Starting Over

"Okay," I said to myself. "You've seen enough. You're just being a voyeur now." But I remained frozen in place. I hadn't seen a real naked woman (aside from porn videos) in years.

She took extended time to lovingly rub the lotion into her breasts, applying a second and a third coat, and eventually rubbing and pulling on her gleaming swollen nipples. Her head was laid back, her eyes closed, and a smile alternated with an occasional pursed lip gasp. My god, I thought. She is masturbating her tits. My neighbor is naked in her backyard and masturbating.

"And I am watching, like a true pervert," I told myself

Not expecting anyone, I had worn an old T-shirt and a well-worn old pair of cotton sweatpants, cut off a bit above the knees. I don't usually dress commando style, but it was a warm day, and I had decided it would feel good. As I watched Britt lube and fondle her tits, my prick lifted a tent in the sweatpants and there was soon a damp spot where my pre-cum was leaking through. Okay, it's more than a little kinky to peer through a split in the fence watching your neighbor masturbate her tits, but fuck, this was making me so horny. I couldn't tear myself away.

After a good ten minutes or so of playing with her tits Britt put more lotion on her hands and begin to rub it farther down, first on her plump round belly, then on the inside of her upper thighs, which she spread lewdly, and then on her sex. That was more than I could take. I pushed my shorts down into a puddle around my feet and begin to stroke my rock-hard cock as I watched Britt masturbate. I licked my hand for lube (should have brought some suntan lotion like her, I thought). This wasn't at all like watching porn on the internet. I was watching my live, voluptuous, blonde, next-door neighbor slide her fingers in and out of her pussy and between her pussy lips while she used her free hand to continue to pull on the nipples of her big soft tits and occasionally to rub her clit. My cock was as rigid and hard as an iron bar. This was the closest thing to real sex I had experienced in years. Except there was no consenting adult partner participating. I was just being a peeping tom. "Fuck the guilt trip," I told myself as I continued to stroke my cock.

Britt took her time with her masturbation. She was clearly enjoying holding herself in an aroused state and in no hurry to bring herself to a climax. I did my best to similarly restrain myself. I wanted to cum when she did. After about fifteen minutes of casual masturbation, I could see that she was having trouble restraining herself. She had pulled her legs back, bent at the knees and splayed widely, and was ramming three fingers in and out of her cunt. I could hear the lewd squishy sounds from where I stood peering through the fence engaged in my own perversion. Her remaining hand was making faster and faster circular motions over her clit, her head swinging back and forth with her long blonde hair flying in all directions. It wasn't long before she lost control, crying out in a series of high-pitched wines followed by a loud of "Fuuuuuuuck," as she tipped over the edge and then a series of grunts as the spasms of her climax continued to jolt her.

That was all I could take, I felt my cum rising up through the shaft of my rigid prick and then watched as I squirted stream after stream of gleaming cum on the fence. Notwithstanding my best effort to remain silent I groaned softly as the first rush of cum left the tip of my prick.

I spent the remainder of the day absorbed in guilt. I'm a peeping tom, I thought--watching my naked neighbor masturbating in her back yard, while I did the same as I watched her through the broken fence. The guilt came in waves, alternating with waves of lust as I remembered how erotic the whole experience had been. I concluded that the only useful thing I could do for most of the remainder of the day was to continue pulling weeds--but I didn't let myself go near the broken board in the fence again. As I walked and crawled about the yard doing my chores, I had a half an erection dangling in my loose flitting old sweatpants. If the guilt was foremost, my cock shrank, but when lust regained control, it rose of its own accord until I reached a full-blown erection tenting my shorts. I hadn't had a prick this out of control since I was a teenager. I had guilt then too, but that was just about masturbation, like any other teenage boy. Voyeurism wasn't in my bag of fetishes at that age. But now? Yes, it seemed to be something I had added to my limited repertoire and found quite enjoyable--when I wasn't engulfed in guilt about it. After a couple glasses of wine with dinner that evening, the guilt was completely banished and I masturbated furiously as my mind recreated the kinky experience of peeping through the fence watching my voluptuous neighbor masturbating.

