Backyard MILF Ch. 03

This chapter is one of those stories that grows out of examining a character while you are writing about them. I was indulging in a bit of 'What would Kristie do,' and this tale is the result. It was not planned from the beginning, but it fits nicely.

As always, please know that in this story, as with the rest of my works, I am not going for realism. I just try to achieve the plausibly ridiculous.

Cheers!

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THE BACKYARD MILF 3

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"Hey Colleen," I heard a guy say to my mother, who was across the produce section from me. I looked up to see Scott West pushing a grocery cart toward my mother.

"Hello Scott. Good to see you," I heard my mother reply. "Reggie," she called to me quickly, "did you find any good tomatoes?"

"They all suck, Mom," I replied. "Can we go with Romas? They at least look okay."

"Sure, fine," she said. Mom didn't like Romas, but she hated wrinkly tomatoes more. She and Scott chatted quietly, but both kept their eyes on me as I walked over with the oblong tomatoes.

I looked in Scott's cart. "When are you going to drink some decent beer?" I demanded. There were two cases of Bud Light in there.

"Listen, whippersnapper," Scott replied, his voice pretending to have the high quaver of an eighty year old man, instead of the big, athletic dude he was. "I don't cotton to you kids today and your stank-ass IPAs."

"I drink gin, old man," I laughed. "And I'm just saying, you might as well drink White Claw as this bilge water."

"Hey!" Scott protested.

"Hey!" Mom protested too. "I like White Claw!"

Ouch.

"In fact, go get me a pack of the Black Raspberry White Claw, please," she added.

Shit. I've got to pay more attention to what is in the fridge before I get myself in trouble... I turned and trudged away. I looked back and saw the two of them laughing at me and talking conspiratorially.

Fuck. Now I had to go to the other end of the store, and then walk back, across the whole fucking Publix, in public, with a box of White Claw in my hands. I felt like an eighteen year old girl.

Speaking of which, I rounded the corner to the beer and other sad beverages aisle, only to run into my obnoxious younger snitch of a neighbor, Sandy Hammond, who was grabbing a six pack of Miller.

Cluelessly, I asked, "Your parents drink Miller?"

She shot upright, yanking her hand free of the six pack. "Uh, yeah," she replied.

You are a dumbass, Reggie, I thought. Of course her parents don't drink Miller. Nobody drinks Miller... except probably Scott West and underage kids. She may have busted me when she was thirteen, but I was hardly going to bust her now.

I smiled and shrugged. "I hope you have a good ID," I smirked, making it clear that I was above busting her. Then I had to throw away my overly mature high ground by picking up a twelve pack of Black Raspberry White Claw. I walked away, head held high. Own your losses, people.

*

I spent the next morning plotting a new way to spy on Kristie. She liked the spy pictures I had sent her, letting her know that I had seen her without her knowing, and I was pretty sure she had decided that I needed to send her more pictures... if I wanted any more appreciation. This was not a hardship. But it was a challenge.

I could have easily have stayed home and just spied on her at that moment, but the mornings were her work hours, and she had made it clear that I was not to do anything then. She was very good at her job and wanted no distractions, like showing off for her peeping tom.

I had photographed and videoed her from various locations in the back yard. It felt played out.

I thought about mounting a camera on the trellis or the fence, but explaining that to my parents if they discovered it would be the height of difficult. Besides, that way, it would be the camera watching Kristie, not me, and I would get no fun out of that!

It was ditto, if to a lesser extent, in the case of my drone. It felt more sexy, but was also impossible. Stealthy, those things were not.

Technology was not the answer, I felt.

I was contemplating hiding inside her house, which felt like an escalation I wasn't ready for yet, when my phone buzzed. I was floating naked in our pool and paddled the floating chair over to the side where my phone was. My parents were both at work, and I had been enjoying a morning in the sun.

Kristie: Heads up. A co-worker from France has been here in the US for a week, and is extending her stay with a long weekend. She will be down here and staying with me. Please let's suspend any play in my house and yard

There was a brief pause.

Kristie: Until she is gone

Me: Yes, ma'am! [Broken Heart Emoji]

Kristie: Go fuck someone your own age this weekend.

