Our Neighbor's a Porn Star!

Nate got up early, woken by the low growl of snow-blowers. Cursing softly, he dressed in his warmest winter clothes, then opened the garage door. A glittering expanse of white met his gaze. With a long-suffering sigh, he began shoveling the driveway, wondering why his mother steadfastly refused to buy a snow-blower herself. He supposed it made sense when he and his father had both been around to shovel. But by next year he would be gone, and there would be no one to do it for her.

Luckily, the snow was fairly dry, not the heavy, wet, 'heart-attack' snow that claimed dozens of lives every winter. In half an hour he had cleared the driveway, and had done the sidewalk up to the property line with the Parkers on the north, and Heather McCormick's place to the south.

He paused, panting slightly, his breath forming fog where it escaped through the scarf he had wrapped around the lower part of his face. He leaned on the handle of his shovel, looking at the unmarred expanse of snow on Heather's driveway and the sidewalk leading up to her door. Somehow he didn't think she was quite ready for a South Dakota winter.

"Morning, Nate." The loud, cheerful voice startled him. He turned to see Harold Parker standing next to him, bundled up like he was.

"Cold front moving through this afternoon," Harold said with aggravating cheer. "It's going to be fifteen below zero by tomorrow morning. And the windchill's going to be close to forty below."

"Lovely," he grunted. He couldn't understand the perverse pride some people took in the bitterly cold winters they had to live through. Although I suppose we have to have something to brag about besides Mt. Rushmore. He banged his shovel on the sidewalk, knocking off the last of the snow, and headed up the driveway to the house. If he was lucky, he might have time to get in another twenty minutes of study before he had to eat breakfast and leave for school.

*****

He arrived home late that afternoon after hockey practice, the sun already slipping below the horizon, the last sunlight of the day throwing long red streaks across the road. All day long the wind had been rising, and now veils of snow whipped through the air, forming ghostly shapes in the glare from his headlights.

As he turned onto his street, his mouth fell open in shock. Heather McCormick was standing on her front walk, seemingly trying to shovel it. But her motions were slow and jerky. He squinted in the dim light. What the hell?

He parked the car, not bothering to open the garage door, and climbed out quickly, leaving his bookbag in the passenger seat. Almost running, he went to where the weary figure stood.

Heather was trying to clear the walk with what looked to be a garden spade. Apparently she had finished the section leading down from her front door to the sidewalk, and was now trying to finish the section which led from her house to the Andersons, two doors down from his own. Unaware of his presence, she lifted the spade to shoulder height, then brought it down in an awkward chopping motion, trying to cut through the hard crust of the snow. Nate was horrified to see that she wasn't wearing boots, only a pair of tennis shoes. Her hands were encased in a pair of thin leather gloves, by now certainly providing no protection from the flesh-numbing cold of the wind.

Unable to believe such incredible idiocy, he caught her by the shoulder, spinning her around. She gave a startled squawk of surprise and dropped the shovel.

"Are you out of your mind?" he shouted over the howling wind. "Get inside!"

"N-n-no," she stuttered, trying to pick up the shovel. "I'm almost d-done."

He pulled it out of her hands and threw it into the yard. "You're going to get frostbite!" A burst of wind flung freezing snow into their faces, the flakes as fine as sand, scouring at the exposed flesh of their cheeks. He could already feel his lips growing numb. He grabbed her around the arm and hauled her towards the door. "Get inside now!"

*****

Nate dragged her bodily into the entranceway, pausing only to close the door firmly behind them. "Shoes and socks first," he said, scowling at her. He pulled the shapeless stocking cap off his head and slapped it against his thigh, sending a cloud of powdery snow to the floor.

As she bent, her numb fingers fumbling at the laces of her shoes, he stopped her. "Never mind. I'll do it." He quickly had the frozen, soaking shoes off her feet, rapidly followed by the socks. In the overhead light, her feet looked pale as bone. "Can you feel them?" he asked worriedly, poking at her toes with his fingers.

She nodded, though she was beginning to shiver violently. "C-c-cold," she stuttered.

"Cold is good," he said grimly. "Not feeling them, that would be bad. Get those gloves off."

