Our Neighbor's a Porn Star!

"Besides, Wyoming has a really good College of Business. Maybe by the time I graduate, you'll be ready to hand over the keys to the family business."

"Really? You do realize that I'm only forty-one, don't you, Nathaniel? I'm not quite decrepit just yet. And more than one man has expressed an interest in your old mom's body since your dad skipped town."

He grinned unrepentantly, ignoring the reference to his father. "Mom, you're hotter than Sofia Vergara walking naked through a five-alarm fire. But you're going to have to retire sooner or later. Once I get my degree from the U of W, it might make sense to hire me." His eyes softened. "Then you can slow down a bit, and enjoy yourself. You deserve it, after all you've done over the past few years."

Barbara blinked, her eyes misting with sudden tears. It was unusual for Nate to be speak so openly of what they had gone through following her divorce from Ray. For the most part, he treated her with the sort of teasing affection which reminded her of her relationship with her older brother, on those rare occasions when she and Jess were able to get together. In return, sensing his discomfort with overt displays of love, she treated him like she would a particularly dim-witted puppy, which rarely failed to make him smile.

It was all Ray's fault, damn him to hell. Barb wouldn't pretend that they had a perfect life together, but it had been good enough. They both had good jobs; her with North Star Realty, Ray with a local bank as a loan officer. The house was all that they would need and a little more. Nate was a good son and showed every indication of growing up to be a successful young man, though she was quietly disappointed Ray and herself hadn't had more children. Even their sex life, while somewhat vanilla, hadn't gone through that mid-life cooling that some of her married fiends complained about.

She grimaced. In fact, sex was what had caused the divorce. Barb had suspected from a young age that her desires weren't quite in tune with those of most of her classmates. As she grew older, those desires had become more pronounced.

She hadn't cheated on Ray. She had never even considered it. When she took her wedding vows, she meant to keep them. But when she confessed her curiosity to him one night while Nate was away at a middle-school hockey tournament, the result had been a blow-up of epic proportions. Her husband's savagely conservative upbringing couldn't accept the fact that his wife might have needs he couldn't satisfy. After a long, bitter argument, he had packed a suitcase and left the house, never to return. A few weeks later he had moved out of the state entirely, eventually settling in Nebraska. He had never missed a child-support check, but he had also made it completely clear that he wanted nothing more to do with either of them.

Hurt, angry, and confused, she had hidden nothing from Nate when he returned home. He had been fourteen years old, and she had thought he was old enough to understand. Luckily, he was. His anger had been reserved solely for his father. Even as an eighth-grader he had a sense of justice that hadn't been fooled by Ray's feeble attempts to explain away his actions. Together the two of them had forged a new life together.

Barbara blinked as she came back to herself. Jeez, Shroyer. Melodramatic much? "Well, maybe," she said, answering Nate. "But that's in the future. Right now we have to concentrate on the present."

She stood up. "Which reminds me. Even though that slimeball James stole that listing from me, it's not the fault of our new neighbors. We should welcome them properly to the neighborhood. I'm going to make up a tray of leftovers, and you can take it over to them. Nothing like a little South Dakota friendliness to make a family feel at home."

*****

A short while later, Nate stood at the front door of the house next door, pressing the doorbell. The wind was brutal tonight, numbing ears and fingers in an eyeblink. Before dawn, he knew, the temperature would be well below zero.

Just as he was about to ring the doorbell again, the heavy inner door opened, and he could dimly see the figure of a woman through the fogged glass of the outer door. It cracked open, and a blond head peered out. "Yes? Can I help you?"

He smiled, though his cheeks felt stiff. "Hi. I'm Nate Shroyer. I live next door." With his hands full, he jerked his head at his house. "My mom wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so she sent me over with some food."

"Oh." She seemed to consider him for a moment, then opened the door wide, backing away so he could slip inside. "That's very thoughtful. Come on in before you freeze to death out there."

"Thanks." He wiped his feet on the rag rug in front of the door, not wanting to track dirt over the hardwood floor, then followed her up the short flight of steps to the main floor.

