Backyard MILF Ch. 01

After a few minutes of fruitless scanning, I set my binoculars down and went back to my book, since I was being all serious and productive and shit this afternoon. I had spent the morning getting shot online with Call of Duty.

About twenty minutes later, another flicker of movement triggered my attention, but not from the woods. I frowned and sat forward, wondering what had caught my attention.

My house is one of a fan of homes that enclose one end of the cross in the T that is our little development. We all back up to the woods on this end. The wedge-shaped lots putting an angle between each house, instead of them being parallel. Our yards all have privacy fences, as much for insurance purposes as for privacy. When you have a pool, insurance makes you ensure that drunks and kids can't wander in it and drown.

Whatever movement I had seen, it had come from the small sliver of Kristie's yard that was visible from my room. And my room was the only one in our house's second floor that could see even that small part, which mostly was filled with the electric utility's power box and some screening shrubbery. I didn't think it had been the buntings I had seen moving, not there.

Puzzled, I set down my book and peered over. The movement happened again. It was just Kristie. I had seen her shock of wavy, sun-bleached blonde hair moving around just beyond the fence. It was past the time of day where she said she was usually working, and apparently she was gardening.

I could see nothing else, and was about to go back to my book when I caught another glimpse of the back of her head moving around behind the fence, just at edge of what was in view from my room.

I'll admit, I was intrigued. More intrigued than the back of a woman's head should make me. The next time I saw her move, and it was several minutes later, I grabbed my binoculars again. By the time I did, she was gone.

Really? I had sat there watching for four minutes, just to see a three second glimpse of the back of my neighbor's head? I was an idiot.

So anyway, five minutes later, I was still looking through the binocs when I saw her move by again, just a foot or so further back in the yard, enough so that I could see her shoulder briefly.

It was bare. Not like, bare with a camisole strap or something. Bare. As in clearly not covered with clothing.

Two seconds, at most, was all I saw. That's it. But it kept me watching through the spotters for half a fucking hour. I'm a birder. I'm patient.

I did notice that the quiet hair-metal rock I was hearing (how's that for a contradiction in terms?) was from her yard, but beyond that, I could perceive no other sign of her.

I finally shook my head and got up from the desk. My parents were both gone until late that night, so I took my book and went down to our backyard. We had a nice pool ourselves, and I decided to read in the water for a while. Since I was alone, I passed on dragging out a suit and just stripped, getting into the water naked. I slipped into one of our water chaises and went back to reading, the music from Kristie's house a bit louder out here.

Ten minutes into the next chapter on marketing group studies, I realized that I had a hard on, right there in the pool. I also realized that I was ten pages into the chapter and all I had been thinking about was my neighbor, eleven years older than me, possibly gardening topless, fewer than twenty yards away from me.

The book was obviously a lost cause. I dog-eared it back at the start of the chapter and tossed it onto the dry pool deck. I lay back in the chaise and thought of Kristie, eyes closed and fingers idly stroking my erection.

Man, I was suddenly such a creep. I mean, I had seen her hair and a (very) bare shoulder blade. That's it. And here I was in full horny fantasy mode.

I groaned and rolled out of the floating chaise and submerged myself fully. A few short laps and my cock had started behaving itself again. I dragged myself out of the water and went inside to shower and dress again.

The erection came back as soon as I went to bed that night.

*

The next morning, I rose with my parents and helped my mother make breakfast. After they left for work, Dad at his firm and Mom to visit various physicians' offices in Miami, I hopped my car to Home Depot for some supplies. I spent the rest of the day trying to annoy my father by being productive in ways he knew he should have been himself.

I patched the holes in the drywall that he had made the month before when bringing in Mom's new armoire, and I installed a new light bulb in the oven, which was a harder process than it ought to have been. I was just touching up the paint on the drywall repair when both of them got home at almost the same time.

Dad was appropriately annoyed at being shown up and not being able, because Mom was already there, to say that he knew what I was doing. In response, he cooked dinner, and of course he knocked it out of the park. Mom was giddy, to say the least.

