Intimate Neighbors

Submitted by: webmaster
Type: Story · Categories: Wife Lovers, Mature · Tags: ,

As I made the right turn toward my childhood home, it was good to see the old neighborhood hadn’t changed much, even if I had. My social life while I was away at college was quite different than the one I led as a senior in high school. I had been well-liked, but not popular and I certainly would never have been voted Homecoming King. When I left for college, I was just the nice, average kid that lived down the street. But I was hoping for a bit more fun this year, as my parents had gone to the beach house for the summer, leaving me a four-bedroom bachelor pad all to myself. 

Now, by no means did I become Brad Pitt during my time in college. But I turned eighteen as a freshman, which meant I was legally old enough to drink, and I put on fifteen pounds and three inches while away at school. Between that and picking up some new styles, I had gone from your average Joe to, dare I say, fairly handsome. Still, even though I had just graduated with honors, I didn’t have a steady girlfriend as I returned home to begin my career and was looking forward to getting the ‘new and improved me’ out on the town with my high school friends. 

As I approached my house, a couple of my neighbors waved as I passed by. Mr. Edwards was mowing his lawn, Mr. O’Neal was getting his mail and Mrs. Raymond was just pulling into her driveway. As we both got out of the car at the same time, she waved and flashed a big smile at me.
“Welcome home,” she hollered. “How was college this year?” 

“Hello, Mrs. Raymond. It was a lot of fun, and I graduated too,” I joked. “I already have a job offer from the college here in town.” 

Mrs. Raymond just laughed, waved again and walked toward her front door, turning around to flash a wry smile at me before she disappeared into the house. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, but she still looked just as attractive as she did when I left for college. Mr. and Mrs. Raymond had moved into the house across the street when I was in seventh grade and was, by far, the most attractive lady on the block. She stood about five foot six with long, auburn hair, and beautiful green eyes. 

Unfortunately, she was also married to the biggest ass on the block. One summer, I hit a baseball into their yard near the front door. Mr. Raymond came out of the house and picked up the ball. Thinking he was going to throw it back to me, I smiled and waved my glove. Instead, he just glared at me and went back inside the house. I never saw that baseball again. 

The first few days of summer vacation were uneventful. I did some golfing, caught up with some high school buddies and generally did a whole lot of nothing. Sleeping in one morning, I thought I heard a knocking at the front door. As I struggled to wake up from my well-earned slumber, I waited for someone to get the door. 

“Damn,” I thought as I remembered my folks were 250 miles away this summer. 

Hoping whoever was disturbing my sleep would go away I ignored the interruption, but someone was very determined to get me up early. I stumbled out of bed, trying to find some shorts so I could answer the door. The knocking continued and since I was unable to find anything in my sleepy haze, I trudged out of my room wearing a t-shirt and boxers. As I opened the door, I was surprised to see Mrs. Raymond standing there. 

“Oh, Doug,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” 

“No, I was already up,” I lied. “Is everything alright? 

“Oh yes, everything is fine,” she continued. I noticed that she gave a not-so-quick glance downward and I suddenly remembered what I was wearing. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Raymond,” I said embarrassed. “I haven’t unpacked much yet and couldn’t find anything to put on. I thought you might have been the UPS guy bringing those CD’s I ordered.” 

I could almost feel her gaze pierce through the light material of my boxers. Subtly glancing down myself, I was thankful the easy-open front was still closed. Still, there was a noticeable response taking place beneath the fabric. 

“Don’t worry about it, Doug,” she continued. “I was just wondering if you would be interested in mowing my lawn for me. I’d be willing to pay twenty dollars.” 

“Sure,” I said, thinking twenty bucks to a starving college graduate was not just small change. “Is Mr. Raymond out of town again?” 

“Oh, you didn’t hear,” she said with what sounded like surprise. “We separated last fall after you left for college and are getting a divorce. It just wasn’t working out.” 

“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” I said slightly embarrassed. “I’m surprised my mom didn’t say anything to me.” 

“Well, I didn’t really advertise that we were splitting up, you know,” she continued. “Besides, you don’t have to apologize. You and I both know he was a jerk. He just found someone who was more, compatible, I guess.” 

“Yeah, if compatible means someone as self-centered and arrogant as he is,” I retorted. 

Mrs. Raymond smiled half-heartedly, leading me to believe I just said something I shouldn’t have. 

“Well, I’d be happy to help you out,” I said, trying to quickly change the subject. “I have a couple of things I need to do this morning, but I can come over this afternoon, if that works for you.” 

“Oh, that’s fine,” she replied. “I took the day off to do a few things myself and will be back around noon. Just come over anytime after that.” 

