Story: Sweets to the Sweet
Sweets to the sweet
The problem with looking at a cake shaped like a pair of tits, Eric thought, was that he kept expecting a cake shaped like a pair of eyes right above it, glaring at him.
Instead Valerie stepped up to the counter right behind the cake to create a mildly obscene scene. “See anything you like?” she asked, smiling.
“You do that every time, you know. Is it true to life?”
“I’m yummy, fluffy, and low carb,” Valerie declared, pushing her chest out and posing. “And I melt in your mouth!” She moved away from the cake to lean on the counter. “So, you found a good anniversary present for Maddy yet?”
“No, and I’m getting desperate.”
“And you’ve come to me!” said Valerie, laughing. “I knew you’d come to your senses. How about a Fetish Delight?”
Eric always felt vaguely naughty just standing in Valerie’s Temptations. Somewhere deep inside he knew that bakeries were supposed to be wholesome places, run by fat and floury women or big hefty guys with those puffy white hats. Instead Valerie looked like a beer commercial girl surrounded by giant iced breasts, fully erect éclairs, and low-fat vulvas baked fresh every morning.
She did great business, though, as much as his used bookstore did across the street. Sometimes, when things were slow, he’d come over just to watch the parade of people grab their plainly-wrapped desserts and hightail out for a bachelor’s party, bridal shower, or office birthday party.
“No!” he said, trying not to look at the violent-looking confection. “I mean, she’s not into baked goods. She likes chocolate.”
“Of course she does,” Valerie said. “It’s a DNA thing, it’s what keeps us from slaughtering all the men in the world. What kind does she like the most?”
“The most? Easter bunnies, of all things. Bites the heads right off ‘em.” His eyes lit up at the memory. “She’ll stick one in the ‘fridge to nibble on for a week, and the others we…” He trailed off, flustered.
“Use?” Valerie suggested evilly.
Eric felt the heat rising from his face. “Um, yeah. They melt real quick, you know, and then you have to, uh, lick–”
“Oh, I know, honey. So, she likes chocolate for food *and* fun?” Eric nodded. “I’ve got just the thing,” she said. She disappeared into the back room and came back with a long narrow box. “Check this out.”
It was surprisingly heavy. Eric opened it to see a penis to be proud of, complete with flared head and the suggestion of veins, all sculpted in rich milk chocolate. “You’re making chocolate dicks?”
“If God was female, She’d have done it first. I just bought the mold kits yesterday. Think Maddy’d like one?”
“It beats the bunnies all to hell. Kinda impersonal for an anniversary present, though.” Eric handed the box back. “I’d need one that looked like, you know, me.”
Valerie stared at him for a long moment. “We could make one.”
Hours later Eric found himself trying to get a hard-on in the back room of the bakery while Valerie stood in front of him, waiting patiently and holding a long tube full of goop.
“That stuff turns me on much less than you’d expect,” he gasped.
“Hey, I warmed it up first.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Eric grunted, desperately trying to rub his floppy cock into some semblance of stiffness.
“Hell, yeah,” she said, laughing. “Now c’mon. You got potential, but so far you ain’t gonna use up much chocolate.” Her expression softened when she saw his frustration. “Look, you’re trying too hard, babe. Just relax. Close your eyes, let it happen. We got all night.”
Eric closed his eyes and tried to think horny thoughts, but now all he could think of was how stupid he must look with his pants around his ankles. He jumped when he heard Valerie’s voice, right next to his ear.
“Just keep your eyes closed, and think about your lady,” she said, low and sensual, right into his ear. The sensation was a red hot surge to his groin. “Think about chocolate dripping over her nipples,” she breathed, “oozing down into her pussy, and think about licking it up, thick and sweet and tasting like her…”
Eric moaned, deep in his throat. “Ooh, that’s it,” Valerie whispered. Every word sent another pulse through his body. “Yeah, come to mama, big boy.” Suddenly something warm and wet engulfed his cock all the way to his stomach. He cried out in joy and shock and looked down to see Valerie holding the tube tight against his body. “Gotcha,” she said happily.
The goop swirled around him, yielding and slippery, like he was fucking a meringue. It’s for Maddy, he thought frantically, and as the goop slowly hardened Eric concentrated as hard as he could on what she’d do with her present…
Two days later Eric stumbled into the shop. “Hey!” Valerie called. “How’d it go?”
“Just great,” he mumbled.
“I guess so! You been fucking all this time? You look like she rode you through three counties, boy.”