But as I went to bed, my satisfaction at showing Dad up, at least for a while, faded away like smoke in the face of those same memories of Kristie's bare shoulder blade...

*

I awoke early again the next day, and soon realized that even if I were to do something crazy like doing everyone's laundry unprovoked, I was now thoroughly obsessed with what might or might not be happening on the other side of that privacy fence in the afternoons. I found myself wandering the back yard, staring at the maddeningly effective wooden barrier of that fence.

I was thoroughly obsessed. It was both infuriating and embarrassing. And it wasn't going away. I realized that I had to find a way to see what she was doing in her backyard after work on these sunny, pleasant afternoons. (Pleasant for South Florida that is. If you were from Michigan, you'd say it was a damned inferno each day.)

I was such a perv, I told myself.

I walked along the fence, finding no gaps or knotholes, and not feeling like I wanted to make any artificial ones. Cutting a hole seemed like a step too far. Pervs are weird about what lines they will draw, apparently. I pushed open our gate to the narrow wedge between the sides of our houses and looked at the gate right next to it into Kristie's back yard.

I reached out almost involuntarily and wiggled the handle. It was squeaky, but when I clicked it open, it did not re-latch when I let go. I tugged on the handle and to my surprise, the gate moved silently.

I was actually shaking as I returned to my own back yard.

I hopped in my car and left the house for lunch, still in my swimsuit, figuring that I should just stay out the rest of the afternoon. But I ended up having a simple Chipotle burrito and pulling back into our driveway at 1:15. I padded through the empty house and into the back yard. I could hear the same mix of hair metal and stadium rock songs wafting over the fence from next door, possibly a little louder today.

I ditched my shirt and thought about taking another swim to cool down.

But I knew that she was over there in her backyard, gardening or whatever she was doing. If I got in the pool, I'd just be obsessed with all sorts outlandish ideas of what she was up to, so close but out of sight...

Unlike Kristie's, our gate was squeaky as hell. I went back through the house and out our front door to avoid that noise. I stepped briskly around the side of the house and found myself hesitating before her gate.

Going through that gate, especially without knocking or announcing myself would be a kind of Rubicon.

I crossed it. And I found to my immediate chagrin that I was reveling in the risk of it all.

The gate swung silently open and I slipped through, letting it close again softly. I had thought carefully about how her yard was laid out. The pool and surrounding deck took up most of the center of the yard. But surrounding it was a lovely array of small garden plots, each with a neatly maintained grouping of tropical flora. Most importantly, there was a set of three free-standing trellises coming off the corner of the house, covered in fairly thick bougainvillea that obscured the view of where she kept her trash cans. It would make an excellent vantage point to see unobserved what Kristie was doing. And how she was dressed.

Would she be floating in her own pool? Would she be kneeling in the dirt, weeding?

As long as she wasn't pruning the bougainvillea, I'd be golden. Probably.

I walked forward in a crouch and knelt low behind the trellis, far enough back that I judged I would not be in focus if she did happen to look over to that corner of her yard and the colorful purple wall of flowers. I could see her entire back yard from my concealment.

There she was. She had the hose in her hand, with a liquid fertilizer attachment on it, feeding first one group of her plants around the pool patio, then another. I panicked for a moment, but I looked at the bougainvillea espaliered in front of me, and saw that it looked freshly wet. I hoped that meant she had already done this side of the yard. It seemed I was right as she moved further away.

I could not keep my eyes off her. She wasn't nude or topless of anything, but damn she was fine, and dressed to mesmerize in the most casual way possible.

She had on a pair of extremely short cut-off jeans, tight across her sweet, petitely round ass, but visibly loose all the way around her slender waist. The waist was as low as the legs were high, and one back pocket was red and white stripes, while the other was darker blue with white stars, making a flag motif. Above that, she wore a very loose Motley Crue teeshirt with the neckline and sleeves cut away to make for a tank top. Underneath, I could see a colorful bikini top, cupping her swaying but firm tits. The bottom of the shirt had also been trimmed away, leaving a good expanse of slender, very toned midriff exposed.

