Sunday Quickie: The Window Show

The neighbor lady mows her yard about the same time every evening, right after I eat supper and before I steep a pot of tea. I sit in my screened-in sunporch and smell the grass clippings on the steamy summer nights. Usually I read or listen to the radio. Often, very late at night, I take off my clothes and blow a load before bed time.

The house backs up to a forest, and nobody can see me except for Marissa, the cute neighbor.

One night while mowing the grass, she wore a straw hat and a skimpy blue bikini, the top barely concealing her ample bosom, and the bottom rode up her ass crack like floss. I had planned on reading Catcher in the Rye for the first time, but after one long stare at Marissa’s beautiful body, I dropped the book on the floor and forgot about the tea kettle on the stovetop.

She saw me and waved. I waved back, a little embarrassed by the massive bulge popping up in my shorts. I decided to at least pretend to read, pretend to drink tea, and even pretend to be the nice neighbor guy who doesn’t gawk at the girl next door. Wasn’t until she was done mowing that I realized I held the book upside down and my tea had gone stale. I figured she’d put the mower away, and then I could sit in the dark and masturbate.

Nope.

Instead, Marissa got out her garden hose and watered her flower garden. Then pruned the bushes, bending over enough for me to memorize the curves on her backside. The sunporch got dark, and I turned on the floor lamp so I could “see” my book better, because I needed an excuse.

When she got out a lawn chair and sat with a beer in hand, I realized she could probably see me with the light on. I waved casually, and she saluted me with her beer bottle. Marissa leaned back in her chair, long muscular legs crossed, an amused grin on her face. She clutched one breast, and pretended to adjust the bikini top. Then I knew she’d been watching me the whole time.

I took off my shirt. I’m a long ways from chiseled, but I workout and have nothing to be ashamed of. By the time I tossed my shirt to the side, the amused grin on her face turned into a full on smile with white teeth that flashed in the waning light. 

Marissa uncrossed her legs and rolled the beer bottle up one thigh. I just imagined how the cold glass must feel on her skin, and what it would be like I were the one holding the bottle. The tent pole in my pants got a lot stiffer. I pinched my nipples, twisting them, not really even thinking about what I was doing. Would she call the cops? Forever pick a different time to mow her yard?

She pulled at her bikini top, and flashed me one boob. She was lovely and firm, with a large pink nipple.

I popped the button on my jeans, then rubbed my palms down my thighs. Marissa shook a finger at me, shaking her head, and stuck her finger down the other side of her bikini top. She twisted the nipple underneath. I stood up and unzipped my pants in slow motion.

She dropped the beer onto the grass. She flicked her hair back, laughing, and kicked the bottle away with her foot.

Not to let a little spilled beer deter my impromptu strip-tease, I turned around. My jeans fell around my ankles, and I kicked them off. Pulling at my boxers, I turned around to make sure I still had her attention.

Marissa sat on the edge of her lawn chair, the bikini pulled aside and both breasts exposed now.

I slid my boxers off, showing her my ass cheeks. One hand clutching my junk, I spun on my heels. By the time I was turned around, Marissa was fumbling off the bottom half of her bikini. I removed my hand, showing her my rod. She had a lovely triangle patch of hair between legs.

We stared at each other for a long moment, like two kids seeing naked bodies for the first time. I sat back down, and started stroking. Marissa pressed a finger against her clit, and rubbed.

Pretty soon, our mutual masturbation got hot and heavy. She flicked her pearl, and shoved a finger deep into her tunnel. I stroked my shaft with one hand, and massaged my balls with the other. I sped up a little, and she kept pace with me. Then I tried slowing down, but Marissa slouched in her chair and pumped her pussy faster.

Soft moans came from her. I doubt she even knew she was making noise. Precum dripped down my hand. I wasn’t going to make it much longer at this rate. I slouched in my chair, putting one arm behind my head, and using my change in position as an excuse to stop for a moment.

Marissa didn’t seem to want to stop. Faster, more desperate, as if she had an itch she couldn’t scratch. I smacked my member for her, making the noise as loud as I could. The rest of world just sort of blurred away, and Marissa became the center of my tunnel vision.

Then suddenly a squeal erupted from her. She shivered and crossed her legs, breasts bouncing and heaving. Marissa covered her mouth. Face, neck, and upper body bright red, she leaned forward and nearly jumped out of her lawn chair.

Once she settled back down, a big smile from ear to ear, she nodded to me. For a moment I wondered about stage fright. That moment passed quick, and I stroked myself, my cock on fire in a tingly excruciating pleasurable way.

The orgasm started in my balls, and exploded upwards like an uncontrollable quake. A jet of creamy white cum blasted out of me, hit the screen window, and splattered on the floor. I sank in my chair, exhausted and warm.

