The Neighbor's Wife

"Beauty pageants?" I asked.

"Why, yes. Both the Miss America and Miss USA, but I didn't win."

"The judges were blind," I said.

"Thank you, Jim." She said it in a way that proved she was used to men complimenting her appearance. But she eyed me, evaluating the depth of my interest.

"How long have you been Mrs. Doctor Parker?"

"Arthur and I were married almost two years ago."

"When you were fifteen?" I said.

She laughed, a soft, sweet sound with a hint of husky undertone. "Thanks again, but I was twenty-two."

Which makes you my age, I thought.

She hesitated.

"Go on," I said.

"My father's a doctor. He and my mother were friends of Arthur and Jane, his first wife. I've known him all my life. When he proposed... well, he is a handsome and prosperous man, and he does know how to court a lady."

"Why did he and Jane breakup?"

"She had an affair, and he caught her." Something made her blush, maybe the realization of what was brewing between the two of us. "Arthur is a jealous man," she said introspectively.

"Why did she play around?" I asked.

I wasn't really asking about Arthur's first wife. I was asking about his current wife. Amanda understood but she pulled down the protective barrier we humans develop to protect ourselves and our thoughts.

"I don't know."

"Speculate," I said.

"I couldn't," she said, but she meant, I won't.

I leaned toward her, intentionally invading her personal space. She drew back, and her mouth opened as I tapped the softness of her left breast over her heart. "What's inside here? In your heart."

"I like my life."

She hesitated. She had to know I knew she was lying.

"I love my husband."

"That's a stock answer. What's deep inside?"

Amanda didn't answer. She uncrossed her legs and put both feet on the floor. The muscles in her thighs tightened as if she were going to stand, but she didn't. She looked out the window, seeing something far away. "I'm not stupid, you know," she said defensively.

"I know. I suspect you're a hell of a lot smarter than you let on."

She looked at me with angry eyes. "Men see my body and automatically think I don't have a brain in my head."

"Not me. I think smart is better than stacked any day."

"Excuse me," she said.

She stood and walked down the hall. I heard a door close. I walked to the window to see their back yard in the daylight. It was immaculate, with all the proper plantings in all the proper places and the hot tub bubbling benignly. I heard her footsteps and turned to watch her. She had adjusted her halter, let down her hair, and freshened her makeup.

"More lemonade?" she asked.

"No, thanks. Come tell me about the real you."

We sat down. She started slowly, probably thinking I wasn't really interested, but I was interested, and I am a good listener.

"I've got a bachelor's in English and I'm working on my Master's in creative writing," she began. "Arthur's not too thrilled about me still being in school and grumbles about it, but he hasn't demanded I quit." Her eyes gleamed as she confided, "I want to write children's books. I've got some ideas."

She talked about her ideas for a book, and I interjected comments when appropriate. She talked about herself and her family and friends. She was animated and personable and warm. More than that, she could not stop talking because it had been way too long since someone had asked about her wants and her desires.

When she ran down about thirty minutes later, I asked, "Are you going to have children?"

"No. Arthur made that clear before we were married. No more kids for him." She slouched back in her chair dejectedly and crossed her legs again. Her foot moved back and forth.

"What does the inscription on your ankle bracelet say?"

She stiffened. "Nothing really."

"Oh, come on. What does it say?"

Her jaw set, and her eyes challenged me to think ill of her. "Property of Dr. A. A. Parker," she said. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. Do you?"

"Why did you ask?" she demanded.

I didn't answer. We waited and watched and took in each other with our eyes. I knew before long Mrs. Amanda Parker would be naked and squealing in my bed. And I suspected Mrs. Parker knew it, too, but there was still part of her that resisted the idea.

"I've enjoyed talking to you more than you know, but I need to finish the yard. Thanks for the lemonade," I said.

She stood when I did and was in my arms. She initiated the kiss, her lips soft and needy, her tongue flicking against my teeth, her hands on my waist. I didn't touch her.

When she broke the kiss, I acted angry as I said curtly, "If we start, I won't stop. Not with you. So no teasing. Understand?" She nodded. "Don't start unless you plan to go all the way."

I turned and started for the door. She didn't follow me, so I let myself out. As I finished the front yard, I saw her watching me more than once. I half expected her to ask me to come over again, but she didn't. That was only a minor disappointment because I was looking forward to tomorrow.

