Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

"Oh and ..."

"Yes?"

"Please wear a skirt."

"Oh yes?"

"Please."

"Well then. Later gator."

"Nine. Thursday."

"Nine."

She jogged up her own drive and straight up the steps to the top floor. He jogged in place, watching her fine ass move away. She caught him looking and waggled it as she disappeared behind her blue door.

Did they stop playing their little games because they had made a date. Hell no.

She flashed him from her bathroom window.

He paraded through his apartment bare ass.

She lay in her kiddie pool topless and let her hands wander.

He streaked his backyard bare ass.

Every afternoon they chased each other around the neighborhood.

By quarter to nine on Thursday his balls were blue. But he was busy getting ready for their date. It was quite dark now and he could proceed without worrying about anyone else in the neighborhood seeing them.

In the back corner of the yard the fence was hidden below a wisteria bush. He got a pair of loppers from the nearby shed and trimmed back the branches until they revealed the old gate connecting to his neighbor's yard. Then with a pair of bolt-cutters he made short work of the rusted lock and chain. It took a bit of jamming and shaking but he managed to get the thing to swing loose without too much squealing. Pulled up a few errant weeds.

Now there was a nice five foot wide entrance into Tory's yard. He took the two sets of drapes he had got at a second hand store and fitted them onto an old bamboo fishing pole. With sturdy twine he attached them to each side of the gate opening. Easy to put up. Easy to take down. Now there was something that looked a bit like a kids theater curtain between the two yards. Two folding chairs, one on each side of the fence.

In the middle a small end table with two glasses and a bottle of zinfandel. Some shortbread cookies. A candle, although most of the time it would be snuffed. He wanted music, but didn't want to draw attention to that part of the yard. So, he brought an old boom box with some of his 'inherited' cassettes; Luther Vandross, the Righteous Brothers, Lionel Hampton, Kenny G. To this he attached a Y connector and two sets of earbuds on extensions.

About ready. He sat in his folding chair and waited, gazing through the partially parted curtains at the shadowy image of the chair on the other side. Glancing up at Tory's windows. Would she bail?

At 9:05 her lights blinked out and a few minutes later he heard the thump of her feet on the stairs. He lit the candle, poured some wine, made sure the cassette was cued. Feet shuffling across the yard. Not visible until she appeared behind the other chair. Barely visible even then because she wore a dark embroidered peasant blouse with a scooped neckline and a dark ruffled skirt.

"Victoria."

"Martin."

"Welcome. Please have a perch and a glass of wine. Oh, sorry, you do drink wine? I didn't bring ..."

"Wine is fine and all of this is so ... fine also." Her eyes were wet in the candle light. "Really, I'm almost speechless. It all so kiff, man. Such a little thing. But I want to cry ... and kiss you."

"Wish we could throw caution to the winds. But for now ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Well ...." She blew him big air kisses and mimicked a strong hug. "But what's with the curtains. Did you figure we would sit behind them and talk like mystery guests on a game show, but then changed your mind?"

"No, not it at all. It's all about a little surprise. But we will have to see how things go."

"'How things go.' That sounds ... intriguing. Mmm, this wine is quite nice."

"Enkidu Old Vine Zinfandel. Have you heard of it?"

"That's South African!"

"Yes it is. In your honor."

"Takin' a risk, boitje. Might have been one I hated. I could be polite about a California, or New York, or even a Chilean wine."

"We have some pretty nice wines here in Massachusetts. I could see taking you down to the Cape to a great little vineyard there. Or just around here for some craft brews."

"I'd love that...." She was quiet and pensive for a moment.

"Sorry, did I say something? Strike a nerve? Oh no, you have a regular guy and this, this is just a bit of a distraction...."

She winced and he was afraid he'd hit the nail on the head. Finally she spoke.

"No, that's not it. Oh, yes, I had a fella in South Africa long ago and we have sort of made promises. But. That is kind of fading away. No. It's just that I want so much to do exactly what you suggested, and more...and more, and this gefok pandemic is going on and on, and I don't want to get my hopes up... I'm just going to help myself to more of this ..."

She poured herself another generous glass and drank most of it off.

"Sorry, sorry, I don't want you to think I am some dronkie bitch. I like you and want to get to know you ... well. But it is so bloody frustrating.