He shook his head loosely. “No, we didn’t have sex at all. I gave it to her and left.”
Valerie slammed the register shut and hurried over. “What? She didn’t like it?”
“Oh, she loved it, said it looked just like me. She started licking it all over, rubbing it over her face, squeezing it between her breasts, she was really getting off on it. So was I, I was so hard I was ready to jump her right there.” Eric rubbed his hands over his face.
“Whoo!” said Valerie, fanning herself. “There’s a woman who loves her sweets! Then what?”
“Then she bit the head off.”
Valerie stopped fanning. There was a long moment of silence. “Oh.”
“Old habits die hard, I guess, but I had to leave. The mental image–” He shook his head, shuddering, and looked up with haunted eyes.
“Next time,” he said, “I’ll stick with jewelry.”
Story: Stocking Tales
Below are two quickie stories written for Desdmona.com’s latest erotica contest. The subject was “stockings,” and that’s what these are about. 300 words each.
Mine didn’t win, but I’m being philosophic about it. The winners were pretty good, too.
Customer Service
“Why do we get so many weirdos?” Jen said, surrounded by latex and lace. Her last customer, an old man who sniffed everything but never bought, was shuffling out the door.
Her coworker Chantra hugged her. “Lingerie shops get obnoxious perverts. But you get to wear the inventory. Whoo,” she said. “There ya go.”
Jen suddenly felt 10 degrees hotter, everywhere. The new customer looked like Pierce Brosnan’s younger, handsomer brother. “Oh my God…”
Chantra pushed her forward. “It’ll make up for the creep. Git!”
He had a dazzling smile. “Hi, I’m looking for some stockings for my wife.”
“What size is she?”
To her horror and delight he looked up and down her body. “Very close to yours,” he said. “Very beautiful.” He said it like a mathematical fact, without a hint of flirtation. “What you have on is incredible. What is that?”
Flustered, she lifted her skirt slightly to show him the moire pattern that danced across her sheer hose.
“Amazing! May I?”
Jen nodded, clueless and uncaring. He knelt and ran a strong hand up the inside of her leg, as if examining a horse.
She shivered as he stroked her legs from ankle to thigh, his thick knuckles just barely, innocently, grazing her heat on the upswing. She looked down at wavy black hair and broad shoulders and, moaning, she pushed down to meet him.
Long, steel-hard fingers cupped and stroked the wet silk. Her brain melted away and she rode his hand, gasping and laughing and groaning with the joy of it.
He stood quickly, his pants bulging. “Thank you. I, um…” He turned abruptly and left.
Jen was still shuddering when Chantra put a hand on her shoulder.
“Last week I was his wife’s size, too,” she said. “Not all our perverts are obnoxious.”
Stocking the Night Fantastic
Oh dear God, Camille was wearing fishnets.
Leering at your employees is tacky and I prided myself on my professionalism, but this was torture. The women in my office never wore stockings, never. Believe me, I’d know. Yet my secretary lingered by the copier, giving me ample time to gaze at the lines down her calves…
I trembled and thought about my wife.
Dear Lisa. She knew all about me and loved me anyway. After she discovered my appreciation for hosiery (and after we bought a stronger bed) she delighted in buying new stockings for our pleasure.
Like the silky white ones that… jesus… Madeline, my programmer, was wearing. She’d taken her shoes off and was slowly stretching her legs under her desk. I could see her bright pink toes extended, wiggling, inside the sheer fabric…
I rushed out of the office, dizzy with misplaced desire that only increased with every woman I saw. Coffee shop Jenny had lace tops that didn’t — quite — reach her skirt. Mrs. Hannuman at the dry cleaners playfully modeled her new nylons. The girl at the front desk of my building insisted I look at the thin gold ankle bracelet she was wearing over her thigh highs.
It was all I could do not to masturbate in the elevator.
Panting, I burst into the apartment and almost lost it immediately. Lisa was waiting, gloriously nude but for black crotchless hose. I leaped at her, yanking my clothes off to revel in the indescribable feeling of silk-clad legs sliding around my waist and against my thighs. She was dripping, ready for my thrust, and I lost myself in the maddening, electric sensations.
When I could think again, she was nuzzling my ear. “The girls all said to say hi,” she said. “Happy anniversary.”
Making Your Own Celebrity Sex Tape
Are you famous? Can we watch you fuck?
It’s all the rage these days. Celebrities like Pamela Anderson, Paris Hilton, and Vince Neil have all seen their careers skyrocket after the public got a gander of their sexy shenanigans. Well, maybe not Vince Neil.
