Good Neighbor Ch. 01

Story Info
His new crush lives next door, with a wife and child.
4.9k words
144k
37

Part 1 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 11/17/2006
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

Revised version copyright 2006 by the author.

PART ONE: MARSH MOVES IN

There are people who have always been a part of your life. You can't remember the exact moment you got to know them, or how--and it doesn't matter. Others enter and exit in ways that are forever etched in your mind, as if they were actors in a play: an aged parent slipping quietly away in the hospital bed after a long illness; a newborn baby, tiny bundle of life, squalling its head off in the delivery room.

I wouldn't know about that baby firsthand--I've never been lucky enough to have a kid of my own.

I have, however, been lucky enough to love and to have lovers, and I remember the first time I saw each of them as plain as if it were yesterday. Marsh Atkins, for example--it's been years now, but I can still close my eyes and see him clearly, getting out of his sport utility vehicle in the driveway of his house: my new neighbor.

The house next door had started going up just a few months before. They get built amazingly fast when the economy is good, and the local economy had been more than good--it had been exploding. Frankly, I wasn't all that enthralled. The most relevant indicators for me were the spiraling appraisals and property tax bills, and the fact that the undeveloped lots in the neighborhood, which had provided some pleasant greenspace, were fast disappearing.

It was particularly painful to see the multi-acre wooded lot next door subdivided, and four large, ostentatious houses go up on it. The nearest one was right up against our shared property line, so close that from my bedroom window upstairs I could peer right into my neighbor's second story. That had resulted in an interesting encounter with one of the crew while the house was being constructed. Stan and me, even now we sometimes laugh about the way we met. If those walls could talk, he still says. But that's another story.

The thing between us had begun to cool off a bit when Marsh and his family moved into that house. I had sort of figured it would when my construction man wasn't around every day, strutting his stuff. In a way, it was okay. As nice and hot a guy as he was, Stan wasn't someone with whom I had a great deal in common. Still, I noticed his absence, particularly as I was pretty much on my own otherwise.

When the "For Sale" sign disappeared from the front yard next door I began to wonder what my new neighbors would be like. I hoped they would be quiet, at least. Some of our windows were so close that sound traveled easily between them, and I dreaded the thought of loud weekend parties on their back deck. I wanted a dull yuppie family: husband in khakis starting to lose his hair, smart blond wife in shorts and perfect makeup, carting the two-point-one children off to school (private, no doubt), soccer or ballet in their gas-guzzling sport utility vehicle.

As it turned out, some of my predictions were on the money. Marsh did wear khakis a lot, snug ones that showed off his tight butt. The family owned a Chevy Blazer. His wife Audrey was blond and pretty, and an attentive mother to their four-year old son, Jonah.

I found out about his wife and son later, of course. The first time I saw Marsh he was by himself, getting out of the oversize vehicle in his driveway just as I drove in, finally coming home myself after a late day at he office. He had apparently been to the local supermarket, and was unloading his car.

Looking at him from behind, I saw a man, about six feet tall and perfectly proportioned, with a full head of dark brown hair, dressed in dark blue nylon running shorts and white t-shirt. He had long runner's legs, and a back that rose in a perfect V-shape from narrow hips to broad shoulders. His arms were corded with muscle, and ended in large hands that, even at a distance, I thought were beautiful--I have a thing about men's hands. He bent to retrieve a grocery bag from the back seat, and the sight of his butt cheeks straining against the thin fabric of his shorts made my heart--and cock--leap. My eyes locked onto his form and stayed there, forcing my head to swivel backward as I passed by.

Believe it or not, it's not my style to pant over a guy, no matter how hunky. A part of my mind was busy trying to deflate my excitement. So he's great-looking from behind, a little voice said, he'll probably be a troll from the front. Then I got a glimpse of his face as I passed his driveway: strong and symmetrical, square jaw dusted with a modest five o'clock shadow. His nose was absolutely straight, and just a shade long—it kept his face from being vapidly pretty. He moved away from the car, and I saw the swell of his pectoral muscles against the cotton of his shirt. Lower down, toward his waist, the fabric hung limp--I could imagine the flat hardness of his stomach. Unfortunately, the SUV hid the rest.

