My Neighbor the Flasher

Mike's wife is a flasher. Mike is my next door neighbor. His wife Liz has played this game with me since we first met. The first time they came over, just after we had moved into the neighborhood, she paid an unusual amount of attention to me. Whenever I glanced over at her, I saw that she was regarding me intently with her large, intelligent gray eyes. I can see her now, running her fingers through her short, wind-swept styled hair, catching my eye, and smiling. I began to wonder, "Does Mike know how his wife is staring at me?", but he and my wife both seemed not to notice. So I just let it pass.

I was instantly attracted to Liz. My wife Kathy is a bit on the round side, verging on dumpy. She's fun to be around, and we have a lot in common. I can't imagine giving her up as a companion. But frankly, she has let herself go. She just doesn't excite me any more, and I think the main reason is that she doesn't really want to. She likes the comfort of having a husband, not the excitement of having a man.

Liz, on the other hand, is a woman who cares a great deal about how she looks and how it affects others. She works out hard at the gym two or three times a week, running and doing aerobics. She cares about fashion and wears clothes that allure. The movements of her arms, the way she walks, her posture when sitting are all graceful, attractive, and premeditated. She adjusts the tone of her deep voice to make music with it. And there is always a suspicion of confident amusement in her eyes, as if she is waiting for you to catch the punch line of a terrific joke she has just told.

I didn't really feel worthy of attracting someone like Liz. I'm smart, athletic, and reasonably good-looking, but I am not smooth. I never know the right thing to say to someone like her – I just blush, stammer, and look awkward.

Anyway, at our first meeting, we sat in the living room making the usual chitchat about each other – "Where are you from? Where'd you go to school? Do you plan to have kids someday?" When I offered to get a round of drinks, Liz offered to help, and followed me to the kitchen. I popped two beers on the counter for Mike and me, poured the remaining half-glass of wine out of one bottle, and grabbed another chardonnay from the rack.

As I opened the bottle, I regarded Liz. She was keeping time to the tune on the radio by shifting weight from knee to knee. Leaning with her arms upon the counter top, she had arched her spine so that her behind stuck out. She was putting one knee forward, and then the other, in time to the music. This made her little round butt wag back and forth, and her breasts bobble along with it. Not that I could see them clearly; she was wearing a loose cotton top, but she obviously wasn't wearing a bra, and the movement of the fabric gave a clue about what was going on underneath.

I'm not a good poker player. I can see myself turning red, looking at her ass, looking at the wine, looking at her shirt, fumbling with the glasses, and shaking while I poured. Liz regarded me with her little amused look as if she was enjoying this feeling of control over me. When I had recorked the wine, I glanced up, and she flashed me for the first time. She stood up straight, winked, lifted her shirt, and thrust out her bare chest not three feet away from me! Just like that! She held it for about a second, then lowered her shirt, giggled triumphantly, grabbed the two glasses of wine, did an about-face, and marched out of the kitchen in time to the music, grinning and swinging her hips exaggeratedly while I stood there thunderstruck.

The next time it happened was when they invited us over. They were showing us around the house, and Liz and I were left alone for only a moment in the study as Mike and Kathy left the room ahead of us. Liz showed me only one boob this time; then marched out ahead of me talking to Mike as if nothing had happened. The next time, it was when I ran into them at the grocery store. I was shopping alone and met Mike and Liz. As I went on about my shopping, Liz hunted me down and flashed me right there in the aisle.

Liz liked to hug when we met. It just seemed to me that she went out of her way to contact me with her breasts. I wasn't sure, but I thought she wiggled a little, rubbing them just a little against my chest or arm. She hugged a fraction of a second longer than someone else would, just the right length of time to keep me uncertain.

You know how once you get waltzed into a lie, you can't get out? This was a bit like that. I couldn't tell Kathy, and I couldn't let on to Mike. It sounds strange to say it, but I couldn't even talk to Liz about it. For one thing, I was afraid that if I said something these little flashes would lose their magic. I might offend her and she would stop doing it, or maybe even tell Mike or Kathy about it. But mainly I was afraid I wouldn't look cool if I actually talked about it in my fumbling words. Besides, I told myself, it wasn't so much sexual as shocking and goofy. I even believed that for a while. Looking back now, I can't really say when things changed, and I don't know to this day whether Liz wanted things to turn out the way they did.

