang to rights.
My first instinct was to run, but some force held my feet fast against the pavement. The thought of facing Michelle and the inevitable enquiry filled me with dread, with fleeing the scene the most tempting idea. I could leg it and hide out for a few months, thus avoiding any and all contact with our neighbour. I'd done no wrong but let my infatuation run wild. I'd gone beyond reason, desire overwhelming common sense.
Michelle said, "Don't be embarrassed, Alan. Come in," she gently added. "Let's just talk about it."
"I'm sorry," I croaked as I turned to face her square on.
Her smile beamed at me. "Don't be sorry," she said, the tone kindly. She waved me towards her again. "I understand, truly. Please, won't you just come in? It's freezing out here."
Still resisting, I offered a weak excuse. "I have to be at work in an hour."
Michelle held up the envelope and condemned me with the irrefutable evidence of my puerile crush.
I winced and closed my eyes until she murmured, "It's Valentine's Day and you sent me a card. Come on," she insisted. "Come in. You don't have to rush off."
Mortification washed over me in a hot tide. Michelle knew I could walk to work in ten minutes. She was fully aware there was no desperate need for me to leave.
I looked at her and clarity hit home. How could I have been so stupid? For the first time in months I could see the situation for what it was: me, nineteen; an apprentice mechanic lusting after the unattainable. Michelle was a sophisticated, independent career woman over three decades my senior. It was ludicrous to have ever imagined a relationship between us. I was crazy to think my flowery hyperbolic prose would impress her.
I should have left it in the realm of fantasy, just tugged my dick and dreamed.
However, regardless of my desire to run and hide under a stone, I found myself moving along the path towards the house. I followed Michelle inside and hung my jacket on the newel post at the foot of the stairs. I loitered near the front door, reluctant to face the
post mortem
until Michelle called me into the living room.
"Okay, right," Michelle said briskly, all business. "How about you sit down and I'll make us some tea -- or would you prefer coffee?"
I mumbled about coffee and she turned to leave.
"Sit down," added Michelle, pointing to the chair. "I'll be a minute or two." She jabbed a forefinger at me for emphasis. "Don't you dare run off."
***
Her heels pecked on the parquet when she returned. I looked up from my boots when I heard the sound, internal wrangling over for the time being. Michelle strode into the room, purposeful, a force to be reckoned with. She came in with a mug for me and a more delicately appropriate cup for herself, handing me my coffee before settling elegantly onto the large L-shaped sofa opposite my chair. She eyed me and sipped her tea while I looked everywhere except directly at her.
I vaguely registered how physically similar the house was to ours next door. But while my parents were firmly entrenched in middle-age, Michelle's tastes ran to the more contemporary. The white walls and blonde-wood flooring made the place look clean, the colours brightening the room to give the place a light, airy atmosphere despite the dank February day beyond the big bay window. The settee upon which Michelle was perched was vast, all tan leather and so wide it could sleep four people. A huge print hung on one wall, a black and white scene of Waterloo Bridge, the bright-red double-decker bus in stark contrast against the monochrome background. A silver-cased BOSE system sat on top of shiny metal unit while a massive flat screen television was fixed to the wall opposite the print. In the no man's land between us a low coffee table completed the somewhat minimalist effect.
"Alan?" Michelle said, her voice pulling my attention to her face. "What's going on? Why the card ... And what about all those other notes, too?"
I sat there and wished I were invisible. "Uh," I managed, unable to formulate a more articulate response.
