The Neighborhood

I guess that Chelsea and I, Don Hurley, weren't meant to be. I thought that I was head over heels in love with her, and her with me. Maybe both were illusions -- certainly her being head over heels in love with me was as she proved by hooking up with a lowlife, and then trying to weasel out of it.

I was a dot com kid, and made millions by the time that I was twenty six. After I sold my first company I decided that I needed full time female companionship -- one night stands or casual relationships just weren't doing it for me and paying for sex was an anathema. I thought that I had hit paydirt when I met Chelsea Granger at a high brow charity event. What I liked most about her was how personable she was -- and how she really seemed to exude empathy when she gave the keynote address at the fund raiser. While I was already in the top ten of sponsors before her speech I doubled my contribution after it.

Not only did I like how personable and empathetic that Chelsea was, but she also wasn't bad to look at. I think that the average hetero guy my age would rate her looks alone as an 8.5 on a 10 point scale. For reasons that I couldn't explain to myself, let alone anyone else, I also liked it that she was two years older than I was.

While I was sure that I was in love, I wasn't stupid so I presented Chelsea with a prenup; she seemed to have no problem signing it. Only after she actually moved into my mini-mansion with me did I realize that in addition to her good qualities she had the bad qualities of being a little greedy and aloof.

Given her aloofness toward many people I found it very odd that I (actually the cameras from my very sophisticated security system) caught her fucking the goddamn pool boy (actually he was thirty five years old, but acted like a boy). She was all apologetic, blamed it on some female thing that I was sure was bogus, and wanted to work it out. I'm not wired that way so I booted her to the curb. Her infidelity cost her a couple of million dollars, but she couldn't complain too much about leaving a twenty six month marriage with $500,000 and her car and clothes (but not her jewelry).

I felt low for a while and decided that what I wanted was a change of scenery -- and also a change of neighbors. My mini-mansion was too upscale for me considering my Middle-American roots and my neighbors too full of themselves. I got a nice three bedroom house with a pool, game room, workout room, and small theater, on Crimson Court in an upper middle class neighborhood where the houses were very nice but not ostentatious, like my mini-mansion had been. I also considered it a bonus that none of the neighbors knew that I was worth well north of $100,000,000. I drove a sensible car and didn't flaunt material things.

The people in my new neighborhood, with one and 1/2 exceptions, were pleasant, warm, friendly, and easy to get along with. The one exception was a guy at the end of the cul de sac who was a pretentious pompous bastard named Jared Sertain, and the 1/2 was his wife Alicia. They were the only people in the neighborhood who seemed to live beyond their means. However, since everyone in the 'hood was nice Jared and Alicia were always included in block events despite their difficult, and semi-difficult, personalities.

I guess to be complete I need to say a few more things about Jared and Alicia. Jared was about forty when I at twenty nine moved in; he was a big flashy guy who I guess most women would say had rugged good looks. Alicia was twenty seven when I moved in. While her face was a 9 on a 10 point scale her hard and sleek body was -- according to my tastes (although I recognize that everybody's is different) -- an unequivocal 10. It was too bad that at that time her personality and values were more like a four. One other thing about Alicia; she was the best female tennis player in the area, having been the #1 player at a Big Ten school before she was kicked out at the end of her sophomore year for reasons either unknown or not disclosed.

When I moved into the neighborhood I did charity work full time, including through a 501(c) corporation that I set up called "Bootstraps LLC." While I say that it was full time because I was the boss my hours were flexible. Since the homeowners in the 'hood were older than I was there were a number of teenagers, and I hired any that wanted work for the summer and/or for after school or weekend gigs at Bootstraps. I really enjoyed working with them and their parents loved them getting some responsibility and earning some money.

***********

I had a problem in my otherwise idyllic life on Crimson Court. I was bereft of female companionship. Maybe because my situation with Chelsea left a bad taste in my mouth I was not trusting. There were a fair number of obvious gold-diggers, and probably a larger number of subtle ones, that I carefully avoided. I was again quickly tiring of short term flings and one night stands, but seemed to have no luck with a long term relationship, and I was strongly against hired sex.

