Our Neighbor's a Porn Star!

"Good. It's be awful if something happened to her. I really think I'm going to enjoy having her as a neighbor. She's good people."

"I think so, too."

Barb frowned. As they spoke, she had grown aware of a tantalizing aroma in the air, separate from pizza or bread sticks or the ordinary smell of the house. It wafted into her nostrils, something which she had once known intimately, but had missed for several years.

Her breath caught as she recognized it at last. It was the smell of sex. That undeniable, unmistakable smell, a combination of female arousal, sweat, musk, and semen, that resulted when two happy people did their best to love each other into exhaustion.

And it was coming from her son.

Who?

Heather.

Who else could it be? Certainly Nate hadn't had time to go to bed with anyone else between school, hockey practice, and his good-Samaritan mission on Heather's behalf. Or had the situation really been what he claimed? Had Heather somehow seduced him, or had he (even more unlikely) seduced her, and then been forced to make up an excuse for his presence at her house?

She stopped chewing, caught between astonished pride and anger. Pride that Nate had been found desirable by one of the loveliest women that Barb had ever seen. Anger that the woman he had gone to bed with was one that Barb herself wanted very badly.

"I'll call her up in the next day or so," she said, keeping her voice light and casual. "If her winter gear is as bad as you say, she should have someone take her out and get some quality stuff."

He nodded. "It's terrible." His eyes were clear and guileless, and Barb relaxed a bit. Whatever the two of them were doing, at least Nate wasn't lying about it. "Her coat looks nice, but it's all show. Same thing with her gloves. They're the kind that look good when you're walking from the car to the store, but rotten if you need to do any serious work in them. And I don't know if she's got any hats or scarves or boots at all."

"Well, I'll call her tonight. Maybe we can go shopping on Friday night out at the mall. Unless you'd rather I be at the game against Central."

He waved his hand. "They're going to kick our ass anyway. No reason why you should sit around for two hours on a Friday night and watch us get smoked."

*****

The next three days were torture for Heather.

She thought she was long past teenage infatuation. But she found her thoughts constantly turning to Nate. The sound of his voice. The feel of his skin against hers. The way he looked at her, as if she were the only woman in the world. And, especially, the way he touched her, at once innocent and passionate, as if he wanted to learn every single thing about her body and what aroused her.

They had only been able to get together one more time, on Thursday afternoon, when he was done with school and his mother was still at work. His hockey practice had been called off, and she practically leaped into his arms as soon as he was inside the door.

They spent a long, happy hour, filled with lovemaking, in her bed. With her guidance, he learned how to pleasure her with his mouth, and she had held his head close to her mound, wracked with orgasm after orgasm, as his sweet lips and clever tongue stroked her burning clit. Afterward, she let him mount her, and she closed her eyes in bliss as his wonderful cock filled her sheath to bursting.

"You know," he said, just before he had to leave, "we could tell my mom and not try to keep this a secret."

Heather felt a cold hand clutch her heart. Barb! Unable to think up a suitable excuse, she and the older woman were set to go out shopping for winter gear the next evening. She had no idea how she was going to deal with their mutual attraction and the fact that she was sleeping with her son.

She shook her head. "Not yet."

"But why?" His dear face was confused.

"Women's business," she said mysteriously. "It's not the right time."

And now they were driving to the mall in Barb's car. She had pulled up outside of Heather's house that night, precisely at six PM, and had honked her horn peremptorily. Heather had quickly zipped up her coat and scurried down the walk to her car, exactly, she thought grumpily, as if she were a fourteen year-old getting picked up after band practice. She leaned forward to put her hands in front of the air vents, trying to warm up.

She caught Barb's glance and smiled. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I grew up in weather like this."

"Oh, your blood got thin from spending all that time in the sun in California," Barb said with a warm smile. "Give yourself a year or two, and you'll toughen up." She pulled into a parking lot jammed with cars, and gave a weary sigh. "Friday night in December," she muttered. "Maybe this wasn't the best way to do things."

"At least it actually looks like Christmas outside. You should try California in December. Eighty degrees and all the shopping malls are filled with fake snow. I swear, the first winter I was out there I was in culture shock."

