Ollie Makes a Match

"Now we can be together..." she started.

"This is nuts," he said, cutting her off. He pulled up his pants and headed for the door.

"Wait," she cried, but the rumble of his car starting was the only reply.

"Well, that didn't go so great," she mumbled.

Two nights later, Cynthia went for a "girl's night out", getting all dolled up, with a little black dress that showed too much leg and a top that was basically a floating wardrobe malfunction. John didn't look happy, but he enjoyed looking after the boys.

Oddly, Ronnie had a night out too. She didn't dress quite as provocatively as Cynthia, but she put in some effort. She took a rideshare out around dark. As the night wore on, I saw the boys' bedtimes come and go. John went outside to enjoy the evening. The yappy little dog was in the yard, so I couldn't go make friends. I just sat on the fence, surveying. John and I nodded to one another. Two guys waiting for their women to come home.

Ronnie came home first. It wasn't a rideshare, but it was one of her female friend's cars. No luck in the mating department tonight. John glances her way, neighborly.

Cynthia, by contrast, came home in the wee hours of the morning, stumbling out of a big black SUV with heavily tinted windows and the pounding sound of bass guitar thumping in the night. She got the driver's business card while pushing her used panties into his suitcoat pocket. "I'm going to need more of that hot cock," she slurred, "buried just like that, bare and deep inside me."

"Lady, that was fun, but we have to be protected next time," came the reply.

I couldn't hear the conversation inside John's house, but it wasn't a happy one. John spent the night on the sofa. In the morning, Cynthia stood on the sidewalk with her suitcase with a haughty air until her rideshare, a dumpy Subaru, rolled up and carried her away.

This meant I was fifty percent of the way there: the unsuitable mate was out of the way, but I still needed John to notice Rhonda--and do something about it.

There seems to be some flirting over the fence. I try to encourage Ronnie to spend more time in the backyard. Perhaps showing a bit more skin to the neighbor will help. I nip at her robe, trying to get it to loosen up a bit.

At least John, for his part, seems to notice her. It helps that Ronnie loves the boys and gives them treats their mother would forbid--grapes or cookies on the sly when the get in from school. She has these old books, from the 1920s, full of stories for kids--Cincinnatus (did you think it was an Indian name?) or Horatius; the labors of Heracles; Aesop's or Grimm's fables; Sindbad and Robin Hood and Hiawatha. These stories are exciting and different from modern books and she has to read then carefully--sometimes the stories have elements that aren't socially acceptable any more. She never overdoes it, though. A story, a snack, and then playtime in the backyard, watching the boys while John has to work.

But no romance, no flowers. John's too good to cross the line. And after a little while, Cynthia comes back. Apparently, there has been a reconciliation.

Whatever the reason, it's a sham on her part. Señor Jardin grooms her shrubbery at the first opportunity. Then a new character appears.

New Guy has a fancy car, a fancy watch, and fancy clothes. Like Car Guy, he appears to spend all of his time working out.

"I'm glad you're here," Cynthia announces. "I need another injection of your loving. I haven't had anything since last time we were together and I need it."

The nice suit coat comes off, the shirt unbuttons, the tank top gets discarded. His hairy chest it quickly pressed against her naked body, as his powerful hands slide her robe down. She pushed him back onto the couch and makes a production of drawing off his pants and underwear. New Guy springs to attention, his uncut trouser snake swaying like a hypnotized cobra before her mouth. Two-handed, she unsheathes the sensitive purple tip, exposing it to her dirty mouth.

"Num, num, num," she glugs at his tool, careful to make him feel good without causing him to spill over. Then she climbs up and mounts him.

"We need protection, babe," he says. She's stroking his meat against her exposed opening, letting him feel her wet goo coating him.

"It's alright, honey, we're good," she replies. "I need to feel your skin inside me, not some plastic. And I want to feel you shooting your babies into me." That makes him sit up. She pushes him back.

"It's okay, babe, nothing to worry about. You already did the deed and I'm going to be showing soon enough."

"Wha---?" he went, but she's sliding down his pole and bottoming out on it. She grinds back-and-forth on his engorged rod. I can see her slick emanations gathering on his tight scrotum. He puts his hands on her hips and meets her movements with his own. She cries out, moaning, panting, as they mate until his own groans reach my ears, his own peak culminating deep inside her.

I don't listen to the argument they have after. I'm still flummoxed about how to tip John off. It seems like I'm further from getting Rhonda a mate than ever.

John's ahead of me this time, though. Before the argument inside ends, John's car drives up and parks next to New Guy's fancy car.

Let's not dwell on the ensuing fireworks, shall we?

When all is said and done, John ended up sitting in the backyard with a kind of stunned expression on his face. I'm certain that his insides are torn up. I can see the tension inside him.

I stroll over. What he needs is a good friend and there is no better friend than a cat. I meow at him and rub against his leg. I can see the tears in his eyes, but he still reaches down to rub my head. I keep him distracted for a few minutes, then see that Ronnie is watching from our house. I meow in her direction.

