The Interlude: Some Neighborly Vice

Leaning back against the desk, I crossed my arms and observed their deception in awe. Once the kids beat a hasty retreat, I shook my head and bent down to retrieve my clothes. Judging from Bill's frustrated expression; I felt it necessary to share something resembling the truth of the circumstance. "Bill, I hope you don't believe any of that bullshit?" I stated, pulling up my bottoms.

Turning away from me, he was either still in shock, or he simply couldn't accept another interpretation. But he had to hear me out. I made him turn again to face me. "Listen, I can see you're upset, but I didn't start it," I pleaded like a pouty teenager--a pouty teenager still exposing her sizable attributes to her neighbor.

With his head lowered in dejection, the sight of my bare chest was unabashedly in his line of sight. "Doesn't look like you tried to STOP it!" He challenged. "How did something like this happen anyway?" He asked, clearly staring at my round hanging hooters.

Slipping back into and attaching my bikini top, I took hold and shook his massive arms to break his focus. His eyes reluctantly returned to meet mine. "Well, you probably won't like this either, but Sissy accused me of trying to seduce YOU. I know it sounds silly, but that's what she..."

"And...you weren't?" Bill broke in.

"Of course not! I would never..."

"Never?"

"Okay, never is probably the wrong term, but you understand. I certainly don't make a conscious effort of hitting on my husband's friends at pool parties," I pleaded.

"Maybe she felt you were making an unconscious effort. I mean, the way you're dressed... big tits and fine looking ass... maybe Sis has a point," he said scratching his head, no doubt confused from interjecting a three-syllable Freudian term.

My God, could it be this handsome oaf was making some sort of sense? "Hey, I can't help what I've got, and I AM dressed for a pool party. How should I dress? Unconscious effort -- bull shit! If I was to make a play for you, you'd KNOW it, Asshole!" I wagged my finger at him. That was a regrettable move. He took that gesture as a scolding, and although he was conditioned to appease his wife regarding such rebukes; there was no way he would tolerate mine. Grabbing hold of my offending hand, he put a halt to my finger wagging. Keeping a lock-tight grip on my wrist, he forced me to my knees.

"Hey, that hurts! What the fuck are you..." I winced, straining my head back to somehow weigh-lay the pain. Using my other hand to push against his strong thick thighs, a similar flush of lust flashed through me. God, was this dominance thing hereditary?

"Now see, I haven't resorted to name calling; haven't balled you out... or anything," he calmly replied, still applying just enough pressure on my wrist to be uncomfortable. My demeaning position, basically staring at his crotch, left me feeling similar to being accosted and excited by his darling daughter. His skin-tight swimming trunks did little to hide his most formidable attribute. An attribute he would soon be proud enough to display.

"Okay Bill; what is it? Do I cry uncle, or will you just accept an apology?" I asked, giving into his overwhelming strength.

"Just admit it," he said softly, as his other hand began stroking the outline of his cock.

Whatever pain I had in my wrist dissolved, only to be replaced by a growing warmth below. There's no denying, I've always been fascinated watching a man jack himself. (More than a fascination actually; it's kind of an aphrodisiac.) "Admit to WHAT?" I nervously responded, as his fingers quickly unbuttoned his trunks. Letting go of my wrist, he reached around to pull my face tight against his abdomen. Holding my head still with one hand, he unleashed the "beast" with the other.

Confronted with a super thick-veined hunk of hardening cock about the length of my entire face, my leaking pussy betrayed me. "Just admit you want it Barb. Consciously or unconsciously... in that pretty mouth of yours... in your hot pussy, or even up your stinkin' ass... you want it, Baby," Bill's words hung in the air, as he forcefully jacked his cock hard from stem to stern. Still gripping my head with his other hand, I sensed one of his thick, rough fingers edging close to my lips.

"I... I can't..." I stated, more to convince myself, as saliva formed. Running his coarse finger across my lips, they surrendered to wanton desire. Turning my face slightly in his grasp, I sucked in his finger. The calloused fingers of a construction worker were only a pretense to taking him all inside. Forced finger foreplay if you like, but he was right in his appraisal. I would gleefully have fucked his glorious ugly stick any and every which way possible.

I reached up to help his jacking hand. Letting go of my head, he leaned down to undo my top. As I felt his rough hands on my heaving chest, I couldn't rest another second before devouring his meaty monster. Swinging his cock to my mouth, I opted to forego any teasing. Opening wide, sticking out my tongue, I closed my eyes and sucked in as much as possible, before his cock hit the back of my throat. Given his full ten inches of thick man muscle, I knew, given enough time and lubrication, I could take it all.