Over the next year things escalated. I remember the flashes like snapshots. At the parade with her standing next to me in a crowd, when she pulled the waist of her sweatpants open and thrust her pelvis toward me, giving a view down her pants at her bush. Flashing her tits from the back seat while I put gas in the car while sticking her tongue out. Pulling her pantleg wide so I could stare at her panties while talking to Mike across the table from her.

My mental photo album shows Liz leaning over the brick wall of their balcony shouting down at Mike while she mooned me. This time it wasn't a flash, actually, because it lasted a good long time. She looked over her shoulder to see me grinning and blushing, and did her little tail-wag. I think I could have just walked up and touched her tush, but I didn't know if she'd let me. She might be shocked, like when one person thinks something's a game but the other does something serious. Or like when two kids are play-wrestling and one of them accidentally hurts the other. I might offend her.

So instead, I just let things happen, and later I would thumb through my mental photo album. I see Liz on her lounge chair reading. She senses me looking, and adjusts the bottoms of her two-piece. She lifts her sunglasses and looks at me as she pulls the crotch of her bikini bottoms away from her skin, giving me a perfect look at her sparsely haired pussy. And her eyes twinkle at me as she does it.

One day when we were cooking, I was helping to make the salad. Liz, in her sundress, took one of the smaller carrots. Leaning over, she elbowed me, as if to say, "Watch this." and slid the carrot under the sundress with two hands. Her hands emerged without the carrot, and she put them on her hips. She frowned and pursed her lips, in a Marilyn Monroe imitation while undulating her hips. Then she reached under the dress, recovered the carrot and handed it to me. I didn't know what to do then -- if I should, like, put it in everyone's salad or something -- so I ate it. I think she liked that.

I never got comfortable with this. I always blushed silently and felt like a fool. But I think this is exactly why she enjoyed it. Besides, after all the blushing and fool-feeling was over, I felt incredibly aroused and hoped she would do it again. Hoped that it would be something a little more outrageous next time, maybe.

After the carrot, Liz started leaving me souvenirs. The first time, it was after we went to a basketball game together. It was way too public a place for Liz's usual shenanigans, so I thought that I would miss out this time. But later that night in the bathroom while I was getting ready for bed, I felt something in my back pocket. It was a polaroid photo taken by a woman of her own naked breast. And it was a breast I recognized. I ran to hide the picture in my briefcase where my wife wouldn't find it. The next day I took it out and looked at it several times.

Other occasions brought me a beaver shot, an ass shot, and even a beaver with a carrot (with a little winking smiley face drawn on the back). Sometimes the pictures had Mike in the background, looking somewhere else, as if she had gotten a particular thrill out of doing it right under his nose. One time I opened the glove box of my car to find a pair of panties. And they hadn't exactly just come out of the washing machine, if you know what I mean.

I kept these specimens in my cubicle at work, and brought them out sometimes when no one else was around. I started to obsess over these artifacts. I began to wonder if perhaps there was something a bit more than a little harmless flashing going on. I wondered if other people did this, I mean, they invented the word "flasher" for a reason didn't they? Maybe it was just more common than I had thought before; something sophisticated, glib people like Liz did.

One night when Karen was out of town, the house was completely quiet as I went to sleep in the dark. In the background, in the distance, I heard a voice, faintly going "Ah... ah... ah..." I peeked out the shutters and saw Liz and Mike's bedroom. Their headboard was against the window facing me and the drapes were wide open. From a light on the nightstand I could see Liz going at it on top. She was seated upright, bouncing up and down. Her breasts were flapping in time and her hands were in her hair. I think she must have seen the movement of the blinds, because she took her hands from her head and squeezed her boobs toward me, while making big kissing movements. I watched as she moved faster and faster, until she finally climaxed with a scream, faint in the distance.

From then on, whenever I was alone in our bedroom, I would peek out. I discovered that Liz liked nudity, and that she would vacuum and putter around topless pretty often, at least when Mike was away. And I started to realize that she spent an awful lot of time doing housework in the bedroom, where I could see her. I think maybe she planned her bedroom cleaning for times when my car was in the drive.