She steps out into our backyard. I can see that she's awkward. This is a difficult moment. She must know at least some of the drama that's just gone on.

"I called as soon as I saw him drive up," she says over the fence. "I'm sorry, John. I couldn't let it go on anymore."

He has a grim look. "Thank you," he starts, faltering as he goes on, "I'm glad to know. I don't know what addiction or problem she has, but I... I'm just relieved to know about it."

The tears come then. Ronnie goes around the fence and opens his rear gate. She just holds him a long time or, rather, they hold each other.

You would think that would be it, huh? But people are funny. So, although she's been helping him with the boys while Cynthia was away and although she tipped him off to her infidelities and although she held him when he needed it most, he's still an unbelievably neighborly guy.

More effort was going to be needed.

I start with a charm offensive. I go to extra effort to kill the gophers in John's yard. I bring him the choicest ones as gifts as well. I want him to know we're more than just neighbors.

I also keep an eye out for him in the backyard so I can run and get Rhonda. The more they see of each other, maybe the more the sparks will catch. Still, nothing happens until summer is tipping over into fall.

By then, a new normal had begun to assert itself in John's household. He had some help from his mom, watching the boys in the afternoons, although Ronnie gives her fair share as well. John's mom, Sharon, and Ronnie get along well. But it is like John just doesn't notice Rhonda.

This changed with a end-of-Summer barbeque. John and Cynthia always invited neighbors and friends. This year it is just John doing it, so Ronnie volunteers to help. They set up the tables and chairs, put out utensils and such. He stocks the cooler. She makes crudites. The gathering is smaller: a few of the friends don't "want to play favorites" or, lacking information, have sided with Cynthia.

John is manning the grill. Chickens and brats and tritips flow off in progression, to be consumed with the various potluck items. Day flows into evening. Beer and wine are consumed. Slowly the party winds down, until only Ronnie and John are left. They put away the food and pick up the necessary things, leaving serious cleanup for the morning. Finally, they collapse onto the loungers, each with a last cold beer. The autumn stars are glimmering, the last of the warmth of summer is ebbing away.

"That was quite a party," John says.

"It was. That was fun. Did you see little David from up the block?" she replied.

"I did! I didn't think it was possible to balance an egg that far." They both laugh.

"You're so lucky," she said. "You have wonderful kids."

"Not too lucky," he replied, a hint of regret sneaking in. "But they are good kids."

"I wish... well, someday, I hope I have a family just like yours..." They're both circling the depths of despair, not realizing what they're saying! I have to do something.

"Mrow!" Hmm. That didn't come out right. I rub on John's ankle. Then on Ronnie's. Then John's. C'mon, guys, get the hint.

John absently rubs my head. But they're looking at each other.

"I, uh..." he sputters. She puts a hand on his arm. I sneak out of the way. They lean in.

The kiss is tentative, lip to lip, not too forceful. They pause, each unsure. Should neighbors be doing this? John is feeling gentlemanly, ready to pull back, but Rhonda darts back in. This time he puts his arm around her.

She feels the heat as a tightness in her sternum. The kiss is perfect, mannerly, warm, inviting. Tongues barely darting out, hinting at depths yearning to be plumbed. She should stop here, pull back. What if he rejects me?

He feels the warmth of her body, apprehensive, fearing rejection, but inviting, surrendering to the moment. Dimly, John is aware of his arousal, his face flushed, the blood pooling into his lap. He should stop here, pull back. What if she doesn't want it?

She pulls him closer, one hand in his hair. Her other hand grabs his butt. She leans back, inviting him onto her lounger, wanting the weight of his body. He slides forward, between her thighs, feeling her body embracing him. Her mouth gapes hungrily, making his lips tremble in response.

John holds himself up with one hand, afraid to go farther. He itches to take her big breast in his hand. He can feel his stiffness tenting his pants, rubbing against the gusset of her jeans. "I want to be buried inside this woman," his body thinks. A tiny part of his mind replied, "We've got to stop! What will she think of me?"

Rhonda feels the thickness of his wood bumping her soaking forest. She's never wanted a man inside her so much as right now. She reaches one hand down to touch the denied invader, to feel the width and breadth of him. She gently strokes him, ever so lightly, once, twice...

John is growling with need. "She's feeling me!" he thinks. "She wants it!". He lets his hand nudge her boob, a big, heavy grapefruit carefully wrapped inside her sweatshirt and underwire bra. He shouldn't be too forward, shouldn't abuse his neighbor's trust! But his hand is under the sweatshirt, creeping up, seeking to hold her more directly. Her belly is soft. He finds the mound of her breast, encased, held aloof. Delicately, not to frighten her, he tugs up on the rigid underpinning bar and is rewarded with a waterfall of warm flesh, bearing a taut sensitive nipple, cascades into his palm.

Rhonda notices this collapse as a surge of delight washes through her belly from the paw grasping her. But it is only a slight distraction. She is working her hand into John's jeans, tugging at his massive erection. The kisses are ragged now. She looks into his eyes.

They pause. She sits up. He rocks back. They face each other.