I took this all in just before I drove my own modest vehicle's right front wheel over the high curb at my driveway entrance, tipping the car abruptly and causing me to crack my head hard against the driver's side window.

The impact hurt enough to make me yell "Ow!" and brought me out of my lustful reverie with a vengeance. My neighbor hadn't seen my inept maneuver. He disappeared into his house without looking back, carrying his purchases. I sat for a moment, my car still riding over the curb, rubbing my bruised temple.

I wanted to go next door, knock, introduce myself, shake hands and invite him over for a beer, but I didn't do any of that. After backing up and parking the car properly, now that I had no distractions, I walked into my own house, cool and dark after the warm spring afternoon outside, still nursing the bump on my head. I sat in my living room, wishing there were some way I could meet and talk to him.

A few days later, I was backing out of my driveway, ready to engage in my five-times-weekly battle with the freeway traffic, when I saw a woman loading a little boy into the SUV next door. My heart sank, but I wasn't surprised. After all, what were the odds that a specimen like my neighbor would have been one, gay, two, unattached, and three, interested in me? Practically nil. Even so, I moped around at the office that day. One of the bolder members of my staff remarked to my face that I seemed to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

So he was married and had a kid. I could still fantasize, and I did. I got into the habit of checking his driveway every evening when I came home. I did the same thing every morning. Gardening is really not my thing, but I started poking around my yard on the weekends, hoping I might catch him out doing something similar.

I did get tantalizing glimpses of him, but always with his wife and son. It was getting hot in the way Texas springs always do, but the evenings were still bearable. Sometimes after dinnertime I would see them sitting on their front lawn together, him in a collapsible chair reading the paper, his long legs out stretched in front of him, while his wife played with the little boy, or vice versa. They were the very picture of old-fashioned family values. Damn.

Finally, after several weeks, I got my chance. It was a Saturday in late May, and the days were really scorching by now. I still went out to do some gardening, digging and weeding now and then, but only in the morning—by midday it was too hot outside to work.

I had started this outdoor stuff only to run into my neighbor, and had been singularly unsuccessful at that purpose. But I had actually gotten interested in this particular project, which involved building a stone wall around a flowerbed I had planted by the fence that separated my property from his. I had been working industriously for a good while when I heard a slamming door, the clattering of footsteps on wood, and the sound of voices, one high and piping, the other deep and mellow. Father and son had come out of the house next door and were tossing a ball in the back yard.

My plotting and planning had finally worked, but now that my neighbor was actually within earshot, I was too shy to say anything. I confined myself to occasional quick glances upward as I continued to stack rocks and they played their game, the little boy laughing and squealing with excitement. Once, the father caught my eye and raised his hand in a friendly wave. I nodded and ducked my head down, blushing. What the hell was the matter with me?

Suddenly I felt a blow to the top of my head. Crying out more in surprise than in actual pain, I put my hand up to where I had been hit. I heard something land on the ground near me, and turned to see the brightly colored ball that my neighbor and his little boy had been throwing lying in the grass nearby.

"Sorry, buddy! Jonah got a little carried away there."

He was standing at the chain link fence that separated our back yards, as close to me as he had ever been. I stood up, wobbling, my legs half asleep from squatting, my heart thudding so loudly I thought surely he could hear it.

"Are you okay?"

I managed a short laugh. "Sure, just surprised. Here," and I picked up the ball and handed it back to him. I dared to look into my neighbor's face, and saw that his friendly eyes were hazel. His teeth were perfectly straight, dazzling white against his tanned face. He was a bit younger than me, still on the good side of thirty. He took the ball and gave it to his son, who had come running up to stand beside him and was looking curiously at me.

My neighbor extended his hand again. "We haven't met yet, have we? Marshall Atkins. Everyone calls me Marsh, though."

I stuck mine out in response and felt it enveloped in a strong, positive grip--exactly the way I had imagined his handshake would feel. "Rob Templer. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"This is Jonah," Marsh said, patting the little boy's head. "Say hi to Mr. Rob."

"Hi," Jonah said obediently. His eyes were brown, huge and, at the moment, mistrustful.

"How old are you, Jonah?"