She pulled her gloves off and worked her stiff fingers. As she did, he led her up the stairs and into the kitchen. She peeled off her coat and sighed as the warm air of the house began to work its way through her clothing.

"Here," Nate said. He turned on the water at the sink. He tested it with a finger, then nodded. "If you ever do something that silly again and have to thaw out, remember this. Don't use hot water at first. Your skin will be numb and you won't be able to tell if you scald yourself. Use lukewarm water until you get the feeling in your fingers back."

She held her hands under the water gratefully, muffling a groan as full feeling began to seep back into her abused flesh.

"Whatever possessed you to try to shovel your sidewalk with a garden spade in this weather?"

Even in her chilled state, she felt her skin flush hotly in embarrassment. "I d-d-didn't think it would be so b-bad. And there wasn't a snow shovel in the g-garage. Everyone else on the b-block had done their w-w-walks and driveways. I didn't want to look bad, being the n-new person. I figured I'd get it done t-tonight, and then get everything I needed t-t-tomorrow."

Nate shook his head disgustedly. "Heather, this place can kill you. It can kill you easily, if you're not careful. Cold, wind, snow - it's a brutal place in the winter. People weren't really meant to live in an area like this. If you're going to stay here, you're going to have to prepare. You can't shovel snow in high wind in tennis shoes and those crap gloves you were wearing."

"Those g-gloves cost over a hundred dollars!" she flared, becoming angry at his condescending tone.

"And did they do the job? Or did they just look good? I'll admit, if you had slipped and broken your ankle, you'd have been a very attractive corpse when they found your body next April. But you need good gloves. And a scarf. And earmuffs and hats and all the rest of it. And boots, too." He gestured at his ensemble. "Do you think I'm going to win any fashion awards in this? Christ, from November to March we all go around town like a bunch of damn cavemen. But it keeps us warm, and that's the important thing.

"You should probably go take a shower," he said, his voice softening at last. "I'm going to call my mom to let her know what's going on, then I'll finish the walk for you. When I'm done, I'll come back inside to check on you before I go home."

Unable to think of a convincing argument to the contrary, she nodded her agreement, then walked down the hall to her bedroom. As she closed the door, she could hear Nate's voice.

*****

"Barbara Shroyer."

"Hi, Mom, it's Nate."

"Yes, I know it's you. My phone has caller ID." She let a smile creep into her voice. "How are you, dear?"

"Just fine. But our new neighbor decided it was a good idea to shovel her walk in a pair of designer gloves, no boots, no scarf, and no hat. I just made her come inside. But I thought it might be a good idea if you took her shopping in the next few days to get her what she needs."

"Is she all right?" she asked worriedly.

"I think so. Her fingers and toes seem okay. I told her to take a warm shower. I'm going to finish the job outside and then check on her before I go home. Do you know when you'll be back?"

His mother sighed and lowered her voice. "It's probably going to be a few hours, honey. These people...I've shown them three houses so far this afternoon, and now they want to go back and look at the first two again. And I have some paperwork to take care of at the office, too. And I should go to the gym to try to make sure I don't swell up like a cheap balloon between now and Christmas."

"No problem. But I'll tell Heather to expect your call."

"Ooh, so it's Heather now, is it? I didn't know you were on a first-name basis with her yet."

He laughed. "Stop it, Mom." He zipped up his parka, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. "I'll see you later tonight."

*****

Twenty minute's work with a real shovel put the sidewalk in order, though Nate suspected the whipping wind would drift it all over again with blowing snow before sunrise. Frowning, he took a look at the driveway. Full dark had fallen and cold hard stars glittered in the ink-black sky. He shivered and pulled his cap down tighter around his ears. In weather like this it was easy to believe some of the more lurid tales from American history, where unprepared settlers had to resort to cannibalism to survive.

No. You can do the driveway in a day or two, when it warms up a bit. Hell, we might get lucky and get a thaw and it'll all melt away. Stranger things have happened. Besides, it's not as if Heather is going to become overwhelmed by your snow-shoveling manliness and drag you into bed.

He re-entered the house, stamping the snow off his boots. "Miss McCormick?" he called. "Heather? I'm back."

"In here," her voice called. He followed it down the hallway to a door, cracked open. He tapped on it. "Come in, Nate."

He opened the door, and stopped, staring.