Once she finished feeding all her ornamental flora on the far side of her yard, she carefully coiled up her hose and stowed it over there. She bent over in my direction to do so, and even forty-plus feet away, I got a magnificent eyeful of cleavage.

How had I not been obsessed with Kristie from the moment she moved in next door when I was eighteen and a simple stiff breeze made my horny? I guess it was because she had been married then.

Really? Here I was crouching in her bushes, being a full-on Peeping Tom, but I drew the line a married women? I was weird.

I was also entranced.

Kristie moved back to the side of the pool and picked up a tall glass of iced tea from the table beside her purse and a huge, folded, pool towel.

Please let that towel mean she was planning to get in the pool!

Setting the glass down, she stretched. Her large but not huge breasts thrust outward as she arched her back, and she twisted side to side, tilting first one foot up on its toes, then the other. Even in plain white sneakers with no heels, her legs looked fucking to die for. They were, like the rest of her, wonderfully slender, with just enough delectable flesh to avoid looking skinny, but not an ounce more than that.

She was reaching once again for her tea when the song changed and started belting out Motley Crue's Girls, Girls, Girls.

A broad smile lit up Kristie's wide mouth, lifting her big cheekbones. The nostrils of her sharp, pixie-like nose flared, and her eyes looked off into the distance for a moment. "Hey Siri, turn up the volume by three!" Kristie sang out. The music was now actually loud.

And Kristie began to dance. This was not some idle swaying, but a full-on sexual display. She wasn't twerking or some shit, either--not just bending over and bobbing her ass. No, this was a full-body sexual display, even if purely for her own sole (she thought) gratification. Her arms waved sensuously out to her sides and over her head, while her entire body undulated, turning slowly around as she moved.

Holy fuck, it could not get better than this. I had hit the jackpot of days to give in to my pervy urge. The frisson of fear that ran through me that I could still easily get caught almost made it better. Almost. I settled myself more into a more stable position while she was turned away.

And then Kristie grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it slowly, deliberately, up and over her head. It was a practiced, intentionally showy move that would have riveted the attention of any watchers, had there been any... besides me. Her bikini top was no more than two triangles, one blue and white, the other striped in another flag motif. The two triangles were held together with white strings tied behind her back and neck. The mere scraps of fabric covered not much more than fifty percent of her incredible tits. They swayed high and proud in Kristie's bikini top, not mashed down like they had been in the one-piece that she had worn to the adult party the prior weekend. Her boobs had looked incredible at the party--they obsessed me now.

Fortunately, she was still turning in circles as she danced and I could move and adjust the front of my bathing suit without betraying any movement whenever she was facing the other direction.

She was three quarters turned away from me when Kristie reached behind her back and tugged slowly, teasingly at the bow holding together the strings of her bikini. She continued to undulate to the music as she pulled and the knot popped free. She was still turning, and was facing right at me as the top slid free of her breasts and hung between them. She lifted the bikini top from the front and spun it in her hand before tossing it toward the poolside table as if to someone in an audience.

Oh my God. Those tits were unearthly. Round and lush, but preternaturally pert and almost gravity-defying, they were deeply tanned all over and surmounted by perfectly round, slightly darker aureoles and sweet, erect nipples. They might be too firm to be believed, but they still bounced, jiggled, and stretched mesmerizingly as she danced and moved her arms.

I was so fixated on watching her naked breasts as she danced, I missed her unsnapping her shorts and lowering the zipper. I only realized it when she stopped turning, facing only a few degrees away from right at me, and bent forward, pushing them down her legs. They pooled at her ankles. She lifted one foot free, then kicked them upward with her other. She caught them in mid-air, looked over her shoulder at the table, wigged her ass in that direction, and tossed the tiny shorts onto it.

She had no bikini bottom. She had no hair, as far as I could see (and I could see pretty much everywhere), anywhere below her neck. Her skin was smooth, taut, and completely unblemished.

She resumed dancing.