As she walked away, I watched her cross the street. Her cotton dress was flowing in the breeze, lifting ever so slightly to reveal a beautiful pair of tanned legs. As I felt the stirring continue in my boxers, I told myself to settle down. After all, she just came over to ask me to mow her lawn and those kinds of fantasies just don’t happen to guys like me. 

After finishing my errands and having some lunch, I went over to Mrs. Raymond’s house where I found a note on the front door: 


I’m out back on the patio. Just come 
through the gate when you get here and 
I’ll show you where the mower is. 


As I walked around back, I saw a new privacy fence Mr. Raymond must have put in while I was gone. I unlatched the gate and headed toward the patio. 

“Holy smokes,” I thought as I rounded the corner. 

Mrs. Raymond was indeed on the patio as she said in the note. What she didn’t mention was that she was sunbathing. Lying on a chaise lounge, Mrs. Raymond was wearing a bright yellow bikini that barely covered her beautiful, tanned figure. 

“Hi Doug, thanks for coming over,” she said as I approached the patio. “I really appreciate your help. The mower and the gas can are in the shed over there.” 

I was still awestruck by the spectacular beauty I discovered out back and only half-heard what she had said. 

“Oh, um, that’s no problem Mrs. Raymond,” I stammered, momentarily reverting to the awkward senior I thought I had left behind. 

“And Doug,” she continued, “I’m not Mrs. Raymond anymore. Please call me Deb.” 

I smiled and headed toward the shed, but not before casting one last glance at the yellow-clad goddess on the patio. I found the mower and pulled it out of the shed. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years and took a few attempts before the engine started. As I began my yard work, Deb reclined her chair and put in some ear buds so the mower would not disturb her tanning session. 

With each pass around the yard, I did my best to steal a subtle glimpse at Deb as she lay there. She had put on her sunglasses, tinted just enough that I couldn’t see her eyes and leaving me wondering if I was being subtle enough with my glances. 

After about twenty minutes of mowing, and still keeping an eye on Deb, I noticed that she now had a slight smile on her face and that her position had changed. I don’t know if she was consciously trying to get me going or what, but she was now lying there with her legs spread to each side of the lounge chair. The barely-there, yellow bikini bottom that was now in plain view only added to the heat of the mid-summer afternoon. 

Just then, the engine died. In my excitement of seeing Deb lying there on the patio, I had forgotten to gas up the mower. 

“Deb,” I called, “did you say the gas can was in the shed, too?” 

“Yes, honey,” she replied. “It’s on the top shelf.” 

As if my overactive imagination wasn’t already running wild enough, the hottest woman on the block just called me ‘honey.’ I ducked into the shed where I saw the nozzle of the gas can right where she said it would be. 

“Oh, crap,” I shouted. In trying to grab the gas from the top shelf, I completely missed seeing the small can of yellow paint that was sitting in front of it. Of course, the lid was not secure and I stood there fuming, dripping paint onto the floor of the shed. 

I heard Deb running toward the shed. Embarrassed, I stepped out of the door and saw her face light up in a combination of shock and amusement. 

“Oh my goodness,” she blurted, trying her best to keep from giggling at the mess in front of her. “Are you alright?” 

I’m guessing it was the combination of the afternoon heat and the fact that she ran to the shed when I shouted, but Deb was breathing heavily now, her breasts heaving. I had never seen sweat look so good on a person before. Her yellow bikini top offered no help in covering the fact that her nipples were erect, a sight that only made the current situation even more, interesting. 

“I’m fine, Deb, except for the coat of paint I decided to try on,” I replied with a bit of sarcasm. 

At this point, the amusement of my predicament outweighed the shock and she began laughing. 

“Why don’t you go inside and get cleaned up? You can use the shower in the master bedroom, just go down the hall and turn left,” Deb said. “Just leave your clothes outside the door on the hamper and I’ll wash them for you.” 

I slowly walked toward the house, only this time I did not look back. I felt like such an ass, standing there coated in yellow paint in front of Deb. She had looked so hot at the shed, sweating, with her erect nipples staring me in the face. 

Trying not to make too much of a mess as I entered the bathroom, I began to undress. I reached into the shower and turned on the water. Deb had one of those walk-in showers with the wavy-lined glass you found in nice hotels. I peeked outside the door and placed my now-yellow t-shirt and shorts on the hamper as Deb had said. 

I stepped into the shower and closed the sliding glass door. Even though the afternoon was a scorcher, the hot water felt good as it beat down on my shoulders. As I looked down, the paint was mixing with the water, leaving a faint yellow trail as it streamed down the drain. Thank goodness it was a water-soluble paint and not wood stain or something else that wouldn’t have rinsed off so easily. 

To be continued...

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