*****

She was dressed in a robe out of one of her films. No, he quickly corrected himself. She never wore anything that good in any of her films. Not the ones I saw, at least. Rather, it was a gown out of one of his fantasies. Sheer and white, it glittered in the dim light of the bedside lamp, tiny sequins throwing sparks back into his awestruck gaze. It was long, reaching down to her ankles, but the transparent, gauze-like material both hid and revealed her incredible body. He could see her shadowy curves, moving under the cloth like sunken treasure in a deep ocean.

He took a deep breath. He would not, would not, embarrass himself. "Feeling better?"

"Much better," she smiled. She took a few steps towards him. "Thank you for watching out for me. It was stupid to go out to shovel the walk in weather like this. If I had been thinking straight, I wouldn't have tried it. And I definitely would have stopped once I realized I didn't have the right clothes or shovel to do the job. But I get so damn stubborn sometimes and can't admit I'm making a mistake."

He felt one side of his mouth curl up in a lopsided smile. "I'm familiar with the idea. I think half the population of South Dakota is descended from people who were too dang mule-headed to realize that living here was a bad choice."

"Hmmm," she smiled. She took another slow step towards him. The movement left her only a foot or so away. He wanted to retreat, but his feet seemed frozen in place.

She lifted her hand and let it trace, lingeringly, over the thick sweater he was wearing. "Which leaves us with the question of how to suitably reward you, my hero."

He swallowed. "Heather. Please. Stop it. I'm not an idiot. I know this isn't one of your films, where the randy housewife gets turned on as soon as the pizza man knocks on the door. Don't tease me this way."

"No, it's not one of my films." She looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. "It's better. Should I tell you the story? A lonely woman moves to a town where she doesn't know anyone. She meets a handsome young man who helps her when he could have let her suffer the consequences of her own foolishness. When she is taking a shower, her body recovering from the ordeal, she realizes she is more aroused than she has been in years. Maybe the fact that she could have died has made her realize just how short life is, and how you should reach for happiness when you have the chance. Or maybe she's just a naturally horny woman whose desires have been unnaturally stunted over the past several years.

"Whatever the case may be, she wants you, Nate.

"Do you want me?" She lifted her head and kissed his cheek, then his mouth. Her lips were cool and firm where they met his. As his hands rose and cradled her slim hips, her tongue darted out to trace his lips, licking and probing, before she drew slightly away.

Her hands caressed his arms, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. As she did, he met her eyes, hoping that the next words out of his mouth wouldn't prove to be an enormous insult.

"Heather. I do want you. But...I don't want Heather Fawxx. I want Heather McCormick. The real you. Not the fake you."

She lifted her head and kissed the corner of his mouth. "And that's exactly what you're going to get, lovely man. One of the reasons I left LA was because I was sick and tired of men trying to have sex with 'Heather Fawxx.' To them, I was just a trophy they could hang on the wall, next to the autographed Lakers jersey and the photo they took with Nicholson at a charity golf tournament.

"And the job..." she shook her head sadly. "Do you know long it's been since I actually made love with a man I cared about, and who cared about me? Or a woman? Yes," she said, holding up her hand, forestalling his next comment. "I've had sex. I've had sex, on camera, for money, dozens of times. Maybe hundreds. And I won't apologize for it. I did what I had to do, and I gave honest work for honest pay.

"But I haven't made love in years. Not to a man or woman who was loving me, rather than screwing me with a bunch of people watching. Or someone who was having sex with a porno actress, rather than a real human person.

"I want-" her voice broke, and Nate gathered her into his arms. "I want to be loved, Nate."

Her vulnerability broke him as her strength never could. The feel of her, fragile and soft against him, inflamed him with a desire he had never felt, not with either of the two girls he had slept with before. He cradled her gently against his chest while she cried, her tears dripping down her cheeks.

The storm of emotion only lasted a few minutes. When she stopped, her eyes were clear and bright, and her lips curled in a smile. He brushed the evidence of her grief away with his thumb, and she moved her head to kiss it. Her hands drifted down his back and curved around to his hips, then slid up under the hem of his sweater. He shivered as they explored his chest.

"Well," she mused. "What first? What do you like, Nathaniel?"