"I apologize for the mess," she said as she walked towards the kitchen. Nate couldn't help but admire the sexy curves of her rear through her tight jeans. "I've been unpacking all day, but I think the boxes are multiplying while I'm not looking."

She turned around, flipping on the kitchen light, and Nate got his first good look at her.

She was tall for a woman, almost statuesque, perhaps close to five-ten, although still a few inches below his own six-foot-one. He complexion was peaches and cream, her smooth pale skin having a rosy undertone in her cheeks that gave her a healthy glow. Her hair was a dark gold, falling straight down past her shoulders in a rich, shining wave. Automatically, he scanned her body. Her legs were long and toned beneath the faded jeans, and her chest, though hidden by a rumpled sweatshirt, showed the curves of high, proud breasts. They jutted forth, tenting the cloth enticingly. He jerked his gaze back up to her face. Her eyes were a blue so dark as to seem almost violet, and her lips seemed to be quirked in hidden amusement, laughing at a joke only she knew about.

Oh. My. God.

"Here," he said, handing over the tray. "It's leftovers from Thanksgiving. Fried turkey and sweet potatoes and some other things."

"Fried turkey?" Her voice was as lovely as the rest of her, deep and sensual, hinting at forbidden pleasures.

He nodded, cursing his fair skin, which made any blush instantly obvious. "I made it myself this year. It's really good."

She smiled at him, and he tried to keep from becoming a tongue-tied idiot. He had never met a more gorgeous woman in his life. "So is it just you here?"

She nodded. "Yes. I just moved to the area. My name's Heather. Heather-"

"Fawxx," he interrupted.

Then he looked around the kitchen, hoping that a hole would suddenly appear that he could throw himself into. And then pull it in after him.

*****

If it hadn't been for the shock of hearing her stage name blurted out by the sandy-haired teenager in front of her, Heather might have laughed. His expression was so comical, so filled with dismay, that it almost made up for it.

Almost.

As it was, she could feel the blood drain out of her face, leaving her pale as a ghost. She closed her eyes. It was impossible! How could this kid know who she was?

One guess for that one, Heather Anne. The internet giveth and the internet taketh away. Thus are we repaid for our sins. Obviously he's been sampling what's available on pay-per-view. Though you'd think a good-looking young man like him would be busy banging the local cheerleading squad, instead of wasting his time with fantasy women on-line.

Truth be told, Nate was a good-looking young man. A few inches taller than her, and skinny, but with broad shoulders that promised to fill out as he got older. His face was open and honest, though red with the realization that he had just made a catastrophic blunder. His eyes were an arresting shade of blue, deep-set and intelligent.

She raised her head. "I'm Heather," she admitted. "Heather McCormick," she emphasized, enunciating her name carefully.

"Heather McCormick. Right. Sure," he stuttered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't. I'm not ashamed of what I used to do." She hammered the last three words home. "But I'm not going to advertise it, either. I moved here to get away from all that."

He nodded rapidly, as if afraid to disagree. She hid a smile as she unpacked the tray. Individually-wrapped portions of food were set out neatly. Turkey, sweet potatoes, dressing, brussel sprouts and more. There was even a large wedge of apple pie, and her mouth watered.

"Thank you for bringing this over," she said. "You can tell your mom I'll have the tray back to her in a few days, if that's all right."

"Sure. Take as long as you need." He pulled on his hat and gloves, clearly eager to escape.

She looked at him and felt her heart thaw, just a little. He was clearly mortified. How would you have reacted, Heather, if you had visited a neighbor one night when you were a teenager and found George Clooney on the other side of the door? I bet you would have melted into a puddle right on the spot.

She walked him to the door. As he opened it, she put a hand on his arm, halting him. "It was nice to meet you," she said, giving him a genuine smile. "And don't worry. This will stay between us."

"Thanks," he said, his face blushing, but this time, she thought, with gratitude. He opened the door, then pulled in firmly closed behind him.

*****

"So what are they like?" his mother asked, as soon as he came back inside. She was sprawled on the couch, her feet encased in a pair of fuzzy slippers, watching a nature show on the television.

He pulled off his hat and gloves and unzipped his coat. "They is actually just a she, Mom."

"One woman by herself? No family?"