"Four." His supply of social conversation exhausted, Jonah turned to his father and asked, "Daddy, can we go back in and watch TV now?"

Marsh looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Had to get the kid out for some exercise, or he would have sat there till suppertime. Okay, big guy, one more cartoon, then your mom's going to be home, okay?" He turned back to me and said, "Want to come by and have a Coke, or some iced tea? Looks like you need it, you've been working pretty hard."

The object of my dreams was inviting me into his home. With an effort I kept my voice casual. "Sure, thanks, that would be great."

He met me at the front door with his son. Marsh settled Jonah in front of the TV, then led the way to the kitchen, where he fished some Diet Cokes out of the refrigerator. "I'd offer you a beer, but Audrey would kill me if she came home and saw me drinking this early," he grinned. "Especially while I was supposed to be watching the kid."

Marsh invited me to sit. I deliberately chose a seat that allowed me a full view of my neighbor's body. This turned out to be a mixed blessing, as Marsh sat back casually with his legs apart. After a few minutes, I was in agony, trying not to stare too obviously at the discreet but significant bulge in the neat khaki shorts he wore. I managed to keep my end of the conversation going, as we chatted about the things new acquaintances talk about, our jobs, the neighborhood, his family. Like so many people new to town, Marsh worked for one of the high-tech firms that had expanded to this area. He was intrigued to find out that I headed my own Internet-based business. I shrugged.

"We're doing okay, but I'm not one of those twenty-something millionaires you read about," I said. "For one thing, I'm past thirty."

"Really? Still knocking around all by yourself in that big house?" Marsh grinned. I stiffened slightly, not yet ready to address my social life. This was one thing we definitely did not have in common. I changed the subject.

"Nice boy you have there."

"Thanks. He's Audrey's pride and joy. Well, mine too, but she feels specially bonded to him. She had a hard time during the delivery--we nearly lost the little guy. And her too," Marsh said, his voice suddenly breaking. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so personal."

I was embarrassed at seeing his emotion, but also touched. Here was a man who was sensitive and caring, as well as gorgeous. He was everything I wanted, and totally out of reach. Silently I cursed my existence.

We heard the front door open and Jonah's voice cry out excitedly, "Mom!" A moment later Marsh's wife bustled into the kitchen carrying her son, a slightly reproving look on her face.

"Marsh, have you been letting him watch TV the whole time I was gone?"

"Rob, my wife Audrey," Marsh said. "This is Rob from next door. I swear to you we went out to play. Bonked our neighbor on the head with Jonah's ball, and invited him in to recover."

"It's all true," I volunteered.

"Well, I'm glad he has a witness," Audrey said, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Rob. We've been admiring your gardening. You're so industrious."

I thanked her, wondering wryly what she would say if she knew just why I had been so diligent in my yard work.

Audrey shifted Jonah's weight in her arms. "Honey, do you mind if I turn on the air-conditioning? It's awfully hot in here."

Marsh grinned at me. "You can tell we're new to Texas--we still try and do without. I'd much rather sleep with a window open, listen to the crickets."

I looked at the three of them, a storybook family, and suddenly felt out of place. "Well, nice to have met you all. Marsh, thanks for the Coke."

"We'll have you over for dinner sometime," Audrey said as I let myself out the back. I stood a moment on their back deck, and decided it was hopeless. Even if my mission in life were bringing married men out of the closet, as seemed to be the case with some of my friends, I didn't have it in me to break up such a nice and obviously happy family.

Despite my success in finally meeting Marsh, I was downcast as I walked home.

PART TWO: A VISIT WITH STAN

Later that afternoon, I called Stan for the first time in several weeks.

"Hey, how's my yuppie stud?" he boomed. "So, you finally horny again?"

Next to his seemingly unshakable good humor, I found Stan's bluntness to be his most endearing trait. "Yeah," I replied, equally without ceremony. "Can I come by?"

"I'll be here, guy."

I drove across town to Stan's duplex in a rather barren subdivision just east of the interstate. His battered pickup was parked in the driveway. Despite my recent distractions, I felt the familiar swell in my groin as I got out of my own car in front of the house and walked toward his front door. If anyone had told me a few months ago that I'd be carrying on with a roughhewn contractor I'd have laughed. But here I was.

