My next-door neighbor and I have only one thing in common: we both have "garage cars". This shouldn't be taken to mean that we both have garage
queens
. There's an important difference.
A garage queen is a car that is seldom or never driven and whose purpose is to be a possession--something that one can talk about at cocktail parties or to confer a certain status on oneself. I just don't see the point of a car like that.
My car is a 1959 Austin Sprite--called a "bugeye" for its friendly googly-eyed appearance. It's a sports car, a small two-seater. It would be a convertible, but I don't have a top or side curtains for it, and it's painted a jolly red. I've done a host of upgrades, most recently dropping in a modern five speed gearbox. It has the original motor, with an added supercharger. This makes it sound like a fire-breathing Corvette killer, but the setup doesn't produce even a hundred horsepower. My wife once remarked that it could go zero-to-sixty "by next Thursday". But I love it because it's a jaunty car that puts a smile on everyone's face.
This particular Saturday, Krista, my wife, was out with our two boys, so I had the morning and afternoon to myself. I had the game on the radio and was puttering around the car. The neighbor's daughter, Tess, was playing in the front yard, when I heard the garage door go up and Tess's mother, Nathalie, came out.
Nathalie is maybe five foot six, thin as a rail, tanned brown. She wears her brownish hair short and she had on aviator sunglasses. Her wardrobe is various shades of black: today she had on a black leather jacket that seemed perfectly new and carefully maintained over a black tank top. Below that her narrow hips were hugged by black jeans over biker boots. Her flat lips were decorated with lilac lipstick.
My neighbor's car is the exact opposite of my little Sprite. She has a Dodge Charger "Hellcat", metallic black with darkly tinted windows and blackout trim. The huge V8 produces over seven hundred horsepower. She stepped into the car and fired it up. The massive roar probably rattled windows three blocks away. She carefully backed the car into the driveway, lowering the window to shout at me.
"Hey, neighbor, I need to run to the store. Can you watch Tess for ten minutes? I'll make it up to you."
"Sure, no problem," I replied. She hardly waited for my assent before backing out into our cul-de-sac, put the monster in gear, and launched it towards the end of the block. The car was an unchained beast and she barely slowed for the stop sign on the cross street. I could hear the roar of the engine as she accelerated through the neighborhood.
"Mr. Bun and I are hosting a tea party," Tess informed me, hardly noticing the disturbance her mother's departure that produced. She had a tiny blue plastic table and tiny tot chairs set up on the lawn. "Mister Bun" must be her well-loved white stuffed bunny. It was impossible not to smile at Tess in her pink dress with white polka dots, hair ribbon, and white patent leather shoes. She was pouring pretend tea into tiny tea cups.
"That's wonderful, Tess," I replied. I was finishing up my project while watching her play. She seemed completely unlike her mother--I'd never seen her dirty, never seen grass stains on her knees. She was the most girly girl I think I'd ever known.
Forty minutes later, I was starting to worry when I heard the return of the roaring Hellcat coming along blocks away. The car slowed when it reached our street and practically coasted into the driveway. Nathalie eased the car into the garage and switched it off. I could hear the clicking and ticking of heated metal cooling as she stepped out to check on Tess.
"Thanks," she said to me. "Took longer than I thought. I'll stop by later to thank you properly," she said, before going inside. I switched off the radio and closed up my garage. I figured I would make myself some lunch and watch the remainder of the game on TV.
It was maybe one o'clock when there came a firm rap on my front door. I peered out the peep hole and saw Nathalie and Tess standing there.
"Hey, neighbor," she started. "I appreciate your watching Tess for me. I wanted to thank you... properly." She invited herself and Tess in.
"It's a nice place you've got here. Tess, why don't you play in here while we talk in the other room?"
"Okay, mommy," she replied.
Nathalie dragged me back into the kitchen.
"Your wife and I don't get on," she noted, "but there's no reason you and I can't be good neighbors."
"I was glad to watch Tess. It must be tough being a single mom," I replied.
"Sometimes. There's no one to watch her if I'm not there. And no one to take care of my needs. I thought I could thank you
and
scratch that itch," she said. She stepped into my space a bit. Was she coming on to me?
She was. She put her hand on my arm and looked up into my eyes. "What do you say, neighbor? Would you like me to thank you... properly?"
"Uh... I don't think this is maybe a good idea. I mean, we're next-door neighbors..."
"Yeah, we are," she said. "Look, you're a good-looking guy. You're conveniently located. I have needs. Maybe you do too. Little miss Krista doesn't need to know."
"This is a bad idea. You and Krista don't exactly get along. She'd kill me if I got involved with you."
"So, you're going to let her make that decision?" She had reached down and was groping my butt. "You don't even know what I've got to offer."
I laughed. "A chance to sleep in the doghouse for the rest of my life?"
"I suck a mean cock and I'd give you unfettered access." She took my hand and pressed it between her thighs, right on her mound. I realized that she had grey eyes just then: I'd never seen them without the aviators before, but now they were gazing earnestly at me.
I pulled my hand away. I suppose that was supposed to mean "no thank you", but I hadn't sent her packing yet. My fingers had enjoyed feeling her hot radiator. I felt a stirring in my jeans: it's kind of a turn on to have a gal come on to you, even if you don't want it.
She wasn't done with me either. She opened her belt.
"What are you doing?" I inquired, still keeping my tone mild. Her daughter was just in the other room.
She unbuttoned her jeans. "Popping my hood so you can get at my engine bay, Mr. Mechanic," she replied. She pushed her jeans down, exposing her tiny black panties. Then, turning away, she coquettishly pushed the panties down to her knees as well.
She put her hands on the kitchen counter and thrust her ass at me. Her face and chest were darkly tanned, but her body hadn't seen the sun. She had hardly any ass, just a pair of creamy muscular bulges. Nothing blocked my view of her furry peach and puckered brown hole.
"There it is, man. Take me in the ass! You know you want to." I swallowed hard. Her daughter was
right there
. My wife would kill me if she knew. I reached out and touched her, feeling the join of her body work. The finger came away sticky.
"Yeah, that's right. You know you want it," she said.
"This is a one-time thing," I said. I let my pants down and pushed off my underwear. I was getting hard in a hurry. I waddled up to her and tapped my tip against her ass. Was I willing to do this? Become a cheater with the next-door neighbor? It was clearly a terrible idea. But how else would I get her out of my kitchen? I hadn't been with another woman in ten years. Now my cock was poking Nathalie's brown hole. Krista never let me touch her there.
