New Neighbor

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He moves home. His new neighbor is not so new after all.
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I noted the number on the box and checked it off of the inventory list that was on the clipboard I held. "That looks like everything," I said to the moving truck driver and one of the helpers standing in the living room of my new apartment. Over the course of the last few hours, we had gotten to know each other and I showed them how much I appreciated their extra care with my stuff with pizza and a couple of beers.

"You sure? I know the truck is empty. If you find anything that's missing, just give the number a call. And hey, make sure you keep your head up Paul." The older gentlemen's encouragement was welcome. I hadn't received much of that lately. I had moved back to my hometown, braving the hail of jokes and ridicule from my father and my older brother that I knew was coming. I had balked at coming home to work for the family business that my dad eventually handed down to my brother. The used car dealership was the largest in a three-state radius and was still successful despite the downturn in the economy. I couldn't say that for the company I went to work for after college. Government regulation of its star drug caused the pharmaceutical company I sold drugs for to downsize me. Luckily I had paid off my man toys and had even managed to save a few bucks when it was forecast that I would eventually be let go. The other consolation was a healthy severance package that would allow me five months to sulk and look for some work, though I knew I'd eventually end up selling cars for my brother.

As I closed the door to my cramped two-bedroom apartment, I noticed the echo of the unadorned halls. I became especially aware when my girlfriend's, ahem, ex-girlfriend's ringtone blasted from my cell phone. "Paulie," she asked as if she didn't know I'd answer.

"Yeah, what's up?" I tried to act like hearing her voice didn't shake me to my very core. It did.

"Hey. How is everything going," she asked as if I felt no effects from our abrupt breakup two days prior.

"Great. Just great. What can I do for you," I asked trying to get her off the phone.

"Paulie, don't be like that. It doesn't make talking with you easier," she responded.

"Yeah Sherry. Once again, what can I do for you," I asked more directly.

"Whatever. I see you're going to continue acting like a child. I just called because I left my styling iron in your bathroom stuff and I don't want to buy a new one. Can I get it sometime or are you going to be a jackass about this?" Her words were like a hot knife sticking in my ear.

Two weeks ago, Sherry went home to visit her parents. While she was there, apparently her mother had encouraged her to seek the company of another suitor—one with better future prospects. Her mother, always the facilitator, even set her up with a prospect. He, like Sherry's father, was a doctor and his occupation was more "conducive" with Sherry's future career. She was a medical student with a year left before entering the exciting field of making tons of money.

"You know what Sherry," I started into her and then thought better of it. I took a deep breath and remembered that anger would get me about nowhere. "Yeah, you know where I moved to. I'm going to take a few weeks off, so come get it whenever," I calmly stated.

"Paulie, I don't want to be at each other's throats forever. We've had three good years together and there's no reason why we can't be friends," she said.

"Okay Sherry. Why don't you let me go? I'm really tired and want to set up my new place a little bit before I get some sleep. Give me a call tomorrow and we'll work out a time when you can pick up any of your stuff you left or I can bring it to you." I just couldn't talk to her anymore. Not tonight. Maybe not for a few more nights. I found out a week ago that her mother's "facilitation" with the doctor included a couple of dates, one that explained her inability to answer the phone one night until two in the morning.

"Alright Paulie. I'll call you tomorrow. Sleep ti...," she started before I pushed the end button on my cell phone.

I plopped down on the loveseat that I had placed among my many boxes and across from my baby: my 63" plasma hi-definition television. I slid in a DVD of the latest blockbuster and proceeded to ignore it as I fell asleep.

The week I had since first moving in was pretty therapeutic. I took the time to set up my apartment. On two of those nights, I had the surprisingly pleasant experience of having my mother's help. She came over to add a woman's touch to the place and bring over some housewarming gifts. Mom was so much more sympathetic than my dad, who took every opportunity to take a mental jab at me for refusing his employment offer three years ago. The second night she brought me dinner and we talked and laughed until I cried. No really. I cried, laying my head on my mother's lap. That was about as low as I would get I decided.