Monday morning, I ran early, had eggs and toast with my aunts, and saw them off to work. I went to the paint store to buy supplies and get color samples because painting the house was on the agenda they had given me. Then I stopped at the hardware store to get what I needed to overhaul the toilets and to buy a new kitchen faucet. I was digging through the refrigerator trying to decide what to have for lunch when Amanda called.

"Hi, Jim," she bubbled. "I was going to have a sandwich and I hate to eat alone. Would you like to join me?"

"I'll be right over," I said.

As a male model, I have to work hard to stay in shape. I know the effect my naked chest with its well-defined pecs and six-pack abs has on women. I stripped off my clothes and put on a pair of gray gym shorts and nothing else. I was at her back door a minute later. She let me in, closed the door behind me, and stared at me as her hands fluttered helplessly. She was impeccably dressed in a wraparound skirt and halter-top. A short gold chain was around her neck and the ankle bracelet was in place. She was perfectly attired for the wife of a socially prominent man except for her expression, which was, for lack of a better word, horny.

"What's for lunch?" I asked with a lop-sided grin, ignoring her obvious desire.

Damn, but she wanted to put her hands on me, and I knew it. This wasn't her game, the kind of game she'd played all her life of teasing men and having the power to drive them mad. This time she was the one whose desire was eating her up.

She stepped toward me, but I stopped her with a hand on each shoulder. "I meant it. You start it, and I'll fuck you long and often."

"I want you," she moaned.

"All the way?"

"Yes, damn it. All the way."

We kissed hard and deep as she ground her crotch into mine. I removed her halter and her nipples burned holes in my chest.

But when I found the flap holding her skirt in place and released it, letting the skirt flutter to the floor, she jerked away, grabbed the skirt, and ran from the room. I opened her refrigerator, found the lemonade, poured two glasses of it, and sat at her kitchen table. Five minutes later, she returned, not meeting my eyes as she walked with small, guilty steps to the table where she sat opposite me.

"I'm sorry, Jim. It's just... God, you probably think I'm a slut because I'm chasing you so shamelessly, but I was a virgin when Arthur first had me. I've been faithful to him. I've been good, but, now." I didn't speak until she stilled and raised her eyes to silently beseech me. "Maroon," I said.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, obviously confused.

"Maroon," I said. "Now you say it."

"All right. Maroon. What does it mean?"

"Maroon can mean abandoned, left behind. That's what the good doctor has done to you, abandoned you here while he's at work or at his meetings."

She nodded her agreement.

"And he maroons you here when he's with other women."

She neither defended him nor asked how I knew there were others, giving unspoken admission that there were. I felt my cock rising in my shorts.

"Does it feel good being marooned?" I asked.

She shook her head "no."

I stood and my erection, tenting my shorts, pointed at her face. She stared unabashedly at it. When she raised her eyes to mine, sexual need was unmistakable.

"Maroon is a color, a deep, dark red, like the blood pumping through your veins right now, making your face flush and your nipples throb, showing you're hot with need - the need to be fucked by me." I took another small step leaving us inches apart. Had she leaned forward a little, her lips would brush the spear point. "Maroon is the color of my blood engorging my cock, making it ready for you."

Suddenly, she panicked, slipping out of the chair to stand trembling by the kitchen counter. Her breathing was shallow, her face terrified, but her legs were parted and her hands were fisted by her side.

"I can't. I'm married to Arthur. I belong to him."

"I know, and I know how much that means to you. I'm not going to do anything to cause him to leave you. I'm not going to try to take you away from him. You'll still be Mrs. Doctor Parker. This is about you and me and fucking -- hard, happy, heavy fucking."

"I could never agree to have an affair with you. Never."

I stepped into her, pressing her against the counter with my legs between hers and my cock burrowing into her belly and my hands on her back. She made no move to stop me. In truth, her legs parted more to allow me access, and her hands, first raised as fists in defense, lay open on my bare chest.

"You don't need to agree. Maroon has one more meaning. You can say 'no' or 'stop' or anything else, and I'll ignore it. Except maroon. Maroon is your safeword."

"My safeword," she mouthed.

"Say 'maroon' and I will stop. I'll stop and walk away, but all other protestations will be ignored. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she said.

