"Hi, Mike!" June sang out, as the car cruised to a halt on the driveway, adjacent to where Mike was cutting the grass on his front lawn.
"Hi, June," replied Mike, cutting the mower and ambling over to his neighbour's drive. June was getting out as he said – "How's things?"
"Oh, fine," she replied, with a friendly smile. The two couples – June and Gordon, and Mike and Mary – had been neighbours for close on twenty-five years, and had the ideal 'neighbour' relationship. A very occasional social get-together – invitations to each other's childrens' weddings – a drink at Christmas – and. otherwise, just the occasional amiable chat when they happened to be outside the house at the same time – like now.
"Did I hear the grandchildren yesterday?" asked Mike.
"Yes – the kids came over for Fathers Day," grinned June. "I think Gordon stopped feeling grateful about four o'clock."
Mike grinned in return. "We descended on them – on Saturday – got it over early, and it finished in our time. We left when we'd had enough ...... didn't have to wait for them to decide to go. Sounds awful, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said June, opening the boot of the car, to get her shopping out. "Still, we've all done our bit on the child-rearing front – why shouldn't we have a bit of peace and quiet when we want it?"
"Mmmm," agreed Mike, casting his eye around the empty road. "Remember when the road was full of bikes, and footballs?"
June straightened up, two plastic bags dangling from either hand.
"Oh, yes," she sighed. "They were good times, weren't they? And now – you're retired! How are you enjoying it?"
"Oh, it's pretty good," said Mike. "I can take it a bit easier – get things done in less of a rush, in the house, and the garden."
"And how long has Mary to go?"
"Over a year, still," he replied.
June carried the bags to the front door and took them inside the house. Mike lit a cigarette, watching her as she walked. For a woman in her mid-fifties, she still has a nice tight bum, he thought, and she can still get away with wearing blue denim jeans.
She came out again.
"Gordon's had to go to Leicester today," she said. "He's trying to ease off, too, but it's difficult, with your own business. Still, he'll be packing it up altogether, at Christmas, and handing it over to Simon."
She was leaning into the boot, again, from the other side, this time. The top of her white t-shirt dropped, revealing the valley between her breasts, as well as her white brassiere. Automatically, Mike glanced away, feeling a bit of a hypocrite, as he did so.
Two days previously, he had been upstairs when June had been doing a bit of weeding in her front garden. She had been crouched forward over a flowerbed, and her t-shirt had gaped then, too. He hadn't looked away, then – he had got as close to the window as he could, and enjoyed the view. He fancied he had even seen one of her nipples, but his eyesight wasn't sharp enough for him to be sure ......
She was still bent over when he returned his gaze. They were quite firm-looking, he thought, and he felt a stirring ...... She straightened up and smiled at him as she set off to the house again. Mike had never thought much about June – in 'that' way, before – she had been very slim, almost skinny, when Mike and Mary had moved in, but, with age, she had put on a little weight - in the right places - and it suited her ......
There were still two or three bags in the boot. He drew on his cigarette. His mouth was getting a little dry, and he could feel a tension going through him.
She came out again. He wondered if she sensed he had been looking at her, but she just smiled and leant over again.
"That's a nice top, June," Mike said, suddenly. He amazed himself. He didn't know where that had come from ......
She lifted her head, looking puzzled, then glanced downwards to remind herself what she was wearing ......
"Ohhh," she said, then – "Sorry. I – I didn't realise ......"
"Christ," he thought. She's apologising – to me! His face was turning red with embarrassment. He didn't know what had possessed him to say what he had said.
She was still leaning into the boot, but her left hand was holding the top of her t-shirt up against her chest.
"No!" Mike blurted, in confusion. "No – I'm sorry. I – I ......"
His voice trailed away, then he said – "No – don't – cover up, June."
But she kept her hand where it was. She let the bags she had gathered drop to the floor of the boot, and slowly straightened up. She looked at him, a puzzled frown on her face.