My older brother came over the next night and we shared some beers over steaks. I expected the worst, but he was really cool and, as expected, offered me a job as an assistant sales manager. "Hell, you have more experience selling shit than I ever had starting out." I explained that my pride wanted me to look for another job for a few months and he understood saying that I'd have a job whenever I wanted it. The job offer was nice, but I couldn't get past the mental image of my dad, who had not called yet, snickering at my recent misfortune as I walked into the dealership on my figurative hands and knees. I would do anything before that. And I did.

A connection in the local school system fast-tracked my application for a temporary teaching license and I became a substitute teacher. After a week of lounging around my new apartment, I was called in for a job substituting for an eleventh-grade math teacher. During the morning, I was reminded why I had a degree in psychology and not math. The questions and, well, babysitting left me exhausted. I couldn't wait for the break and I readily flopped into the beaten leather chair in the teacher's lounge for lunch. I laid my head on the top of the chair's back and closed my eyes for a quick power nap. A tap on the shoulder woke me up.

"Paulie?" The female voice sounded vaguely familiar to me. I shook off my grogginess and tried to focus. "Paulie Tanner?"

I looked through my glasses, now crooked, at my senior English teacher Mrs. Hannah. "Mrs. Hannah," I asked trying to pull myself further out of my quick nap.

"Wow! It's great to see you," she exclaimed. "Oh and by the way, it's Carol. Carol Gentry actually. Divorce will do that to you," she laughed uncomfortably at her own joke, explaining the name change. "What are you doing here," she continued.

"I'm teaching here. Well, no, I'm actually substituting for Mr. Lamond. I'm between jobs but am trying to stay busy," I rambled, slowly gathering my composure. It was then that I noticed her figure. "Mrs. Hannah" was the most gorgeous teacher we had at school. A flood of memories came back to me instantaneously. I don't know how many times I had masturbated to her image in my head. She was always dressed professionally, yet her outfits still had a way of showing off her (what I guessed were) 32 C breasts and her lovely hips, ass, and legs. She was around 5'4" with tanned skin and soft brown hair. It was ten years since I had last seen her, but time had been good to her. Despite a few lines around her eyes and perhaps an additional five pounds or so, she still looked fantastic.

"Well it's great to see you again Paulie," she said, turning on the vibrant smile I remembered from my youth. "You living with your parents or what," she inquired.

"First of all, if I'm going to call you Carol, you've got to call me Paul," I smiled to show her my attack was lighthearted. "And no, I'm not a complete loser yet. I've got an apartment on Beaumont Drive," I explained.

"Royal Crest Apartments? That's where I live now," she almost screamed as she started laughing. By this time, she had pulled a chair up opposite me. I noticed the denim skirt came to the middle of her thighs. I also happily noticed her beautiful chest covered in a cotton t-shirt that showed her support for the school's cheerleading squad as she leaned forward to slap my slacks-covered right knee. The contact made me shiver inside. I looked a bit strange relative to her and the rest of the teachers. This was my first day and the call I received failed to notify me of the school's casual Fridays dress code for teachers.

"Wow! That's pretty sweet. I mean, that's cool," I stuttered.

"It's okay Paul. I'm probably more up on slang than you'll ever want to be. What townhouse do you live in," the inquisition ensued.

"C 4," I answered.

"WHAT!? I live five doors down from you in E 1! That's incredible!" This time, she did scream.

"Yeah," I said, wondering why she was so damned enthusiastic. "That's really great," I said through a dumb smile.

"So, have you been getting some home cooking?" Before she could let me answer she started: "You need to let me cook you a meal tonight so I can hear about your exciting life since leaving this place. You don't have any plans do you," she said while looking at me as if she just suddenly realized how forward she was being.

"Uh, well, no. I'm glad you caught me, because I was about to take over the social scene around here," I joked. "Around seven? Eight," I asked.

She answered, "Let's say seven-thirty. I'll make you a great meal and maybe I'll rent a movie." She stood up as she finished. "Paulie Tanner," she almost sighed as she said it. She then turned and left for her next class and gave me a view of her perfect ass with the denim skirt attached to every curve.

"Carol, uh, Gentry, I think," I whispered to myself as the door closed behind her. It was then that I realized it was time for me to get to my next round of babysitting high schoolers.

