8 comments/ 144567 views/ 9 favorites Sad Neighbour: A Story By: tarkatony I didn't know her first name. She had been Mrs. Zimmer to me for all of my 19 years, well, for most of them. I probably wasn't even conscious of her until I was maybe 9, when I started my paper route. She lived with her husband three doors down. They had a daughter who was 2 or 3 years older then me. I didn't really know her, she was just there a few times when I went around to collect. Funny how you form impressions of people from just brief encounters. I always thought of Mrs. Zimmer as a particularly sad woman. I also thought of her as smart and aloof. To me, she seemed like someone who knew a lot, didn't care to share what she knew and was somehow disappointed with her life and with those who entered it, me included. As a kid, I was always glad to collect my money and get out of there; she wasn't someone I enjoyed being around. Perhaps that's why I was feeling a little awkward. Even though I hadn't thrown a paper on her lawn in five years, she recognized me and said ‘hello'. After I responded with the same word we seemed to have exhausted all potential for conversation and we both turned away. Maybe our cheerlessness was understandable: we were both waiting to get our teeth drilled. It surprised me. Surprised me a lot. You don't expect to be thinking of a 45 year old woman when a guy in a mask is boring into your tooth. But I was thinking of her, her look of sadness more then anything. She seemed to be almost consumed by melancholy, lost in it, now, just like I remembered her during my paper route days. I don't know why but as I sat there gagging on a rubber dike I wanted nothing more then to cheer her up, to make her laugh, to bring a little joy to her eyes, a smile to her lips. I got my chance about an hour later. She saw me walking along the street, stopped her car and asked if I'd like a ride home. Actually, it came out more like "Would you wike a wide home," and when I responded, with deliberate exaggeration, "I would wove a wide home," she burst out laughing so when I settle into the seat next to her I felt our shared laugh and dental experience had somehow brought us together. It wasn't a long ride home but it was time enough for me to learn that her daughter was in 3rd year and thinking about going into law, following Mr. Zimmer's profession, and that Mrs. Zimmer owned a florist shop, or maybe even a number of them, I didn't quite get that straight. I wanted to get more out of her but she soon turned the turret on me and had me babbling about my future, as if I had any plans, as if I had the slightest idea how my future would unfold. When we turned onto our street I thanked her politely for the ride and, I don't know why, perhaps because I meant it, but I added that I really enjoyed talking to her. I told her she made me feel really at ease. That's when I heard her mutter, "That's a first." It happens, doesn't it? You haven't seen someone in years and then you run into them twice in a matter of days. My second time with Mrs. Zimmer was in a coffee shop in the mall just three days later. I was sitting on a stool at one of those narrow, sweeping counters, looking at the wall when the person to my right got up and there she was, one stool away. "Hello again," she said and I said, because I had been thinking of it for two days now, "May I ask you a question?" She turned a little on her stool to face me, "Of course." I could tell she was curious. "Why did you say to me the other day, ‘That's a first." I could see that she didn't understand so I clarified. "I thanked you for the ride home and said that you really put me at ease in the car. That's when you said, ‘That's a first.' What did you mean?" She laughed mirthlessly, "I've never been accused of making anyone feel comfortable." I fell silent with this, I didn't really know what to say. And she was silent, too, she even turned away, but in a minute she turned back. "It was sweet of you to ask me about that. Thank you." "Do you know why I did?" She held her coffee cup as if warming both hands and shook her head. "Because it surprised me." And I told her, I really don't know why — it just came out, about my thoughts about her while I was in the dentist's chair; how she always appeared to me to look so sad and how I wanted to cheer her up. She smiled, wanly I thought. "You have cheered me up. Thank you." "Are you as sad as you look?" She gave the same mirthless laugh, "Do I look that bad?" "Not bad, but sad, as if you haven't a friend in the world." We talked for two hours that afternoon, through three cups of coffee, most of the time across an empty stool but when a lady was about to sit in it I scooted over so we could continue our conversation. We talked about nothing really, and there was never a laugh or even a smile. But my hunch from three days before was right: I was comfortable talking to this woman and I told her so and asked her if we could get together again. She smiled at me. Sure, she said, I like to go for walks in the forest behind my house, maybe you could join me sometime. I surprised myself when I leapt at the chance and pinned down a time to meet her the very next day. That night in my bed I took her in my arms