New Neighbor Pt. 01

The story is entirely fictional. Any similarities to real people or events are purely coincidental. I put this in the 'Erotic Couplings' category, but it could be under 'Exhibitionist & Voyeur' as there is a lot of outdoor nudity. I'm planning several more stories in this series. Constructive comments are always welcomed. This is a slightly edited version of the original, mostly corrections of grammar, tense, and punctuation errors. Many thanks to deadeye_76 for his editing help.

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I was the exception.   

I lived in a quiet neighborhood at the end of a cul-de-sac where the only traffic was the mail man and the neighbors. My house sat on a one-acre lot, covered with old-growth trees from the forest that surrounded it. The trees and the shrubs I'd planted blocked the neighbor's view almost completely. Most of the surrounding houses were older and owned by the families that built them and had now retired in them. A house rarely came on the market here. I was lucky when I found my house, or should I say lot, because I tore the existing house down and built one that better fit my needs. It was two stories with a fabulous view of the natural surroundings. It was at the end of the cul-de-sac, so its backyard was bigger than most, and it backed up to a forested area that can't be built on. I liked my privacy. In an area of retired couples, I was the exception. I was thirty-five years old, single, and rich. My name - John McAddams.

I built my house from the ground up to be comfortable for me. It was not a mansion, but it had plenty of room, and it was a perfect place to share with Bo (short for Bogart), my dog. He's my best friend, traveling companion and jogging partner. Bo and I would jog and work out to keep fit. There are trails throughout the forest area to jog on. The house had a full gym that I used religiously. As a result, I was in excellent shape for a man of thirty-five.

A little over 18 months ago, on a jog home, I noticed that the house nearest to me had a "For Sale" sign in the front yard. It had belonged to an older couple, and the husband had recently died at 95. The kids had put the mother in an assisted living facility to sell the house. When I jogged by the next day, I saw a "Sold" sign in front. On this block, nothing stayed on the market long.

Three weeks later, trucks and excavators started showing up next door. I saw a nicely dressed guy standing around in a hard hat, who looked like he was the foreman. I asked him about the plan for the house and found out that it was going to be torn down and a new one built. He planned on it taking at least a year to complete.

My mood worsened as the days, weeks and months went by. The noise started at 7 am and was not a pleasant alarm clock. It rained for weeks, and the work slowed to a standstill. It made me feel bad about how much building my house must have inconvenienced and upset the neighbors. That took well over a year.

After 18 months, the new house was complete. They had done a great job and although it was more contemporary than I would have chosen, it fit into the neighborhood well. A pool and hot tub were added, and the whole backyard was surrounded by a 10-foot fence. Inside of that was a tall hedgerow. They had saved every possible tree and planted more. The lot shared the same forested area as mine.

Everything looked great, and I was anxious to meet my new neighbors.

A week later, moving vans arrived with an army of moving men, and an enormous amount of furniture, to fill the house. The young woman who directed the movers appeared to be the owner. I couldn't tell much about her from a distance. I planned to call on the family later to welcome them to the neighborhood.

Another week went by without much activity other than a car occasionally pulling into the garage. There were no lights on at night, so I assumed no one was staying there.

A few days later, as I returned from my usual run in the woods with Bo, I heard a woman's voice coming from the neighbors' backyard. There were some gaps in the fence, and the hedges had not grown in fully. I knew I shouldn't, but I peeked through the fence into the pool area. My eyes widened when I saw a vision of pure beauty. She was talking on the phone as she walked towards the pool (and me) completely naked. I couldn't see very well, but she was tall and lean, with perfectly shaped breasts that defied the laws of gravity. She looked to be in her early thirties, with long blond hair on her head and none anywhere else. She was mesmerizing, I couldn't look away.  All too soon, she put down her phone and gracefully dove into the pool.

I pulled myself away from the fence and went inside, stunned. I was ashamed for continuing to look, yet I couldn't get her image out of my mind. She probably had a husband and maybe even kids, but still, that image lingered. Even if she were single, she was probably with someone, but still, that image remained. I told myself I was acting like a schoolboy, but that image...I knew I had to meet her.

