Handiwor

Before venturing further, I need to state for the record that this is a work of fiction and that any resemblance by any character or situation to any actual person, living or deceased, is purely coincidental. All characters presented in this narrative are over the age of 18. --Royce Houton

Chapter Three

I awoke to the sound of Kim Rainey's Lexus SUV starting in her semicircular driveway nextdoor. It was 7 o'clock on Sunday morning and she was heading to the hospital to start another 12-hour weekend shift delivering babies in the most popular and heavily used obstetrics unit in a metropolitan region where the corners of Mississippi, Arkansas and Tennessee met, bisected by the twisting, muddy Mississippi River.

I had slept nearly a dozen hours.

After spending myself sexually in our voyeuristic, socially distanced self-pleasuring session Saturday afternoon, I had gone for a brisk walk, returned home and showered and sprawled on my sofa in my bathrobe and a beer to watch the St. Louis Cardinals beat the Washington Nationals. I was able to stay awake for two innings. I awoke at 1 o'clock, stumbled upstairs to my bed, stripped off my robe and fell, fully naked, into a deep sleep.

I was due to meet my two daughters for brunch at a trendy little bistro in suburban Olive Branch, Mississippi, in a few hours. Elizabeth and her husband had just moved to West Memphis, Arkansas and were expecting their first child -- my first grandchild -- in November. Susan, the oldest, had graduated from the University of Memphis and was finishing her second year in law school at Ole Miss, about a 70-minute drive to the southeast except on football game days when a drive to Oxford could take as long as three hours. She and her fiancé, a third-year Ole Miss law student, were sharing an apartment and were planning a wedding the following spring, after she got her law degree.

"Have you seen mom?" Susan asked me.

I shook my head. "Not a good idea right now. Best to let the lawyers get us through the next few weeks or months or however long it is."

The truth is I had no intention of seeing Candace, not even after

however long

. But I didn't say it. Once Beth and Susan became aware of the gravity of the adultery evidence against Candace, they stopped trying to persuade me to call off the separation and work things out. They still talked to their mom, but there was a clear chill in their relationship. Not something beyond repair, I hoped, but definitely something that would take time to heal.

"Well you look fit and chipper, Dad. What's up with you? You're not

out there

yet are you ... or aren't you?" Beth said..

"Oh no. One because I'm not in any shape for a relationship and I don't see me being ready any time soon. For another, it's not a good idea from a legal standpoint, and that's all I can say about that," I said.

It wasn't a total lie. I mean, a joint jacking-and-jilling session between two middle-age, empty-nested neighbors in their own homes separated by a distance of two car lengths isn't really a

relationship

, right? Yes, we saw each other's most intimate parts, and yes, we engaged in explicit masturbatory play, and yes, we got off at the same moment. But it wasn't really sex, at least not as it has come to be known since the presidency of Bill Clinton.

We sat and talked for nearly an hour after finishing our plates. And even though they were both now grown women on their own, I picked up the check and handed both daughters five twenty-dollar bills for gas and whatever else they needed over the next week.

I pointed my car west and drove to Tom Lee Park for a walk along the downtown Memphis riverfront. It was nearly 5 in the afternoon when I returned home. I cranked the mower and gave the lawn a quick trim. I was finishing up when Kim's Lexus pulled into her drive.

"Not fair, Gordo. You barely broke a sweat and your grass looks like carpet," she pouted.

"Well, I don't let mine get as tall as yours gets," I said. "I suppose I could help you with your back yard before I put my mower up if you ask real nice."

A seductive grin creased her face, and she arched an eyebrow.

"I'm sure I can make it worth your while," she purred.

She unlatched the gate leading to her back yard and let me and my mower in.

"Let me get out of these scrubs and I'll be right out to help," she said.

I had to raise the blade settings on my mower a couple of notches to keep the mower from choking out on the unmown half of the thick, tall fescue and clover that covered nearly a quarter of an acre behind her house. A good part of it was occupied by an expansive, three-tiered wooden deck that featured a hot tub at the highest level steps from her French doors, picnic table and gas grill on the second, and a propane-burning fire pit surrounded by reclining Adirondack chairs on the lowest level. Boxwoods trimmed to a height of nearly seven feet shielded her hot tub from view in two directions.

Complicated by the need to cut around a horseshoes pit and a hammock strung between two six-by-six treated timbers anchored in cement, I was almost finished by the time Kim emerged from her house wearing a Tennessee Titans football jersey that hung loosely all around her and fell nearly to her knees. Barefoot, she walked through the freshly cut crass with a long-neck Stella Artois in each hand. She handed one to me.

"Mighty nice of you Miz Rainey," I said. "Cheers."

"Well that's

one

of the things that comes with a job well done," she said, strutting toward her hammock. She sat sideways on it and began scooting her behind backward against the sturdy canvas. As she did, the hem of the blue Titans jersey rode upward, eventually revealing she wore nothing underneath. She didn't bother pushing it down to cover herself.

"You're killing me, Kim. Just killing me," I said, drawing a snort of laughter from her.

The corners of her mouth pulled into a sly grin.

"You do know other things come from a job well done," she said, dipping her free hand down toward her already moistening slit.

"This isn't safe, Kim. Not for either of us. It would take some doing, but it's not impossible for us to be seen out here in the open like this," I said. "Any of the neighbors could have seen me roll my mower through your gate and heard it running back here."

