Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Covid has been such a weird challenge for new lovers. How do you build a relationship when you are forbidden to touch? This story introduces two people who find an imaginative way to become intimate even while remaining safe.

*

The three-story Victorians in West Newton must have been built at he same time, maybe not in the Victorian period, but in the '20s when upper-middle class families were moving out of Boston. They had been kept up well. One was blue-grey with white trim, the other a little more garish in a faded rose with pale green trim on the gingerbread cornices and gables. Martin had found digs on the top floor of the pink one when he was first hired at BC, and though he could afford something bigger, and not two staircases and a tall stoop up, he liked the place, though as a soccer coach he should probably have been in the other, more masculine Victorian. But he liked his little turret with its view to the west and the barely hidden Charles River. In autumn the leaves of the maples were glorious.

But now, to be truthful, it was claustrophobic. The Covid pandemic had kept him corked up here for five months and counting. He had some relief conducting Zoom workouts with his teams. But it wasn't right. It was off, and he couldn't do much about it.

The two families who lived on the floors below didn't want to have much to do with him. Mrs. O'Leary, the old woman with the red walker and the big Queen Elizabeth hats on the first floor was courteous, but scared. She shied away from him like he might assault her, and he couldn't convince her he was not dangerous, because he might be.

The Browns, on the middle level, with their one nerdly and one Down syndrome kid, were friendly enough, but the days when he would babysit to give them a break, or take the kids for a run were over for now.

So he played MMORPG video games for hours and sort of felt he had a community. But they were blue elves or French thugs, so it didn't really count. His best relief came from running in the neighborhood, cutting through the industrial complex off Crescent to run along the river or doing the loop of Forest Grove and Wabago. He could run for hours if he let himself, pretending sometimes to be preparing for the Boston Marathon; it didn't really matter; he was out of his head and lost in the leaves and the wind, and even sometimes the rain.

After a while he noticed a woman who seemed to be looping through some of the same roads. She wasn't exactly young, but not middle-aged either. She wasn't the kind to be modeling Athleta tights, but everything was there and a touch extra. One day as she rounded the corner and headed for the river he noticed that her chest bounced quite a bit with every step and he wondered if that was trouble. Thank god he didn't have to strap his chest up before going for a run. Her legs were a bit heavy. Maybe she ran to slim them down and her butt was, well, distracting. Very thick chestnut hair in a pony tail that bounced when she ran. Deep tan.

It would have been tempting to jog right up and start a 'running conversation,' but he had just had a sensitivity class that day at BC; trying to get the men to see how it felt to be a woman there, always a bit on your guard, wanting to meet guys, but knowing that some would just try to take what they wanted, especially the athletes. He let his players know that any misbehavior would mean being dropped from the squad. Period.

So it made him feel weird to be following this woman; at a 'safe' distance, on an isolated road, and feeling quite a lot like jumping her bones. After all, he hadn't had a hook up of any kind since well before the pandemic lockdown. He wondered how his players handled it. Well, he knew how they handled it, the same way he did, by handling it, alone. But still.

He and the woman had gone different ways when they left the river; but the funny thing was, just as he was turning the corner into his own block, he saw her. She was going up the back staircase of the Victorian next to his. Damn! She lived on the top floor in the apartment that mirrored his in the other house. And how did she beat him back from the river?

This got to be a routine. They played an odd game of cat and mouse; bumping into each other at different spots on their route. Glimpses at the drug store, the supermarket. It would have been easy to stop at a safe distance and trade names, numbers, emails. But they didn't. Maybe it was because they were both scared -- not eager to get sick, or to want so much to hook up but not be able to.

Their game escalated. If he got home before her he stripped to nothing but some knit shorts.

He got his weights and worked his muscles hard in the bay window facing her place.

She did the same, yoga or dancercise routines legs pumping and breasts bouncing until she was dripping.

Each of them blasted their favorite workout music into the night.

On weekends she ended her run by heading to the back yard and flopping into a kiddie pool. One time she sunbathed with her top unfastened. He knew that she knew that her basking spot was only visible from his bedroom window.

So he went out in the yard in nothing but a speedo and pumped iron until his body was slick.