I wore a pair of jeans and a button-up dress shirt for my dinner with Mrs. Hannah, or Carol. I still hadn't gotten used to placing that name with the face of my youth's favorite masturbatory idol. Now, I was walking down the fifty yard stretch of sidewalk to her townhouse.

I was shocked when she answered the door in a pair of sweat shorts that barely reached the top of her thighs and the same t-shirt she wore earlier in the day. A towel was draped over her right shoulder as she motioned me in, swinging the door wide open. Her left thumb was in her mouth, apparently taste-testing tonight's meal. "Come in Paul. Make yourself at home while I finish up dinner," she said as she turned and moved towards the kitchen.

I watched her ass bounce just barely under the bottoms of the shorts she wore. I looked around her townhouse. It had the same floor plan, yet it was decorated a bit differently than mine. It was more, for lack of a better term, domesticated. On the mantle of the tacky electric fireplace were pictures of my night's date and members of her family. I guessed that she had no problem getting rid of the pictures of her ex-husband.

I called out from the living room, "So I hate to be forward, but I remember you being married." She surprised me as I turned toward the kitchen and she was standing a foot away.

"Dinner's ready," she precluded my next question. Instead, I enjoyed the dinner she prepared, and over wine, we eventually tackled our failed relationships. To her credit, she was well over her marriage. She admitted that being divorced took some getting used to, but at least she didn't have kids to worry about. She hinted at her age, which I guess is between 35 and 36, though we certainly didn't touch that subject. I, on the other hand, barely talked about my recent breakup before quickly changing the subject.

"So, you said something about a movie," I began to steer the conversation.

"Yeah. I've always been a horror fan. I couldn't help but rent one. I hope you're not chicken," she challenged me through a laugh.

"Well, so long as you stay close," I flirted. She smiled despite the awkward silence she left momentarily between us.

"Why don't you just sit down and make yourself comfortable," she suggested. She teased me about my button-up shirt and encouraged me to take it off and strip down to my t-shirt, while she filled our glasses. We raised our voices as we continued our conversation between living room and kitchen.

"I'm sorry about being so awkward around you. I have to admit that it's weird to be here tonight," I said.

She returned with a dumbfound look on her face. She then moved to put in the DVD. She continued during the previews. "Why? We're two adults just getting to know each other."

"I know, but I have to admit that I had a pretty huge crush on you during my high school years," I said shyly.

She laughed as she flopped down a few inches beside me on her suede loveseat. "Well, I was young then. But I certainly appreciate the compliment." She then leaned over and to my surprise kissed me on the left cheek. "Hopefully, I can continue turning heads for a few more years. Older guys of course," she laughed.

"You certainly have my attention," I said as I looked over at her. Her right foot rested upon the table and her left was placed with the bottom at the table's front edge. The resulting image was the object of my high school desires sitting a foot away from me with her legs totally exposed. The pair of sweat shorts she wore graciously bunched at the top of her tan thighs leaving me a great view of the back of her legs leading to the bottom of her ass. The t-shirt she had on seemed to adhere to her breasts, giving me a great look despite the bra she was obviously still wearing.

She smiled wide at my compliment and said, "I better use the bathroom before the previews end."

As she sauntered in front of the television toward the guest bathroom, I stared intently at her body, especially the back of her shorts that allowed for just a peek at the points her ass cheeks met the top of her thighs. I wondered if she wore this outfit for our little date or if this was her normal weekend lounge wear. I quietly sighed at my good fortune and wondered if it might lead to the fulfillment of a fantasy that I'd had for about a dozen years.

She came back just as the movie went through its beginning credits. As she walked in, she asked if she could turn out the lights and I agreed. The light from the television didn't hide the fact, though, that she had taken off her bra while in the bathroom.

The movie wasted no time inducing fear. In no time, Carol had scooted into me and allowed me to place my left arm around her shoulder. During the scarier parts, she put her face into my chest and was soon gripping my left thigh with her right hand. Her demeanor caught me totally off guard because I was so used to her as an authority figure—confident and secure. Now, she was acting like a scared girl at a drive-in. Despite trying to keep it down, my cock began to rise in my jeans.