I rang the front doorbell and heard footsteps approach. Then the door swung slowly partway open behind the screen, but no one was there.

"Stan?" I called. No reply.

I said his name again, then pulled the screen door open. A big hand appeared, grasping the edge of the door, and widened the opening a bit further to admit me. I stepped forward, wondering what was going on.

As I entered the house, I turned to where I knew he must be, behind the door. "Stan, what are you doing..." I began, then let my words dissolve into appreciative laughter as I finally saw him. He was naked, his eyes mischievous, one hand holding the doorknob, the other hiding his privates in mock modesty.

"You are such a slut," I said.

"And you love it," he replied, shutting the door quickly and coming toward me. In a moment his mouth was on mine and his hand was groping my responsive cock through my jeans. I reached out and grasped his own thick tool, jutting upward from the hair on his lower body now that it was free.

After a few moments of tongue wrestling he went to his knees, practically popping my fly buttons in his eagerness to get my pants down. He looked up and grinned. "No underwear--look who's talking," he said, just before he surrounded my cock with the warm, moist heat of his mouth.

As he continued to suck me I pulled my polo shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground, then let my hands rove through his hair and over his face, feeling the rough stubble on his cheeks. Stan paused in his labors just long enough to strip the rest of my clothes off of me, then resumed with renewed vigor. Pretty soon I backed away to keep from blowing my load.

"Hold on a minute, unless you want it in your face."

Stan looked up and grinned. "That'd be hot--but you know how I like it even better."

He got up and moved away from me into the living room. I watched the muscles working in his hairy butt. He sat on the couch, stretched his arms over the back, spread his legs and looked at me in his inimitable way, his blue eyes steely with sexual challenge but also containing a hint of a twinkle. "Come and get it--if you can."

I looked at his long, defined arms and hairy legs, at the swell of his pectoral muscles lightly furred with more of the same. My gaze traveled down his stomach to the cock, partly erect, rising above the large heavy balls, the foreskin still hooding the purple head. At that moment it was as if Marsh had never existed. I was totally in Stan's spell again. I moved toward him, first taking a side trip to the cheap end table that stood to one side of the sofa to retrieve the rubbers and lube that he kept in the drawer. Dropping them on the carpet for later use, I knelt between his legs and took his meat down my throat, peeling back the foreskin with my tightened lips as I descended toward his pubes, in a way I knew he liked. I was rewarded with a long sigh and a strong hand caressing the back of my neck.

"Nice," Stan breathed. "It's been too long, buddy."

"Mm hmm," I agreed as I continued to slide up and down on his cock. After a while I released it and took care of his balls, rolling and washing each one thoroughly in my mouth as I kept his dick alive with my hand. Soon we were ready for the main event.

The first time Stan and I had met--well, spoken, anyway--it was on my front doorstep, during the construction next door. I had answered the door early on a Saturday afternoon to find him standing with a big grin under his bushy mustache, his cock hanging out of his jeans. I had assumed that anyone that imposing in appearance and equipment had to be a top. Stan, being not only a stud and exhibitionist but a nice guy, had been more than happy to oblige me.

It wasn't until we had gotten together a few times that he had confessed, almost shyly, his preference. He must have thought I'd lose interest in him--as it happened, finding out that this big man with the firehose dick was a bottom by preference was an intriguing turn-on for me. We still switched off now and then, but I knew that today, after my recent neglect, Stan deserved to have what he liked best.

So I grabbed his ankles and lifted his legs upward. Stan shifted forward on the couch until his butt was in the air, his cheeks fully spread. I made my way down with my tongue from his balls until I felt it make contact with the soft puckered flesh of his asshole. My nostrils caught a faint whiff of his personal odor combined with the scent of freshly washed skin. I flicked my tongue gently against the hole until Stan began to moan faintly. Finally I burrowed inside, pushing my lips hard against his hole and thrusting my tongue inside. With one free hand I grabbed his cock and began to stroke it.

"Oh man, that's so fucking hot. Do it to me."

My own cock stood out stiffly-Stan's audible response to my efforts was inflaming my own lust. I kept up my rimming until he was pleading with me to fuck him. Finally, I raised my head and grinned, licking my swollen lips.

12