I had lived on Crimson Court about fourteen months when I hosted a formal benefit for Bootstraps at a local country club. I mailed invitations to all of the families on Crimson Court and comped all of the teenagers who had worked for me even just one day at Bootstraps. All of the families either responded "yes" to the event, or sent a donation, except for Jared and Alicia Sertain.

Jared, being Jared, came to my house about ten days before the event and asked if he and Alicia could be comped. Not only was his request irritating, but his manner was too -- he had no social skills, nor any desire to learn them. I was about to impolitely turn him down when he said "You'd really help me out with the little woman, dude; she likes formal affairs and complained that we haven't been to one since we got married."

My tiny pea brain had a little debate with itself; I thought "Even if Alicia isn't warm and fuzzy, she will be the best looking person there; why not have a little eye candy." So, surprising myself I said "OK as long as you offer a tennis lesson from Alicia as part of the silent auction."

Since it was no skin off Jared's nose he heartily agreed. "Send Alicia over this weekend to sign up for the silent auction and I'll give her the tickets then," I said in closing, hoping not to have to shake his slimy hand but unable to avoid it.

Alicia's visit in the morning of the Saturday a week before the gala changed my life. She was in a tennis outfit when she arrived about 10 a. m. looking exactly like the 10/10 that she was. We had a brief discussion, she filled out the silent auction signup sheet giving details of the ninety minute lesson (she had virtually no conditions) and providing a photograph of her playing (which would gin up the bids), but then instead of leaving she said "There's something I need to talk to you about, Don."

Being friendly I said "OK -- should we sit in the living room?"

"Sure," she smiled sitting in my line of sight where I was sure to get maximum appreciation of her toned, sculptured long legs.

Alicia got right to the point. "I need $500 for an appropriate dress for your gala. I haven't been to one since I married Jared and I love them, and I want a new apt dress."

I was startled, but didn't lose my composure. "Shouldn't you be asking Jared for that?"

"It would do no good. You've probably figured out that we already live beyond our means and there's no money in the kitty for that. However, since you sold your first dot-com for more than a quarter of a billion dollars, you have plenty of money for it."

Obviously she had done her homework. Apparently when she saw a look of both surprise and concern on my face she said "Don't worry, there is no reason for me to tell any of the neighbors, and I never, ever, will tell them, scout's honor."

"Well Alicia I certainly can afford it but I don't just give my money away."

"You do for charity," she smiled.

"That's different," I smiled back.

"I'm not asking you to give it to me exactly. I'm offering a quid pro quo. I'll bet that you haven't gotten any good regular sex since your divorce and the thing I'm best at in life -- even better than tennis -- is fucking."

That did knock my socks off, although -- disturbingly -- it also caused my cock to inflate.

"I'm giving you a discount for $500 since I really like you; plus I have my STD-free certificate right here." With that she reached over to her clutch, which was beside her on the couch, and unfolded a piece of paper from it.

After unfolding the paper she stood up, sashayed over to me (I'm sure that my mouth was agape and my forehead was glistening with sweat) and sat on my lap holding the paper where I could read it.

I'm not particularly familiar with STD tests but the name of the lab on it was definitely legit because I had done business with them (although not for STD testing) and next to every STD was the word "Negative."

"Uh...looks...good...legit..." I stammered at a loss for words.

Alicia smiled broadly. "I guess that you need a peek," she chuckled.

With that she stood up, had her tennis garb off in ten seconds flat -- no undergarments -- and did a pirouette. "I have a decent bod," she chuckled again.

The word "decent" to describe her naked body was the understatement of the century -- maybe the last five centuries.

Since she probably saw that I was close to catatonic she pulled me up, walked me toward the large comfortable couch in my living room, pulled my shirt off, undid my belt, simultaneously pulled my shorts and boxers off leaving my socks on (I had no shoes on) and pushed me down on the couch. With a diabolical grin she clicked "This is going to be fun" as she grabbed my already fully inflated cock and stuck it in her mouth.