As the movie came to its concluding scenes, I couldn't help but notice the clock on her wall reading 11:45 and began to start wondering where this was all leading. She pulled a blanket from the back of the loveseat and without asking, began spreading it out over both of us. She then brought her legs and draped them over my lap. During a lull in the movie, I noticed that her right hand now rested on the tent in my jeans. We both acted like nothing had changed, but my mind was racing as was my blood.

I took this as an invitation and brought my right hand under the blanket and began running my hands up and down her lower legs while rubbing my left hand along her back. I used my left arm to pull her in closer, which allowed my right hand to begin rubbing her upper thighs. At first, I lightly dragged my fingers upon the skin, and then began massaging them. Minutes later, I was openly rubbing the insides of Carol's soft thighs. I could feel her breathing increase against me so I knew that my movements were having an effect.

Not to be outdone, Carol deftly opened my jeans and placed her right hand inside them, stroking my cock through my boxer briefs. All the while, she innocently continued watching the movie. As the movie ended though, she didn't stop to talk, but instead started nibbling on my left earlobe.

My left hand moved up to the back of her head and pulled her mouth to mine as we began a deep wet kiss. She moved her hand and soon had my jeans completely open, t-shirt pushed up and cock exposed. The heat was getting unbearable, so I threw off the blanket covering us.

My right hand now moved toward the prize between Carol's legs as I turned toward her and leaned in. "Oh, Paul," she moaned between our kisses. My left hand went under her shirt and began to caress her right breast. I couldn't believe I was actually feeling Mrs. Hannah's breast. Carol arched her back and exposed her neck to me, which I began to devour with licks and light sucks. I used my arm to push her shirt up and exposed the breast I was feeling. I then moved my mouth to her nipple. I nibbled and sucked until it stood erect. Her breathing turned into soft moans.

Instead of going straight for Carol's pussy, I dragged the back of my hand against her mound, feeling her moist reaction registered on the small amount of cloth covering it. She responded with a quick inhalation and began biting her bottom lip. I then put my fingertips below the waistband of her shorts and then further under the waistband of her now moist panties. As I continued the assault my mouth was making against Carol's breasts and neck, I ran my hand around her back to run it under her panties to caress her ass. I was elated when I found that her panties were thongs, giving me easy access to her exposed ass cheeks which I readily squeezed and rubbed. I dared to push my fingertips under her further between her legs noting the increased heat from her moist pussy. The challenge of pushing my hand under her seated ass to get to her womanhood was not worth the effort I thought. Consequently, I brought my hand around to her front, relishing the feeling of the moist hair on her mons. I then pushed my hand down, letting my middle finger slide along her slit making sure that I rubbed her clit on the downstroke. I knew then that I was going to fuck my childhood crush, my favorite teacher, Mrs. Hannah.

Then, right as I curled my middle finger entering Carol's moist pussy, she sat up and pulled away from me. "What in the hell...," I thought to myself.

"I'm sorry Paul. I can't do this. As much as I want this, I have to slow things down," Carol stated emotionally.

"Yeah, Carol. I understand," I lied.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I really want this and I was feeling so good, but I essentially just met you. I mean, the last time I saw you, you were my student, and," she paused as if she were looking for the right words to say.

"Carol, it's really alright. Take as long as you like. I mean, you have my number and you certainly know where I live," I said trying to sound understanding, though my throbbing exposed cock looked like it was angry at the stop in action.

I looked at Carol who was now sitting indian-style on the couch, her shorts barely covering my previous target and her shirt now back to covering her entire torso. Carol looked me square in the eyes. "Paul, I really enjoyed tonight. I want to do it again very soon. I don't want you to be angry if I postpone us, uh, you know, to a later time." Carol seemed to be counseling me.

The devil on my shoulder was screaming, "I can't fucking believe you woman! This sucks so bad!" The angel on my other should was saying, "Yeah, this is a bit fucked up, but if you want a later opportunity, you better be cool." I went with the angel.

"Carol, like I said, it's fine," I consoled her. "I'll just wait 'til we get together again."

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