Bill's guttural groans and moans added to the scrumptious taste of him, as my head bobbed faster and longer with each stroke. I may not have verbally admitted to anything, but at that particular sex-filled moment I couldn't help myself. This Neanderthal was mine, as I was bound to be his submissive cave girl.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU FUCKING WHORE! STOP IT NOW!" Came a screeching voice from the doorway.

"See, I TOLD you. I told you she was trying to screw him," claimed Sis, defiantly crossing her arms, as her mother's rant continued.

Jerking her husband's saliva-rich cock from my mouth, I knew there was little hope for a logically explanation this time. He and I were at her mercy, which seemed to be in limited supply. The funny thing, besides watching his trophy wife turning every imaginable shade of red, was how forgiving she was to Bill. Through her biased eyes this was entirely all my doing.

Separating and gathering myself together as she continued her rant, I hung on to the concept: this was certainly not entirely my fault. I suppose it was paramount to her that I portray the ultimate villainess, but it pissed me off.

"And I never, and I mean NEVER, want to see you near this house or my family EVER AGAIN -- you FUCKING WHORE! This is ALL...YOUR...fault!"

Scrambling back upstairs, I grabbed a confused Donny and we made our hasty exit, with her last line burned into my memory. It didn't take much effort to convince Donny of what really happened. Besides, I concluded, he was more pissed to have missed all the action.

Flash Forward: Summer of '83 +++++

Sherry's condemnation and hurtful words still clung to my brain like a 20-ton weight for the past four years. One day... one day she'll know the truth. One day she'd realize what kind of a conniving bitch she had for a daughter. She'd realize just how innocent her husband is. Not that her knowing would make any huge difference, but the day will come and she will know. That's been my silent resolve for the past four years.

Shaking myself from that dated daydream, I refocused on the reality of getting through another weekend flying solo. "This won't be so bad; it's not like I have nothing to do," I concluded and dressed for another steamy day.

I gave one final glance down on the lawn from our second story bedroom window. There he was; shirtless and still rock-hard-solid, as he strode across his yard to attend to some insidious form of suburban lawn blight...Bill Ames, as predictable as Kamikaze June Bugs, doing his yard thing, and looking entirely too delicious.

"Okay, stop staring you fool and get past it already," I swore. Hot summers and a shirtless Bill Ames complimented each other and were the reason for many such white lies. Having a baby, getting back into shape, dealing with assorted personal and marital challenges, all made the last four years seem to fly by. However, the frequent presence of Mr. Ames in his backyard served to tickle my restless libido, and drag my mind back to all sorts of erotic could-have-beens.

"Oh what the hell, I've got an hour or so to spare for a nice flirt (err, I mean) tanning session," I concluded and slipped back out of my clothes.

When it comes to bikini choices, I could have wore my latest purchase; a new white number that was an update from four years ago. My extra-sized baby-makin' boobs would fit neatly in its larger D cupped top. Upon further consideration, I opted for the tried-n-true, tighter and smuttier yellow one. Not that bikinis really need better access, but this too-little, Sandra Dee- meets-Marilyn Monroe-honey had tie strings and bows that men just love undoing. Slipping into a pair of open-toed, elevated sandals, I scooped up my favorite over-sized fluffy beach towel and a half-empty slippery bottle of Coppertone.

A tall glass of iced tea replaced my morning cup of coffee, as I made my way across our patchy drought-stricken lawn. As I previously shared, the heat that year was merciless from sunrise to sunset. Any sane inhabitant would have made their early runs and hunkered down for a long lazy afternoon and evening, safely secluded with a six-pack in their A/C treated homes. The insane ones would stretch out for yet another dose of deadly sun rays to perfect their already perfect tan, or would suffer the same deadly rays loping around an impeccable yard searching for perceived imperfections. Both of us candidates to be treated some distant day for pre-melanoma skin spots; but what the hell did we know in 1983--we were both certifiable.

"Looks like another scorcher." Bill had a keen sense of the obvious.

"I think you're right," I answered, peering over my sunglasses, as I laid out my extra large towel.