and tried to imagine her holding on to me, I tried to image the weight of the world falling from her shoulders, I tried to image a smile coming to her lips — and I tried to feel her heat, breathe in her smell. It shocked me, really shocked me because as I lay there with her, well, with the pillow in my arms, I got a hard-on, a hard-on thinking about a woman who was my mother's age, maybe older. This may sound stupid but what attracted me to her, what I found sexy about her, wasn't her body, it was her vulnerability, her sadness. I held the pillow tighter and tried to squeeze the sorrow right out of her. It was half way through our walk the next day when I told her about my image of holding her, trying to squeeze away her misery. I didn't plan to, it just came out. She looked up at me with eyes that were as sad as I'd ever seen, then she stepped towards me and hugged me, not a little, but a lot and she didn't let go, she didn't let go for the longest time, time enough for me to wrap my arms around her, to feel the heat beneath her thin sweater, to feel the slight tremble of her body. She held on to me and cried for perhaps two minutes and when she stepped away her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet with tears; she smiled as she brushed them away, "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." We walked back in silence. When I held her again that night I had a little more to go on. I could feel her breasts pressing against me, I could feel her back and the outline of her bra strap and I could feel her heat — I could almost smell her heat. I held her for a few minutes then I carefully lay her down side me, spread my legs a little and gave my stiff prick three yanks and shot a load into my pajamas but even before my still-stiff dink rested on my belly I felt a jolt of guilt. I was getting sexual joy out of Mrs. Zimmer's misery, how sick was that? And how sick was it for a kid not yet 20 to get off on a woman older then his mother? I didn't see her again for four days. Each night I was on the trail at 7, but she wasn't, not until the forth day and when she spotted me her lips formed into the same joyless smile. "Hello again. Out for a stroll?" "I'm waiting for you." We walked in silence and we didn't stop when we passed the place where we had hugged but a little further on she sat down on a bench and I sat down beside her. She was leaning forward on her knees and she looked up at me curiously, "I don't understand why you want to spend this time with me." "I don't either, but I do." "You shouldn't." "Why are you so sad?" When she sat back on the bench I knew she was wrestling with whether to answer or not. She was quiet for a moment then her cheerless eyes narrowed in resignation, or was it desperation, I wasn't sure. "Because after the better part of a lifetime, I have nothing." You have a husband, a daughter, a house, a car, a business and … she could see I was about to state the obvious so she headed me off. "You're too young to know this but if you don't engage in life, if you don't commit yourself to life, if you don't grab for all you can get from life, you can do the opposite. You can stand back and coolly watch life pass you by, pass you by like it was a movie directed by somebody else. That's what I've done. The last half of my life has become a spectator sport to me. I'm never on the field, I'm always in the stands. Let me give you a tip, Bradley, do what the beer commercial said, ‘grab for all the gusto you can get.'" I wasn't listening to her advice, I was too surprised that she knew my name. She must have spent part of her miserable last few days trying to remember it. I don't know why, but that excited me. But I didn't really understand her, either. "Is it too late? I mean, if you know what your problem is, can't you deal with it? Can't you start grabbing at life now?" "Can a middle age fan walk onto the field and play quarterback?" "She can if she's got a great blocking guard." When I smiled at what I thought was a great and encouraging line, she laughed and took my hand and squeezed it and when she did, I squeezed her back and didn't let her take her hand away but that got me nervous, I've never been so bold in my life, so I quickly asked, "Give me an example of … ah, your lack of engagement." Her eyes were somehow kinder now and she smiled at me a little and squeezed my fingers before pulling her hand from mine. "I love my daughter with all my heart. She doesn't know that, she couldn't know that because I've never been able to show her, to tell her. As a result, I've always played a bit part in her life and now, when I need her, she doesn't need me." "But it isn't too late …" "I've had 25 years to show Susan how desperately I love her. But I haven't been able to. I don't think I knew how." She looked down at her feet and wrung her hands together. "I can't very well pick up the phone now and tell her how much I care." She got up, but instead of walking back, as I thought she would, she continued along the trail. This told me she wanted to talk some more so I asked another question. "What about your husband?" "Don't go there." Her voice was cold and abrupt and I regretted the question immediately but then she surprised