"Got you, Tory. Know just where you're at. My skin aches to hold someone. To exchange spit." She laughed and the laugh was deep in her belly. "I feel like some kind of damn adolescent, forced to ...

"Skommel."

"Yeah, that. When I really want to take the time to ..."

"Vry."

"Yeah, that. Kiss, make out, dry hump, fuck, even just hold hands, for Christ's sake."

"I'm so with you on that."

"I wish you were with me on ..."

"Your lap?"

"Absolutely."

"But?"

"But I think I have worked out another solution ..."

"Sounds intriguing. What might that be? We can sit here face to face and ... and do ourselves?"

"I could see that."

"Not really. You are kind of dark over there and me over here. I could have had my hand down in my broekie this whole time and you would hardly know it, until I start calling out for God."

"And do you?"

"Do I ...?"

"Have your hand ...?"

"I might. I'm certainly wet enough. Whoa, I must be drunk enough. God, did I really say that? See what you do to me?"

"You ain't seen nothing yet ...."

"Tease."

"Indulge me."

"Don't make me do something I will regret."

"I think you won't regret this."

"I can't get sick."

"Highly unlikely."

"So, wait right there. If you want to help you could move that little table to the side of the gate. Don't set fire to the curtains."

Martin went to the nearby shed and got his pièce de resistance. He had found a big faux-leather ottoman that was just perfect for his plan. Not too big and not too small. As Tory watched with a puzzled expression he positioned it carefully under the curtains half on each side. Placed two cushions on top. A pretty Indian spread, in case she was feeling modest. In the flickering candlelight he could just see Tory's puzzled expression.

Her voice was filled with doubt.

"Martin? What are we doing? How does this work?"

"Well, Tory, if you are willing ...? If this weirdness has not killed your buzz, I figured I would treat you to a little careful attention. I imagined that you could relax upon this ... well, this. And for the sake of safety we would pull the curtain ...."

"And you would ... on your side, while I am free to ... breathe heavily on my side."

"You got it. If you want it...?"

"The skirt."

"Yep."

"And ... over there ... you will just bang me ...?"

"Actually, I was thinking we might start with a snack, and perhaps save the fireworks for another time ...? Unless the fuse is lit and you make a special request ...?

"So you want me to ...?" She gestured horizontally.

"Yes, exactly. Lie down. Look up at the stars. Oh, and please blow out the candle."

Tory made herself comfortable on the ottoman, putting a pillow under her head. She laughed.

"Except for the strange venue this could be psychiatrist's office. Hey, that's what we can say if anyone catches us. You are my therapist and this is the safest way to meet."

"Halfway though a gate?"

"Well, we could say I have some kind of phobia about being entirely in or out of certain spaces."

"Sounds like a plan. But how do we explain this?" Martin drew the curtains across her midsection.

"Hmm, we could say I have issues about looking men in the face. That would explain meeting in the dark, too."

"Okay, that might work. But what about when you slide this way, raising your legs and digging your heels in on the edge of the ottoman? Yes, like that."

"Oh, it's how I am most comfortable when I am digging into my most traumatic issues."

"Yes, yes, of course. But then we need a good clinical reason for this. And he flipped her skirt up. The view, of course was dark, but the light from the surrounding city was just strong enough to reveal the two thick thighs. A lovely furry bush sat between them above the swelling curves of her fine ass. The "nubbly bits" barely peeked out of the curls.

"If anyone comes out to investigate they are going to see a very unusual scene. The view on this side is amusing but very beautiful. And my, my, Miss Victoria, you seem to have forgotten your broekie."

"Goodness, really? I was so eager to get to my first doctor's appointment in a year. I knew I had forgotten something. Oh well, I hope that's okay. The way I was feeling, they would have been a mess anyway, so ...."

"Well, Ms. Bakker, I have a very ancient kind of therapy that may be just what you require. Please tell me if this begins to treat the problem." Martin couldn't help lightly stroking the fuzz. It tickled his palm delightfully.

Tory's muffled voice came from the other side. "Oh, oh yes, that's so nice. Precisely what my condition requires. I apologize if you usually like to operate on a surface that is shaved smooth. I've never fancied that look much. Oh it has its advantages in a small bikini, but I don't get to wear one much here in Massachusetts...."

"No, this is just fine. My favorite look, in fact." Martin murmured as he stroked a little more firmly with one hand and smoothed a strong thigh with the other, feeling those running muscles. "Besides, this is you. Do you mind if I give it a little tug?"