What made his otherwise dumb opener take on landmark status was the fact that it was the first form of communication we'd shared in over four years. Waiting for some equally inane follow up, I gazed in his direction; a mere six foot from me on the other side of the privacy fence. Slightly clearing his throat, I'm sure that was his intention, when his wife yelled from their kitchen window. Being that the privacy fence was of the staggered cedar slat variety, I wasn't sure if she had seen me or not, not that I gave a shit either way. In any event, he was quick to dutifully trudge back inside for an ass-chewing.

A light breeze kicked up, so I couldn't hear her whole tirade. "Slutty bitch", "separated", and a few well-placed "fuck you's and damn's" later I heard a door slam. A series of "fucking bitch-cunts" spilled from Bill before the screeching sound of burning rubber left a thick lingering silence. Training my ears for any subsequent aftershocks, Bill's voice broke through the slats.

"So, I hear you and Donny split up," his calm yet direct matter-of-factness amazed me. It was like nothing had just happened. Over time (could it be four years?) he had become impervious to her slings and arrows.

"Uh yeah, for about a month--but what's with Sherry? Sounds like she's..." I said from my prone position.

"Oh her; she's finally turned into the terminal bitch from hell. Pay no attention to her. I certainly don't. No, I was just trying to say, if... you know, need anything done... you know, while Donny's away, I'd be glad to... you know..."

"You'd be glad to help out? Is that it?" I suggested.

"Uh yeah!" He blurted out, relieved I had completed his half-thought.

"I think I'm okay for now, Bill, but thanks for the offer," I propped my head up, slid my glasses down enough to see him peering at me through the rustic fence. His eyes widened as our smiles co-confirmed the fact we were finally talking again. That's when I sensed something else; a certain sadness behind his smile. A sadness I had only recently come to recognize in my own mirror. Loneliness.

"You know Bill, there IS something you could do for me," I said, reaching for the Coppertone.

I don't know a single guy (or married), no matter his age, no matter his status or lot in life, who will turn down the chance to rub something greasy or creamy on a woman--you gotta love summer! I don't think the gate latch had fully set, before my shirtless tree-trunk of a neighbor was kneeling next to me. Handing him the greasy dark plastic container (I swear every one of those cocoanut-laden little bottles must have leaked), I pulled away my long blonde tresses, untied the halter strap around my neck, and let out a giggle. Arms bent at the elbows, I shed my sunglasses before laying my head between my hands.

"What's so funny?" He asked, unscrewing the lid.

"I don't know, just laying here like this, I was thinking about last week and the lumberjacks," I smiled.

"Lumberjacks?"

"Yeah, don't ya remember those guys trimming the trees last week? I called them lumberjacks."

"Oh sure, I remember now," Bill lied. There wasn't any tree trimming, and certainly no lumberjacks. He dribbled a few drops down the center of my back.

"Yeah, there were three or maybe four. I think they had been spying on me soaking up some sun, just like this. Umm, that feels good," I exhaled, as Bill's thick, coarse hands and fingers massaged the oil into my shoulders.

"So, you let perfect strangers do THIS?" He asked, shifting his massage to my upper back and sides.

"Oh sure; they were nice enough, and they did plenty more than this. I mean they weren't perfect, but nobody is, right?"

Feeling his calloused fingers skimming under my arms, I wondered how he'd deal with two half-balloons billowing from both sides. "No, nobody is perfect I guess. But I must say, your back comes pretty close," his tone lowered. I felt his knee shift against my thigh. Without a warning, his other leg came over me, leaving him straddling my thighs. Quick as a wink he untied the halter from my lower back.

"Well now, if you like the view from the back porch, I've been told there's even better scenery on the balcony," I winked back at him.

"Oh, don't I know THAT!" He exclaimed, re-opening the lotion.

"Why Sir, you wouldn't be trying to take advantage..."

"Of a married woman?" He completed my assumption. "I came close four years ago, didn't I?"

"Yes you did--very close! But, you didn't finish the job. A real man would have told the whole world to take a flying leap, and fucked my mouth until I couldn't stand it anymore," I boldly chastised, and felt a huge glob of oil splash my back. "Whatcha up to back there, Buddy; loose your wad already?"

Trying his best to scoop up the greasy accident was like containing a handful of sand. Backing his large frame further down my legs, he undid the bows holding my bottoms. "I suppose those fucking lumberjacks of yours we're "real" men, he asked, pulling off my bottoms to spread Coppertone over my already copper-toned ass. "My God, Barb you're completely tanned!"