me, after a long hesitation she answered me. "We were in love once, really in love and I love to remember those days. It isn't his fault things turned sour. It was me. I just pulled away, slowly at first, so slowly I didn't even know what I was doing. I think we both became conscious of it at about the same time. That was a few years ago." I could see she was thinking about this and then she laughed, that same empty laugh, "If a few years can be a decade or more." She was quiet for a bit. "He's a good guy, my husband, he always has been. Good husband, good father, good provider — if he had been a little less good, maybe I would have been a little more …." She didn't finish the statement, it just hung there. Then she summed up her feelings. "He diminished me. He didn't mean to, but he did. He was just so damn good at everything, so together, he never really needed me. He's an island, a rich, blossoming island but an island entirely unto himself. I'm a lot more of a mainlander. I'm a lot more needy. Susan is too." I could see the tears on her cheeks but I didn't know what to do so I took her hand and stopped and when she stopped she turned and she seemed to collapse in my arms, as she had before, and she was trembling like before and I was holding on to her, but this time I wasn't feeling her breasts and her heat, like the first time. This time I was pulling a Clinton, I was feeling her pain. After a minute or so she tried to pull away but I held her and I put my hand lightly on her head and gently pushed her face into my neck. She was crying louder now and she was shaking so I held her tighter, encouraging her to cry and we stood like that for so long that her tears collected on my neck and trickled onto my collarbone. She kissed me on the cheek when she let me go and then she used a sleeve to wipe away her tears. That's when I said it. I have no idea why I did. Maybe I thought it was central to her problem. I was curious, too. "You don't have sex with your husband, do you?" When she started walking away it was back towards the house and her pace was quicker, a lot quicker. I had gone too far and I knew it. I had overstepped the boundary. I was deciding whether to slink away in shame when she stopped and turned around. "Not for ten years." "Why?" I was just a step in front of her now and it was easy to see the tears on her cheeks and the snot in her left nostril. "It's complicated," she said, as she wiped her sleeve across her nose, but then she gave her empty laugh again, "No it's not, it isn't complicated at all. You don't want to sleep with someone when you can't sleep with yourself." When I took her in my arms she went willingly, and when I rubbed her back she pressed her face into my neck, but when I said the words — honest, I was just trying to be encouraging, I was just trying to get her to feel a little better about her self, but it was a stupid thing to say, a monumentally dumb thing to say and I knew it the very moment the words left my lips, "I'd love to sleep with you, Mrs. Zimmer." She seemed to slump in my arms as if defeated and when she let me go she turned and walked away and I knew enough to leave her alone. She was waiting for me the next night, I knew this because I was a little late and she was on the trail, walking at a snail's pace. We walked in silence to the bench but she didn't sit down, she just stopped and turned to me. "I need you Bradley. You're my last straw." I took a pace forward to hug her, to show her I cared, but she took a step backward. "Do you masturbate?" "Of course," I said, surprised at my honesty. She wasn't really looking at me when she said, "I don't or I haven't for years, but I did last night, I did it because for the first time for as long as I can remember I felt a little bit alive, I felt … well, I was going to say I felt wanted but …" "You should." I took her hands and she let me and I squeezed them. "I do want you, I want you to be happy, I said that the first day I saw you and I meant it, that's all I've thought about, how can I make you happy." She turned and walked back towards the house but she kept her hand in mine, all the way to the beginning of the trail when she let it go. She didn't stop and her words were barely audible, "Can you come with me?" I followed her through her back yard, through the back door and up the four steps to her kitchen where she smiled at me and we continued up the stairs to her bedroom. "My husband is away," she said, more to the room then to me, then she turned. "You've been good for me, Bradley, more then you could possibly believe. No one has held me in years. No one has talked to me like you have. I haven't let them. I needed you, Bradley," she smiled sadly, "I need you." The room seemed to be whirling. The woman in front of me seemed now to be all tits and hips, she seemed soft and warm. I wanted to burrow into her, I've never wanted anything more in my life, never even dreamed of feeling this way. "Do you understand?" "Understand?" "I need you, Bradley, but I don't want to use you. Do you understand?" "You aren't using me, Mrs. Zimmer. Honest. I want to be here." She closed the few paces between us slowly and she took my hand and when she kneeled on the bed, so did I and when