Marissa stood, wobbly on her feet, and blew me kisses. I blew kisses back and watched her walk into her house.

Ever since then, Marissa and I have gotten together. But lawn mowing is now a chore we both look forward to.

***

Copyright © 2020 Hermit Muse Publishing

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Sunday Quickie: Demanding Rent

Being a landlady isn’t fun and games. Especially for a building full of college boys who spend more time partying than studying. But, since I own and live in the building, I got to do what I got to do.

I received the call from 405 at six in the damn morning, long before any of the other tenants even think of waking up. And let’s be clear on something, I hate the dude in 405. He’s the stereotypical frat boy jock, a womanizer, and drunk all the time.

Doesn’t help that he’s continually late with the rent. Continue reading “Sunday Quickie: Demanding Rent”

Sunday Quickie: No Shame in the Jacuzzi

I met Elisa at the gym where I workout, about six months back. We were instant friends, and she’s been coaching and cheering me on ever since. I’ve slimmed down a lot. I’m a hell of a lot stronger too.

Elisa is a slim and strong bombshell to begin with. Her arms are firm with well defined muscles. She has a set of legs that any younger woman would be jealous of. And her abs, admittedly, make me a little wet whenever she wears a sports bra. Unlike my giant ridiculous boobs, Elisa has small teacup sized breasts and, though I’d never seen them, they sure looked perky and firm.

Also unlike me, she has enough self-confidence for two women. You can see it in her posture and the way she casually flips her shoulder length brown hair into a ponytail. I love that about her.

Oh, and she loves other women. Continue reading “Sunday Quickie: No Shame in the Jacuzzi”

Sunday Quickie: Full of Hot Air

On the most beautiful day of the summer last year, I finally caved in for my boyfriend. Ryan had mocked me since New Year’s, chided me for being a big baby. He bullied me, pressured me until I couldn’t tell him no any longer.

He set up the hot air balloon at the riverside campsite where we’d first had sex. The maple trees were green and lush, and all the wildflowers were in full bloom. The air was hot, and heavy with the scent of nature.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, eager to be done with this balloon trip. I did not like heights, and Ryan knew it. But something about watching him work made me giddy. He wore tan shorts and a red polo shirt, with white sneakers. I helped where I could, pulling ropes taut, moving stuff around, but mostly I just gawked. Continue reading “Sunday Quickie: Full of Hot Air”

Sunday Quickie: Never Say Never, Sir

I’ve always played safe. I didn’t sleep around with strangers I just met. Never invited a woman into my place unless I had a couple dates with her first. This has been my practice since becoming an adult.

But after the divorce I was strung out and out of my mind desperate for some touch. 

I was at some seedy hotel that needed renovation too many years ago. The front desk auditor tossed me the key without looking away from his ten inch black and white TV. I think he was just fascinated by it because it was ancient tech. I thanked him, as if he gave two shits. I was paying by the hour. At least it was early in the evening, he promised me nobody had used the room previously tonight.

My stomach twisted up in all kinds of knots. I thought about maybe canceling. Perhaps not even bother texting “Karen” the room number. I could just go home and pretend I wasn’t about to go through with this. Continue reading “Sunday Quickie: Never Say Never, Sir”

Sunday Quickie: Dessert First

The first time I invited over Tegan, a woman I’d been going steady with for a month, I messed up royally. Like, real bad, how did I earn a second date with this chick to begin, how much worse can it get?

I made coffee and that turned out well enough, if you like it dark and bitter enough to burn some brain cells. But I set the six egg omelet on fire. The hash browns were toasted into a thin crunchy layer of blackened flakes. I hadn’t realized what I forgot at the grocery until I found out I was out of bacon.

She was the kind of girl who might’ve starred in one of my many lesbian pornos—tall, curly blond hair, tanned legs with lean muscles. Never thought a girl like me could get close to a girl like her. Continue reading “Sunday Quickie: Dessert First”

Sunday Quickie: Blackout in a Good Way

Author’s Note: Yeah, it’s a Christmas story. What happened is I’m clearing out files from my iPhone, and there was a period of time when I wrote quickie confessional stories on the phone. Too bad I didn’t find these things on April Fool’s. So I’ll be posting my phone stories over the next five weeks or so.

I hate office holiday parties. Not so much that I hate people, just that I hate going to parties where everybody can drink except me. One of the many prices of being a recovering alcoholic. All the happy, carefree idiots getting hammered on the loneliest night of the year—Christmas.

But this last year, I had to go. Boss’s choice. Otherwise he was going to make me file stock reports during my vacation.

So I sucked it up, wore my best blue pinstriped suit and a grey argyle tie like a piece of armor, and went to the party. I was only going to stay for half an hour, that was the deal. 

Until I saw her. Continue reading “Sunday Quickie: Blackout in a Good Way”