He closed his eyes. The sound of his name on her lips, spoken like a caress, set him on fire. "I like..." He groped for the right words. "I like foreplay. Kissing." He smiled sheepishly as she kissed him, her tongue tracing the line of his mouth. "I really like making my partner happy." As he sometimes did, he found refuge in humor. "So if there's anything I can do for you, or more to the point, to you, you let me know, okay?"

She blinked, and her eyes suddenly gleamed. "Can you hammer a six-inch spike through a board with your penis?"

"Not right now," he admitted.

She shook her head sadly. "A girl's got to have her standards." With a subtle move, she pretended to move away.

He grinned and held her close. "You know Real Genius?"

"Are you kidding? I auditioned for Susan's character for a musical version back in oh-nine."

"Small role."

"She had a bigger one in the musical. The director thought Chris needed a love interest."

He conceded the point with a nod. It suddenly came to him that he was suddenly holding the loveliest woman he had ever seen in his arms, and that talking about a remake of a cheesy movie from the nineteen-eighties might not be the best use of his time.

Heather caught the change as it slipped over him. She had seen the same thing too many times to count. The look a man wore when desire overrode his mind. When lust took control.

But instead of being wearily accepting, taking it as the price for the job she had to do, this time it thrilled her. For so long, her body had simply been one more asset she could sell to the highest bidder. The money she received from filming sex acts had been her way of keeping body and soul together, with no answer in her heart. This time, it was different.

This time, it was her choice.

My choice. Mine. She laced her hands behind Nate's head, and pulled him down to meet her lips. When was the last time it was my choice? Not to make rent, not to advance my career, not even to get ahead so I could retire. But simply because I was horny and wanted to?

His mouth opened under her probing touch. Not entirely ignorant, no. But not so experienced that she couldn't teach him a trick or two. She smiled as she pulled at his lower lip, her teeth lightly nipping him, the action making him flinch slightly, then lean in towards her, his hands gripping her waist more firmly.

She leaned away slightly, sliding her hands down his chest to his middle. She found his belt, and unbuckled it with practiced ease, drawing it out of the loops of his jeans and tossing it lightly aside. It thumped softly to the floor, and she moved on to the next article of clothing. She pulled the hem of his sweater up until he reluctantly backed away from her and drew it over his head. She was surprised to see he was wearing a t-shirt underneath, but that, too, soon joined the growing heap of clothes on the floor.

She drew in her breath as she took in his body. His chest was well-muscled, the blondish-red hair which surrounded his cute pink nipples fading as her gaze lowered to his tight stomach, then growing again. A thick patch surrounded his navel like a halo, then darted down in a honey-trail below the waistband of his jeans. She walked around him, one hand lightly brushing his skin. He tried to turn with her, but she held him in place with a touch. As she stood behind him, she hugged him fiercely, her hands wrapping around his rock-hard abs, her lips dropping gentle, loving kisses on the pale skin of his shoulder blades. She smiled to herself as she saw his hands clench at his sides, and knew he was trying to restrain himself.

"You're beautiful," she whispered softly.

"Me?" He laughed in disbelief.

"You are. Do you think that women are the only ones who have beauty? That women don't look at men the same way you look at us? Don't be silly." Her hands slipped down, skillfully unsnapping the button of his jeans and lowering the zipper. She explored the depths of his boxers, finding his cock hard and erect. She stroked it softly and smiled against his skin as he flinched. "And take off those ridiculous boots. This is Rapid City, not the damned north pole, though it seems you can barely tell, sometimes."

Nate lifted his feet and pulled off his boots, letting them fall to the floor. When he was done, she knelt in front of him. She looked up into his face, smiling as his breath caught with the realization of what was about to happen. As she slowly eased his pants down below his knees, then off his body entirely, she raised her hand, her palm softly pressing into his boxers, massaging his hard, firm length. It tented the cloth, hidden yet obviously, rampantly male. Near the waistband, the light blue cloth had turned a darker color as moisture leaked from his tip.

"Well, let's see what we have here," she said, keeping her voice deliberately light. She ran her hands up Nate's thighs, smiling as they quivered under her touch. With gentle, deliberate movements, she lowered his boxers to the floor. As his penis slowly came into view, her heart pounded, and her eyes widened happily.