Dusk was falling quickly and he rushed up the stairs into his dark apartment, eager to take a steaming shower, and maybe, if he could get the fantasy just right, whack one off before the hot water ran out.

Something stopped him. As he passed through the dark living room he glimpsed the lights gleaming from the top floor of the Victorian next door. A flash image of his fellow runner stripping her hair out of its scrunchy and shaking it big and loose.

Sweatshirt over her head as she disappeared into her bathroom. Right opposite his. Well. Now his fantasy could have a few more bones to it. Right over there, a few feet of air and a few inches of wall, a voluptuous woman was getting naked. Soaking her body in hot water; rubbing the soap on those full breasts until they were shiny and slick, pushing the suds into the thick triangle of curls he just knew were down below, eyes widening a little as the wet fingers touched the swollen lips.

She must 'take care of herself' too, wouldn't you think? She was alone like he was as far as he knew. How did she go about it? Some women never did. But she was pretty young and this was a new age. Women were exploring all sorts of ways to 'know' their bodies. Did she have a favorite 'toy'? Or a collection of them? Or did she just quickly rub one out with her fingers? Maybe tuck an old teddy bear under her, belly down, and ride it until the itch was gone?

His imagination was enough to get him aroused as he enjoyed the steaming water. He caressed his aching balls and tugged at his rod. It was all too ready to pop.

Bending her over the kitchen table. By the river against that tree that leaned out ... Knees against her chest ...

Almost. Almost. Nope. He couldn't get it. Go watch a quick vid? Nah. He wanted ... he wanted ... He spun the shower handle to cold as he always did and spent a few moments chilling all over. He didn't like to climb into fresh clothes sweaty, not even PJs.

He got out and toweled off hard; threw open the window to cool off the steamy bathroom.

What the ...?

Her bathroom window was open and there she was, wrapped in a white terry robe and vigorously toweling that thick hair. He quickly flipped off his bathroom light, mostly because he himself was naked, right, and it might seem creepy to her to see someone looking ... even though, let's admit it, he was looking and ... had she seen him?

She finished with her hair and seemed to be rubbing some kind of cream into her face, her neck, her upper chest. Unexpectedly, she dropped the towel and taking some more cream, spread it downward onto, yes, a magnificent breast, standing up firm like a thick loaf just out of the oven. Now the other one. Was it the touch, the cool air drifting in the window; her nipples pulled thick and tight, the tinted circles around them puckered into tantalizing bumps.

This was impossible. This didn't happen. Life didn't put on just the show he wanted just when he needed it. As she smoothed the cream under her arms she raised one elbow and then the other over her head and those magnificent 'loaves' lifted in invitation.

He almost didn't have to touch himself. His balls were aching and so ready. He was afraid she could hear his breathing as it got short and rough.

He noticed she was sort of swaying and then he realized he had been hearing some old jazz, Billie Holliday singing Body and Soul. Were her hands ...? Yes! Her shoulders were shaking. Her mouth twisting in a 'beautiful agony' face. Suddenly panting hard as it hit her.

Fuck it. Two can play. He flipped the light on. She flipped hers off.

And he let go with a moan. Red faced. One hand on the window sill. Just time enough to snatch a washcloth off the towel rack and catch the cream as it erupted from him, face red, legs shaking. It just poured out, like it had been saved just for this occasion. Unexpected extra pulses. And he dreamed he was filling her up, those strong thighs lifted....

He slept well that night and slept late, bursting out of the apartment to rush across town to get his first shot at the high school gym. A funny deja vu, like lining up for his first prom, only no one was dressed fancy and everyone was wearing masks, and this was protecting against sickness and death, not connecting for a possible hook-up later, except ... except ... wtf! ... there she was, running up to the tail of the walk-ins line. But now she was in an elegant grey business suit. Skirt pretty short, showing off ... she must run quite a lot! Those were well-toned calves and dimpled knees and nice strong quads. Hmm.

She gave him a hurried wave and kind of a smile-grimace. He knew he was actually blushing as his below-the-belt gear was appreciating what he was seeing.

"I'm such a damn horn dog. Shhh, hey, this was a serious situation." But on the other hand, he had seen the bare skin of those mounds under her tight bodice. He had seen her rub cream onto that scooped neckline. And she had surely seen him letting it all loose.

