"I hear she's a divorcee with a teen-age daughter," Mom hisses to one of her Love-Street friends in a voice dripping with disapproval.
My parents have owned a lakefront cottage in the Love Street development for as long as I can recall. I've spent countless carefree summers here, hanging out with friends and learning to swim and dive and waterski and even navigate the rocks and shoals of adolescence.
This summer, things are different. Life is no longer so carefree.
Yes, I've been accepted at the college of my dreams. But it's come with a stiff price. My first real love, Gretchen, is going to UCLA. I'll be 3,221 miles away in Cambridge, MA.
I am desperately in of need of a distraction.
So naturally, when a station wagon arrives next door a few days later, I race to offer my help. Tracey, the teenage daughter, returns my smile with a sullen scowl. Not so Tracey's Mom. In skinny jeans with shoulder-length hair and an inviting smile, her sexy vibe completely upstages the daughter.
Laura Wiggins, as she introduces herself, is genuinely pleased when I empty her car. "You must be a chef," I say, making idle conversation as I hoist the last box of cooking utensils onto the kitchen counter. Laura's tight-fitting outfit emphasizes a svelte figure and exposes every curve of her braless breasts. One look and my mojo starts rising.
Tracey rolls her eyes and vanishes into her room.
"Can I help you put any of this away?" I ask, tearing my eyes away from Laura's breasts to refocus on her face. Laura is doing a little visual inspection of her own as her gaze roams up and down my torso.
"Oh, thanks, Jason. I can handle that," she says, smiling flirtatiously with one eye brow raised as if she's perfectly aware of her innuendo. Especially as her gaze is focused on me somewhere below counter level.
"There is one favor," she adds in a more serious tone with a conspiratorial nod toward Tracey's room. "I guess it's obvious that Tracey isn't thrilled to be here instead of Philadelphia with her friends. Is there anything going on that she might be able to get involved in?"
As she speaks, Laura steps closer to me, casually placing her fingertips on my arm. I can make out the floral scent of her perfume, and for the first time I notice the tip of her tongue darting sensuously across full red lips as she speaks.
I can only think of a truly lame Church Youth Picnic that Tracey would utterly detest, but I offer to take her and introduce her around. Laura thanks me profusely and accompanies me to the door, holding my arm and planting a firm kiss on my cheek.
I leave feeling as if we've been friends forever.
Perhaps it's my late teen-age hormones, but there's something downright erotic about Laura Wiggins, especially the way she touches me with what almost feels like a lover's caress. In any event, I have plenty of time to fantasize about her, because I don't catch sight of Laura or Tracey for several days.
When I do, it's not at all in the way I was expecting.
I use the little unfinished attic of our cottage as my workout room. Usually, I exercise in the mornings when it's cooler. But sometimes, if I'm antsy or just plain bored, I go upstairs at night to lift weights for an hour or two. Which is what I'm doing when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement in the upstairs window of the Wiggins' cottage.
Is Tracey trying to spy on me from an empty bedroom? I try looking without being obvious about it, but the room is too dark. Then I remember that the crawl space has a vent that overlooks the Wiggins' cottage.
Sure enough, as I peer through the louvers, I see an indistinct figure standing well back from the bedroom window and gazing intently toward my workout room. As my eyes grow more accustomed to the low light, I realized it isn't Tracey at all, but Tracey's mom who is watching from the darkness.
I feel an immediate surge of sexual excitement accompanied by a familiar tingling. I'd recently been introduced to the world of female sexuality, and know that it isn't just teenage boys who get horny as hell. Was Tracey's Mom appreciating my physique? Or something more? Could she be masturbating in the darkness as she watches me work out? I can't see clearly enough to tell for sure, but I don't doubt it for an instant.
That though creeps my out for, like, 10 seconds. Then my arousal returns with a vengeance. The idea that watching me could help Laura get off is simultaneously flattering and stimulating. Even if she isn't playing with herself, there's always the possibility that she will.
I consider walking back into the room and gesturing at my now rock-hard cock and mouthing the words, "I'll show you show mine, if show you show me yours."
But if Gretchen has taught me anything, it's the wonders of sensuality. So I return to my workout as if nothing has happened, even though my heart is pounding with excitement. To conceal the fact that my gym shorts are now fully tented, I do five reps of chin-ups facing away from the window. The exertion soaks my shirt with sweat, but takes some of the pressure off the front of my shorts.
After two sets of squats, I slip the shirt off, and sit down to do bench presses. There's another flicker of movement next door, this time closer to the window. I launch into a new workout routine and between my excitement and the humid night air, my legs and torso are soon shiny with sweat.
It's time to up the ante.
Standing up, I face the window and pause without looking directly at where I think Laura is standing. My hands are shaking with excitement as I hook my thumbs under the waist of my gym shorts and gradually lower them to the ground. My cotton briefs aren't especially revealing, but they leave no doubt of my aroused state. I pick up my towel and slowly wipe the sweat from my nearly naked body.
Then, for the first time, I looked directly toward Laura. Is she still there? Has she moved back into the deep shadows? Or has she left the room completely?
I haven't been this desperately aroused since the first time Gretchen and I stripped naked for each other at the start of our relationship. My month is dry, my pulse is racing, and it seems as if every ounce of blood in my body is rushing to my cock. At least there is no more pretending. Laura has to know that I'm aware that she's watching.
I hang the towel around my neck and with trembling fingers, slide my briefs down in a slow strip tease. I takes maybe 15 seconds to reveal the white band of skin across my abs, and another fifteen for the first tufts of dark pubic hair to come fully into view. In a single gesture, I push the briefs past my cock and balls and on down my legs until I'm naked.