I really surprised myself by not going off spontaneously. She seemed to hold the base of my cock so that wouldn't happen, however. After a few slurps she apparently was satisfied with my cock's rigidity because she then slung her body over me, held my cock upright and then methodically lowered her extremely snug pussy over my cock.

Although she seemed to have self-lubricated, because of the tightness of her cooch the penetration was slow -- but oh so rewarding. Once I was completely buried she did a bucking bronco ride that was worthy of a rodeo champ while I latched onto what I estimated were her perfect round D cup boobs.

I came all too soon -- although it was with the force of a tidal wave -- but she just softly moaned right through my ejaculation and kept on riding. For the first time in my life I didn't get soft after an ejaculation. After another few minutes of her expert equestrian abilities and my fascination with mauling her tits, I came again, this time pulling her chest into mine and bucking up as hard as I could. She orgasmed just a few seconds after my first stream of seminal fluid pumped into her, and by the time that I had completely blown my wad she was slighty writhing, but mostly moaning, on my chest.

As I lay in post-orgasmic bliss, surviving a trio of aftershocks, and when my mind was able to focus my only rational thought was "That was so different than any other fuck I ever had it's in a different solar system."

Eventually, she pushed herself off of me, stumbled to a chair, and sat down, my cum leaking out of her red pussy. "I didn't expect it to be that much fun," she chortled. "You did yourself proud, big boy."

"God, you're a sorceress," I groaned, trying not to look at her leaking pussy since I was certain that it would cause cock inflation again and my male member was red and sore.

"So, was it worth $500?" she snickered.

"No -- $500,000," I meekly replied.

She seemed to like that. "Great, then I need another $250 for matching shoes," she cackled.

We both staggered and tilted while getting dressed. I went into my study -- with her following -- and gave her two complementary tickets to the gala, and without even consciously thinking that I was paying for sex for the first time in my life wrote her a check for $750.

Just before she left she said "I can't leave without kissing you once -- I'm not a street whore." Then she laid the most zealous kiss of my experience on me. When she broke away she tucked the check into her tennis top between her tits, smiled and said "Let's do business on a regular basis," and then wiggled her ass as she exited my front door.

I never before in my life felt more drained, confused, euphoric, and guilty all at the same as I did when the front door closed. I sat down on the couch where we had just fucked and simply stared into space for the longest time. My thoughts were all over the place. When I dealt with the guilt aspect I wasn't really concerned about Jared. He was an asshole, and wasn't one to bother with. My guilt was in doing basically the same thing that Chelsea had done to me, although I'm sure that she didn't get 1/4 the enjoyment out of it that I got. Plus there was that irritating and immoral thing of paying for sex.

I somehow stumbled through the rest of the day, called up a couple of male friends and treated them to dinner, and then tried to get to sleep. I did get some sleep, but mostly my mind was reliving and trying to enhance -- which wasn't possible -- my copulation with the sorceress known as Alicia.

I didn't see Alicia again until the gala. She sure did know how to pick out clothes, because her dress and shoes were the classiest there, and of course she was by far the hottest person. Fortunately her dress was more classy than revealing otherwise some of the older male attendees would probably have needed a defibrillator.

Pervert that I am I bid $1350 for her tennis lesson in the silent auction.

The gala was an outstanding success. I really don't think that there was anyone that didn't have a good time, and I raised $424,560 for Bootstraps that night; a lot of underprivileged kids and teens would be served well by that.

During the night I danced at least one dance with all of my female employees and all of the women in attendance from Crimson Court. In order not to be obvious by its omission this included Alicia, who was not only the best looking but the best dancer. We did not get improperly close during a slow dance but we were close enough for her to bust my chops a little.

"I see that you paid more than $1300 for my tennis lesson, you perve," she snickered. "I'll bet that you want to spend the ninety minutes fucking and sucking instead of hitting a ball, and rather than a racket in your hand you want a tit in your mouth, don't you. No need to answer verbally your red face says it all."

I'm sure that my red face did say it all.