"That's what I said," he replied testily. He closed his eyes, trying to recover his equilibrium after his incredible blunder. He knew his mother wouldn't be satisfied until she had pried some details out of him. "She's tall. Blond. Maybe about thirty years old. Her name's Heather McCormick."

"Married?"

"I didn't see a ring. And like I said, she's by herself. So if she was married, she's divorced now."

"Good looking?" she teased.

He thought about lying, but she would meet Heather soon enough, and then she would want to know why he hadn't told her the truth. "Very."

"Is she from the area?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Though I could be wrong."

In fact, he could have recited her biography from memory. "Heather Fawxx. Born September 22, 1989, in Stuttgart, Germany, the daughter of an air force pilot. Shortly after her birth, she and her parents moved to New Hampshire, where she was raised.

"Her first adult acting credit was in Voyeur Production's 'Horny Teen Nymphos 4.' Shortly afterward, she signed an exclusive contract with Jacob Weintraub and Sweet Seduction Media, an adult film house which focuses on high-end erotic entertainment, including movies which are more than individual vignettes, but contain plot and character-building.

"She rapidly ascended to the pinnacle of the adult acting profession, commanding one of the highest salaries ever seen, and was voted Performer of the Year by Adult Video News in both 2013 and 2015. She is perhaps unique in the adult industry in that she has never had facial or cosmetic surgery, including implants, and is completely tattoo-free.

"Heather is not married and has no children."

He blinked. "What, Mom?"

"I said I should go over there in the next few days and say hello. What did she seem like?"

"She was...nice. We didn't have much of a conversation." And what they did have, Nate had no intention of repeating. He was sure that terrible moment, when he let slip the fact that he had immediately recognized her, would stay seared in his memory for the rest of his life.

"Cool," his mother replied, and that was the end of that, for that evening at least. "How was hockey practice?"

"It was okay...coach has me working on the second line with Steve and Gus..."

They spoke of ordinary things, and the evening drifted by.

*****

God, I'm horny, Barb thought later that night.

It was past eleven, and Nate was asleep in his room. Or if he wasn't, the snores that she heard when she passed his door were one heck of a good imitation of the real thing.

She stepped out of the shower and into her bedroom, shivering a little as the cooler air hit her skin. She wrapped the towel around her waist and examined her reflection in the mirror.

Hotter than Sofia Vergara walking through a five-alarm fire, Nate? You smooth talker. But my boobs were never that good, even when I was half the age I am now.

Truth be told, though, how many women's tits could compare to Sofia's? The woman's body was ridiculous, and Barb had spent many nights watching reruns of "Modern Family" on the DVR and secretly drooling over her charms.

But Barb could honestly say that she had nothing to be embarrassed about where her own body was concerned. Having seen the way many of her female relatives on the Mueller side had ballooned out when they hit their thirties, she made it a point to hit the gym three nights a week. Her legs were long and as trim as they had been when she was twenty-five. Her hair was dark and thick, falling past her shoulders, and the first strands of silver hadn't yet dared to put in an appearance. And if the not-so-subtle glances she caught from some of the fathers at Nate's hockey games were any indication, her face and body were just as attractive as they had always been.

She stretched her arms over her head, smiling proudly as her breasts lifted with the motion. She cupped one firm mound in her hand. A pair of perfectly respectable c-cups, and if they hadn't been getting the attention she wanted, well, that was no one's fault but hers.

You could have any straight man you wanted, Shroyer, she told herself.

But it's not a man I want. I want a woman. I want to know what it's like.

She snorted. As if her career could survive having a female lover! Even though Rapid City was cosmopolitan by the standards of South Dakota, it was still deeply conservative. It might not be legal to fire her for being bisexual, but there were dozens of other ways she could be eased out the door of North Star Realty. And what would happen to her and Nate then? Sure, they could move. But why risk it when her son was only months away from leaving for college?

I guess it's just me and the laptop tonight.

She pulled her personal computer out of the carrying case and set it on the bed. In a few minutes she had turned it on and had pulled up an adult movie she had downloaded several months ago. It was the work of moments to fast-forward to her favorite part.