Tory was intrigued. She hadn't had this request before.

"Uh, sure. Give it a try."

Martin took a fingerful of her short hairs and began rhythmically tugging upward. At first Tory was silent, though her breathing was getting a little rough.

"You alright over there?"

"Please...keep...doing...that."

"Happy to oblige."

He let his other hand brush lightly up and down her lips, catching some moisture, so she soon was slippery and beginning to open. He brushed side to side and the deep brown lips spread further revealing the shell pink between them.

"Why did you stop?" Her voice was like a child's.

"I needed to admire this beautiful view. Miss Bakker, you have an amazing secret hidden here."

"Oh Dr. Martin, you say the sweetest things."

"My pleasure."

"Truly, the pleasure is all mine. Your touch is so ...Oh!"

He was gently flicking the hood of her clit, making it ease out into the cool night air.

The sounds coming from the other side of the curtain were not words, not English, not Afrikaans. They were more ancient and primitive than that. And as he stroked, Tory's hips began to rock upward, the smooth round cakes of her ass squeezing, lifting, beginning to beg.

"Martin ... please."

"Soon...but not quite yet."

"Please."

He drew a finger very slowly up the groove and then slowly down again.

"Oh, you devil."

"It isn't good?"

"Marvelous, but you know perfectly well what my poes needs."

"'Soon come', As Bob Marley sang."

"Now now."

"Exactly."

He allowed himself to play a little longer, enjoying the slightly bizarre but amazing sight of those strong legs framed by the ruffled skirt and the smoky dark center between them. A fine musk rose from her. He trailed his fingertips and nails over her thighs. A small moan from the other side of the curtain. He slid his hand up her body and found the hem of her blouse; tugged it out of her waistband; moved his palm across her warm ribs. Softness. Fullness. No bra.

"Ah, Ms. Bakker, you are not fully dressed here too."

"I'm so forgetful."

He could barely get his hand around her full breast. He squeezed."

"O, ja!"

She pulled his palm up onto her nipple, which was really tight. He knew it was time. Lips slowly lower to meet lips. Open, weeping. His tongue tasted saltiness. He breathed in her womanly aroma.

Her poes surged against his lips and an inarticulate loud groan came from the other side of the curtain. The hand on her breast clasped his tight.

"Fucking finally!" Her voice was raw and her words were followed by sounds half way between anguish and ecstasy. "Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no." It was obvious to Martin, his mouth clamped against her oozing parts, that she was totally out of control. She kept coming and coming, as though the months of orgasm had been stored up and waiting for release. Every time he thought she was done, her body tensed into a knot and then released again in a series of giant shudders. His mouth was full of everything she offered.

Finally, with a something between a moan and a squeal, her exhausted legs dropped off the ottoman onto the ground and she lay there panting. Martin pressed his cheek against her hot thigh, the damp lips of her puss a centimeter from his mouth. Her voice mumbled from the far side of the curtain.

"Your hot breath feels so great just there. But please don'r touch my clit, yet. She's so sensitive I could scream. But, hey, that was ab-so-fucking-lutely amazing. I haven't had such a good one in ... in, well ... ever. And I'd love to say, "Hey, why don't I return the favor. But, frankly, I'm sorry, I need a little ... more. But.

"Oh oh."

"No, it's fine. It's just that I don't need you to fuck me ... yet."

"O ...K."

"No, it's just that I do kind of need to get my itch scratched ...inside."

"Yeah? But not a dick ...yet."

"Right."

The night was beginning to cool and the peepers were beginning to go into their chorus of loud chirps down by the river, backed by a few of buzzing cicadas. Martin knew he needed to get busy or lose his buzz. So he turned to the task at hand, which was literally right in front of his face. The whole scene was a little odd, but not so different than being under the covers and having this same meal. Only the sky was now the limit.

"One or two ..."

A dirty laugh came from the other side of the 'playing field.'

"A nice question. Why not start with one and then ... add?"

"Sounds like a plan. How's your sweet button. Cooled off a bit?" He blew a hot breath at the perky object in question.

"Let's give it a try." He lapped her clit with the flat of his tongue.

"Ooo!" Nice. But sensitive. Maybe stay on the hood until I call out for more."

"My pleasure, milady. Aaaand, here goes ...."

He took his middle finger, palm up and tickled it between the slippery lips; found the tight gap within and slid right up into the hot place.