Still, nothing really had happened between us. I was on pretty good terms with Mike, and it was nice to have neighbors we could trust. We were normal neighbors to all appearances, except for this little game between Liz and me.

Then one Saturday I was helping Mike and Liz paint while Kathy was at work. They had rented equipment (ladders, drop-cloths, extended rollers, etc.) and we were doing several rooms at once. I was on a ladder, finishing the edge between a part of the ceiling and the wall while Liz stood at the bottom holding my ladder. Mike was edging the stairs somewhere out of sight.

At first Liz stood behind me at the bottom of the ladder to steady it. Glancing down, I noticed that I had a very good view down her shirt. She was wearing an old dress shirt of Mike's, tied around her thin waist under the boobs instead of buttoned. I could see her nipples, hardened in the cool air. Her bare midriff was flat and muscular. Her old shorts were loose, riding casually below her hipbones. They must have been from a time when she carried more weight, because they looked about to slide off now, they rode so low on her hips.

She was looking up at me, and I realized that she could probably see a lot too. I was also wearing loose shorts. With boxer underwear on, I realized that she probably had a clear view of my goods. I looked down and, sure enough, she smiled up, winked, and actually made a motion of licking her lips. I know I blushed furiously -- I could feel it – but I really couldn't quit what I was doing, so I went back to working. The thought of that beautiful woman down there, seeing everything, started to get me more and more aroused and I started to respond physically in a big way. "Oh, great." I thought to myself. "Any minute Mike's going to come around the corner and see me with a big boner in front of his wife." But the more I thought about my situation, helpless and on display, the more turned on I became.

I stepped down a couple of rungs to feather in the painting I had just done. This put my buns about at Liz's level. Suddenly, she slipped around the ladder to the underside just beneath me, so that my dick was only inches from her face. Then, in a deft motion, she grabbed it out from under the shorts and stuck it deep into her mouth. I almost fell off the ladder. She slipped her hand up my leg under my shorts and grabbed my bun, pulling me flat against the ladder, and started slowly bobbing her head back and forth over my flesh. Looking down from the ladder, I could watch the whole thing take place beneath me. She reached both hands up the legs of my shorts and started caressing and squeezing me everywhere at once. Then she just grabbed the ladder for support and started to go to town with her whole upper body, in and out.

Suddenly, I heard Mike's loud footsteps coming up the stairs. Oh no! Busted! Liz froze in mid-stroke. Mike stopped. Looking over my shoulder, I could see that he was standing behind me and at an angle, just at the spot that he could see me. From his perspective, my behind eclipsed Liz's face, so I estimated that he could only see past my hip to the back of Liz's head and maybe her ear. Now, Liz hadn't been able to pull out in time, so she just stood there motionless with my dick in her mouth, afraid that if she did pull her head back my dick would bob out where Mike could see it. So she continued to hold it motionless with her mouth. It would have looked to Mike as if she were holding the ladder for me.

Mike sounded perfectly normal. "Hi guys!" Then he turned facing away from me, inspected the wall, and began to touch up the edges. "Whew." I thought. "Now Liz can tuck me back in and we've escaped another one." But Liz still didn't move. I looked down, and caught that characteristic twinkle, with my big old meat stuck in her mouth. I felt her tongue begin to work though her face was motionless. Very slowly, she began to move once more. Quietly and slowly this time, looking up at me, she slid me in and out of her mouth. Very gently, with one hand, she fondled my testicles. The fear of getting caught only heightened my lust.

After five or six glorious strokes, we were interrupted by Mike's voice. "Hey, Jim." Looking over my shoulder, I looked at Mike and heard him say, "How are we fixed for paint?" He was still at about the same position in the room, and hadn't seen what was going on.

Voice cracking, I said, "OK, I guess." Then I felt, rather than saw Lisa shake her head insistently from side to side. "Oh, you mean this paint!" I said, "No. Uh, I think we're just about out. Yeah. We're just about out. I'm pretty sure."

"That's what I thought." Mike replied. "I'll go pick some more up. Be back in half an hour. So long honey!" Liz obviously couldn't reply so she simply waved her hand goodbye. Mike started back down the stairs toward the garage. We were lucky -- he hadn't suspected a thing.