By the next morning the guilt had resumed control. I swore that I wasn't going anywhere near the broken board in the fence. I wasn't even going out in the back yard, committing myself to sitting in my den reading documents my lawyer had given me to review concerning the settlement of my wife's estate. This was of course a doomed idea. When lust is lurking in the background, how can anyone focus an estate's closing income tax returns? Impossible. By 10:00 o'clock I told myself I would just take a break with a coffee on the back porch. After all it was a nice sunny day out.

By 10:30 I was again standing before the hole in the fence with a raging erection tenting my pants. To my crushing disappointment, Britt's back yard was empty. Apparently, no repeat performance had been scheduled.

I continued to drift back and forth between lust and guilt for the next two days, but lust was clearly winning. I found myself surreptitiously checking the hole in the fence several times a day, all to no avail. At some point it occurred to me that I had not checked her mailbox for a couple of days on the assumption she was home. I gathered up the mail that I had collected before my slide into depravity and walked next door to deliver it. No one answered when I knocked and I noticed that the mailbox was full. Hmmm? She was home, but she wasn't checking her mail? After standing on the porch puzzling for a minute or two, I added the materials in the mailbox to my stack and returned home.

Later that afternoon, I heard the buzz/ring of my doorbell and trotted downstairs to find Britt standing on my porch.

"Hi, Dave," she said. "I just got back from Napa. I stayed a couple days longer than I planned. I guess I should have texted you to let you know. Any problems while I was gone?"

Problems, I thought? What possible problems did I have to tell her about? Aside from my having turned into a perverted peeping tom as I watched her sunbathing in the nude and masturbating in her back yard? "No, no problems at all," I said after a moments silence. "Everything was peaceful here." I wanted more than anything to ask her whether she routinely sunbathed in the nude, but how the hell could I do that without telling her what a pervert I was. Instead, I just handed her the mail.

She smiled and said, "Thank you so much." After a moment's pause, she continued, "You know we did some wine tasting while I was up in Napa and I brought back a few bottles of nice cabernet. I think a bottle would be even better if consumed on your G&T Deck. Perhaps about five this afternoon?"

"Sure thing," I said. As I said it, my corrupt imagination painted an image of wine tasting in the nude on my deck.

"Great. See you in an hour and a half," she said as she turned and bounced down my walk and driveway with her mail.

As she walked away I stood in the doorway enjoying the way her jeans snugly outlined her hips. "Oh you are such a perv." I told myself. "Maybe not. Maybe I'm just a dirty old man." I liked that thought. And I liked the thought of having a bottle of wine with Britt on the G&T Deck with or without clothes.

An hour and a half later the doorbell buzzed/rang again to announce Britt's arrival with a bottle of wine and a tray of vegetables. She had changed from earlier clothing to a fetching looking pair of snug, light colored, shorts and a loose-fitting white T-shirt that further confirmed my theory of her buxom chest. We went up to the G&T Deck where I had laid out wine glasses and an opener along with some munchies of my own. She handed me the bottle and I went to work with the corkscrew. Before I could pour any of the wine, she stopped me.

"Wait," she said. "I learned something new while I was visiting my friends in Napa. This is a good wine but it needs to air for at least half an hour."

"Oh yes. I suppose that's true."

"But I learned something else about how to enjoy a good bottle of wine."

"And that is?"

She reached in her purse and pulled out a package that contained a couple of cookies, marijuana edibles. "That is if you don't object. It's legal now and I can tell you as a trained professional it is highly unlikely to cause you a problem. These are custom made by friends in Napa." She was smiling.

I laughed. "No, I don't object. I haven't done any dope since I was in college and we couldn't afford good wine then, so why not. Maybe it will work. Is that why you brought the food?" I asked.

"Umm yes," she said. "Just in case we get the munchies before the wine has had time to air."

We chewed up the edibles she had brought and then sat enjoying the view and talking about her trip to Napa. The wineries she had visited, the warm weather, and so on.

"Tell me about your friends?" I asked. "Do they make these edibles to sell?" I could feel the drugs beginning to affect me by that time. Mostly it was just relaxing, although I noticed that the white caps on the bay had an extra sparkle to them that I hadn't perceived before.