That afternoon, I dressed in some nice but relaxed shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, but that looked too casual so I changed into white shorts and a blue shirt; but then I looked like a deckhand, so I changed into long white pants...what was wrong with me! I put the shorts and Hawaiian shirt back on, grabbed an expensive bottle of wine out of the cellar and walked over to her house. I felt nervous, and I don't usually get nervous. After the short walk to her front door, I rang the bell and almost immediately she opened the door.

I was stunned by the sight of her. I had seen her naked just this morning, but I couldn't believe how beautiful she was now, when dressed. She wore long white slacks, a translucent white short-sleeved shirt and white three-inch heels. I felt way under dressed. I just stood there staring for what seemed like minutes before I could stutter out, "Uh, Hi, I'm...John McAddams...from next door."

I was so nervous that I'd lost the power of speech.

"Hi John, I'm Laura Swanson. What is that you've got in your hand?" she asked.

I looked at my hand and said, "Oh. Wine. For you...as a housewarming present."

"Well thank you, John," she said, "would you like to come in?"

"Sure, that would be great," I said, as I regained my ability to speak.

Once inside, I gathered my senses and I found Laura warm and inviting with a soft, melodious voice. We entered a space that was mostly white and modern. It was an open-space concept and was extremely well done.

"Wow, what an amazing home. It's so open, light, and airy. I love all the art," I said.

"That's what I was going for. I wanted the feeling that there was nothing between the front door and the back pool area," she said excitedly. "You're my first guest. Would you like a tour of the house?" she asked. "You'll have to excuse the mess. I'm not through unpacking yet."

"That would be great. I'd love to see it."

"Here, let me put that wine in the kitchen," she said, and I finally gave her the bottle I was still holding. She looked at the label and said, "Um. That's a great vintage. I'm sure we'll have fun drinking it. If you like good wine, I've got a couple of bottles that you'll really enjoy." Smiling playfully, she said, "let's go on that tour now."

We started upstairs. As we climbed the stairs, she moved with such grace, that she appeared to float, gracefully, like a dancer. The upstairs looked pretty typical, with several smaller rooms with baths along a hallway. Boxes were stacked everywhere. The master suite was at the end of the hall. It was far from typical.

The room was huge. There was a stainless steel, pencil post bed on one wall, flanked by tables topped with crystal lamps. On the opposing wall, was a chrome, gas-log fireplace. The floors were maple hardwood.

"This is the master bedroom," she said, picking up a remote. "Watch that wall," she said, pointing to a wall of glass with sheer drapes.

When she pushed a remote button, the drapes slid open and the windows slid apart in sections and disappeared into the walls on both sides. When completely open, there was nothing between the bedroom and the woods beyond.

I was surprised. "That's incredible. I've never seen anything like that before."

"Now turn around," she said. I saw that the opposite wall was completely mirrored, reflecting the room and the outside. "When you lay in bed, it looks like you're sleeping outside."

On one side of the bed, there was a small hallway with a large walk-in closet on one side and the master bath on the other. I glanced into the closet that contained hanging clothes, shoes, a three-paneled floor mirror, a makeup table and lots of things still in boxes.

"It's a mess in there, let's move on."

We entered the master bath. It was huge, with marble floors, counter tops, and maple cabinets. I'd never seen a shower so big. It looked like it could fit at least three people in comfort and had more shower heads than I could count. The shower walls were clear glass. My mind drifted as I imagined seeing her in it.

"That's a great shower," I said. "All those heads must feel great."

"You'll have to try it out some time," she replied. "Let's go outside, and I'll show you the garden."

Had she just invited me to take a shower...with her? Either I was seriously out of touch or she was flirting with me.

We walked out of the open window wall onto the upstairs balcony, offering a view of the backyard. It looked like a luxury resort. She led me down the spiral stairs to the patio. A flagstone path wove its way over a wandering stream, one you crossed several times on the way to the pool. The stream ended in a large waterfall that emptied into a pool that was made of natural rock to blend in with the surroundings.