"O-o-o-oh, yes! That is exactly what mamma needed. Please. Stroke ... stroke, please, darling, just ... yes ... a little to the left ... more .... There! Yes. Just, just ... yes ... keep ... uh huh. That. That! And ..."

"I know." Martin bent down and pressed the tip of his tongue onto the swollen hood of her clit. He got a nice back and forth motion going.

"Oh...shit, shit, shit." Her hips pushed toward him. "Yuh, yuh, yuh ... that's ... just keep that ... uh huh." She was begininng to pant. "Please ... please, another ..."

Martin was ready and slid a second finger in, knowing instinctively she needed more pressure. He dug in a little.

"Whoa! Oh, yes but don't stop. I can feel ... Mm ... mm ... mm."

She was doing almost all the work; fucking his hand, moving her hips in small circles so his fingers caught different spots.

"Okay now ... please ... three, and eat ... yuh. Oh, lord." She couldn't keep quiet. Every motion had a moan. As the third finger slipped in he could feel her stretch open inside; and tighten, and open. Her hand fumbled for the back of his head and pulled him tight. She absolutely ground all her pussy against his lips. "Suck it ... suck it now, yes." He obeyed. Her clit was so swollen.

"Now ... now, oh so close, Oh, i'm ... please ... but ... please, I'm such a slut ... please ... push your pinky in my ... ass!"

That was it. In. Where it was very hot. And that took her over the edge. For a long, long moments she shuddered in tense silence; her buttocks clenched tight around his hand; her hips pressed high against his mouth as though to lift them into the sky. Inside her his fingers churned. Finally, with a long low whine, she collapse, panting hard, as though she had finished a marathon.

He kissed all over her drenched pussy, worshipping every tender spot.

He felt happy, warm, and surprised that despite all that provocation, he had not spilled. Curiously, he was willing to call it a night if she was content. A few sips of wine and then to bed; sadly, not with his arms around this lovely lady ... But what a gift this night had been. The tension of months of quarantine melting into the late summer grass. A throaty voice from the other side of the curtain.

"Martin?"

"Yes, Tory?"

"That was ..."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Uh, huh. But right now the game is two nil. So, I figure it's your turn to serve ... or my turn, depending on how you look at it?"

"Tory?"

"Do you mind if we save the ... 'old in-out' for another night, I ..."

"Oh!" She giggled. "Did all my ... dancing ... get you so worked up you ...? Not to be indelicate."

"Well,,, no. Though pretty close, so ..."

"So, Martin?"

"Yes, Tory."

"So, turn about's fair play. And I would dearly love to ... turn this thing about and see what you might have to ... offer ... the next time we ... joust. Would that suit you?"

"Sure. Maybe a sip of wine and then we can ...?" He glanced up at the buildings around them. "No one has called the cops ... yet ... and unless they are scoping us with night binoculars ... and if they are, well, give them a thrill for their dollar. Yes?"

"Absolutely. So your glass is right here ...."

She pulled back the curtain to reveal the little table and also that her beautiful round breasts were still uncovered. The light from the surrounding houses was so dim, but the vision was still delectable.

He licked his lips. "I could...."

"No you couldn't, much as I'd love it. Besides, it's my turn. Have some wine and then get that pretty ass of yours over here on this side, and that kissable, but forbidden face can stay over there. 'Kay?"

"Deal." He knocked off the wine as she scrambled off the big ottoman and he took her place. She gave him a wink and pulled the curtains over his midsection. He lay back and looked at the stars and the dark silhouettes of what looked like a couple of bats in the treetops scavenging insects. After a bit he felt a tug at his belt as she unbuckled it, the pop of the snap, and then the very slow drawing down of his zipper. It was a nice release, because this slow tease was getting him hard in a hurry. He felt the pants drawn off his legs.

"Why Dr. Martin, you naughty boy, it seems your broekkie are quite damp in front. What have you been doing? And are you sure they are the right size? Something here is having some trouble fitting inside them. Now what can it be? Do you mind if I investigate?"

"Go at it, Sherlock. I think this mystery is easily solved."

Fingers fumbled at his fly. A little gasp.

"Oh, my. Do you mind if I just look at it for a minute. You are ... really ...quite pretty. I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind my calling your piel... is so ... so ... pretty. It really is. This sweet little helmet ..."