"I want you," she says, at the same moment he asks, "Are you sure you want this?"

The two neighbors cracked up. It's a fragile moment.

Rhonda reaches down and pulls her sweatshirt over her head, drawing the bra off with it. Her heavy globes sway in the evening breeze, the thickened ends pointed and stiff with desire begging to be grasped, pulled, taken.

Before she can reach for her belt, John pulls off his shirt and leans back into a kiss.

"I want you," he says.

"Good. I need you inside me," she replies.

His hand is fiddling with the belt around her waist. Her hand yanks at the button of his jeans. The swirl of lips and tongues, the softness of body against body makes their pawing futile. She thrusts her chest forward, letting him feel her engorged flesh against his muscular chest, reveling in the feel of his manly pecs. Mindlessly, he humps his tool against her mound in response. Her thick thighs rotate in response, their meaty flesh embracing him.

"I want you so bad," he says, unaware of his repetition, unable to think of anything more that would convey his soul-deep ache for her.

"Please... please..." Ronnie replies. Two-handed, she's yanking at his pants, trying to get them lower. Frustrated, they both break off, panting.

"John, I want you to take me. I want to make love to you. I want to feel you inside me. I don't want you to stop."

"Rhonda, are you sure? We're..."

"Shut up and fuck me. Just be careful, I'm not on birth control." She's pushing her jeans down, around her wide thighs and off onto the concrete of the patio. He drinks in the sight of her, almost naked, her dark hair cascading down her back, the roundness of her bosom, the gentle curve of her belly, and pushes his jeans down. Then he pushes off his boxers.

He is so hard, harder than he's ever felt. The purple tip of his manhood weeps sticky lubrication. It's like he can feel every inch of the tunnel inside him aching to fill with seed and then, like a cannon, fire it deep into her waiting cleft.

She holds her arms up, inviting a hug, an embrace. He goes to her. The kiss is warm and slow. The glances into each other's eyes carry a hint of madness, a hint of cunning satisfaction. Together they are thinking, "I can't believe how lucky I am. I can't believe I'm going to make love to my neighbor."

Rhonda lays back, rolling slowly backwards, inviting him to cover her. His hips jostle with hers as they sink into the cushion. Once again, her thighs part and reach around him.

He is aligned perfectly.

He feels the first moist slick taste of her nether lips. She exhales in anticipation, feeling the merest beginning of his penetration. She feels herself opening, welcoming him. He feels the hot warm glove wrapping around that hard ache.

He is buried, all the way inside her.

The sensations are too powerful for anything beyond the natural motion of their bodies. Rhonda moans, her hands flying to his body, urging him onwards. John pants, thrusting into her waiting depths.

"Oh, John," she moans. "I've wanted this so long. Don't stop, baby, I want it all. I want all of you inside me." She rocks her wide hips to meet his surging body.

John is carried by the overwhelming feeling of desire. Her scent washes over him, the sound of her lust tickles in his ear and whispers directly to his most animal inner being. Distantly he feels his balls tightening. Denied for so long, nothing makes more sense in this moment than burrowing deeper inside her.

He is looking into her eyes, deep green pools. The crinkles around their edges as her lips smile. He feels a sense of perfect well-being as their bodies grind and screw against the other. She smiles to feel his shaft hardening further, thickening.

"I feel it, John, you're so close now. You're going to cum for me. Cum for me for the first time. I wish you could do it so deep inside me. I want to feel your heat pouring into me. More than anything, I want your babies growing in my womb. But..."

"Shh..." he says. "So close." The cannon is loaded, he can feel it. All the little soldiers, standing by to report to duty, ready to storm out into her fertile belly. He can feel the stars shining down on them in his backyard. This moment would be the perfect one. Should he give in to it?

"Do you want...?" he starts. He means to ask if she wants him.

"Yes, baby." She pulls him closer. Mouths connect. Heels lock together behind him. They move in unison. He thickens further, on the trembling edge of spilling over.

"If you cum in me, well... I'm fertile and ripe. If you cum in me, I have no doubt, tonight, your risk will be rewarded. Be sure of what you want. Be sure you want this. Because I want it."

His motions are incoherent, as he struggles and struggles to hold on. Hold on! Her words speak to the rational choice, to wait, to plan, to court her properly. He looks back into her eyes, seeing his need reflected there. Feels her hands grasping at him, urging him deeper into her. Feels the... sudden letting go.

Rhonda hears John's quiet "uhh..." of release, sees his mouth and eyes in an expression of pure uncontrolled, unconscious amazement. She feels the strangest twitch of his body inside of her, a gentle surging warmth bathing her innermost parts.

They lay on the lounger together for a while until I sneak up and sniff Ronnie's ear. Yep, I think this mating could be a success. She chases me off with the flick of a wrist. Then the two of them retreat into John's house, searching for his bed. I sit in the yard and listen to their antics beneath the sheets.

Maybe I should go find that cute black-and-white shorthair two doors down? Try to make us a litter of calicos? Whatever happens, I think tomorrow is the start of something big.