"No!" the young woman cried, struggling against the hands that imprisoned her wrists. "Let me go! I don't want to be a lesbian! Stop it!"

"Well, then you shouldn't have signed the consent form when you volunteered for the experiment. The wording was very clear. But then, no one pays attention to the fine print anymore." The older woman, dressed in a parody of a scientist's lab coat, motioned her henchwomen forward. They came, pulling the blond woman with them. "And we did pay you five thousand dollars.

"It's going to be perfectly painless, Heather," she went on. One elegant fingernail stroked her throat. The tip pricked into her skin under her chin, forcing her to raise her head. Dr. Summers lowered her voice, her lips all but touching Heather's "Trust me. After you've Changed, you'll never want to have sex with men again."

"No! I'll...I'll give the money back! I don't need it that bad! I'll find another job!" Heather jerked and flailed, the motions causing the ripped halter top and the bikini panties, all the clothes that she was wearing, to reveal enticing glimpses of her flesh.

The doctor turned her back on the young woman. "Put her in the Machine," she ordered.

With gleeful laughter, the two women dragged her towards an object that looked like a bastardized telephone booth from the 1970s. Thick electrical cables snaked away in every direction. Opening the clear plastic door, they threw Heather inside, then closed and locked the Machine before she could force the door open. Dr. Summers smiled, the expression dark and amused, as Heather beat vainly on the walls with her fists.

"Engage the protocol."

A deep hum sounded throughout the room. Around the sides of the structure, colored lights began to flash on and off in random patterns. Inside the Machine, Heather looked around in fright.

The perspective changed. Suddenly the point of view shifted to Heather. A soft, hypnotic voice began to sound within the confines of the Machine.

"You are a lesbian. You want women. Only women. You don't want men. Women are beautiful. Wonderful. Soft, loving, caring, and nurturing."

A series of images began to flash on the inner walls of the Machine.

"Lips."

Pictures of women's lips formed. Beautiful, pouting lips, opening seductively.

"Asses."

A kaleidoscopic array showed. Bare rear ends, pale white or tanned or dark as chocolate, but all perfectly formed, wanting only a loving, stroking touch.

"Legs."

Panning shots of beautiful calves and thighs.

"Breasts."

An amazing array of breasts, from flat little fried-egg boobs to massive DDs. From small aereolae to huge, jutting nipples.

"Pussies."

Image after image of women's labia, either teasingly closed or widespread and glistening with female nectar.

"You want them. You want this. You are a lesbian. You are a lesbian. You are a lesbian."

The voice droned on, the pictures flipping rapidly, now coming almost too quick to see.

The perspective shifted again. With a hiss, the door of the Machine opened. Heather staggered out, barely keeping herself from falling as she stumbled forward. Then, slowly, she straightened. Gone was the terrified girl who had entered the Machine. In her place was a confident young woman. Her back was straight, her pose almost arrogant. A discerning observer would notice that the crotch of her panties was damp, the transparent material framing the outlines of her nether lips. Her halter top was all but torn away, her large breasts exposed. They were red, the nipples standing high and erect, as if Heather had been fondling herself while in the Machine.

"Heather?" The question was oddly hesitant, as if even Dr. Summers was a little shocked by the young woman's transformation. "Do you feel all right?"

The woman smiled. Her eyes were darkly predatory. "I'm hungry," she said, her voice low and sensuous.

"Hungry?" she stuttered. "Why, we can certainly get you something to-"

"Hungry for pussy!" Heather growled. Leaping, she bore the older woman back onto the examination table. The two assistants shrieked and ran out the door. With superhuman strength, Heather ripped open the lab coat, revealing two large breasts. Two more rips, and Dr. Summers was naked from head to toe, her narrow waist and full hips blatantly exposed.

Mewling with her need, Heather opened her mouth wide, suckling on a turgid nipple. As the doctor writhed under her, emitting feeble protests, she switched to the other breast. All the while, her hand slipped up her thigh until her fingers had plunged into her vagina. She thrust them in and out of the older woman, until her fingers were wet and dripping.

"Pussy," she panted. "I have to have pussy. I'm a lesbian and I need pussy."