Prologue
I want to express that this is in fact a love story, or rather, a story of unconventional and unlikely love, which I attest happened purely coincidentally, by way of my own curiosity and a sense of indiscriminate compassion.
I met Kim shortly after the construction of my house began four summers ago; I bought the tract of land adjacent to her own, which, unbeknownst to me at the time, was less than a quarter-mile away through a cluster of dense woods.
She had walked through the woods one day just after the foundation had been erected and the basement's concrete floor had been poured. I can still vividly remember her walking out from the path through the trees, wearing skinny black capri pants and a white tee shirt. I could tell she was a classy woman from that very first glance; she walked and conversed with a sense of timeless elegance. She was polite and seemed genuine, and simply talking to her was a pleasure. She was smoking hot, too.
We became fast friends, and she soon introduced me to her husband Rick, and their three teenage daughters. Over the next three years, we had dinners and brunch and backyard cookouts together; we shared everything from bottles of wine to larger house projects that would have been a real challenge for either party to do independently. We were all the epitome of what good neighbors should be.
And then, Rick began working more and more hours, and their relationship grew sour. Kim had accused him of having an affair with a coworker on a few educated hunches, and when he didn't deny the ugly allegation, she hired a lawyer and made preparations for a divorce filing. She never went through with it though. At least not at that point. Much to my discourse, she accepted his apology and effectively took him back. And then, just weeks later, I would stop over to borrow the pressure washer or help mow their massive lawn, and there was clear and unmistakable tension between them. Odd things piqued my curiosity; a broken window, fragments of shattered dishware in corners of the kitchen; the beautiful handmade china cabinet in their dining room had disappeared without a trace.
All the clues piled up until they amassed an undisputable mountain of hostility, pain and embarrassment.
I always felt so bad for Kim, but even moreso for her daughters. Their family had crumbled before them.
*****
Chapter One
11:30 A.M. on a Saturday
I lay motionless on a tattered canvas blanket in the middle of the woods, breathing softly. I readjusted my arm and peered through the rifle's scope; its reticle settled just below my target some seventy or more yards ahead- a row of three skinny ballpoint pens, stuck firmly into the dirt. I brought the reticle up slowly.
Focus on your breathing.
I exhaled briefly and gently squeezed the .22's trigger. The tamed crack of the small cartridge resounded through the forest and the first pen was cut cleanly in half.
Nice.
Cycled the bolt, took careful aim, squeezed off another shot. The second pen disappeared completely, uprooted from the earth; leaving a small, barely visible cloud of dirt in its wake. I cycled the action again, inhaled cooly- and then my concentration was interrupted by a thought, or rather a memory- a conversation I'd had a few days earlier, with my good friend and neighbor, Kim.
"You seem like you aren't all that happy anymore. Maybe it's not my place to say so, but...I worry about your happiness," I'd told her over a cup of coffee.
"Oh...well that's sweet of you. I'm really okay."
I remembered how I had seen clearly through her feeble attempt at a lie.
"It's easy to shrug it off," I told her in a stroke of brilliance, or perhaps just eloquence. "Pretending like it doesn't bother you, or sweeping your feelings under the rug- it's the easy thing to do. But being honest with yourself, actually making an effort to at least
talk
about what's bothering you- well it isn't easy, but it is the right thing to do. It will help you," I offered, genuinely concerned.
"Yeah. You're right. I mean, I guess mostly I'm just...lonely? You know? I miss the attention. I miss the excitement, and even just the companionship." She was silent then, staring at the kitchen floor. I could tell she wanted to cry.
And in remembering, I felt somewhat ashamed, realizing I had effectively left her by herself this morning to venture off into the woods, for no particular reason aside from the pursuit of my own peace and happiness.
How selfish of me.
I sighed, put my rifle down on the blanket and pushed myself up onto my knees. The woods were absolutely beautiful this time of year- the trees were full with thick, lush dark green foliage, the grass was fresh and short, and flowers were springing out of the ground everywhere.
The cleared path I had set myself up in was comfortably wide, about fifteen feet or so, and though it curved and swung back upon itself in various places, the length of the trail was well over three hundred yards. It was easy to get lost in those woods, to lose track of time when surrounded by only the sounds of birds and rabbits and gentle breezes rustling the tree branches.
Admittedly, I was a little disappointed as I packed my gear into a weathered backpack and folded up the blanket. I had wanted to spend more time shooting.
Oh well.