Barb laughed as she opened the car door. The sound was whipped away in the wind. While not as bad as a few nights ago, it was still frigidly cold. By the time they reached the doors of the mall, Heather was hunched over and shivering. She saw Barb looking at her quizzically, and tried to smile.

"All right," the older woman said. "Let's get to work." She led her to a large store, the glass front showing pictures of people in all sorts of outdoor gear. Pulling out a cart, she turned to Heather. "Take off that coat so I can take a look at it."

She did, and watched Barb in dismay as she shook her head dismissively, her lips tightening in disapproval as she examined it carefully. "And the gloves?"

She peeled the gloves off her hands and handed them to the dark-haired woman. She fingered them quickly and handed them back to her.

"Just like Nate said. Wear them when you're out on a date and want to look good. But not for anything serious outside. They're useless for outdoor work."

"And the coat?"

"Throw it out, or donate it to the Salvation Army. It looks nice, but the lining's too thin and it's too short. You want something that will cover your rear end. Otherwise you'll have the wind making that cute little butt of yours cold all winter long. You need a new one."

"A new butt?"

"Smart-ass."

"Cute-ass."

"Yours or mine?"

"Both."

Barbara blushed at the compliment. "We should get started."

*****

If the United States Army ever needed help organizing an invasion, Heather decided some time later, they could do worse than to ask Barbara Shroyer. The woman was almost frighteningly efficient. In less than an hour, she had helped her pick out a new winter parka, a lighter coat for fall and springtime, heavy winter gloves, as well as earmuffs, two different scarves, a couple of hats, and a pair of fur-lined winter boots. And somehow they all managed to be at least moderately attractive, or at least not horribly bulky.

Heather pulled off the last hat to find Barb looking at her oddly. "Turn around,' she said.

She did so, pirouetting gracefully. Barb frowned. "Are all your pants like that?"

"More or less. What's wrong?" She fought back the temptation to bend over so the tight denim could further accentuate the curves of her hips and rear.

"They're too damn tight."

"Men like tight." After a pause to reflect, she added, "Women do, too."

"Tight is bad in winter. You need some air between your skin and the clothes to serve as insulation." She sighed and pushed the cart in a new direction. "You need some new slacks and jeans."

"But I want to look sexy," she said, aware that her voice had sunk into the almost-whine which used to drive her mother crazy.

"Sexy's for home. And when the temperature's above freezing. Sexy slacks and jeans won't do you any good when it's so cold no one's looking."

With Barb's help she chose some heavy, durable jeans and slacks, though she pouted at how they made her rear end look like she had gained ten pounds overnight. After paying for her new clothes, she and Barb wandered through the mall, content to people-watch. Adults in unzipped parkas walked past them, their faces in various degrees of cheerfulness or stress. In the common area, a Santa's Village had been set up, and proud young parents with fidgeting, squeaky-clean children waited to take pictures with a resplendently fat and jolly Saint Nick.

It was all so bland, so dull, so ordinary, that Heather had to blink back tears. For years she had navigated the superficiality of Los Angeles, never getting involved with anyone below surface level. This midwestern town reminded her forcefully of what her life had been like, before she had abandoned it and moved away. Before her parents had disowned her. Before she came to terms with the fact that she would never be a good actress. Or even a respected one.

Before she could fall too far into depression, her eye was caught by a familiar pink logo. She grabbed Barb's hand. "Victoria's Secret! Let's go!"

"Heather," the older woman laughed, "I don't need any lingerie."

"Didn't you say that sexy was for home?" she replied, pushing through the doors, bringing Barb in with her. She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar odors of silk and lace and perfume. "Besides, women don't buy lingerie because they need it. They buy it because they want it. And they want to look beautiful for their man. Or woman," she added, slanting a quick look at her friend.

"Well..."

It was obvious she was willing to be persuaded. Heather let her go, and started browsing among the racks, her intuition telling her that Barb would not welcome someone looking over her shoulder while she shopped.

What would Nate like? She paused, struck by an even more wicked idea. What would Barbara like? Her lips curved in a grin as she moved through the store, her hands plucking items off their racks, one by one. She probably could make do with what she had at home. But for her friend, she decided, only brand-new items would do.