Within minutes of the word getting out, people all over the world were beating their computers with sticks to make them download faster, even if they didn’t like the nekkid celebrities. And this frenzied attention translated to increased public awareness, more job offers (some of them even legitimate) and good times for celebrity stalkers who no longer had to fantasize quite as hard.
But it’s not as easy as just throwing a tape in the camera and greasing up. For the maximum media penetration your porn debut must be carefully orchestrated so that a) you can get the publicity while still keeping your reputation safe, and b) everyone in the world gets to see your wobbly bits at least twice. You can only do this kind of thing once before it becomes your career, so do it carefully. Here’s some tips.
Wait until your career is on the skids.
This is vitally important since a badly-timed “stolen” video can ruin your life if you’re riding high. Not only because of the scandal, but because celebrities with successful careers don’t have time to have sex and any evidence to the contrary might suggest that you’re no longer A-list material. Seen any Tom Hanks porn around? See?
But when you’ve got nothing to lose a good sex tape can get you your own show, a movie deal, even a Grammy!
Pick an attractive partner.
Not too attractive (you don’t want to get upstaged) but someone that’s decent enough to look at. It’s the kiss of death to be seen sleeping with losers, it’s like getting caught showing up at the Oscars in a Chevette. Vince Neil filmed himself with porn stars, Pam had Tommy’s massive joint, and Paris was smart enough to keep the camera focused below Rick Solomon’s waist.
Use bad lighting.
Just in case the publicity turns ugly you should take care to leave a smidgeon of doubt that the naked person dripping with apple butter and strapped to the taffy puller is actually you, especially if your partner is underage, visibly using drugs, or a member of Congress. That kind of publicity you don’t need. The first night-vision release of Paris Hilton’s tape was perfect, she looked like a raccoon doing a Courtney Love impersonation.
Check out Rob Lowe’s tape for examples. You can barely tell there are humans involved, much less make out features. It could have been a Loch Ness sighting for all I could tell. And lawyers are going to have their work cut out for them trying to prove that R. Kelly’s ass is unique in all the world, like a fuzzy snowflake.
Choose awkward positions.
One of the best things about celebrity sex tapes is that they let people see that their sex symbols are human, too. Better looking humans, but still human. When we see celebrities in movies, on TV and on magazine covers they look larger, better, brighter than life, but in your tapes we can see you as just as human as the rest of us. Make this even more obvious by squatting, scooting around awkwardly, fumbling a lot, or falling off the bed halfway through. Not only will this endear you to your fans, it’ll make your later denial more believable. Like you’d let any director get your bad side like that? Please!
Be enthusiastic.
You might look human, but you don’t want to lose your sex symbol status, either. Fuck like you’re trying to move the bed outside with your hips alone, and suck like you lost your car keys in there.
Dump your partner afterwards.
Bad enough that everyone will know just what you did with this person, but from that point on every time you bump uglies with that person you’ll wonder if it’s just a sequel and the first one was better. Also, you may not want your partner around where they can be subpoenaed, at least not until they’re old enough to drive to court themselves.
Show it to friends.
How’s it going to get stolen if no one knows you have it? It also helps to leave it out for the movers marked “Sex Tape, Do Not Steal.” If you get desperate enough or if there’s an opening on “Ellen” coming up, just stick it in a video rental box and cram it into the overnight slot at the local Blockbusters. Self-promotion was never so easy!
Time the release to break before your new project, whatever it is.
Paris’ tape came out just when her new show “A Simple Life” was starting to advertise, and it went through the roof. Pamela Anderson’s new exposure helped her launch “V.I.P.” And would Rob Lowe have made it to “The West Wing” if the producers hadn’t seen him picking up cans on Ventura Blvd. for his community service hours?
Where Tonya Harding made her mistake was letting her honeymoon tape get out after her knee-whacking scandal. If she had released it beforehand, America might have let her slide and she would have been the one in the Disney parade while Nancy Kerrigan was banished to Celebrity Boxing.
Deny it outright.
At least initially. So what if everyone can tell it’s you? So what if, during the video, you faced the camera and said clearly, “This is me!” and displayed on-screen DNA testing? You still have to deny it or you’ll be labeled a slut. You need to build up the pity opinions and get people thinking “It’s a damn shame that poor little girl got her personal, private orgy tape exposed like that. What’s this world coming to?” instead of, say, “What a whore.”