"It'll cost you another $500 for me too, though stud; the $1300 to Bootstraps doesn't help my financial situation," she chortled. "Plus if you were a real gentlemen you'd give me another $200 because my dress and shoes cost $950 not the $750 you gave me -- but isn't the decoration they provide worth it?"

I couldn't argue with that.

**************

The "tennis lesson" turned out to be two hours long, not 90 minutes. I ate her to three orgasms and fucked her for three -- my all-time record for two hours, although with her I didn't have the slightest problem being constantly hard.

For the next six months I never even bothered looking at another woman. I put her on a "retainer" and had liaisons with her either three or four times a week, usually ninety minutes to two hours each. Also, she met me for lunch about once a fortnight, we often went to museums, and one day even to an amusement park. She also volunteered at Bootstraps for about eight hours a week. She was very good working with kids, especially teenage boys whose eyes seemed to pop out of their heads whenever she was around.

I ended up liking Alicia -- not just sex with her, which remained so far above anything else in my experience that no comparison was valid -- I grew to like her as a person. My retainer gave her financial stability, which was something she really needed, so the hard edges, and uncouth aspects of her character evaporated. In fact, I guess that in actuality I was in love with her as much as I had been with Chelsea, although I never dared say it.

Then in an instant my life changed again. There seemed to be a commotion on Crimson Court in the middle of one weekday night; I heard noise, but didn't get up to investigate. In the morning it was clear that the Sertains had vanished. Their front and garage doors were open, anything valuable was removed, and police and bank officials were sniffing around. I actually knew one of the bank officials so I talked with him. Apparently the house was about to be foreclosed on -- and now it would be -- and the police were after Jared for some unspecified financial shenanigans which affected not only the bank but a number of other people.

I was heartbroken. The only thing that saved me was an email from Alicia -- or at least her account -- that arrived about noon. It said "Sorry I had to leave; I will make every effort to get in touch; don't give up on me!" followed by a heart emoji.

I was shocked by the "don't give up on me." I could easily interpret that to mean that she had feelings for me. I had never allowed myself to believe that she had romantic feelings for me during the numerous amorous hours we spent together, or the out-of-the-sack wonderful experiences. That statement buoyed my spirits and depressed me both at the same time.

The next two months or so I didn't feel tethered to the ground. There was a big hole in my life that no good deeds on my part could fill. While outwardly to all of those around me I put on a brave face, inside I was lost. I never even considered having sex, not even with my right hand.

Then the angry clouds parted and the sun shone through sixty seven days after Alicia left. It was just getting to be dusk when there was a knock on my front door. I looked out the window and there was a taxi in the driveway. I opened my door to find a taxi driver standing there.

"Say, man, there's a woman in my car that says that you'll pay her fare cause she ain't got no money," he said.

"What's her name?" I excitedly asked.

"Alice, or something like that -- I'm not good with names."

"Is it Alicia?"

"Yeah -- that's it," he grinned.

I took a hundred dollar bill out of my wallet and said "Will this cover it," not even waiting for his reply of "Yeah, and then some," as I sprinted to the taxi.

I got Alicia out of the back seat; she was bruised and limping but gave me a big hug and smothered my cheeks with kisses. I carried her into my bedroom and immediately called my concierge doctors. A male doctor and a female nurse were at my house within thirty minutes. While waiting for them I just made sure that Alicia was comfortable and told her how glad I was to see her. I didn't ask for any explanation or details. She did insist on telling me that Jared was dead and that the last two months had been hell for her.

The doctor and nurse were with her for a good hour while I nervously waited in my den with the TV on, although I have no idea what was playing. The doctor gave me a complete detailed report. Alicia had some serious internal and external bruising, she had to restrict her movements for at least a week and daily take the anti-inflammation medicine that they gave me. She also needed an MRI as soon as she was feeling a little better. However, the good news was that unless the MRI showed something unexpected she had a 99% chance of being completely back to normal within two months or so.

More relieved than I ever was before in my life I went up to my bedroom and peeked in on Alicia. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be resting peacefully. I was about to leave when her eyes suddenly opened and she pleaded "Please talk to me for five minutes, Don."