The sales lady was just ringing up her purchases when Barb joined her at the counter. "Don't tell me you bought something!" she exclaimed. "I bet you have a whole collection at home."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," she responded cheerfully. "But it's been a while since I got anything new. And if you're going to force me to spend hundreds of dollars on winter clothes just so I can survive in this terrible place," she continued, "I might as well get something for me. Thank you," she said to the cashier, as her new belongings were slipped into a bag. She nonchalantly turned away, pretending to become very interested in a display of scented body wash as Barb made her purchases.

The trip back across the parking lot to Barb's car was made much more pleasant by the sheer fact that her friend insisted that she wear her new winter gear. Grumble as she might about their lack of style, she couldn't deny that her new clothes were much warmer than what she had been using. Her new parka reached down to mid-thigh, and was topped by a hood trimmed in fur. Combined with heavy gloves, fur-lined boots, and a stocking cap which was criminally unfashionable but sinfully warm around her ears, she was actually comfortable as they piled their bags into the trunk.

"Goodness," she said, pushing back the hood of the coat and shoving her gloves into her pocket as she relaxed into the leather interior of the car. "When you have the right clothes, the weather's almost bearable."

Barb gave her a smiling glance as they merged onto the highway. "For now. But when it gets below zero again like it was on Monday, you'll find out that nothing really does the job. All you can do is bundle up and try to get back inside as soon as possible. I swear, I think if I could I'd spend every minute between November and March curled up under a comforter in my bed, reading. Or at least watching TV in a nice warm bathrobe and fluffy slippers."

"That sounds nice. Especially if you had someone in bed with you."

"As long as it was the right someone." Heather caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye that hinted that Barb had ideas about who that person might be.

"Want to come in for a bit?" she asked casually, as they turned onto their street.

"Sure. If I know Nate, he's going to go out with his buddies for pizza after the game, and he won't be back until after midnight."

"You let him stay out so late?" she teased.

"I trust him," Barb shrugged. "He's a smart kid and hasn't ever been in trouble. He knows if he did, I'd come down on him hard. So he makes sure I don't have to."

"That must be nice," she said, as Barb parked in her driveway. "I think my life might have turned out a lot different if my parents had trusted me."

*****

"What did you mean?"

It was a short while later. They had stowed her new winter gear in the hall closet, but Heather had drawn the line at putting away the new slacks and jeans. The clothes would still be there in the morning, and she wanted to get to know her new friend better.

My friend. It was strange to think of Barbara that way, on so little acquaintance, but she did. It seemed so long since she had had a friend who she could hang out with simply because she liked her, not because she might help her get a better role in the next movie, or because they were forming a temporary alliance against another woman on set. But as she pulled a bottle of red out of the wine rack, she knew that this woman was someone who would stay true to her as long as she did the same.

"What?"

"What you said in the car. About your parents."

"Oh. That." She pulled the cork out of the bottle and splashed wine into a pair of glasses. "Cheers," she said, handing Barb a glass. They clinked the glasses together, and she took a deep sip, almost a swig, of the rich, dark liquid. "This isn't a conversation I want to have standing around in the kitchen." Taking the bottle with her, she led her into the living room, pausing only to turn on her stereo. Christmas music began to play at low volume. Despite everything, she smiled. One of the few happy memories from her childhood was the old-timey Christmas albums her mother had played during the holidays. Several years ago she had bought copies of all of them; Bing Crosby, Perry Como, Ray Conniff, and Gene Martin, and now she relaxed slightly as the long-familiar tunes played.

She took a seat on the couch. Somewhat warily, Barb sat beside her. To one side, a gas fire flickered cheerily in the fieldstone fireplace, throwing warm red light onto her brand-new furnishings, barely out of their wrappings.

"I was born overseas," she began abruptly. "My father was a pilot in the air force. He was in Iraq for the first war over there, back in 1991."

"I remember that," Barb nodded. "I was just starting high school." She smiled slightly. "Thanks for making me feel old."