"Oh no," she said. "Just for themselves and a few friends. They also make a pretty good garage wine. They've been making these edibles forever. I first met them when I was in Med School. In those days they lived in a hippy commune in the hills behind St. Helena. That was pretty crazy." She was silent for a moment. "Oh my..." there was a long pause. "This stuff is pretty good. Shall we try the wine now?"

I hadn't felt stoned like this in years. I felt like I could just melt back into the chair.

"Shall I pour," she asked after a long moment of silence.

"Pour?" A pause. "Oh yes. The wine. Please do."

I took a sip from the glass she poured for me and let it swirl around my mouth. "Wow," I said. "This is good shit." Where did that come from? That was a stoner phrase I hadn't used since I was in college.

Britt laughed and asked, "Which? The dope or the wine?"

I chuckled and said, "Both."

"Yes, they are both, good shit. But I can tell you the wine is also good without the dope."

"Okay." I drank some more of the wine. "Very nice."

"But you didn't tell me much about your friends. Do they still live in a commune?"

"Hardly. The commune in St. Helena broke up after a few years, like most communes do. Now they live in a house just up the valley from Napa and work at everyday jobs just like anyone else."

"But they still make edibles?"

"Oh yes. And there are a few other quirks in their lifestyle."

I tipped my head to the side inviting her to provide detail.

"There are two couples in the group, but 'couples' is not exactly the right word. It's more like a four-person marriage. Two guys and two women, but no one is committed solely to anyone and they all take turns. They are all very bi-sexual."

"So they guys do each other?"

"And the girls. Any manner of two-some, three-some or four-some they can dream up.

"Oh.... that's different, I guess," I said.

Britt laughed. "Not as different as you think. Trust me. I'm in the marriage counseling business. My patients have some amazing stories."

"About their sex lives?"

"Sure. Sex isn't the only reason people have trouble with their marriages, but it's a common one. Nothing like mismatched levels of sex drive to screw up a marriage."

"Oh. I never thought of that. I guess Ellen and I must have been compatible. It just never seemed to be a problem."

"That's good." She was quiet for a long moment. She giggled, a dope fueled giggle.

"What?" I asked.

She laughed again. "Oh I was just thinking about how compatible Doug and I were." She took a long pull on her wine and laid her head back, her eyes closed.

I had resisted asking her about her marriage, but the dope had begun to eliminate my inhibitions. "So you and Doug were sexually compatible?"

"I guess," she said. "We were certainly two of the horniest people ever... and we both seemed immune to jealousy."

"Oh. Yes, I guess that sounds compatible."

"We met when he was living in the same commune as my friends in Napa. He moved up there when he finished his MBA while he tried to decide 'what to do with his life,' as he put it. I used to go up there whenever I could get a couple of days off from Med school and then my Psychiatric Residency. I have to confess; I was working hard in the City and I needed the release that visiting the commune gave me. Every visit was a couple of days of nonstop sex with a never-ending stream of partners, punctuated with sleep, which you don't get as hospital Resident."

She paused for another drink. "Well not never ending. I don't want you to think I was a slut. There were about five guys in the commune and three women plus a few other visitors usually. By the time a visit was out I had fucked most of them. Then I had to go back to the City and my Residency in the hospital. Wow. That was quite an experience. After three years Doug bailed on the commune and joined a venture capital firm in the City. He had finally decided what he wanted to do with his life, which was to make as much money as possible. That was when we got married."

"So you settled down then?"

She laughed again. "Pour me some more wine will you Dave?"

As I poured, she continued talking. "I can't say we ever settled down. Sure we were both working hard, but we had what people today call an open marriage. When we weren't working or screwing each other, we were screwing someone else. I like to screw the young interns at the hospital. Doug was screwing the young MBA students they shared as summer interns. Sometimes we invited one of our free-lance partners home and had a threesome." She shook her head. "It was crazy."

"And the amazing thing," she said, "was that it worked. We were both having a ball... So to speak," she giggled. "Right up until Doug got brain cancer. Then it all went to hell. He was gone in six months and I haven't had sex since."

I really didn't know what to say. The best could do was, "Oh." Then the dope by passed my inhibitions and I added, "So is that what you recommend in your marriage counseling?"