"So?" she said. "Nobody's forcing you to stay. But there's nothing says a girl can't enjoy herself in the privacy of her own backyard."

She had a point to a point. An unbroken eight-foot wooden privacy fence arose from the rear boundary of both properties. Beyond that was 20-acre public park ringed by a buffer of tall pines and underbrush that blocked our homes completely from the park's most heavily used public areas. From the street, a view of our backyards was obscured by a sprawling Magnolia about 30 feet high near the property line and a six-foot-tall fence and gates behind that. But between our two fenced-in back yards was only the four-foot-tall fence that was there mainly to restrain our dogs, though neither the Raineys nor I had owned a dog for a while. The side of my back yard opposite the Rainey property was sealed from view by a continuation of the eight-foot fencing and a thicket of dogwoods that was impermeable to a height of nearly 20 feet from spring through October every year. The back of Kim's property opposite mine was also girded by eight feet of fencing and a thick growth of Leyland Cypress trees that visually shut her off completely from nextdoor neighbors who were insufferable, condescending snobs.

But divorce lawyers and the sleazy gumshoes they employ can be devious and inventive. Tiny cameras can be placed nearly anywhere, Easton Masters had admonished me. While peeping inside a domicile is clearly a breach of privacy no judge would tolerate, nakedness outdoors in broad daylight visible from a public vantage point doesn't enjoy nearly the degree of privacy protection in court, particularly if it involves explicit sexuality in the presence of another person, whether they make physical contact or not.

"I think maybe I best keep a respectful distance, OK?" I said.

With my erection now plainly pressing against the zipper of my cargo pants, I turned and pushed my mower out the gate of Kim's back yard, into my backyard and into the utility shed in the rear corner of my lawn closest to hers.

Kim had remained in the hammock but had pulled herself fully into it. By the time I walked onto my raised deck, I had a clear, direct view of her crotch from a distance of maybe 45 feet. I took a careful, 360-degree look around to ensure I couldn't be easily seen. The sun was setting, and its dying orange rays crowned the park pines beyond our rear fences. Comfortable that I was visible only to Kim, I shed my shorts and shirt as she raised her jersey just over her tits.

My penis sprung to life as if it hadn't been touched in ages as I gazed at Kim, sliding her right hand up and down her slippery slit from her clit to her opening and back, and her left hand brought her nipples to rapt attention crowning their puffy aureoles.

Something about actually being outdoors added an element of erotic adventure to our symbiotic self-stimulation. While she was farther away than she had been the day before, I could still see clearly enough that the sweet, viscous secretions from her pussy had quickly covered her hands. Her smooth mound, lower abdomen and inner thighs were slick with it.

Kim began motioning to me with the hand that had been kneading her tits. "Closer," she rasped, "closer so I can see."

While I could see her clearly, the spindles supporting the top rail of my deck were interfering with her view of me. I stood, and she was waving me closer still. I stepped down a few steps from the top level of my deck, closing the distance between to about 25 feet.

"There," she said in a voice hoarse with lust, She dipped both hands into her soaked pussy and brought her left hand back, wet with her lubrication, to her nipples, tweaking and twirling them as her hips began rolling to their own primitive rhythm.

Her eyes were locked on my cock and my fist stroking it -- its head now covered in my own precum as it disappeared and reappeared into the fist of my right hand.

"Make it cum ... make it cum," she grunted, her right hand now a blur, diving two fingers deep into herself while the pad of her thumb pressured her clit.

Her words and the sight before me pulled the trigger deep behind my balls, my warning that a load of jizz was on its way. A low groan emerged from deep within me as my hips rocked forward involuntarily with such force that I almost lost my balance. I stilled my hand at the base of my erection and the first jet of semen leapt from me, in Kim's direction, before splattering on the smooth, bottom step of my deck steps.

My ejaculation instantly brought Kim with me. "Oh fuck, oh fuuuu ... ," she moaned as her hips seized, struggling upward and trembling in a powerful orgasm, her thighs now clamping tightly shut, trapping her fingers deep inside her pussy. Her nipples had gone from pink to nearly red, puffy and protruding. Between her breasts, jiggling with her climactic tremors, her skin flushed pink upward toward her neck before it disappeared beneath the jersey bunched around her neck. Her toes curled downward, as if her foot were trying to make a fist. Her eyelids fluttered, her head cocked backward and her mouth opened.

She let out a sharp, short yelp and her hips convulsed anew as a clear liquid gushed through her fingers and her legs once again swung open. She removed her hand and the last of her feminine ejaculate spewed onto the canvas hammock.

Kim's aftershocks continued for nearly a minute, culminating the most intense feminine climax I had ever seen. I stood frozen, afraid to blink, as the last of my milky cum drained from the tip of my slowly deflating penis, joining a considerable mess splattered on my bare feet and the steps below.

Finally, Kim's body went limp and she sunk deeply into the hammock, her legs splayed over either side and her arms crossed over her chest. Her breathing remained deep as it slowed. Her sleepy eyes opened and a satisfied smile spread across her flushed face. She raised her head and saw me standing there, my penis semi-tumescent and my right hand covered in jizz. She giggled.

"Now I've got to figure out how to wash a lady-cum stain out of a canvas hammock," she said. "I bet that's not something people Google every day."

With that she rocked herself out of the hammock, pulled down her Titans jersey, walked proudly across her newly mown grass and up her deck before flashing her magnificent ass at me once more, then disappearing behind her French doors.