She shrugged irritably, as always put on the defensive when the conversation turned to her family. "After the war, what there was of it, we moved back to the states. Dad was promoted and was put in command of the training wing at New Boston Air Force Base in New Hampshire. That's where I grew up.

"I had it lucky, compared to other service brats, I suppose. At least, I didn't have to bounce around from base to base like a lot of them did. But growing up under my father's thumb was no picnic.

"It started almost as soon as I hit puberty. I developed pretty spectacularly." She gestured at her chest. "And at a young age. Dad was terrified that I'd get a reputation. And I did."

She snorted in disgust, half-angry with the fact that the memory of those years, over a decade old, could still get her riled up. "I couldn't keep my hands off myself. I discovered masturbation when I was about thirteen. And a little while after that, I discovered boys. Well, one boy, at least. Denny Montagne."

Even now, that first memory made her close her eyes and shiver happily. "God, it was so much fun. We didn't have sex. At least, not right away. But just holding and touching and kissing each other was so nice. He wanted to see what I had, and I definitely wanted to see what he had, so we took our clothes off and looked.

"Of course, he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. By lunch break the next day, I had half the damn junior high panting after me. I don't know what they thought. But word had gotten around that I was a 'nympho,' whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.

"Dad, of course, completely lost his shit. Word travels fast on a military base. He came down on me hard. But I was just as bad as he was. The more he tightened his grip, the more I was determined to have my own way. Which basically consisted of screwing every man I could get my hands on, just to show him.

"By the time I graduated high school, we were barely talking to each other. Mom, too. She always took his side. I suppose I could have handled it better, but shit, I was just a teenager.

"And I haven't ever found anything that was more fun than fucking."

"Christ, Heather!" Barb dabbed at her lips with her sleeve. "Give a girl some warning before you say something like that, will you? Otherwise you're going to have winestains all over this nice carpet."

Heather shrugged. "I've had worse things happen. After I graduated high school a girlfriend of mine and I loaded up her old Buick Skylark and took off for the west coast. I'd done some theater in high school, and I was sure that with a little practice I could start getting roles in movies right away. I mean, all the boys in high school liked me, right? So the men in charge of the film companies were sure to think the same thing."

She sighed. "God, was I dumb back then. When we got to LA, we got a cruddy apartment in Boyle Heights and I started to go to auditions." Her lips quirked with bitter humor. "For some reason, the casting agents weren't in a huge hurry to cast a girl with next to no experience and next to no acting ability. I got plenty of offers to have sex, but none to actually get in front of a camera.

"So six months later we were both flat broke, despite the crappy jobs waiting tables we had. We were in our apartment one night, fooling around and smoking a joint Sherry had managed to score, when I made a joke about peddling my ass on the street corner for some cash. And Sherry said that she figured I'd get a lot more money if I did a porno. One thing led to another, and a few days later I was in a sleazy office, auditioning for a role in Horny Teen Nymphos 4." She shook her head in bemused reminiscence. "The good thing was, there weren't a whole lot of lines to memorize. It was pretty much limited to lying on my back, spreading my legs and moaning. And the only thing the casting director wanted to see was how big my tits were.

"Well, it wasn't as bad as I was afraid of, and the money got us a month's rent, but a couple weeks later Sherry and me had a big fight and she left for home. When she got there, she told my parents what I was doing.

"Dad called me up and disowned me that night. Told me neither he Nor my mother wanted to see me again.

"He meant it, too. When Mom died three years ago and I showed up for the funeral, he wouldn't even look at me. If my brother George hadn't been there, I don't know what I would have done."

"I'm sorry," Barb said. She caught her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

She nodded through a throat gone tight. She had never told this story to anyone. Not to Jake. Not even to Nathaniel. He was a good friend and her lover, but she didn't think, at his age, he could understand her bone-deep sense of betrayal. "Well, I did a couple more shitty-ass pornos, but then I got a break. The first in God knows how long. Jake Weintraub saw one of my films. I don't know why, but he thought I could be more than just another bimbo. He came to my apartment one night and convinced me to sign an exclusive contract with Sweet Seduction, his production company. He explained to me how things really worked in the adult film business, and how little time I really had."