she lay down, I did to, and then she pulled me into her with my head on her chest, just above her tits. "Can I hold you for awhile, just like this?" I shifted my legs trying to ease my hard-on which was sticking into my pants like a poker and I pulled her body to me allowing one hand to rest on her upper back and the other on the lower. We lay like that for maybe ten minutes, maybe longer but time enough for me to collect my thoughts. Well, in truth I needed only a few seconds for that: for the first time in my life I was going to get laid, and I was going to get laid by a really sexy older woman. It was during the second or third minute, well, if truth be told, more like the seventh or eight minute when I started thinking, not about what I was just about to get, but about her, remembering her sadness, her vulnerability, her words, and it was at about the ninth minute when I had to admit to myself that this wasn't about me at all, it was all about her, and then I knew that I would let her use me for whatever therapy she needed and I would do so willingly. I really liked this woman, I really wanted to help her, I really wanted to help lift her sadness, to put a smile on her face. It sounds stupid, I know, but that's what I wanted. I've always been a pretty thoughtful guy. "Have you gone to sleep?" I laughed, "God, no." She stroked my hair. "I was thinking about guilt. About being here with a boy …" "I'm almost 20, Mrs. Zimmer. A man." "… about being here with a young man, in my husband's house, three doors from my daughter's bedroom." She paused and I had the sense to shut up. "I should feel guilt about this but I don't, I don't because I need you, Bradley, I desperately need you, I need you to coax some life out of these miserable bones. I think you're the only one who can." I could feel her fingers in my hair and my hard-on against her leg but it was her helpless sorrow that really got to me. She seemed all but dead so I brought my hand, which had almost gone to sleep, from behind her back and I brought it up and lightly caressed her forehead and her cheek and I brushed at the side of her nose, then I brought two finger lightly along her lips, trying to detect a hint of a smile. But I got more. I got a soft moan and soft kisses on my finger tips and she shifted her legs, opening them a little and I could feel my hard-on pressing harder into the side of her leg. She could, too, because she moaned again and when she did I rolled on top of her and wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her like I had squeezed my pillow and then I rolled onto my back pulling her on top of me. My hard-on was poking into her now, about where I though her sex to be, then she rode up on me and squeezed my neck. "Don't move," she order, as she rolled off me and quickly pulled her dress over her head and then she was back on me, squeezing my neck again, but this time my face was on the bare skin of her upper chest and my lips were forced against the soft cloth of her bra. When I pushed her away I did so gently and I was almost as quick as she was in taking off my clothes, but I took them all off and when I crawled back on top of her I could feel the erotic heat of her nylon slip against my throbbing prick, now soaked with pre-cum, and I could feel her face press into my neck and then I pushed her away again, this time more roughly and just in time to find my discarded underwear and I caught the cum from my squirting cock. "Was it a good one?" she asked, as she pulled me to her. "Oh, God, yes," and I snuggled up to her and brought my right hand to her breast which I gently caressed, marveling at both its magnificence and my good fortune. But my fortune was about to get better. She extracted herself from me, sat up, pulled her slip off her shoulders, undid her bra and pulled her slip back up. Or, at least, I gathered that's what she did for when she lay down again, I again snuggled in and as I felt for her breast there was a nipple there now, a large hard nipple and one that made her moan when I touched it. "Are you smiling?" I was now wetly kissing through the slick fabric at her left nipple while I gently caressed her right. She kissed my hair and took my hand and moved it down towards her stomach and when my hand wandered onto her slightly rounded belly she began to purr, that's the only word for it, she purred like a cat and her hand landed on top of mine and gently encouraged me to go lower. Sad Neighbour: A Story I knew nothing about sex, nada, except that I should be gentle, to be light with my fingers and to be patient — that's what a woman wants, or so I had read and so I had heard my mother lecture my father on at least three occasions. But where was I going? I didn't know, so I pulled up her slip, pulled it up high and she lifted her bottom so the slip could pile on her stomach and when she settled back down I could see her red, nylon panties and I could see her shapely legs spread neatly apart. It was then that I shifted down to rest my head on her soft white belly and watch my fingers explore the red mound just inches from my eyes. I was conscious of the noise before she was. I sat up and instinctively reached for my clothes. There was no doubt about it, there