Your Shower or Mine?

He stood there, the water running over his body and down through the wooden slates of the outdoor shower.

The body was young and black and athletic and sculpted. His cock hanging semi-hard out in front, him running his soapy hand along the length of it and then underneath to cup his balls. His eyes closed, faced turned up into the sun: toward me.

I had gotten a heads-up call two days earlier.

"Clair," my friend and the owner of the beach house next door said, told me, "A couple of the guys from Todd's swim team will be at the house this week. We'll be there next weekend. See you then."

She was an attorney in Charleston, not one to chat when there were clients, when there was money to be made. She was like a new 'big sister'.

Eli and I were summer time, weekend, residents; the new kids on the block, so to speak. He was back in The Up State, had patients scheduled all week. The two girls were at summer camp. I had a stack of books to read: the proverbial "beach books." South of Broad and so-forth.

Houses on our stretch of beach had only a dozen feet between them, they were all three floors high. Our widow's watch deck looked conveniently down onto the walled-in shower of the house next door, Ellie's house. Mostly, in the summer, beach goers washed off the sand at these outdoor showers - without removing bathing suits: mostly.

Ellie, when she wasn't in Charleston making money and when she knew I was the only one home on our side of the fence, was certainly prone to strip down. A damn fine body for a lady pushing fifty! Sometimes late of an evening her college age kids and their friends might share a mid-night shower, un-mindful of my night vision binoculars! They seemed to have other things on their minds. It was not unusual for me to see naked people in Ellie's shower.

His, my new 'neighbor', shower didn't last long enough. He shut off the water, ran the towel over his body with some degree of insouciance, walked into the house. His dangling cock swinging to and fro, bouncing off his muscled thighs. Left me with a wet and throbbing pussy.

Reading was no help. Pat Conroy hit the floor, even Melanie George didn't do it for me. Fabio, my usually reliable silver bullet, was scant help; left me wet and trembling, but not satisfied. I timed myself, could not stay away from the overlooking window for more than three minutes, checking to see if he, my new next door neighbor, had made another appearance.

Mid-afternoon: he materialized. The cold surface of an ice-filled glass of Ginger Ale ran along the insides of my naked thighs without my knowing that I was even doing it. I had not checked for maybe two minutes, went to the window and there he was: on the chaise, a stack of text books close at hand. The heat of the afternoon sun struck him directly between spread legs, warmed his crotch.

"Warmed mine too!" I said to myself. I think his intentions were better than his resolve. The books were cast aside. Strong hands with long fingers grasped and squeezed a turgid cock through the smooth fabric of his shorts.

"I can relate," I whispered to him. "I'm horny too!"

Binoculars in hand I headed out onto the widow's watch deck, looked directly down onto this fine specimen of a young male body. Sweat beads stood out like diamonds. The leisurely squeezing and relaxing of long fingers filled the field-of-view: the juncture of legs and torso. Strong black legs. The eyes were closed, when I checked. (Close as I was, the image I saw did not reach both face and cock/hands at the same time.) The lips were slightly pursed, showing the tip of tongue and incredibly white teeth. Wet had focused itself between my legs. The hand and long fingers that were the focus of my attention moved with more intensity.

"Oh, god! ... don't waste it!" I wanted to shout out. "I'll be right there."

But I didn't. Didn't go right there, didn't shout out. He wouldn't have heard me anyway. Sounds of the Buena Vista Social Club filled his space through the ear-phones. Without, it seemed, his hand making any overt move, the head of his cock appeared. The quintessential diamond at the very tip. A finger appeared, lifted the drop of nectar, moved to his mouth (my fixed stare through the glasses following the movement) to the tongue licking the finger. Sucking the finger into his mouth.

Then: he was looking directly at me! His brown eyes coming through the lens directly into mine.

"Meet me in the shower," the words formed on his lips. I couldn't hear them. I didn't need to. I knew what they said. "Meet me in the shower." His eyes looked directly at me.

There is no recollection, in the recesses of my mind, of me getting down three flights of stairs and across the space between the houses. It is just that suddenly I was there. He was in the shower, the water already running. Running down the hardness of his shoulders and torso, his mid-rift. Running over the cream colored silk running shorts, dripping off the head of his cock protruding from the leg on the left side.

He clutched the tail of my white cotton shirt just at front of my cunt, lifted it ... the buttoned tail of my shirt ... exposed the red hair that covered the slightly protruding mound.

"I never fucked a white woman," he said. "Todd told me you were a fox ... said you would be watching. We won't tell him I fucked you, fucked a white woman."

He did. He fucked me. With his black cock he fucked me. He sucked me, sucked my pussy. Stuck his tongue deep inside me and sucked on my pussy. He put fingers in my ass while he fucked me, rubbed the hardness of his cock in my cunt through the membrane that separated the two. He filled my mouth with cum, me unable to take all of his length.

"I never fucked an older woman," he said. "I always wanted to fuck an older woman."

We swam naked at mid-night. He licked my wet, dripping cunt on the beach. We danced to slow and old and dirty blues music that he had: us both with just a shirt on. His cock exposed between his legs, my pussy hair showing. He poured expensive red wine onto my belly, licked it out of my navel. We grilled breakfast outdoors, him wearing only a running singlet, my tits jiggling in the morning sunlight. Me not feeling especially old at forty-six!

I rode him like a cowgirl at her first rodeo. I sat on his face, watched him work his tongue the length of my pussy; starting at the hole of my ass, finishing the stroke at my clit ... sucking it in between his lips. Nip it with his teeth. I stroked his beautiful cock with my hands (it being too much to hold with just one!) all the while feeling his mouth on me, tasting the taste of me. I watched the first drop of cum appear at the tip, licked it with my tongue. I stuck my tongue deep inside his mouth. My upper lip was sore, him sucking on it in the midst of kisses.

Suddenly it was Friday. Ellie would be showing up for the weekend. Eli driving like a mad man to my doorstep: wanting to be fucked as soon as he finished his first glass of single malt Scotch whisky.

Me wanting the young black boy to fuck me, fuck my cunt.