There was a cozy little area under the waterfalls, with a ledge that allowed you to sit under it and look out to the pool. On the other side of the pool, was a built-in hot tub, so that you could get warm in the tub and then jump into the pool to cool off. Across an area of lush turf was a cabana or pool house with the same style of glass doors opening onto its own flagstone patio. Closer to the house were an outdoor shower and a large outdoor kitchen.

"Wow. This would be a great place for a party," was all I could say.

"That's what I had in mind, I love to swim and sunbathe. I'll spend most of my time by the pool, and I'm hoping to get some of my girlfriends to join me here regularly," she said, "and you're always welcome to come enjoy the pool or hot tub. I love having people around."

The image from this morning came to me, and I remembered that she had absolutely no tan lines.

She had only used, "I," when she talked about the house. Was she possibly single with no children?

We went inside through the kitchen. Several pieces of art had not been hung, and there were some little things the builders had not quite finished.

"Listen, if you need any jobs done around here like hanging pictures, moving boxes, or minor repairs, I'd be happy to help. I'm a pretty good handyman and I have a garage full of tools."

"Thank you, John, I may take you up on that, but be forewarned that I can be a hard taskmaster."

The downstairs had all the expected rooms, living room, dining room, laundry room, etc. Two especially nice rooms were the kitchen and the den. The kitchen was large and had all pro equipment with stainless steel everywhere. Any chef would have loved it there.

"I take it you're a cook," I said.

"Yes, I love it. Maybe I'll cook you a nice dinner sometime. You can bring more wine."

Again, I noticed the, "I", she used and just a bit of flirt.

Lastly, we went to the den. This room did not fit with the rest of the house. Most of the downstairs was white with marble and stainless-steel hard surfaces. Great for entertaining, but a bit cold for living. The den was quite the opposite. It was hardwood floors, beautiful rugs, dark mahogany wood, big fluffy couches and chairs and a big wood-burning fireplace. The walls were covered with art, and wooden shelves filled with old books, small sculptures, and brandy decanters. It smelled like books in an old library. It somehow seemed out of place. An old room in a new house. I loved it. It had a warm and cozy feel, somewhere to snuggle up with someone and talk or read.

"This is my comfort space," she said. "This is the kind of room Bernard loved; wood, leather, art, and of course books. It reminds me of him."

"Bernard?"

"Yes, I guess you don't know. Bernard was my husband. He died a few years ago."

I was a bit shocked, and I was sure I looked confused. "What happened?"

For the first time, I saw her look a bit sad and distant.

"We're going to need that wine to get through this story," she said. "Wait here."

I wished I hadn't asked about Bernard. It wasn't my place to ask, but since she had mentioned him, I was curious.

Laura came back to the den with the bottle of wine I'd brought, two glasses and a corkscrew. She handed me the bottle to open and sat next to me. I poured us each a glass.

"Bernard died in a car crash almost 3 years ago. He was driving home, after picking up a new sports car he had ordered six months earlier. It was a rainy night, but he really wanted that damn car. He had the dealer stay late, so he could pick it up."

She took a big gulp of her wine.

"On his way home, a man ran a red light at high speed and hit the driver's door. They both were killed instantly," she said.

I could tell she was fighting back tears and said, "I'm so sorry. We don't need to talk about this."

"No. It's OK. It somehow helps me to talk to people if it's alright with you."

"Whatever you need," I said.

She finished her glass of wine, and I poured us both another.

"After he died, I felt lost. I just couldn't see my future alone. After about 6 months of loneliness and self-pity, I realized that I needed to move on with my life."

She poured herself another glass of wine, finishing off the bottle.

"I surrounded myself with the few friends I had. We'd only been married for a couple of years before he died, and I really didn't know his friends well. I still kept up with a few friends from college and my modeling days, before I met Bernard. I've stayed close with some of them, so I haven't been completely alone.

"My girlfriends are the ones who talked me into building this house, getting me away from the house that we shared. They wanted me to have a place where I could entertain, meet new people and be happy. They wanted to set me up with some of their male friends, but I don't want to go through the agony of blind dates.

"I don't know about you, but I need some more wine," she said and headed off to the kitchen. She came back with a new bottle, downed the last of hers and refilled both our glasses.