were footsteps on the stairs. Hugging my clothes I slid to the floor and while rolling under the bed I made sure to bring my shoes and socks with me. As far as I could tell, Mrs. Zimmer hadn't moved, didn't have time to move and in a matter of moments I could feel someone was at the door. "Oh, excuse me." "Sorry, I should have shut the door." Mrs. Zimmer's voice was strangely matter-of-fact, there was no fear in it. His voice seemed further away now, as if he had moved into the hall. "You look beautiful, Zoe. I'd forgotten how beautiful you are." "I should cover myself." The voice was closer now, "No, please, don't." He hesitated, I imagined he was studying the body with the slip spilling on her stomach, her legs slightly parted and her hand on her red nylon panties. "Can I sit?" "Yes." I could feel a weight on the bed and see two brown shoes come together on the floor. "I was masturbating, Frank." Then she added with a self-mocking grunt, "Obviously." "Yes." Even from where I was I could feel the awkwardness of the long silence that followed, then he finally spoke. "I've never seen you masturbate, Zoe, not in 25 years. I guess you have to now." There was real melancholy in the man's voice. Mrs. Zimmer didn't say anything but I had the impression she was looking at him through her sad eyes and that her hand was still on her panties, defiantly on her panties. "Do you want me to stop?" "No, no, please." His response was so quick there was no doubt of his sincerity. "Can I help?" The voice was so pathetic, so wishful that his words could have come from a school boy, could have come from me. "It wouldn't be masturbation then, would it?" Then the brown shoes turned but the toes stayed on the floor and there was a slight gasp and that's when the crying started, a muffled cry, a blubbering cry. I imagined that he had his face pressed into his wife's stomach, about where mine had been just a few moments before. The muffled sobs continued for a minute or more and then I saw the shoes leave the floor and the husband was lying on the bed beside the wife and his crying was louder and more plaintive. The man's misery filled the room. "I'm sorry, Zoe, I don't know when or how I lost it." "It wasn't you, Frank, it was me." Her voice was surprisingly soothing, surprisingly consoling. I imagined she was stroking his hair. "I lost it, Frank, I ran from you, I ran from Susan, I ran from everyone, everything. It was never your fault, honest. It was always mine and I didn't know what to do about it. Here, will you take this off?" Frank's feet were on the floor again and I could see what looked like a Rolex watch flash at me as he quickly undid his shoes and kick them off. Within seconds they were covered by his jacket, pants, shirt, underwear and socks. As the mattress conformed to their bodies, I started to consider my situation and that's when I heard my name. "… Bradley, you may remember him, he lives a few doors away, used to deliver our paper." I think they were stroking each other as she told him how I took an interest in her life and, to simplify her story, that my interest in her led to a new appreciation of herself. Her masturbation started the night before and yada yada yada. The story took about five minutes to tell and when it was nearing its conclusion, so were they and they seemed to cum at about the same time and just as hard, with just as much noise. That's when the bed started to rock and I knew they were going to get into each other and I settled in for a long night when two hairless legs hit the floor. "Let's take a shower first," and I could tell she pulled him to his feet and they ran from the room like school kids. I thought twice about taking to the trail the next day but I did and I was glad I did. She was there and she had a smile on her face as bright as a cheerleader's. We fell into step together. "An unusual night." She smiled at me. "Oh, pretty much standard for me." I smiled back. She playfully nudged me in the ribs with her elbow, "You're one beauty guy, Bradley, a real Doctor Phil." "He loves you doesn't he?" "He always has and I've always known it. I've just never known how to deal with it." "And you do now?" "Maybe." "Maybe?" "I was a bit of a free spirit as a kid, Bradley, hard to believe, but I was. But after I got married I slowly morphed into this cautious middle class matron — I began to take everything so fucking serious, I spent all my time trying to protect everything I had gained." She paused for a moment to collect her thought. "It's been a remarkably slowly process but I've gradually learned that caution leads to security, security leads to conservatism, conservatism leads back to caution." For the first time, she turned to look at me, as if her eye contact would add profundity to her conclusion. "You can become so afraid of life that you actually stop living it. I think that's what's happened to me." I smiled, "The Doctor Phil in me says that sounds a bit simplistic." "Sure does," she said with a beaming, innocent smile, "but it's a start. For now on I'm going to try to toss safety aside and try for a little more daring adventure." She jabbed me again in the ribs. "Do you still want to fuck me?" She could see the shock on my face and she