In a moment, she was facing the house, side on to me, her naked profile a wet dream come to life. Her dance slowed naturally and she stood with her legs spread and locked straight. With a move naturally in time with the music, she bent at the waist, displaying flexibility equal to her visual perfection. She kept going down until she was bent double at the waist, head straight down, blonde wavy hair dangling toward the ground, and she reached an arm back between her legs, waving in the direction of the pool.

The song was almost done, and she straightened, ending her own dancing efforts a few beats before the music. My bent legs were suddenly sore and stiff, and I involuntarily sank one knee to the ground. She had been looking in my direction, though not straight at me, when I shifted.

I froze, afraid my movement might have been detectible, even through the tangled Bougainvillea. But she did not freeze, or otherwise act startled, so I was okay. I still trembled at how close I had just been to being caught. Even that felt exciting, but not as exciting as the view of Kristie naked and glorious. Another song began, equally uptempo, and she turned, almost skipping back toward the table.

Kristie touched her purse with one hand, but unfortunately grabbed at a corner of her large fluffy white towel with the other. She was going to cover up!

Suddenly, she whirled, moving in a blur. It took me a moment to register what had happened. One moment, she was facing away from me, bending over the table and presenting me with a truly marvelous view, the next, she had whirled in my direction. She had her towel clasped to her front, covering all the most delicious bits and pinned to her body by her upper arms pressing against her torso.

She was holding the towel against her with her upper arms instead of using her hands because they were both holding a Walther PK380 in a very expert grip. She held the gun in my general direction, but down at an angle and slightly off to the side. Her index finger lay firmly along the body of the gun, above but well clear of the trigger. At least she was holding the weapon in a very safe manner. But everything else about the way she held it was lethal and apparently well schooled. Her right hand curled firmly around her left, and her left gripped the Walther with practiced ease. The finger that was nowhere near the trigger could be on it in less than a heartbeat. Her hands were steady as a rock.

All this information registered with me in a flash. I was discovering that a gun held competently in your direction accelerates your mental processes remarkably. I recognized the model of weapon that she held because my mother, who spends her days driving through sometimes dodgy Miami neighborhoods with her car full of pharmaceutical samples, has one exactly like it, only in black, as opposed to the purple and silver one in Kristie's hands.

Amazingly, I also could not help, despite the sudden awfulness of the situation, noticing how unbelievably sexy Kristie looked standing there. Her legs were set apart, knees bent ever so slightly, with her right foot forward. It was a very stable, effective shooting stance, and the one Mom had taught me and Dad at the range, once she had been taught it herself. Kristie's posture also meant that the towel, which was held precariously under her armpits, dangled down between her legs, leaving her bare waist, hips, and outer thighs clearly visible. If she did lift her arms up to aim and shoot at me, my last sight would be of her completely naked body as the towel slid to the ground. Someone needs to make an action movie poster of that costume/pose combination...

Time resumed with a crash.

"Willie!" Kristie hissed loudly, her voice filled with anger and frustration. "You have a restraining order on you, you fuckwit. I bought this gun for you, and believe me, every bullet in it has your name on it. Get. The fuck. Out. Of. Here."

Oh shit. She thought I was Will, her ex-husband. Their divorce must have been way, way worse than anyone knew!

"Don't shoot!" I said quietly, still carefully not moving. "I'm not Will."

A parade of expressions passed over Kristie's face, including shock, relief, fresh irritation, embarrassment, blushes, and more relief. Then they all gave way to recognition...

"Reggie?!?" Kristie asked in bewilderment. Then she commanded, "Stand up!"

In dawning horror at my situation, I stood slowly, raising my hands up and out to my sides. I took two steps to my left as I did so, taking me mostly clear of the bougainvillea.

She almost sagged in relief as I came into view and she could be sure I wasn't Will. Her whole body relaxed that dangerous tension, and I saw her flick the safety back on and decock the hammer. She released her right hand from her left and instead clutched the towel to her chest with it. She almost turned away toward the table again, but then she realized what that would do to my view of her. She glared at me and stepped backward. Glancing over her shoulder, she slid the gun back away into an unobtrusive carry pocket in her purse without turning away from me.