Me: Yes ma'am! {Eggplant Emoji]

Kristie: Whatever

Kristie: Just leave me alone until Patrice is gone. I don't know if I'd have to explain you or share you...

I looked at that last text for a good while. My hand seemed to feel like it ought to stroke my dick.

What was that last text supposed to even mean? She makes it clear that she wants me to back off, then she chums the waters like that?

Kristie was an incurable flirt. It was probably just her being her. But now she had made me curious about this Patrice person.

I started listening to anything I could hear from Kristie's side of the fence. She was working in the backyard again that Wednesday. She wore a headset all workday, but I could sometimes hear her side of the conversation.

It was fairly boring stuff. It usually was, which was why I usually didn't bother to listen. But then I heard something useful.

"Listen, Harold, I've been texting with Patrice this morning. I'm going to take a personal day Friday and make it a long weekend. I think I'll take our south of France friend and show her Miami Beach at some point." She suddenly barked a sharp, scandalized laugh. "You're a pig, Harold! And don't you wish."

The beach...

Miami Beach is one of the few public beaches in America where women can go topless legally. There is even one stretch of it that is clothing optional. Was Kristie going to take her French colleague and get a little loose and free?

It was a delicious idea, but honestly, I doubted it. I knew she had a very freaky side, but virtually the rest of the world knew her as a sweet, conservative woman. Regardless, it was a very enchanting speculation.

And I had nothing to do over the weekend... Nothing was stopping me from going to the beach. And taking a trip would not be anything related to Kristie's house or yard.

A few surreptitious pictures of her and this other woman on the beach, in whatever style of dress, would be just the kind of pervy, forbidden stuff to get Kristie revving hard when I sent them to her after the woman left.

This led to a number of challenges, though. Miami Beach is miles and miles long. I had no idea where they would go. Or when. I'd never tried tailing anyone before, and my car is brightly colored. I looked over at my keys, as I thought about my old, distinctly non-stealth SAAB. She'd make me for sure if I tried following her car to the beach.

Wait. I looked at my key ring.

Perhaps technology was the answer after all, I thought. I got out of the pool, wrapped a towel around my waist, and picked up the little electronic locater tag that helped me find my keys, wherever they were. I detached the tag from my key ring. Kristie parked her car in her driveway, not her garage...

So, I could find them, or at least where they parked. I just needed to send this little tag for a ride on or in her car.

I fired up my phone and did a little research on surreptitious photography...

*

Late Thursday afternoon, my father and I were tackling our latest project, weeding the lawn and beds in our front yard. I was beginning to realize that Dad and I had never done so many chores together in our lives. Despite his frequent, vociferous, and occasionally icktastic signals that he wanted me out of his house, he was taking every opportunity to spend time with me while I was still there. We both knew I'd never live with them again.

"Hello, Larry," came a voice behind me as I leaned under a shrub to get some stubborn grass that wasn't where it was supposed to be.

"Hey Mimi," Dad replied, grunting as he sat up from the other side of the bush. "What's got you out in the heat?"

"Oh, just a walk," she replied easily. "You know me, I like to keep active! Oh. Hello, Reggie."

I sat up as well. My body needed a break anyway. Mimi Taylor was a nice lady in her mid-40s. As usual, she wore baggy sweatpants and a loose cotton top. I had honestly never looked twice at her until my father's randy teasing of me and my mom earlier in the summer. I had subsequently gotten a look at her in a bikini, and, well, I understood his using her for the tease.

I genuinely wasn't interested, but I could understand.

"Hi, Mimi," I said, still having to make an effort to call the adults in the neighborhood by their first names.

"Well," Mimi said after a few more pleasantries, waving one of the hand weights she carried on her walk for an extra workout, "I'm off. See you next weekend, Larry."

Dad hesitated. "Uh... Oh, the regular circuit party. That is next weekend?"

"I'll bet he forgets his own birthday," Mimi said to me. "Yes, Larry, I'm talking about the regular circuit party. What else? How about you, Reggie? Are you coming too, or are you too grown up for anything but the Senior Circuit now?"

"One last chance to swim in the Wades' big pool? Wouldn't miss it," I said.

Just then, a strange black Honda pulled up in front of Kristie's. We all naturally looked at it. I figured this might be Patrice's Uber, delivering her for her mini vacation, and I was right. I carefully concealed that I had knowledge of who this visitor might be.