laughed. "When you jumped off the bed last night you left me lying with my legs apart, saliva on my nipple and juice on my panties. I looked like a slut. And when I felt his eyes on me, I felt like a slut." She hesitated and I knew it was for effect. "And I'd never felt so hot. Lying there with my legs apart and my hand on my pussy … it was delicious, it was just so fucking shockingly delicious for me and I know it was for him, too. We had sex last night like we've never had sex before. We've always loved each other and now, finally, we've reconnected — and I think, I'm almost positive, we're going to stay connected, and one of the reasons we're going to stay connected is that I'm going to make absolutely sure that my batteries never run down again and if it takes a young stud from a few doors away to make certain of that, then let's get it on. I'd love to have sex with you Bradley, any time you want." It was at that precise moment that I looked at my watch and when I did she pulled me into her arms and hugged me with all her strength and when she let me go there was a smile on her face that was so full of joy that my body shivered in excitement. We didn't see each other again for more then a week, nine days to be precise. I stayed away deliberately. I knew she wanted to resurrect things with her husband and I knew, in that, I could be of absolutely no use. I would have stayed away longer, but I couldn't. I couldn't for two reasons: I really missed her and I desperately wanted to sleep with her. She was on the trail at 7 with a smile so big she could have used a wheelbarrow to carry it. We fell in step and walked for a couple of minutes in silence, then she said, matter of factly, "I'm going up to see Susan tomorrow, Frank's up there now. I thought we should all get together now, in case I slip back into my morose doldrums again." I look a quick look at her, "Is there any chance of that?" I was hoping she'd be over her sadness for good. "Sure there's a chance, it could easily happen again," then she playfully nudged me in the ribs with her elbow, "but I'm going to fight it, Bradley, I'm really going to fight it this time." She stopped and turned around. "Do you want to finish what we started?" When I reached for her hand she leaned into me and she rested her head on my shoulder. "I'm not trying to use you Bradley, but I need you." She took a step back and scrutinized me, "Are you absolutely clear about that. I'm not trying to use you?" "Hey, use me, that's what I'm here for." When I grabbed her I playfully pulled her to me so that her side banged into mine; it seemed the most natural thing to do, like we were kids in front of high school or something and we both laughed. In five minutes we were lying on her bed holding each other as if we feared the other might try to escape. "Do you know why I need you, Bradley?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "I told you before. Lying here with you makes me feel a little bit like a slut," then she hastened to add, "you don't make me feel like a slut, it's the fact that I'm sort of taking advantage of a nice, friendly kid — that's what makes me feel this way and, you know what? I want to feel like a slut, I want to feel a little dirty, I want to feel a little … wanton. It makes me feel so alive. You make me feel so alive. I don't expect you to understand this but I'd like to try to explain." I squeezed her and when I pressed my face hard against her chest I kissed the fabric of her shirt. "You don't have to explain anything to me. I want to be here." "I want to explain, I want to hear my own words, I want to reinforce what I'm feeling." When she began to stroke my hair I moved up and kissed her on the cheek, but she pushed me back onto her chest and when she did, I brought a hand up to her breast. "Do you know what a centrifugal force is?" "Yes." She continued as if she hadn't heard me. "It's a force that holds everything in a kind of swirling circle, nothing gets in, nothing gets out. Life can get like that, you can reach a stage when you're trapped in your own centrifugal force, your life just goes around and around and you can't do a goddam thing about it — unless you meet a Bradley, someone who stops the swirling long enough to let something in, or let something out." When she laughed I was struck by how much joy there was in it, how playful it was, it was the laugh of a school girl. "My portal out of ‘the force'," she said the words dramatically, "was to feel like a slut again, to get back a little of my youth, to feel a little dirty, a little daring, a little adventurous, a little risky." She shifted on the bed and lay on her side next to me, looking down at me. "Let's be a little dirty, Bradley, let's be a little daring." She leaned down and kissed me gently on the lips. "When you were lying on your bed that night thinking about me, what were we doing? Let's do it." "Which night?" Confusion flashed in her eyes, "You said you had a pillow in your arms and …" "Yes, but which night? I've had that pillow in my arms every night since I met you again." She collapsed onto me and squeezed my head against her chest and held me for almost a minute and when she let me go and looked down on me there wasn't a