He took a deep breath – in for a penny, in for a pound!
"I suppose what I meant was – I enjoyed seeing your breasts. I'm sorry – I know I shouldn't have said it, but, you have lovely breasts and – well, it was nice to get a glimpse of them, like that."
June let out a deep breath, her face turning a little pink. Her short fair hair, streaked with natural grey, surrounded an averagely attractive face with green eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose and a wide mouth.
"After all this time?" she said.
Mike shrugged, helplessly. He knew he was out of his depth.
"Well, I've always – sort of – admired you, but – we're neighbours. I don't know what made me say something, then, but ...... well, the hell with it ...... I said, it, anyway."
It wasn't until she lowered her arms that he realised that they had been folded over her chest since she had stood up.
"I – I don't know what to say," June replied, in a low voice. "Maybe it should be – 'thank you' – I suppose it's a sort of – compliment."
"Well, it was meant that way," Mike said, almost defiantly. "I mean, it's OK if I say your hair's nice, isn't it?"
She smiled at him. "Yes, of course – I know what you mean ......" She chuckled a little, and he took his courage in both hands.
"So – it's not an insult to tell you you've got nice tits, then?"
Her face flamed. In her confusion, she leaned forward into the boot again, to break their stare at each other – to give her something to do. Halfway down, she realised what she was doing, and jerked back up again.
"Look," said Mike. "I'm really sorry – let me get the rest of your stuff out."
He leant in and picked up the bags. When his head emerged, June was halfway to her front door, and, automatically, he followed her, carrying the five bags. She hurried through the house to the kitchen, at the back, and he followed on, laying the bags on the kitchen table.
"Look, I'm sorry, June," he said. "I'm right out of order – just try to forget I ever said anything. I really value you and Gordon as our neighbours – can we just ......"
But her hand was waving in the air, in front of her face, her head shaking.
"Mike," she said. "Just – just give me a minute. I know it sounds corny, but this is very – unexpected. But – but – well, I'm not saying it's entirely – unwelcome."
"No," she went on hurriedly, as Mike began to speak. "Just – let me – let me – finish."
She turned away, looking out of the kitchen window. She spoke very quietly, and Mike had to strain, to hear her.
"It was when you called them 'tits'," she said. "'Breasts' are one thing – respectable – for feeding babies, and finding bras to fit. 'Tits' are different – they're sexy – sexual. It's a long – long – time since mine were called 'tits' – and – and – I liked it ……"
She was gripping the edge of the kitchen sink with her hands, staring, fixedly out of the window.
Mike felt the tension rise in him. Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he stepped forward. She had to be aware of his presence behind her. He could see her knuckles were white, where she was holding the porcelain. He raised his hands, sliding them between her arms and her body. Opening them, he turned them to face her, and closed them over the twin mounds in her t-shirt.
She let out a small sigh, and her hands relaxed.
Mike moved his mouth to the back of her neck, and nuzzled it with his lips. She leant back, a few millimetres, into the front of his body.
"OK if I give your tits a feel, then, June?" he whispered, and felt her laugh, nervously, then her hands came up and closed over his, squeezing them. He pushed his erection against her, and felt an answering wriggle.
He found the bottom of her t-shirt and lifted it. Her hands helped him, took it away from him, and she pulled it over her head. He felt for her tits, again. Her bra was of some thin material – he could feel the shape of her nipples through it. As he ran the tips of his fingers over them, she twisted her head and kissed him, hungrily, on the mouth.
He plunged his tongue between her lips, his fingers working at the catches on her brassiere. As the last one gave, she broke off the kiss and giggled.
"It's a long time since someone else undid my bra for me," she whispered, then pushed her head into his chest as he pushed the cups away, and her naked breasts fell free.
They felt firm and ripe in his hands, her nipples thick and turgid. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, and felt her shudder – then her hand snaked down over the front of his trousers, closing over the shape of his engorged penis.