I began the short walk back to the house, stepping through scattered patches of sunlight that fell warmly on my back.
In less than ten minutes I was back at the garage, dropping my gear right inside the door, kicking my shoes off, and stepping into the kitchen.
Kim's house was beautiful, but I had always found it eerily quiet. Something in the floors and walls, whether hardwood, thicker drywall or good insulation just seemed to muffle the majority of everyday noise.
"Kim?" I called loudly in the direction of the staircase to the second floor. No answer.
After getting a glass of water and shedding my hoodie, I went up the stairs.
I found her in her bedroom, lying face down on the neatly made bed. An empty wine bottle and a stemless glass with less than a mouthful of Riesling in it were on the night stand.
"Kim?" I queried again, in a much lower voice. She didn't move.
I paced to the bed softly, and sat down on the mattress alongside her outstretched knee.
I ran a hand over the fabric of her yoga pants, massaging her calf. Still, she lay motionless. I could see however, to my relief, that she was breathing. I would be lying if I said that dark thought hadn't darted into my mind, if even for only a second.
She really was a beautiful creature. Long dirty blonde hair, tanned smooth skin, about five feet and nine inches tall, and a body that in my own opinion, was for lack of a better word, perfect. Her face was less round and more elliptical, and adorned by subtle freckles that were largely camouflaged by her dark complexion and only evident when one was intimately close to her. This was a feature she had transferred to all three of her daughters. Kim wasn't overly skinny, but rather had an average composition; her stomach was pretty slim, her thighs slightly thicker, or voluptuous, in a word. Her breasts were fairly large on her petite shoulders and her butt pleasantly curvy. Any of my friends would have called her a 'milf' in a heartbeat.
In spite of my relative attraction to her, she did admittedly have a few reservations as to her appearance and weight, and exercised religiously to ignore those perceptions. I had tried several times to tell her she was gorgeous, but compliments seemed to always get brushed off with a forced smile, no matter how sincere they were.
Presently, I noticed I was still rubbing her leg and I quickly pulled my hand away. She wasn't normally much of a drinker. I imagined the bottle on her nightstand had been at least half full when she took it from the fridge. Still, she was snoring loudly enough.
Kim had been through a hellish divorce in the previous year; she had been effectively abandoned, both in an emotional and a physical capacity. Her husband of twenty-six years packed a few things, saying he was going to live with a friend. He was back to their former home a handful of times, but only to gather belongings; never to talk or discuss or apologize or even blame.
I had watched firsthand while this woman began a steady but very slow unraveling- at first manifested in very minor changes in routines, but later, and more blatantly, a different demeanor and attitude altogether. She didn't seem to care about her looks as much, or the car she drove to work. Even her coworkers had approached her daughters, neighbors and myself, out of the blue no less, to inquire about her not-so-subtle depression.
That's a very hard thing to watch, someone coming apart at the seams. Someone you love, at that.
I shrugged at that moment, physically shrugged. I felt helpless in her midst. Completely useless. It was a familiar feeling- I had tried several things, and numerous times to cheer her up or distract her. But I knew she spent most of her time alone wondering where she had gone wrong; what she had done to deserve the treatment she got. I was so very sad for her.
As I shrugged, I rose from the bed to grab the folded blanket at her feet, and I carefully pulled it out to cover her with. But before I let it down on top of her, I hesitated for a brief moment and quickly found myself staring at her rump.
Something in my mind snapped, or clicked; I had a sudden urge to touch her. A primal need to grab her ass and squeeze it, pinch it, smack it.
I maintain to this day that yoga pants are one of man's greatest inventions. And I was sure at this moment, that they were made for her ass. I really couldn't help myself. Still holding the blanket up, I reached one hand out, inching it slowly toward her beautifully round, perfectly symmetrical, thick, firm butt. She wouldn't know, she was passed out, probably drunk. I could grab a cheek and play with it a little. My mind quickly darted into various fantasies involving her beautiful backside.
Luckily, whatever had been triggered in my head quickly subsided, much like a summer evening thunderstorm, and as I gained back my clarity, I realized that taking advantage of her would have been an unquestionably horrible thing to do, no matter how monumental or vastly insignificant the act would have been. She deserved better than that.
I took one more split second to admire her curvy figure and hurriedly draped the blanket over her, tucking it in around her sides. She shimmied in her sleep, rolling her head away from me, and then she was still again.
I grabbed the empty bottle and glass and left her room, quietly shutting the door behind me.