The woman who got out of the car was about Kristie's age, tall, dark brown haired, and very slender. She had brought only the one small roller bag, and was dressed in the height of business casual elegance, with high-waisted, pleated pants that made her look about 75 percent leg. She saw us all staring at her curiously, and she waved in friendly fashion. She had a nice smile.

We all waved back in that friendly wave suburbanites have, the one they give strangers that says, "Howdy! We are friendly, but we also will remember you well enough for a detailed description to the police if you try anything." She nodded her head, and turned to roll her bag up to Kristie's front door.

"What do you know," Mimi said quietly to Dad. "Gaines has a visitor!" With a shrug, she headed off down the street. Dad asked my help back under the hedge, and I missed Patrice greeting Kristie and going inside her home.

I got up fairly early Friday morning, about 8:45. After my shower and breakfast, I was ready for the day. I wondered if they would go to the beach today or the next, but I was ready now, in case it was to be today. I wandered over to the living room, which is in the front of our house. I figured I would hang there and keep an eye out to see if and when they got going early.

I looked out the window.

Shit!

Kristie's car was gone. Already.

I realized suddenly that 'early' for an unemployed grad student was quite different from 'early' for two women whose workdays were on British Standard Time. I checked my phone.

The tag showed that they were on their way toward the beach already!

I leapt off the couch and dashed upstairs. I changed into my planned beach attire, grabbed my special new bag, and ran out to my car, which was parked on the curb. In five minutes, I was off on the long drive to South Beach.

They got there more than half an hour before I arrived. That sucked somewhat, but it could not be helped. Actually, it was probably for the better, I considered. They would be relaxed and done examining their surroundings in detail. I parked in a lot half a mile north from where Kristie had left her car. Sitting in my SAAB, I applied my disguise. It mostly consisted of white zinc oxide sunscreen streaked over my face to distort its natural shape, a baggy Ohio State University teeshirt bought at the mall the day before, and a wide-brimmed hat. I looked like a sun-shy, midwestern tourist. Midwestern tourists come in two varieties: sun-shy, and lobster red. There would be hundreds of both types on the beach that day, and I wanted to blend in.

The beach where Kristie and Patrice had parked was way south of that one clothing-optional stretch I mentioned. I had certainly not expected that they would end up there, but I had still entertained fantasies...

Ah, well.

The stretch they did choose was fairly crowded, I was glad to see. There is anonymity in numbers. I wandered down the beach, looking for Kristie.

The crowd along most of South Beach is not the unending stream of bronze, topless models the Chamber of Commerce would want you to think. Most women are with their families, and are ordinary-looking (at best). And fully clothed... for the beach.

There are exceptions to that last bit. Most of those topless exceptions are not... enchanting. But a few were. A few were very enchanting. It was a good chance to use the remote camera I had installed in the new large beach bag I had bought. I appeared to all the world as if I had my head down over my phone, playing Clash of Clans or whatever as I wandered. But the camera relayed via Bluetooth to my phone in real time, and I was able to get some great shots of a few young women who were using the beach to its fullest.

I was 'wandering aimlessly' after passing the vicinity of one particularly stacked sunbather. I had taken of her from a number of angles, and got so distracted reviewing them that I almost disastrously walked right into Kristie and Patrice!

They never noticed me as I veered off in the water's direction.

It was an easy matter to pause, look at some birds, and swing the bag back toward the women. Kristie had chosen to wear a bikini, if not a particularly daring one. Her bottoms were white boy shorts with a red belt, and the top was a fairly full-coverage red number with wide straps. On her crazy body, it looked like an advertisement for sex, at least to me.

Patrice was nicely tanned, and indeed quite willowy. She wore a one-piece that was nevertheless more daring than Kristie's. It was jet black, cut very high at the hips, and the 'neckline' dropped to her navel. She was small-breasted, but on her slender body, they looked perfect.

A number of great photos went into my phone.

I wandered along past them. I was about to turn around and head back toward them when I got distracted for a minute by another rare example lying flat on her back, enormous tits bare to the sun. I winced for her a little as I took a picture or two. She had serious tanlines, and I could already see the pale portions of those luscious mounds turning pink. It was going to be an uncomfortable sunburn for the busty woman.