Fire lawsuits left and right and accuse everyone of libel, even if you were the one that mailed the tape out. Especially if you were the one that mailed the tape out. Then after the news dies down you can tearfully admit it, just in time to hit the next news cycle.
Give six hundred exclusive interviews explaining why you just want to put it behind you.
After refusing to talk to anyone, have your publicist approach a few respected news outlets like Barbara Walters or Jon Stewart and say you’re ready to talk about it, just this once. Cry and be brave and admit that it was you, you were deeply in love, but now you’re stronger and more confident than ever before! Also you’re single now.
After you cry at Barbara it’s time to do the stolen movie promotion junket where you appear on every TV show with more than seven viewers, host “Saturday Night Live” to make fun of yourself, and do a layout in Maxim mimicking your video poses. Strike the right combination of pride and self-deprecation and you’ll be starring on FOX inside of two months.
Sell it to Russian websites.
Hey, might as well make some money off this thing.
Handled carefully, a stolen sex tape can make your career. And you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that a movie starring you is being watched every minute of every day, somewhere in the world, often in continuous loops.
101 Reasons to Masturbate
You’ve been told all of your life that touching yourself is a weakness, it’s sinful, it’s shameful. Seriously, all of your life, there was probably a nurse in the hospital who tugged your widdle hand away from your fiddly bits and said “Now, now, mustn’t do that or you’ll burn in righteous and loving flames, dearie.” People will tell you that it simply isn’t done, and if it is done it isn’t spoken of, not by respectable people. Fortunately there’s never been any danger of me turning into one of them.
I like masturbation. I’m a big fan, and I like to think a talented amateur. There are many excellent reasons to grasp your nettle. Here’s some of them.
It feels good.
Everybody else is doing it.
You will become more comfortable with your body.
You will get a better idea of what pleases you, something you can share with a lover.
You won’t be as irritable at work.
Morticia Addams. Rawr!
You can develop control and staying power in a low-stress situation.
You can discover the many parts of you that are sensitive and excitable without actually being genitals.
You’re trying to quit smoking and you gotta do something with your hands.
Congressional filibusters are so damn boring.
You feel the need to tap off excess fluid on occasion to keep your body running at optimal efficiency.
You’re going for the world land-speed masturbation record and the cameras are waiting.
You want to have sex with a relative but you fear social ostracism and genetic horrors.
Look at this body! Who wouldn’t want to touch it?
It’s safe sex, as long as you watch your aim.
Just downloaded Christina Ricci’s nude scene from “Prozac Nation.”
Can’t sleep.
Nothing good on tv.
Kill Bill 2 was sold out.
Just wanted to make sure everything still worked, you know?
Next conjugal visit still a week away.
Because every time I do, an angel spasms.
Exercises the wrist and reduces the chance for carpal tunnel syndrome. It must, because I type a lot and I’ve never gotten it.
Long wait at the doctor’s office, and all the magazines are out of date.
Would you ask Pavarotti not to sing? Baryshnikov not to dance?
Really, really difficult to get pregnant when you’re the only one there.
Not too easy to get pregnant even if you’re in company, if you’re careful.
You can stay a virgin for years without getting twitchy.
It helps to maintain good pelvic blood flow and strong PC muscles.
Big money-saver on dinner and alcohol.
It reduces menstrual cramps.
Men who stimulate their prostate glands during masturbation reduce their incidence of prostate infections.
It stimulates your creativity and enriches your fantasy life.
You’re asserting your independence!
You don’t have to depend on a man for your orgasms (unless you’re a guy, of course).
You can get it anytime you want, man.
You can do anything you want without having to explain it to a bewildered partner.
You’re helping to establish the philosophy that sex is good in, by, and for itself; and that there is nothing whatever wrong about experiencing it as a fine thing in its own right.
Show me a guy with three speeds that knows exactly where and when to go.
You rarely have to use roofies to get sex.
It’s cheaper than Zoloft.
Masturbation results in remarkably few abortions.
The love of your life is currently unavailable
The love of your life is currently available, but isn’t interested right now.
The love of your life is currently available, but likes watching me.
It releases endorphins into the bloodstreams, and that’s good, I think.
Eases the strain and anxiety of long traffic jams.
Reduces the need to ask for sex during times when it might be inconvenient or unwanted, like when she’s in labor.
It keeps you from hitting all the people who really need hitting.
Because you always call the next day.
No scrambling for birth control.
Better than nagging her for sex, and she might join in.
Easier to get into a meditative state than chanting, I’ll tell you that.