I grabbed her, kissing her hard and deep and long as my hands roamed. She softened and yielded, willingly accepting my hands, helping me dispose of her skirt, and moaning when I yanked down her panties. I guided her to the kitchen table and pushed her on her back. I pulled my shorts down and was ready to enter when she gasped, "Maroon."

Maybe I should have rammed it home, but I didn't. I pulled up my shorts.

"I'm sorry, Jim. Please. Don't leave. I'm sorry!" She was saying "I'm sorry" as the door slammed behind me.

Don't get me wrong. All I had to do was ignore her safeword, and I could have fucked her. For a lot of men, that would be enough -- another notch on their belt. But I learned long ago that sex is best when both people enjoy it. I knew Amanda Parker wanted me, and I'd bet I would have her before too long, but if I didn't that was all right, too. It had to be for her pleasure as well as mine because, if it was, my pleasure was maximized.

And there was something else, something I had never experienced with a woman. For me, it was a new and strange feeling, a protective and nurturing feeling, spouting like a kernel in my mind.

The phone was ringing when I got home. I saw on the caller ID it was Amanda. I didn't pick up. It rang twice more in the next five minutes. I was pulling everything out from under the kitchen sink to install the new faucet, when the doorbell rang. I'd been home seventeen minutes.

She had changed into a loose mid-thigh skirt and pullover jersey top with sandals on her feet. She wore no jewelry except the rock on her finger and the ankle bracelet, both of which testified she belonged to Dr. Parker. I said nothing as I stood in the door facing her.

"May I come in?" she asked humbly. I stepped aside, let her enter, and closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry, Jim. Very sorry. If you give me another chance, I promise I won't say maroon again. No matter what you do. Please."

"No," I said.

"Please, please. I won't disappoint either of us," she said.

"Go home."

The next move was up to her because it was important for her to be sure. A shy, little grin crossed her face when she realized why I waited without touching her. She smiled lovingly as she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her top, and pulled it over her head. She stepped out of her sandals, unzipped her skirt, and let it fall to the floor. Except for Parker's ownership trinkets, she was naked as the day she was born.

She was a woman self-trained to pose and prance and preen before men. She had strutted on runways, in beauty pageants, and made love to cameras. She knew each aspect of her body made men weak in the knees, and collectively the package could be overwhelming. But she wasn't trying to mesmerize me with her physical beauty as she stood naked before me.

She was simply a woman who wanted a man, who had removed her clothes to make herself available to him. More importantly, she had stripped away her reserve, her protection of self, leaving her emotionally naked as well. She was needy for me. She was frightened I wouldn't respond in kind. Her need made her irresistible.

When I took her hand, she squealed and tears formed in her eyes in the spilt second before she threw her arms round my neck to hug me. I held her tightly as she whispered in my ear, "I want you so much I'm dying inside. I want to be your hot slut and fuck you forever." "Come on, you hot slut. Let's fuck."

"Oh, God, yes," she gasped.

I led her down the hall to my bedroom. She ran to the bed and threw herself down on her back. She was twitching and squirming, unable to be still, and her face was a symphony of sexual desire. I took off my shorts, and my erection bounced into view. She jumped to her knees on the bed and grabbed my cock. Quickly, she took the tip in her mouth, giving it a nice coating of saliva before sitting back to examine it.

"I've never seen anything like this. It's long, and thick, too. Thick like I've never seen."

"Have you seen a lot of cocks?" I asked in a smart-aleck sort of way.

She grinned. "Not in real life, but I am intelligent enough to work a computer." She gave my cock a hard squeeze. "And interested enough to find some sexy web sites. Come on." She held my cock firmly, using it to guide me between her legs as she lay back again and stuck her legs straight up in the air.

She was tight and hot and wet as I worked my cock into with short thrusts. "Give it all to me. Now," she demanded. I did, driving my cock in her to the root. She gasped, "I'm cumming," and her muscles began to tighten. I watched her face, relishing her ecstasy, until her muscles became flaccid and her face beamed up at me.

"I want more. I need more. Please make me cum again, Jimmy. Make me cum until I die."

How many times she came that day, I have no idea. She came for the last time with her hands pinned over her head and her knees by her breasts. Sweat-soaked and with bright red skin hot to the touch, she screamed and cursed as I pumped load after load into her womb. She exhaled loudly and was asleep.