"How did you and Bernard meet?" I asked.

After a big sip of wine, she said, "I went to college for a liberal arts degree and ended up getting a Masters in Art History. I was very lucky and found a job at a large museum as soon as I graduated. Shortly after I started, they got a call from a man who was interested in investing in 20th-century art. That was my area of expertise, so they asked me to meet with him. After our meeting, he hired me away from the museum to help him collect high-quality art that would appreciate over time. That man was Bernard. We had to work around his schedule, which meant many late nights. There was also a lot of travel. We went all over the world to look at pieces and to attend auctions. Fortunately, he had a private jet.

"We were attracted to each other almost immediately. He recognized my intelligence, talent, and passion for the work, something he admired, and I was attracted to him because of his boundless energy, intellect, charisma, and love of life.

"That attraction and spending late nights together led to us becoming lovers and then getting married. We'd only known each other for about 6 months. I knew he loved me and I loved him, but there were some problems, too." She took another drink.

"Enough about me. Tell me about yourself. How'd you end up here?" she asked after a big gulp of wine and refilling her glass.

"I guess, I'm a nerd," I said. "I was always good at math and started working with computers when I was about ten. School was always easy and fun for me, so I spent most of junior high and high school studying and working with computers."

"Did all the nerds in your High School look like you?" she asked.

"Well, no. My father was a photographer by trade, but his passion was running. He ran marathons, and I started running with him when I was young. I got so fast; I ran track in high school."

"I bet the girls were running after you."

"I guess, but between being shy, running, and studying, I didn't go out very much.

"I got early admissions at MIT. Once I got there, I discovered that everyone was just as smart or smarter than I was.

"For the first time I had to work hard in school, so I never had much time for dating. I was too busy with my nose in the books, working for my MBA and then my Ph.D. in math, to go out much.

"I don't want you to think, 'poor John, never had any fun'. I did date some both in high school and college. I even had a few girlfriends, but they grew tired of me after a few months because I spent so much time studying and running. Or I got tired of them pulling me away from the things I liked. I went to some parties too, but I wasn't good at socializing, so I didn't like them much."

"After you graduated, you must have had some fun," Laura said as she filled her glass again.

Neither of us was feeling any pain, but Laura was a couple of glasses ahead, and I could see she was feeling pretty loose-limbed.

"You'd think so, but right out of MIT, I was recruited by Wall Street. I don't know how much you know about the stock market, but the big firms hire math guys like me, to make a lot of money."

"Why?" she asked, "I know nothing about Wall Street, but I would have thought they would hire broker types and train them."

"If I explained my job to you, you'd be asleep in 2 minutes. Let's just say that I was a Quantitative Trader or quant for short. As a quant, I could make buckets full of money on Wall Street. It was a fun, high-stakes game where money was just a way to keep score. I was exceptionally good at it. Then it became an obsession. All I did was work. There is some stock market open at any time, day or night. It was hard to quit. It's like a drug, and sometimes I still miss the rush. I knew I had to quit, or sooner or later it was going to kill me.

"Fortunately, I didn't completely burn out like some did. I survived mostly because of the habits I'd picked up over the years. I kept myself fit and sane, with jogging and daily trips to the company gym. I had to, in order to work 16 hours a day. A lot of guys turned to partying and drugs.

"Trading is still a 'boys club'. The only women I knew at that time were 'dates', usually set up by the company, when I needed someone on my arm at some fancy event. They were more than happy to share my bed, but my heart wasn't in it. I rarely saw them more than once.

"Now that I'm away from Wall Street, I just don't have many opportunities to meet nice, strong, intelligent women. I have high standards. I tried the bar and club scene for a while, but one-night stands left me feeling empty.

"So, I 'retired', built a house here, and I'm learning how to relax and enjoy myself."

She offered me another glass of wine, but I declined. She poured herself another.

"You live in that big house all alone?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She looked a bit surprised and maybe a bit disappointed.

"I live with Bo. We're inseparable. He's a wonderful dog, a big black Lab. He pretty much goes everywhere with me.