You’ll be able to grip your golf club with more confidence.
You can join the Mile High Club without trying to cram two people in that little bathroom.
My parents encouraged it to ensure that I grew up with a healthy perspective towards my own sexuality, even to the point of charting my progress and having me do it in front of family gatherings.
In 1972 the American Medical Association declared masturbation a normal sexual activity, and I’m celebrating.
It really bugs a lot of the Religious Right, and so I’m striking a blow for freedom. As it were.
You can take all the time you need.
Netflix is too damn slow.
I’m doing my part as an American to keep the sex toy economy thriving.
When out in the woods, alone and in tune with nature, it’s a magical thing to spooge all over the environment and truly become one.
Because the son of a bitch popped and went to sleep on you.
Because you really, really like escalators.
Gotta do something until bail arrives and you don’t have a harmonica.
Your next-door neighbor has been watching you through the window, and you think it’s time to take the relationship to the next level.
Keeping one hand under the table at all times is a valuable defensive pose, probably.
Helps improve your backhand.
Because you can’t reach with your mouth.
You paid for your dinner and the movie, so you’re probably required to.
Just won Best Actress.
You’re watching an adult movie, and there is an implied contract between you and the movie’s distributors.
To glorify God and His creations.
Don’t have to count days first.
Performance art.
Because it makes your web site membership spike every time you do it.
Flipping burgers only takes one hand, so?
Because no one else is good enough for you. YouI barely qualify.
The cast came off today.
It’s non-carcinogenic, non-fattening, and low in sodium.
Did you know you can take Barbie’s clothes right off?
Because you are entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and you suspect that happiness just ducked into your pants.
Couldn’t think of anything else to use in your valedictorian speech.
SxyGrrl69@hotmail.com told you to.
Doesn’t require equipment (although there’s quite a large industry ready to supply you if you want some).
Downtime between spacewalks.
Did too many Hail Marys, have to even it out.
Tom Welling took off his shirt on Smallville last night.
Because this isn’t just a casual fling – you really love yourself.
It was integral to the plot.
You’ve got a lot of love to give.
Is it just me, or are mannequins getting hotter every year?
Needed new material for your “Best Of” DVD.
Helps keep me warm on cold nights.
It’s what the “pause” button was invented for.
Just got the Swamp Thing DVD with extended Adrienne Barbeau swamp bath scene.
It would be rude not to show your appreciation for the strippers, it’s like belching to compliment the chef.
Because if there’s one thing porn has taught us, it’s that women inexplicably go nuts when a potbellied guy jerks off on them.
You’ve heard that if you don’t use parts of your body they atrophy and drop off, and that’s scary.
It’s part of your low-impact aerobic full-body workout. 10 reps, pause, repeat as needed.
Bought one too many cucumbers for dinner, and wasting is a sin.
Because (drum roll) it’s there.
Story: Neighborhood Watch
Right away, I noticed the kid. Even as I saw the Ford Explorer lurch into the driveway next to mine, I saw the kid in the back seat bouncing away, mouth wide open. Dammit.
I turned around so my back was to them and kept right on weeding. Should’ve known it’d be too good to last. Since the Gabaldon family moved out last month I had gotten too used to having empty houses on either side of me. I ain’t a people person, and after twenty years on my own I had no plans to change.
And now, for my sins, I’d have some squealing kid right next door, yelling and running through my flowerbeds and setting fire to things. Can’t stand kids, they’re even worse then people. Whenever I read that Dennis the Menace cartoon strip I’d root for Mr. Wilson to whack that little preteen offender over the head with a shovel and bury him in the garden. I would.
As soon as the door opened up the kid’s squeal abruptly filled the neighborhood, accompanied by the backup chorus of the parents trying to calm him down. He was out of the car in a flash, running around the house at full speed before they were even unbuckled. I got up and headed back into my house, taking the Lord’s name every other step.
A cuppa later I was calm enough to look out my window. I may be a nosy old man but I ain’t like them old biddies down the street that spend their days watching each other out their living room windows. This was a military fact-gathering mission. The enemy was out there and I needed to know his capabilities.
Big, ugly, gas-snorting SUV, check. Whiny kid, maybe 8 years old, check. Mom was blond, good figure, vaguely cheerful expression. I figured her for the stay-at-home mom who never spanked her kid and thought everyone was basically good if they got enough hugs and cookies. A dimwit, in other words. The dad was good-looking enough, had a bossman look to him. Wherever he worked he ran the place, no question, and he was definitely the one who laid down the law in his family. Also looked to have a king-size stick up his butt. With spikes on it.
