One Tuesday morning, Linda Harris, a thirty-five year old mother of two, entered her kitchen with the intention of making herself some breakfast. Filling up the kettle with water, she placed it on the stove and took out her favourite teacup from beside the counter. It was another sunny morning; from here she had a good view of her suburban backyard, seeing her previously washed blankets flutter on the clothesline from where she had hung them. The clock on the kitchen wall announced the time as 8:24PM.
Her husband had left for work not more than ten minutes ago. Usually they had breakfast together, but since she'd been out of a job going on six months now, and the fact that her husband had never ceased to rub it rather sanctimoniously on her, she now preferred having hers once he was out the door. Besides, it wasn't as if he minded at all. The fact that since they sent the kids off a year ago to boarding school, thinking that they would have much needed space now to indulge in themselves, had only made the awareness known to Linda that her once beloved husband no longer cherished being in her company any longer. He no longer kissed her anymore before leaving for work, but rather gave a perfunctory "See you," in place of that. The silence in the house had more than tripled since the start of the year. They barely talked much and more than that, he now preferred spending much time away from the house; she knew he wouldn't be back today till about ten or eleven, which was his usual time of returning home.
She sat by the kitchen table, picked up a previous month's Home Lifestyle magazine that lay there and flipped through the pages while she waited for her water to heat up. She raised a hand to push back a lock of blonde hair that slipped over her face. Though she stared at the magazine's pages, her thoughts were invariably centred on her marital life.
She suspected that he was sleeping around -- why else would he be coming home at such a late hour, without even bothering to call to notify her before hand? Besides, hadn't he returned home with the smell of whiskey on his breath? She couldn't deny that it didn't hurt her at all. Time after time she had undressed herself to admire her body before her bedroom's vanity mirror, wanting to know if anything was out of shape that might be the reason why her husband seldom glanced at her direction any longer. Time after time she had checked, and still couldn't find anything wrong at all, at least none that her eyes could noticeably pick out: she wasn't sick or losing any limb, her weight didn't appear to be shrinking, nor did it seem as if she had added much. She exercised regularly and went for swimming at the local spa twice a week, her diet was sufficient enough ... or could it be her age that's scaring him off, since of course she'd noticed herself starting to grow one or two wrinkles beside her eyes -- signs of middle-age creeping up on her. Nothing she could do about that. But he, too, wasn't getting any younger as well, she admitted to herself. And even it had something to do with the way she looked, the least he could do was tell it to her instead of keeping quiet about it, pretending as if she didn't exist anymore.
She closed the magazine, got up and approached the window overlooking the back of the yard. Her hand played with her wedding ring while she stood there staring at the summer morning. Her hand then left her ring and slid into the top of her jeans shorts, past her public hair, till her fingers were touching her pussy while her other went to playing with her breasts hiding behind her tank pink top. Her lips released a low sigh. When was the last time Frank, her husband, touched her? She could barely remember, and the faded memory of it only seemed to make her sadder.
Her thoughts instantly snapped back to reality when she heard the whistling sound coming from the kettle. She turned the stove off and poured some of the hot water into her cup, looked into the cabinet above her head for the box of Mexican-grounded coffee, from which she took two teaspoons off it. In her mind, she muttered an Oh no, when she realised that the bag of sugar was empty. The nearest shop was less than a block from here, but she felt it too early to start walking out in the hot morning sun all just to get some lousy sugar.
Then she thought about her next-door African-American neighbour, Mrs. Dandridge. Gwen, as most people usually called her. Surely she would have some sugar to spare, as long as she was still at home right now.
Linda left her cup by the counter, pushed the back door open to step out into the morning sun, and made her away from her backyard lawn, across the foot growth of hedge that marked the demarcating line between their homes, towards her neighbours' back door.
The back door was open with a net screen standing between it and the interior of the kitchen. Linda was about to knock on it when she noticed a shadow inside the room. She raised a hand to her face, shielding her eyes from the sun's reflection, and gasped at the sight she noticed was taking place before her. So mesmerised by it she was that she stood there longer than a minute, ogling at the sight of her neighbour's wife, Gwen, lying on her back on her Formica kitchen table, her night dress opened before her while an African-American male, naked from the waist up, stood bent with his head rotating between her thighs. No way did the man bear any similar resemblance to Gwen's husband, and she was tickled with the idea of what he might just feel if ever he retuned home suddenly and caught her right now. Even from where she stood by the kitchen door, she could well capture the sound her moans. Linda couldn't help feeling herself being moved by it: the way the young male moved his head back and forth, up and down, between her raised legs while Gwen rested on hand on his shoulder and the other playing with her breasts, the sound of her 'Oohhhhs' and 'Aahhhs' bouncing off the wall into Linda's ears.
She didn't know when her hand pushed the net door open and she walked into the kitchen; normally she should have turned around and returned to her home, but the thought of being away from the action taking place before her eyes was too overwhelming for her to neglect. Gwen merely turned her head when she heard the net door screech open. The young man didn't bother looking up from where he was; so engrossed he was in his actions it's almost as if he wouldn't have cared if it were Gwen's husband returning unannounced. Linda approached the table with hesitant steps as Gwen smiled at her, not showing any sign of being annoyed with her entry.
"Hey there Lin," she said between moans from the pleasure occurring between her legs. "How've you been?"
"Fine and well," Linda answered. "I see you've been having some interesting company."
"This here is Tee Mack. Tee Mack, say hello to my neighbour, Linda."
It was then that the young man known as Tee Mack finally raised his head, extended a handshake towards Linda and smiled. "Pleasure meeting you, ma'am."
"Pleasure is all mine." Linda shook his hand before he returned to his former duty. She turned towards Gwen; her lips were at first too stunned to speak. "Where ... how did you find him?" "The Tongue Patrol, honey. You've never heard of them?" Gwen paused to give a long moan before continuing. "They're the new rage in town -- whatever sort of pleasure you want. I'm a regular with them."