I wanted to say something--to warn her. But come on, what was I going to say? "Hi there! I was just staring at your tits closely and I think you have the beginnings of a sunburn?" Things would end up more painfully embarrassing for me than the sunburn was going to be for her. Or so I told myself.

I turned and walked back toward my focus of interest. The two co-workers were lying on huge beach towels, propped up on low, portable backrests, soaking up the sun. They might have been asleep, except I could see their mouths move as they chatted away. I took several absolutely lovely shots. Some framed Patrice in the middle, but most obviously centered on Kristie. The women were completely unaware of me, and the pictures had the vaguely creepy, voyeuristic quality I wanted.

Satisfied, I walked on.

It was too bad, really. I had had some hopes that Kristie's French colleague might have led her into a little topless time, but the pictures I had gotten would do the trick, nevertheless. I could show Kristie in a few days that I had well and truly observed her in sexy circumstances without her knowledge. She would love it.

I paused.

What made this all so hot was... pushing it.

I turned and walked back, finally pulling out my towel and seating myself on the other side of Kristie from where I had taken the pictures, with a family of three almost directly between us. Almost. I set down my bag, carefully pointed right back at the women. From this vantage, I was looking at them from an angle, with their feet closer to me than their heads. I shifted the bag idly, moving them perfectly into frame.

I took several more excellent pictures. But those were for later.

I set the camera to record video and let it run. Then I chose one of the best shots I had taken earlier, from the other direction and clearly further away. I took a deep breath, and texted it to Kristie. Time to let her know that she was being watched, but couldn't catch me.

I saw her stir at the buzz of the phone. But she just ignored it. I sent her a second picture I had chosen.

She frowned lightly, and reached for the phone. I hoped to god that Patrice wouldn't be curious enough to lean over and look, but little, genuine risks like that got me revved, I was coming to learn. She just lay there, eyes behind her shades.

Kristie's own eyes widened and she swiftly shot a glance off in the direction that those pictures had clearly been taken from. Then she stopped herself and looked away. She shook her head and smiled a little to herself, laying back with just the tiniest shiver.

"Who was that? A problem at the office?" Patrice asked idly.

"No! I have them all on ignore this weekend," Kristie replied. "Just a friend."

"A boyfriend?" The frenchwoman asked teasingly.

"Ha! I have no boyfriend," she laughed. "Creepy stalkers are all I rate these days."

Patrice heaved a gallic sigh. "Ah well. Perhaps they are cute creepy stalkers. Those are the best kind."

Kristie shook her head and paused. Then she reached behind her back and unhooked her bikini top! She looked around significantly, seeking but not finding me in the distance, then lifted it up over her head and set it aside before relaxing back.

Fuck, those were nice tits.

Patrice noticed the change. "Alors! I thought you were American!" she snorted nonchalantly.

Kristie shrugged, perhaps more scenically than necessary. "It's allowed on this beach."

"Ha! Well I am not sure it that will get you a boyfriend, or just more stalkers, but it is a start!" With that, Patrice also reached behind her head. She tugged the strap up and over her head and let the front of her suit drop down to her waist. She rolled it up tightly and tucked it in. Her breasts were delicate, as I said, but deliciously sweet. Her nipples were dark and round, and just a bit perky in the breeze. She was delicious, but I remained focused on Kristie next to her.

The mother of the small family between us was low-level scandalized. I guessed that she had chosen this little patch of beach because of its former absence of naked tits. Now her husband was being treated to a Grade A Prime fifteen feet from them.

After a minute or so to capture the two of them settling back in their new display, I stopped recording the video, having gotten the action I had prayed for but not really expected. Kristie liked being watched, and now that she knew that she was, she was clearly getting turned on. Her nipples were hardening just a touch. I hoped she liked the extra attention she was getting from the husband who was between us, partially screening me.

I took several zoomed in shots of Kristie, even a few ultra-closeups of her perky nipples.. Then I zoomed out again to take in both of them and restarted the video recording.

After a minute or so, Kristie looked around again, still not focusing on me. Was my disguise working this well! I clearly wasn't staring her way, my face was resolutely on my phone and I was turned away from her toward the sea.