Oh, well, I thought. I’ve outlasted other neighbors, I can outlast this one.
Things got worse almost immediately. It turned out that the brat’s school bus showed up at the same time of the morning I always walk my cocker spaniel, Pixie. We had set out in a reasonably good mood that lasted until the end of the driveway where we ran into the brat and his momma coming out alongside us. The brat was jumping up and down, waving his backpack in a circle over his head like he was about to kill someone with it and shrieking loud enough to wake ‘em back up afterwards. Frankly I couldn’t understand why Pixie had to be on a leash if this was the sort of critter that was allowed to run free. His momma ignored him completely and waved at me.
“Hi,” she said. “We just moved in next to you!” Thereby winning the Lifetime Duh Award for 2004, thank you, thank you… I grumbled some sort of hello and kept walking. Close up she was a pretty young thing, built big up front and tight everywhere else, but she dressed like she was trying to hide it. Good luck, lady. You put ten pounds of sugar in a five-pound sack, someone’s bound to notice.
“We’re the Spenglers, I’m Suzanne and this is Ralphie.”
“Crawford,” I grumbled. Almost introduced myself as “Old Man Crawford,” just to save time.
“Oh. And how long have you-”
“Goodbye,” I said, and I pulled Pixie away from where she had been enthusiastically sniffing Ralphie’s backpack. “C’mon, girl, don’t want you catchin’ nuthin’.”
As we stomped our way down the sidewalk I could hear Ralphie, plain as day: “He’s mean!” His mom shushed him but I just smiled to myself. That’s right, little twerp. Remember that. Maybe I should leave some kid-sized bones by my front door to scare him off.
By the time we got around the block he was gone and she was back inside, thank God. Sorry lady, I don’t do “neighborly.”
Over the next few days I found out that annoying kids have changed a bit since the Dennis days. Turns out that little Ralphie was one of those video gamers that rarely left his bedroom, a situation that TV psychologists bitch and moan about but that I felt was underrated. Not only did it keep him away from me, constant videogame playing would keep him weak and prevent him from breeding, a clear benefit to society.
I saw his mom only in passing, and his daddy not at all, and I started thinking we could all peacefully coexist by completely ignoring each other, a plan of action I was more than prepared to accept.
A week to the day they moved in something finally happened, and it wasn’t Ralphie’s fault at all. Pixie and I left the house like always and I glanced around while she sniffed everything in the yard. From where I was standing it just so happened I had a perfect view through a gap in the bushes and into the neighbor’s bedroom window.
Ralphie’s mom was in bed, naked, touching herself.
I ain’t a peeper or nothin’ but I couldn’t help it, I just stood there and stared. She was just as hefty in the bosom as I had thought, full and rich and round, and one of her hands was squeezing a fat breast over and over. Her other hand had snaked through reddish-blonde hair and was sunk two fingers deep, pumping away like a jackhammer. I shook myself once, deeply embarrassed, and started to look away when I glanced up at her face.
She was looking at me.
Pixie yelped once when I yanked her away from the mailbox but I was heading down the sidewalk at top speed, with or without her. I already had a reputation for being grumpy, surly, and generally unapproachable — all carefully earned, mind you — but I didn’t need people thinking I was a pervert as well. I was down the road and around the block in five seconds flat, straining the whole time to hear her front door open. Would she scream? Or call the police first, and then scream? Or just get a gun and handle it herself? By the time I got to the park I was sweating like Seabiscuit but no one was coming after me. Maybe she hadn’t seen me?
Lord, did I see her.
Didn’t do much for me in a physical sense, nothing much has happened in that area since before my wife Emily died these twenty years gone and good riddance to it, I say. Man can’t concentrate with that blasted hunk of meat between his legs taking over the controls every time some chickie’s blouse gaps open.
But I couldn’t get the sight of her out of my mind. Titties bigger than cantaloupes and long white legs, blonde hair whipping back and forth… Her thighs had been clenched around her hand like they were trying to keep it still, but the way she’d been going at it she coulda drilled through concrete with her middle finger.
I ran my hands over my face and watched Pixie romp around the park, oblivious. Now what? With the obnoxious kid, I knew where I stood. Mortal enemies, doomed to die at each other’s hands, no problem there. But how was I ever going to face his momma again without thinking of thumb-thick nipples and those perfect teeth biting her lower lip? I didn’t even like her!