Chill, chill. She was approaching the admissions desk and was taking out her documents and showing them to the lady with the badge and white fuzzy hair. A frown answered by a frown. The old gal was shaking her head. His fantasy date was being turned down flat. Her voice rose.

"You can't be serious! I'm dealing with the families of Covid-19 victims every fucking day!"

Murmur, murmur from the official. 'Limited supply' and all that. He felt guilty. He wanted to say, "Here, you can have mine." But he knew they wouldn't do it. The University had jumped through hoops just to get him on the list so he couldn't infect the students still on campus. That way lay nasty lawsuits if any star athlete kid of a deep-pocked alum got sick.

She was stomping away. She stopped and looked up at him, biting her lip. Suddenly she grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out of line.

What the fuck! He could miss his time slot.

She dragged him around the corner, keeping her masked face turned away. Faced him, her hands on her hips.

"It isn't for work. I did this for you, or really for me." She hissed in a deep whisper. "I fucking can't stand it any more. My body fucking hurts. I so need a deep shagging and so do you. I know what you're doing. "

His face got red again. But she touched his chest.

"No, no, don't be embarrassed, " she said. "You know I'm doing it too. Okay, it's kind of adolescent and peek-a-boo. But that's what we've got. But I need more ... and I saw you as I drove past and figured maybe I could get mine too and then we could ... Jesus, suddenly I feel like a slut."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Don't say any more? Don't bother me ...? "

"No, no. Don't feel bad. I am so fucking relieved you did this. So, so, let's work something out."

"No, but I can't get sick. My boss would sack my arse so fast ..."

"I should go get my shot ..."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'm a stupid wanker bitch who ..."

"...is doing something wonderful. Don't beat yourself up. Meet me like we always do after work for a run. Only this time maybe we can actually talk. Okay?"

Her smile was funny, but she nodded.

He could see in her face that she might hide from him. "Don't stand me up." She was turning away. "Please, I really need to see you again. And not just out the bathroom window." He winked. "Promise?"

She read his eyes for a bit. "Promise."

She planted a quick kiss on his cheek; realized what she had done; dug in her purse and produced a sterile wipe and quickly scrubbed his face with it before darting away.

He was actually early for his appointment; but his arm ached more than he thought it would for the rest of the day.

----*----

It was hard to concentrate on his class and coaching. He kept feeling the afterglow of the kiss and zooming toward his 'date' later with fantasies of a mad roll in the hay, only to come to a screeching mental halt when he realized exactly what he couldn't do. He also realized that he was more than a little attracted to a woman who he had avoided talking to because deep inside he knew it would be too frustrating to get close only to stay apart. He hadn't even tried to get her name.

He had never dressed so fast. Grabbed the first t-shirt and shorts he could get hands on and out the door. He looped the river route twice before she showed up. For a few minutes they just jogged along next to each other, enjoying the 'distant proximity'. A couple of times they challenged each other to do sprints.

"Race you to that tree!"

She actually got the jump on him and made him run hard to catch up.

He stopped to blow and drink some water. It was a favorite spot where the path ran very close to the river and a big tree with knotty roots hung over the water. He flung himself down on one side of the trunk and she did the same on the other.

"Whew, you don't kid around! That was a good sprint. I'd offer you a sip of my water, but, you know, Covid and all that ... "

She was gracious. "That's okay, I keep a little thermos in my fanny pack. By the way, I'm Victoria. Bakker. You can call me Vic, but please not Vickie."

"Vic it is then, although I could call you Tory."

"Tory!" No one has ever called my Tory, but I like it. Yeah, you call me Tory. And who, Mr. Anonymous are you? Should I guess?"

"A lot of names in this world. Martin. And not Marty, please."

"Martin it is."

She took a drink on her side of the tree and it gave him a shiver to hear the water go down her throat. She had said his name like 'Mahtin, which was also sexy. How should he ask her about being English? Maybe just straight out.

"Mahtin. I assume you are English or some such."

"Some such. South African, by birth, though I've lived in the States a while. My parents were sick of apartheid, not the greatest for a mixed couple."

"But it isn't really better here. My students ...."

