Brad stepped out from the bathroom, drying lightly his hair with the towel in his hand. He was, aside from the towel fluffing back and forth on his head, naked as he walked towards his bedroom. The house was empty that night, with both parents out for date night, a tradition they kept every Friday without fail. Brad also had a younger sister by three years, but she was going to be spending the night at her friend's home, another tradition for Friday nights.
In this way, Brad had become quite used to having the place to himself, though he was often too busy in his fourth year of university to manage anything too wild. Walking into his room, Brad heard his phone vibrating on his desk. Tossing the towel onto the bed, Brad walked over to read the message from Mike, one of his oldest friends. It was nothing urgent or of any importance. Most of the time they simply sent jokes or new forum postings from one of the many games they played online, and it was a welcome distraction during the busy days of work and learning.
Before Brad could see what Mike had sent him, his attention was pulled away by an unexpected noise from outside. Brad glanced out the window by his desk, which faced the backyard, and also provided a significant view of the yard belonging to the neighbors, the Roberts. There was a decently sized pool and two patio chairs next to it, where Brad had at times been fortunate enough to catch glimpses of Mrs. Roberts sunbathing.
Mrs. Roberts was a little older than his mother, and had a daughter only a couple of years older than Brad. She kept in shape with yoga, having run into her at the a nearby gym, and she swam often. Though short at 5'4, she had a shapely body with great curves, and over the years Brad had come to love sneaking a peak at her if she lay out in the sun, however infrequent those voyeur sessions were.
The noise had come from the patio doors leading from the home to the pool area. Brad watched as the familiar small feet of Mrs, Roberts came into view. And then -
Brad found himself nearly choking on the air.
Mrs. Roberts walked out, graceful as always, carrying a pitcher in one hand and a glass in the other. What stood out now was the skimpiest string bikini Brad had ever seen in his life. It was red, or at least, the little bits of fabric were red. The material strained and barely covered any of her breasts, which were large and perkier than other women her age. Brad watched, eyes wide, as Mrs. Roberts swayed her hips with each step, pausing to set the pitcher and glass down on one of the patio chairs, and then turning to bring the second closer to the first. As she did, Brad saw that the bottoms were actually a thong, with hardly any fabric separating those lovely, well toned cheeks.
Without having noticed, Brad had brought his hand down to his cock, slowly stroking back and forth, finding himself rock hard in a matter of moments. He watched as Mrs. Roberts poured herself a tall glass of whatever the drink was, it looked like a blended margarita mix, and down half of it all in one go. She topped off the glass once more, and then sat back on the patio chair to take in the sun, sipping often at her drink.
Brad stood, hardly moving a muscle but maintaining his rhythmic stroking. He thought about speeding up, about giving himself a quick release and then getting to work on his assignments. But another part of him flatly rejected any rational thought. The other part of him seemed to repeat itself in his mind over, and over again:
Mom and Dad are out for the evening, they never come early. Little sister is out until tomorrow, maybe even Sunday. Mrs. Roberts has always let him use the pool to swim laps in years past. It would be totally normal for him to go down and take a swim. The worst she could say was no, and then I'd come back and get to work.
These were the ideas that ran through his mind, over and over and over again. It was not that he doubted himself in these points, for they were all true. It was that he was truly, absolutely, terrified and shy about actually going down there. He found himself running circles in his mind, playing out how he could get down there in as nonchalant a way as possible.
Mrs. Roberts meanwhile, has finished her drink and poured herself another. The pitcher looked nearly empty, and it came to Brad that if he chose to do nothing, then that would be it. He would go to work and forget about this opportunity. Yet, if he stayed here and continued to be scared, a chance at...who knew what exactly, would slip through his fingers.
In that moment he decided, walking to his dresser and searching for his swimwear. He did not have any sort of trunks that one would wear to the beach, but instead donned a tighter fitting pair meant for swimming laps, which he often did at the college pool. Brad strode out of his room and down the stairs, pacing around the kitchen while his erection died down, finally he found it possible to slip it down in the trunks without much trouble, noticeable, but not as obvious.
Brad stepped towards the patio doors, took a deep breath, and said, "One, two, three - Fuck it!"
The door slid open, and Brad stepped out. For him, there was no going back once those words had been uttered. It was a silly phrase he and Mike used often since childhood, but it held true in its meaning. Once spoken, they had to complete whatever task they set out to do. In truth, the phrase often worked to Brad's advantage in many aspects of life, helping cast aside the mental block that so often left his friends paralyzed with fear of something so simple.
This was nothing particularly simple, Brad thought as he made his way towards the gate that separates the two yards, but his hormones were seemingly in complete control of the situation. Reaching up to the clasp, he pulled softly, but made sure to pull hard enough so as to announce his presence at the gate. He swung it open and walked in casually, as he had done so many times before with his sister or parents, but this time, alone.
Mrs. Roberts turned and gazed at Brad as he strode in. She smiled, and Brad waved.