When we came back around the block there were no lights flashing (I checked). Nothing out of the ordinary, no screams, no nothing. I let my breath back out. So that’s it, then. It never happened. If she ever brings it up I’ll bluff and look at her funny, she’ll think she was confused, life will go on. Thinking such decisive thoughts I nudged Pixie up our driveway and stopped at the porch, looking over just in time to see Ralphie’s naked momma come and come and come, looking me dead in the eyes the whole time. This time I could hear her moaning right through the closed window.
I didn’t leave the house for three days.
When I did, to get groceries and to keep Pixie from scratching the door down, I made sure to go in the middle of the day and only after watching out the window for half an hour first. Pixie made me pay for her enforced imprisonment by making me take the long way to the store but for once I didn’t mind. I stuck her in the shopping cart and shopped, trying to get my brain to calm down for Christ’s sake.
What was she playing at? Hadn’t she seen me the first time? Maybe she had thought I’d be gone longer, she thought she had enough time? But she hadn’t looked surprised or shocked, not at all. She’d looked…
I whacked myself in the side of the head with a box of vermicelli. It was thoughts like that that had caused my last six cold showers. Damn old fool, shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that, not about a neighbor and not about a woman a third your age and certainly not about a married woman. What was I going to do, stand outside her window and masturbate? Meet her for a daily nooner while her kid was out defacing municipal property and her husband was rogering his secretary?
Goddamn foolishness. I had no illusions about myself, there was no way she’d be interested in me even if I was the type to fool around like an idiot, which I wasn’t. Not in this old body. “Course, she might be into old guys…
I finally had to get another box of vermicelli, the first one broke and showered pasta splinters all over me. The clerk at the store was nice about it though, he could tell I was distracted. I even forgot to snarl at him.
When we headed back she was just coming out to her car, wearing some kinda tennis outfit and carrying a sports bag. I nodded my head quickly once and tried not to make eye contact. For her part she smiled the same way she had when we met. No underlying meaning, no longing looks, no thinly-veiled revulsion, not even a blush. I stood on the porch and watched her drive off.
Huh. There were two possibilities here. Either she was better at playing the “it never happened” game than I was, or she really hadn’t seen me. That set me back. Maybe it was some trick of the window reflection? I could see in but she couldn’t see out?
I spent the afternoon walking in and out of my house, looking through my windows. I didn’t have any problem seeing outside at all. Maybe she was really nearsighted…
The next morning she was there again, legs spread, glorious. I turned away and fled again, dragging poor Pixie behind me. We stayed at the park for nearly an hour, finally coming home again in time to see Ralphie’s mom shuddering and bouncing her butt off the bed. Both hands were thrust between her legs and her jiggling breasts completely filled the tight space between her arms. And she was staring right at me.
Okay, there was a third possibility I hadn’t considered. She had been waiting for me, waiting for me to catch her and see her exposed like that, and when I did it made her come. I stood there and watched her ride her spasms dry. I hadn’t done a damn thing, I was twenty feet away from her, and yet I felt like I was in complete control of her body.
It was a surprisingly good feeling.
We settled into a routine, she and I. When Pixie and I left the house each day she’d be waiting, naked and ready. We’d take our usual walk, and while we were gone she’d masturbate, anticipating my return. I assume she was, anyway, she could have been playing Solitaire, I had no idea. All I knew was that as soon as I got back and looked her way she’d be off. Outside of our, to stretch the term, sexual contact, neither of us ever made the slightest effort to talk to each other or acknowledge it at all. It was, in many ways, the exact opposite of my first marriage.
I have to admit, I became much more cheerful about my new neighbors after seeing one of them naked. Once Ralphie managed to ride his bike all the way up my lawn and into my roses and I didn’t even get mad, something that caused Mrs. Wilkinson across the street to stop watering her lawn and gawk at me. I gave her a little wave and thanked the good Lord I couldn’t see in her window.
As the weeks went by Ralphie’s mom — I couldn’t bring myself to use her name, mostly because I couldn’t remember it — got even more adventurous. Once she stood in front of her window when I walked by and rubbed baby oil on those magnificent breasts with both hands. Sometimes she used those vibrating things. She had a slim purple one and a thick flesh-colored one. Sometimes she’d wear filmy nighties, but most of the time she was wonderfully nude.
For my part I varied my routine, just to keep her on her toes, or whatever. I’d walk slower or leave twenty minutes later just to build her anticipation higher, knowing she wouldn’t let herself finish until I was there to “surprise” her. Sometimes I’d walk right past the park and get home early just to watch her go crazy trying to catch up. Once I waited until she was just finishing up and I took a few steps towards her window. That was the first time she did a multiple.