This got her back to giggling. "My god no. Sometimes I think I should, but no. About as far as I go is to recommend that some couples try enjoying porn together."

"By the way," she said. "I think you're a very naughty boy. I'm not the only one on this deck whose mother wouldn't approve of his or her conduct."

"What? Me?" The paranoia inducing aspect of the dope immediately made me think she had seen me watching her masturbate through the hole in the fence.

"Yes, you. I've been reading some of your stories. You must be a very naughty boy to come up with that kind of filth."

"Filth?" I said with a laugh, feeling a wave of relief. "It's not filth. Just good clean sex."

"Oh yeah?" she said. "What about the story about the young woman getting turned on walking through the grocery market with no under garments and then sitting naked in her car in the back of an empty high school parking lot masturbating while she imagined sucking off some guy she had seen in the market."

"Well..."

"And then there was one about the couple who were mutually masturbating in a rental car after a corporate sensitivity lecture. What did you call it? Something about Fantasy and Reality. It sounded a lot more like Reality to me."

"It got to be much more real in the second half of the story," I admitted.

"Oh you mean when he came to her hotel room and they spent the night fucking each other silly. It would be hard to say that was a fantasy."

"Yeah. That part. Just good clean sex though. Not filthy at all."

When I said that she exploded in laughter. Unfortunately, she had a mouth full of red wine which she spewed across her chest and the white shorts she was wearing.

Once she stopped laughing and coughing, she said. "Oh shit! I need to put these in cold water if there is going to be any chance of getting this wine out. I'll have to run home."

"There is a sink in the bathroom. Just fill it up with cold water and put them in it."

"I don't have anything to change into?"

"So? If we are going to sit here and talk about my filthy stories, are clothes really necessary? No one can see us from here."

She laughed again. "Good point, Dave. I'll be right back. But I have a request. If I'm going to sit out here talking about your filth, I want you to read me one of your stories. You have a very sexy voice."

"Really? I never thought I would be doing a reading of those stories. I'll go get my tablet and open the web site. You can pick one for me to read."

When I returned, she was sitting in the chair completely naked. She had refilled both wine glasses and she had rearranged the chairs so we were facing each other.

"Did the wine get on your under garments also?" I asked.

"No, but they will just get in the way if you're reading your filth to me."

"Oh yeah. Sure," I said as I sat down. I could feel my cock beginning to grow. Was this going to be a replay of last Friday, but with no fence in the way and at close range?

"Wait a minute," Britt said. "If you are going to read your filth to a naked woman, you have to take your clothes off too."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"But I've never..."

"Not even with your wife?"

"Well yes, but that was several years ago... and I didn't write filth then. And Ellen and I didn't do much nudity. I mean not out here on the deck where we could see each other and... "

"Clothes off Dave."

"Okay," I said. "I guess I just never knew book readings were done like this."

She giggled.

"You have a lovely giggle when you are stoned," I said.

"Hmmm. I come out here naked and all you notice is the way I giggle?"

"Uhm. Oh. No. I noticed. I noticed a lot. I just..."

"Don't worry about it Dave. Just take your clothes off." She giggled again.

I handed her the tablet which was open to my Literotica story list and asked her what story she wanted me to read.

"I don't need to see the list," she responded. "Read me the one called 'The Blue Panties'."

"It's about masturbation," I said.

"I know," she responded. "I like masturbation. I already skimmed the story while I was in Napa. It was good, but it will be better if I hear it from your low, sexy, voice."

"Oh," I said. "I just wanted to make sure you knew what kind of filth you were signing up for."

"Seems totally appropriate for what we are going to be doing. Now get your clothes off and start reading Dave. I'm horny. Dope and wine do that to me."

From what she had said earlier it sounds like just breathing would do that to her, but I kept that thought to myself.

This is going to be new, I thought. I stripped off my clothes and sat down in the chair. As I sat I could feel my three-quarters engorged dick flopping about.

"Hmmm. You did notice," she said.

"What?"

"Your prick noticed I was naked," she said.

Now it was my turn to laugh. I picked it up and wagged it at her. "Yup. We noticed."

I opened the tablet to the story and began to read.