A home should be a sanctuary, a place to find refuge from the world of business. That is what I always swore my home would be. So I bought a place in a small valley nestled between two mountains. I had done all the necessary homework, sunny over 300 days a year, mild climate, rarely below freezing, trout stream nearby, large city within 45 minutes, secluded, 10 acres of forests β the list of positives went on and on.
There was only one problem -- the Commune. It wasn't one of those free-love, let's get naked kind of places. This group of people had gathered together for religious purposes β austere would be the operative word.
My home was back against a mountain and to reach it I was required to drive through the small village, past the church with it dark colors, the homes indistinguishable from each other.
For over a year, I never actually knew any of my neighbors. I would say hello, knew what they looked like, maybe even a name or two, but that was it. There was no interaction between us.
Then I changed my job. I was able to work at home via a remote satellite hookup now. Suddenly my little paradise became home and office all rolled into one.
I discovered I had a lovely neighbor β quite young, but still a feast for the eyes.
I met her while fixing a fence on my yard. This little wisp of a thing darted past me. I couldn't see her at first. Then she stepped from behind a tree and into the light. She wore a dress that looked like a huge sack with a hole cut into the top for her head. It reached down to her ankles and should have made her look like an unshapely bag of feed. Yet nothing could hide what was inside. I saw the roundness of her chest, the curve of her hips.
"I'm just about done here," I said. "Would you like to come to the house for something to drink?"
She nodded and we trudged up the path to my house. Once inside I led her to the living room where she slid onto the couch. I returned with some fresh lemonade and minutes later we were seated side by side sipping our drinks and smiling at each other.
"Is that dress comfortable?" I asked.
She shook her head. I reached out and grabbed the hem, pulling it above her knees and rubbing it with my fingers.
"Rough as sandpaper," I said. Then I slid my hand under the hem to touch her knee. "But you're certainly soft," I said. "I can't understand how you can stand to wear this thing. It must be like torture or something." I continued to rub her knee. She didn't move it away, so I slid my hand against her leg and up her thigh.
"I hate it too, but Mom and Pop don't want the boys to get crazy about me. And they don't really have much money."
"I understand," I said continuing to rub her leg. "Do you mind if I rub you like this?"
"That's ok," she said. "It feels good, better than the dress."
"When you visit me, you can take off your dress," I said. "I won't have a pretty girl like you wearing that old itchy thing. I might have something much better upstairs."
I found an old shirt. "You can wear this if you want." I then laughed mischievously. "Or you can wear nothing at all."
"Oh that wouldn't be good," she said.
"Why not?"
"You're not my husband you know."
"You're barely old enough to have a husband," I responded. "Can't be much older than 18. So there. Anyway, you heard that from your parents. What do they know? They don't even know how itchy it is for you to wear that bag."
"Do I have to be naked or can I keep my panties on." She said the words in such an innocent way as though she was asking to have an extra desert or something. She slid the bag over her head so she stood there naked except for her bra and pink panties.
I put my arm around her, leaned over, her touching her cheek to mine. "I was just joking about being naked. You can wear the shirt if you want. "
I left the room calling back to her "I'm going to get comfortable myself. Why don't you lie down on the couch and watch TV."
"TV! We don't have that."
As I entered the living room minutes later, I noticed her lying on the couch deeply enthralled with a TV show. The ends of the shirt had lifted up and I could see the curve of her buttocks, a darkness between them β no panties, just bare skin catching the light from the windows. I had removed my clothes and was wearing a house coat that fell about halfway between my hips and knees.
"Is there any room on that sofa?" I asked.
Moments later I was safely between the lovely girl and the sofa. I slid my hand under her arm and cupped it around her small budding breast. She didn't resist so I began to gently rub her breast through the cloth of the shirt. While this was happening my house coat slipped open and I pressed my naked body against her back. Pressing my penis to her naked butt, I felt it harden.
She had no sense of shame about the entire experience, merely enjoying it with an innocence that took my breath away. So I held her, pushing myself into her farther and farther, caressing her with steady strokes.
Eventually, the show ended and she stood up. "It's getting late. I better hurry home." She glanced down at me. I had already covered myself with my house coat, but the bulge while receding was still visible.
"It was so nice to meet you," I said. "I never knew such a lovely yet sweet and tender neighbor was so near."
"Yes, it was fun wasn't it," she said with her eyes downcast. "I feel a bit funny though. It felt so natural with you, but I know it was all wrong. I sinned terribly, had these thoughts that were all wrong."
"What thoughts?"
"Oh I can't say."
"You don't have to talk about it," I responded placing my arm around her. "I know exactly what you mean. It was like we were perfect together, like this jigsaw with your piece and mine and they simply fit without any trouble or friction."
"Exactly." She had this glow to her face, her eyes catching the fading light with little sparkles.
"I hope to meet again sometime," I said as she ran out the door.
Six month passed without any contact with the mysterious neighbor. After the girl left I realized that I didn't even know her name.
Then one morning, a station wagon pulled up to the house. Generally I keep the gate locked but this morning, I had left it wide open and they simply drove through to park in front of my garage.
A tall thin man with gray hair stepped out of the driver's seat, a woman opposite him. He was balding, wore a plaid flannel shirt and blue overalls. The woman was smaller, bent over with age or just exhaustion. I couldn't tell at that distance. She wore a green print dress that hung without shape to her ankles. Her hair was long, stringy, gray in color, lifeless.