"C'mon in, Nancy," I said as I opened the door. It was our neighbor. We share what is romantically called a "townhouse" by the new neighborhood residents, but to those of us who have been here for many, many years, it is a "twin" or a "double" in the west end of our city. It is only lately that the transplanted "yuppies" of the 1980's have been giving these old homes new lives and, I guess, appropriately enough, new names.
Nancy and Mike have lived next door to us for about ten years now. They are an apparently happily married couple with three children – Lauren, 12 their natural child, Richie, 9 and Kayla, 5 both bi-racial adopted children. They are perfect neighbors for an older couple – quiet but very friendly and always willing to help out with anything. Mike is an insurance salesman who still hits the road for long days. Nancy is a stay-at-home mom who dotes on her house and her children and has done a very nice job with them, both my wife and I agree. Nancy actually grew up in the house next door and when her parents passed on in an accident a bunch of years ago, she and Mike inherited the house. So, the entire neighborhood was already familiar with her, and I'd known her through childhood, puberty and those terrible teen years.
They are church-going Catholics who send their children to local parochial schools and who apparently adhere to all the tenets of Catholic family life. So, it was a bit of a surprise when Nancy showed up on my doorstep that early Sunday morning at a time when they are usually at Mass. (I am sort of a lapsed Methodist, and while my wife continues to attend church and is involved in seemingly dozens of meetings, committees, circles and share groups, I putter around the house on Sunday mornings doing those things I didn't seem to find time to do during the week.) My wife and I are retired and semi-retired. That is, I am a fully retired educator and only put in a few hours each week at the local community college, helping out an old friend who is now the president of the college. My wife is a half-time secretary at the church. I tell the reader these things to set the stage for the tale I am about to relate.
Nancy walked in and looked around. Though we are good neighbors and good friends, I realized as she looked over the living room/dining room combination, that she and Mike have really only been in our house once before. We just don't travel in the same social circles – big difference in ages, I suppose. She commented on the fireplace with the built-in bookcases on either side, and other items in our house that were different from hers even though the other half of the double is a mirror copy of ours. I could see she had something on her mind and offered her coffee. She accepted, and as I poured I asked her what she needed. Help with something heavy? Something from our kitchen? I asked where Mike and the kids were and she told me that Mike had taken the children to his mother's church this morning. She was not much for his mother and decided she had a very bad headache and could not attend. They would most likely spend the entire day with his parents and not get home until evening.
She said she just wanted to talk a minute, then asked a very strange question. Did I think my wife would mind if I showed her the upstairs of the house? I chuckled a bit and told her that if my wife found out I had a beautiful young woman upstairs in our bedroom, she'd call the local mental hospital and have me committed because I would be certifiably insane. Nancy laughed a small laugh and moved as if to leave the table. I took her cue and led her back into the dining room and up the stairs to our bedroom. She looked in and just sort of hmmm-ed and then asked what we used the front bedroom for. I walked her down the hall, past the bathroom and the extra bedroom we use for our grandchildren when they come to visit, and into the front room, which we have converted into sort of a computer-room/den/office/exercise room. It is large, light and open and it is a great place to do any of the former activities.
"Ahhhhh," she exclaimed. "Now I understand." She was looking at my bike on the stationary trainer in the corner of the room next to the wall that separates this room from her house. "Does that make a noise when you ride it?" I told her it did, and asked why. "Well, my daughter has been complaining of something humming 'in the walls' in the evening when she is doing her homework. They could not figure out what it was and she thought she would ask to see our room to see if we had some sort of machinery against the wall.
I asked if she wanted to try out the bike and see for herself. She agreed, and said she always wanted to get one of these to put her bike on for the winter months when she didn't ride outside, but wasn't sure if it would be worth it. I told her that it was certainly worth it and I kept this bike on the trainer year-round so I could get some exercise even when I was too lazy to go any distance. She made a move as if to mount the bike, but it was so high off the ground, she had to climb onto the pedal first and swing her leg over the saddle to get on. It was apparent she was not going to be able to do that as she was wearing a short denim skirt that didn't allow for much leg-lifting. I was just about to say that she could try it some other time when she was dressed properly, but she surprised me by loosening the tie in the back of the skirt – it turned out it was a wrap-around sort of thing – which gave her greater ease with her legs.
She climbed up, flipped her leg behind her and sat on the saddle, turning the pedals at some deliberate speed. The hum immediately filled the room. I never realized that the bike made this much noise because I usually wore a headset connected to the stereo nearby so I could set up a rhythm to my riding. The bike was an old off-road model with a knobby back tire and it made a huge humming noise when it rolled on the base rotor.
She seemed to be having a good time and began to perspire just a bit. I asked her if she wanted to get in a workout while she was here, but she said she didn't have time. She continued pedaling and told me she loved to ride but just didn't get enough time to do it with Mike's long days. She didn't like to leave the kids alone. I told her she could come over here and ride my trainer anytime she wanted to and the kids would be just next-door. She beamed at the idea, speeded up, and I could not help but catch a glimpse of well-muscled thighs and pink panties under the short skirt as she slowed her pedaling.
Nancy obviously saw me look and giggled a bit. "What are you looking at, Ed? This isn't the outfit I would normally ride in, you know." I told her I would just love to see her in Spandex shorts, but it might overtax my aged heart. She laughed out loud and said she thought I was flirting with her. I told her that, yes, I was; but at my age I had forgotten why. She laughed again and told me she was sure that was not true and that I was probably chasing the young coeds at the college all around the campus. I said, yes, I was, but by the time I caught them I was never sure why I had been chasing them in the first place.
We had another laugh and she moved to dismount. Now, this was a challenge and she did not have exactly 100% success. When she moved to get off the saddle, her skirt caught and she wound up standing beside the bike with her skirt pulled up to her waist, giving me an absolutely riveting view of beautiful legs and high-cut pink panties. What surprised me most, though, was that she didn't immediately shriek and pull at her skirt. Instead, she turned toward the bike, which only served to pull the skirt apart in the back and give me a view of the cutest little ass I have seen in so many years I cannot remember.
Let me give you a quick overview of what was in the room with me. Nancy is tiny. Perhaps only 5' 3" tall. Very small, maybe 105 pounds. Blonde (I would think natural, since I remember her as being blonde as a young girl). Very slender. And the tiniest set of breasts I've ever seen on a grown woman. I am not much for bra sizes, but I would guess that she was no more than a 32 or 34 A-cup, I think that is how they are measured. But with all the exercise she does – running and riding – her legs are magnificently proportioned and well muscled. She is certainly a well-kept lady.
Well, here I am, at 60+ years with a 33-year-old, adorable ass staring me in the face. What's a man to do? I whistled. Yep, childish though it may seem, I whistled, as I would have when I was 16 or so. Nancy laughed and managed to loosen her skirt enough to get it off the saddle and nearly back into proper position. "Like what you see, you dirty old man?" she laughed.
"Absolutely! But I will probably have to get new batteries for my pacemaker," I joked back.