"Tell my about it. But that's water under the bridge."

"For you?"

"Oh I've gotten some shit, subtle stuff, since I'm so light, but still those 'what are you' looks and questions.

"Doberman."

"What's that?"

"You should just give them the name of some breed of dog, maybe a mixed breed. Labradoodle' would be good. What's the matter?"

Weird sounds were coming from her side of the tree.

"That's priceless. Dog breeds. I can't wait to do that."

Martin plucked up his courage.

"Great. Hey, I was thinking that after what you said at the vaccination center we should ... well ... meet ... safely for a ... date ... maybe later this week."

"What I said ...? Oh, yes. Oh no, but I ..."

"Don't be embarrassed. You spoke my mind, and after all our peek-a-boo games ..."

"You noticed."

"I played. So, yes, if it wasn't for this shit virus, excuse me ..."

"Accepted and endorsed."

"I would have asked you over for a bit of wine and a home cooked meal and ..."

"...and what we have needed for fucking weeks, no months, excuse me ..."

"Accepted and applauded. So yeah, I have a little plan ..."

"He has a plan, oooh."

"Yes I do, and I hope it will prove acceptable. Safe but ... satisfying."

"Gettin' my knickers all twisted now ..."

"Mind going there. Stopping. For now. Damn. I am nailing myself to this side of the tree, so I won't swarm over there and ... ANYWAY. I figure if we avoid the ..."

"Vrying."

"Frying?

"Close. Kissing. Making out."

"Yes."

"So nothing face to face ..."

"Yep."

"Or front to back with a lot of huffing and puffing and calling to Jesus and the saints."

"A shame."

"Indeed."

"But. Where there's a will there's..."

"An inheritance."

"You must be in law."

"True enough, but outlaw sometimes."

"I was hoping."

Sneaky fellow that he was, he had slid around the tree just enough so that he could reach around and place a warm hand on her thigh.

"Eish!!"

"Sorry."

"No, that's okay. It's just a long time since I've been touched, and ...."

"I'd take your hand, but that would be ... unsanitary. You'd have to worry about touching your face before you got home and washed."

She laughed, and it was a delightful bubbling sound.

"You can put it back."

"May I?"

"Please."

A simple thing, but he had rarely felt more intimate with anyone. His fingers rested on that most tender inner part of her thigh. But it was too awkward to do more than that. She ran a fingernail down his forearm.

"So ... what is your plan? It had better be good."

"I hope so. I'd like you to meet me at the back corner of your yard at about nine o'clock, let's say Thursday, after dark. There's a gate there that is wired shut. But I have some wire cutters ...."

"And how is that any different than just meeting me in my yard or yours through the front gate? We don't need to be secret, do we? You're not married ..."

"No no. It's just that I figured a way that we can ... be intimate and still safe. Come tat nine and see. It's sort of silly, but may just do the job."

"Better silly than scary. So. Sure, why not? I ..."

She could say no more and neither could he. Her arm crossed his and found his leg. He was grateful for the jockstrap he was wearing because otherwise his "profile" could be an embarrassment when he got up to run again. She was squirming a bit too. If only ...

A gaggle of three noisy women runners broke up their reverie. Hands returned to personal territory and they both got up, adjusted masks and headed for home.

"I'd say, 'Race you to the barn,' but I want this time to last a little longer." She murmured, her dark eyes moist over the top of her raspberry mask. "So let's take it slow."

"Wait, does this mean you don't want to ..."

"No, no, no. Just a slow jog home. No, I definitely want, no need, to hook up. Of course I feel like a bit of a slag, but there you are, a girl needs what a girl needs."

He was worried. His words came out bumpy as he ran. "I don't want to push you. Sometimes this ... this is so awkward; but I figured we were ... on the same page."

She pointed at their houses.

"Same page. Different sides of walls. But. I can't wait to see you. I'd so give you a hug and a kiss right now, but clearly that's out." She mimicked embracing him while she ran in. place. "So, see you now-now."

"I see you now."

"Now-now. It means 'soon' in Afrikaans."

"Well not 'now-now' enough. Oh, and don't 'use it up' when you get in your shower."

"What? Oh, you naughty boi. You just look to yourself."