"Yep, no tread marks this year; you like?" I stated, turning on my side to face him. "And yeah, they were real men, even the young ones. One of them shoved two, or was it three, fingers in my pussy like this," I said, pulling my legs from under Bill. Bending my knee, I started the show as I stated. My neighbor's wide-eyed anticipation-reeking response was delightful to observe. I hadn't even touched him yet and he was on fire with desire.

Flipping over on my towel, I continued to three-finger my pussy. "The next guy was a total boob man; couldn't get enough of these beauties," I oozed, and stared Bill down, while hoisting each boob to my mouth for a generous nipple-lick and suck.

"And the third guy, w-what'd he do?" Bill asked, leaning back on his heels to unzip himself.

"Hmm, pretty much what you're doing, except his wasn't near as big and thick," I remarked, and then slowly maneuvered myself around, until my face lined up under his crotch. This gave him an excellent vantage point to witness my entire 30-something body, as he released the beast. His multi-veined, rock-hard, super-thick, dark, man-muscle was just as I recalled it from four years ago. Leaning my head back, I extended my tongue to tease just the underside of the deep "V" of its large circumcised head.

"Damn Barb, you are one HELL of a tease!" He declared, as he held his heavy hunk of meat for my taste test.

"Yep, I can DO teasing... for a while, anyway," I acknowledged, before taking his cockhead in my saliva-rich mouth.

"You have NO idea how many nights I've laid awake thinking about..."

"Fourteen hundred and sixty, if you're into math, Baby." I smiled, and released the hold on my jugs to push his cock further inside.

"Damn, that's a long time! DAMN that feels fucking GREAT! DAMN!" His body surged forward. Grabbing my heaving hooters, his fire for me had sufficiently re-kindled. Force fucking myself deeper, I arched my supple back to apply added pleasure for the both of us. That's when I tasted an ample dose of his sweet precum. The sizzling heat of the day had burned off the morning dew, while I devoured more and more of his cautionary lubrication. I would take him anyway he wanted: fuck my face; fuck my pussy; do me in the ass; I'd do it all for this real man of the moment.

I would have to, if it hadn't been for the unexpected interruption from his darling daughter, Sissy--bitch! I could have scratched her eyes out, if she'd been in striking distance. As it was, she was yammering for her Daddy from their kitchen. Something about him taking her to repair a muffler. "I'll fix HER fucking muffler!" I thought, as devoted Daddy reluctantly withdrew and zipped up.

"I'm sorry Babe--have to take a rain check for now," he whispered and placated me with a tap on the cheek.

"Christ, it hasn't rained in over two months!" Is what I wanted to scream. "I understand," is what I simply delivered, retying my top.

Gathering the towel up to cover my lower half, I went back to the house. Sure, I was pissed at being interrupted in mid-seduction. However, at the same time, I was exhilarated by the fact that fucking Bill's big cock was more than just a probability. Getting revenge on his wife, plus adding fire to the flames of jealousy for Donny's sake; everything was shaping up nicely.

Try A Zach Snack +++++

Dressed in ultra short-shorted jeans (Daisy Dukes we called them), sandals and a tight fitting, strapped top, I grabbed my keys, shoved my list in my purse, and headed off to Safeway.

The store's A/C offered a pleasant relief from the heat, as I cruised from aisle to aisle, humming some inane one-hit bubblegum tune from the canned music. I took note of three kids who seemed to be tailing me. Perhaps it was my imagination, but they eventually showed up in whatever aisle I was in. Upon further inspection, I didn't notice anything sinister about their appearance or demeanor. They were simply two guys and a girl, maybe in their twenties, soaking up the A/C and occasionally adding to their grocery cart; the same as me. It wasn't until we reached the open fresh vegetables and fruits section that they felt comfortable enough to make eye contact.

Stopping in front of the fresh fruit, I turned in their direction. I wrapped a bunch of bananas and slyly glanced up. One of the boys was talking/teasing the girl, while the other, taller boy's face returned a big smile. His knowing head-nod caught me off guard, but I held my ground. I sensed him slowly heading toward me as I reached to inspect two honeydew melons.

"Hmm, no competition there," he blurted out, as I stood holding the two ripe melons.

I looked up, cracked a half-smile, and blushed at his double entendre. The tall, long sandy haired young man certainly had a cute endearing smile, but when I didn't immediately recognize him, I suddenly felt nervously self-conscious. Replacing the produce, I shrugged my long hair back, took hold of my cart and wheeled away to escape any further conversation.