I lay beside her and took her in as she slept as peaceful as an angel. She was magnificent, every little part of her from the top of her head to the tips of perfect feet. My fingers memorized the feel of her satiny skin, smooth and soft, and my eyes feasted. Even her underbelly, where her pubic hair was at one time, was smooth without a trace of stubble. I kissed her there and she didn't move. I covered her over with a comforter, put on my shorts, and went out to the kitchen.

I was under the sink finishing installing the sprayer when I heard Aunt Dorothy come in. She called out hello and I yelled in reply. She had a lewd grin when she joined me.

"Amanda's clothes are in the hall," she said. "Where is she?"

"Asleep in my bed."

"Did you have fun?"

I turned and showed her my back. "Good Lord, Jimmy. You look like you lost a fight with a cat. Sit on the chair and I'll clean you up."

"I'll be fine," I said.

"I'm the nurse. Sit down." She used her nurse's voice, the one that made patients obey without thinking. I sat on a kitchen chair facing its back. In a few moments, Aunt Dorothy was washing my wounds. "I can tell she liked it. How about you?" When I didn't answer, she said, "That good, huh?"

"That good," I said.

"Do you love her?"

"Aunt Dorothy, I don't even like all the women I fuck, let alone love."

"Deflective answer, mockingly given. I'd say you had it bad," she said quietly.

We didn't talk as she finished scrubbing the wounds and applying Bactroban. I stood and stretched. "I need coffee," I said.

"I'll have some, too," Amanda said. Aunt Dorothy and I both turned around to see her. She was smiling shyly, eyes bloated from sex, wrapped in the comforter. She came to me with short little steps and buried her head in my chest. I held her there, lost in the feel of her.

"I hate to break this to you," Aunt Dorothy said apologetically, "but doesn't Arthur call about six every night when he's out of town?"

"Shit," Amanda muttered. She turned, dropped the comforter, and walked away.

Aunt Dorothy watched with desire "That's a sassy ass your women has, Jimmy." She realized what she said and hung her head in shame.

In a second, Amanda returned wearing her skirt and sandals, and came to me. "Can you come over and spend the night?" she said.

"Of course," I replied.

"I'll order Chinese. Say an hour?"

"I'll be there."

She kissed me with her naked breasts caressing my chest, before slipping on her top, kissing me again, and turning to Aunt Dorothy.

"Good night, Dorothy," she said.

"Good night," Aunt Dorothy replied.

I'd seen the interchange between the two of them. Aunt Dorothy wanted Amanda and Amanda knew it. I wondered if anything had transpired between them. Aunt Dorothy was lost in thought until she looked at me and blushed.

"Have you two?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"But you want to?"

She nodded.

"Has she ever?"

"She told me once with another girl at a beauty contest," Aunt Dorothy answered.

"Did you proposition her?" I asked.

Aunt Dorothy gave me a look that could wither an iron pole. "Shut up, Jimmy."

I knocked on Amanda's back door about an hour later. She answered, freshly scrubbed and cleaned, wearing little makeup and the same top and skirt she wore earlier. She ushered me in, kissed me hungrily, and led me to the table where two places were set and Chinese food containers crowded the center.

We visited and ate. When dinner was over, we cleaned up the kitchen before she took my hand and led me to her marital bed. She undressed, pulled back the covers, and let me crawl in beside her before covering us over. We cuddled until she slid her hand down and wrapped it around my cock.

"How about taking off that ankle bracelet?" I said. It was one of those times I spoke before thinking.

She released my cock and sat up beside me. Her eyes burned into me. "Why?" she asked. When I didn't answer, she said, "I know I'm a woman who has a deep need to belong to a man, Jimmy. I belong to Arthur and that anklet shows it more than a ring like all married women wear. Until another man takes it off me and puts his in its place, this one stays."

I had the urge to run to the nearest jewelry store. She smiled as if she had read my thoughts, leaned over, and sucked my cock into her mouth. When I was fully erect, she said, "Can I be on top? I've never done it that way." I welcomed her. Our lovemaking was softer and sweeter and slower paced that night, but while the intensity of the heat was less, the pleasure was at least as great.

We didn't have sex for a week. She was too sore Tuesday and Arthur came home Wednesday. But from there forward, we were together as much as time and circumstances would allow, which meant we spent most every day with each other. Sometimes, we studied. Sometimes, we fucked. Sometimes, we made love.