We listened to Mike walk downstairs and close the door to the garage. As we heard the pickup start, I could see Liz's shoulders shake and feel the hum of her laughing with her mouth full of me. Then she became serious. She resumed her motion in and out, much slower than before. She reached the waistband of my shorts and removed her mouth long enough to pull shorts and boxers to my ankles; then clamped back on. She seemed particularly attracted to my buns, and squeezed and kneaded them in time to her ministrations. When I started to respond to her movements with hip movements of my own, she stopped.

Still, not a word passed between us. Liz stepped back from the ladder and switched CDs to a slow one while I climbed down from the ladder. Then facing me, she slowly and enticingly untied her shirt at the waist. Holding onto the tails, she stretched them downward so that her breasts remained completely covered, and all that was exposed was a continuous line of flesh from her neck to her belly button. She gyrated her hips in her low-slung shorts sensuously to the tune on the CD player, slowly turned around so that she was facing the other way, and pulled the shirttails out to the side as far as she could hold them. An imaginary person on the other side of the room would have a magnificent view of her breasts. She then brought the tails back together and turned around to face me again.

Letting the shirt hang open in front, still hanging over her breasts that swayed underneath, she began to work on her pants. Swaying to the music, she unsnapped and then slowly unzipped her pants, showing me the top of a faded pair of cotton panties. She turned around again, and slid the pants down to the top of her ass. She pulled them back up, turned around, and peeled them to the ground. She faced away again and allowed the shirt to fall to her elbows, then to her hands. She grasped the fabric of the shirt with her hands and turned again to face me, dancing naked from the waist up behind the shirt, where I couldn't see. Then she slowly lowered the shirt, pausing for effect as each beautiful asset became visible. She continued a slow, professional-looking striptease with her panties, until she was naked. All the while with me standing there pantless and at attention (so to speak).

As I watched, I realized, "This is her thing. She likes to see me watch her get naked, and see how it gets me excited. Well I'll show her excited." It was as if I snapped out of a dream, like a person who has just been pushed too far. I walked over to her, no longer bashful, or at least no longer caring, and pulled her to me. I kissed her hard as I squeezed her to me by the buns with one hand, and squeezed and pinched and twisted her breast with the other. She lifted a leg, and rubbed her swollen pussy against my thigh. I felt a trail of moisture. I stuck my tongue down her throat, ran my hands all over her body, lifted her by the buns, lay her on the ground with me on top of her, and thrust myself home, almost in one motion. She was so slippery-wet that the only resistance was her tightness, which was considerable. Forcibly widening her channel, I slid right in. Her vagina clenched tightly as she screamed, so that the walls clung to me. With each thrust they stretched in and out partway, then turned loose to slide over my hard veiny rod.

And I pushed hard, bottoming out, pounding my pubis relentlessly into her. Then I would pull almost all the way out, before cramming myself in again to the hilt. I supported myself on straight arms and looked at her bouncing breasts, her wide mouth and the flush that spread across her chest. I was in control now. There would be no covering back up – not right now.

I picked up the pace, changing from a stroll to a lope, then to a run, and then to a sprint. I could hear us slap together. Her breasts no longer bobbed around, but shot up and down in crack-the-whip fashion. She began to wail and gasp in something between alarm and ecstasy. She slapped at my thigh and ass, squeezed my chest, grabbed my hips encouragingly, and rocked her own hips in time to my own.

Breathing hoarsely and then groaning, I slapped home one last time, literally scooting her across the floor as my nuts pumped away, nestled in the crack of her ass. At the same time, she screamed and began babbling incoherently. Her fingernails dug into my back, and her hips continued their rocking. I thought that my pounding had been a sprint, but her hips started to rub at doubletime, seemingly trying to denude my pubis of hair from the friction. Her breathing was like a locomotive. Finally, she said the first word of the whole interchange, and she said it in a voice that they could hear down at the post office, that Mike could probably hear at the lumberyard. She leaned her head back and screamed, "Yes!" Then she stiffened, opened her mouth wide, and bent her back so that she was supported only by her head and ass for the longest time.