You have to work at a relationship to keep it fresh, I’ve always found.
I never masturbated myself, not once. I’m not sure why. I think I felt like it would cheapen the experience or that as long as I didn’t come, she was still being faithful to her husband or something. I dunno, I just knew it didn’t feel right. Not like I had that strong an urge anyway, just watching her face contort with the pleasure I triggered was enough for me.
It was almost three months before I met Ralphie’s dad.
I was transplanting some roses and pruning them back hard when he pulled into their driveway and called over to me. “Hey! How you doing!”
My first guess had been right. This man had car salesman all over him. He gave me a firm handshake and a toothy smile as he told me his name was Frank. I resisted the urge to tell him how to make his wife squeak.
“I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to get to know my new neighbor,” he said. “but when you land in a new office you gotta show ‘em who’s boss right away, am I right? Even after you fire a few, the rest just don’t think you mean business!”
I just smiled and wondered if I was fast enough to get one of his fingers with my clippers. No wonder his wife flashed her neighbors. I had already felt a connection with her, but now I just felt pity. Maybe Pixie wouldn’t mind taking two walks every day.
Then he caught me off guard. “Hey, how about dinner tonight? Long past time we got to know each other, and I know Suzanne won’t mind. How about it?”
I almost asked “Suzanne who?” before I realized who he was talking about, and I was so flustered I agreed to come by around seven. I spent the hour before that nervous as a new bride. How would she react? Could I keep a straight face? What if he did something stupid in front of me and I slipped and said something? What if the sight of me had become one of those Pavlov dog triggers and she popped one off right there at the table? Should I leave? Or offer a napkin?
I brought some roses in a vase but I was careful to hand them to him when he answered the door. He acted like they were gold and ushered me into the dining room, where Ralphie’s… where Suzanne was waiting, prim and proper. She smiled at me and gestured towards the seat of honor. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled in.
I started out stressed, but as the evening went on I just got confused. I barely noticed Ralphie, he gobbled his food and ran off to play with his PlayCube or whatever. And Suzanne was calm and cool, just as friendly as she should be. No, what confused me was this: Frank wasn’t that bad a guy.
I mean, I still thought he was an asshole but it was plain that he loved his kid and absolutely adored his wife. He touched her hand constantly, made a point of drawing her into the conversation, and kissed her whenever he left the room to get something. Plainly he was proud of her. Here I was, all set to be righteously pissed at him for being mean to that pretty woman, and he loved her.
And she him. My confusion must have showed because when he went to read Ralphie his bedtime story she leaned forward and whispered to me. “I love my husband, Mr. Crawford,” she said. “And I want to thank you for not saying anything.”
It felt weirder than I can say, talking to her about this for the first time. “So why…?”
She licked her lips, just once, and smiled nervously. “I like being caught. Always have. Something about it just makes me lose all control. But Frank and I have a very good sex life, a very good life, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.” She looked worried, like she was afraid I was going to challenge Frank to a duel.
Instead I just felt relieved. “Good, I’m too old to be jumping out of windows.” That got a startled laugh out of her which felt almost as good to me as making her moan. “I’ll just stick to being a neighbor.”
She squeezed my hand, the one and only time we ever touched, and then Frank came back in.
“He’s down for the count,” he said. “Now we can talk dirty!” Suzanne laughed, but we kept on talking about interest rates and television shows. Normal stuff. I relaxed and actually started to enjoy myself, and that was the weirdest feeling of all.
When it was time to go Frank pulled me aside and for a brief moment I thought he was going to hit me. I gauged the distance to the door and had already decided to block him with the footstool when he said, “Look, I know you’ve been watching my wife.”
“Wha… what?” I said.
“All you people here watch out for each other. Suzanne says she’s never felt so safe in anyplace she’s ever lived, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I just want to thank you. Knowing that you’re here to look out for her, it makes me feel safer, you know?”
I let out a long breath and shook his hand. “Don’t worry, Frank,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”
Suzanne came up and hugged him from behind, so he didn’t see how she was straining to keep from laughing. She kissed him on the ear and smiled at me. They made a cute couple.
They both waved from the doorway when I left, him proud as could be and her still holding it in. I couldn’t help it, I turned back. “See ya tomorrow!”
I still don’t know how she explained her sudden burst of giggles to him. Me, I went home to plan tomorrow’s walk.