hint of laughter in her eyes. "What did you do to me, Bradley." "I asked you if I could take your clothes off." She quickly kissed me on the forehead and in my eye and then she eagerly sat up and spread her arms out, "I'm all yours." I sat up. "Can I take my time, I want to remember this." "I've got all the time in the world for you Bradley. Take all of the time you want." I was surprised, I wasn't even a little bit nervous, I think because of her smile, it was so kind, so welcoming and I didn't fumble once and when the buttons of her shirt were undone I parted the material. But that was a big mistake. For the first time in my life a woman was in front of me in a bra and I had to grab my cock and squeeze it or I would have blown my load. She saw my plight and I was relieved when she didn't laugh. Instead, she pushed me down, jumped on the floor and as she leaned over the bed I caught a quick look at her tits dangling down in her bra and I had to look away. She took off my shoes and sock, helped me out of my shirt and removed my pants and underwear, then she turned my head and kissed me gently on the lips. "I'm betting you can recover in seconds." Then she delicately took my stiff penis in her fingers, put it in her mouth and gently sucked on it twice before it exploded so hard she started to cough. I tried to get up to help her but she pushed me down, then she wiped at her eyes with my shirt and laughed, "You needed that, didn't you?" and she took her shirt off and kneeled on the bed. "OK?" She was looking down on me, smiling sweetly. When I said, "For now," she laughed and sat down beside me and began to stroke my chest. She had said that she was a bit wild in her youth and I could believe it. She was good at this; you could see that she had done it before; she was really natural; she seemed kind of in her element. As she sat there absently stroking my chest her eyes seemed to turn inwards as if she was thinking back to earlier days and she didn't seem to have a care in the world. I studied her, perhaps for the first time. She was beautiful, she had a really attractive face dominated by those big dark eyes that turned so easily to sadness. But there wasn't a hint of sadness in them now, they were soft and dreamy and content and her thin sensual lips held a slight smile that seemed to round out her chin, making her thin face more rounded, more welcoming. And she was stacked, her red bra was so full and her cleavage so deep that I actually moaned when I looked at it and I didn't have to look to know that my prick was as stiff as a board again. She saw my reaction and hefted her tits with her hands and when she reached behind her to undo her bra I stopped her, "Please, I won't be able to take it. I'll explode again." She bent down and gave me a peck on my lips, "So explode." "Can I take off your pants?" "Of course." She quickly lay down and ginned at me without a hint of self consciousness and even before I had my hands on her waistband she lifted her ass from the bed to help me. They came off in a single motion but I left on her white nylon panties, I left them on for a purpose. I kissed her on the nose, "Would you stand up so I can look at you?" "Sure," she said and she eagerly bounded from the bed and stood a few feet away, stood standing in a kind of exaggerated modeling pose, with a hand on a hip, shaking her ass back and forth, then she frowned and took a few steps forward, flicked on the lights and regain her pose. She was beautiful, she was sexy, she was confident and she was beaming with kindness and goodness and childishness and every other good thing I wanted to see in a woman who would stand in front of me dressed only in her bra and panties. God she was gorgeous and I told her so. "It's my DNA," she said, as she came to the side of the bed and positioned her legs between mine, pulling my head into her chest. "We have good, elastic skin, Susan and I. My mother didn't have a wrinkle until she was 65." And she had a great ass, my hands had found it and I was kneading it like it was warm dough and my face was pressed into her hot, wet cleavage and I don't think I had ever felt so happy and so safe; I know I'd never felt so turned on. "It's that time again." I was squeezing her, willing my dink to cooperate but both it and Mrs. Zimmer had other plans. She stepped back, quickly pushed down her panties and as I watched in awe, she gently took my prick in her fingers and rubbed the head against the opening of her wet pussy and when I shot at her I fell back and squirmed uncontrollably as my dink throbbed on her hot lips. "I told you I was a bit of a slut." She was smiling at me as she swabbed my cum from my cock and her pussy with a Kleenex and when she finished she stood up, put her hands behind her back and said, "Is it OK now?" When I nodded, she unhinged her bra and let it fall to the floor and they were there, sagging slightly against her ribs, her nipples large and brown and erect, pointing a little away from each other as if they were competitors. She moved to get on the bed but I held up my hand to stop her. "Could I look at you for a bit?" She came forward, leaned down and gently kissed me then she stood back again, just a foot from the bed and grinned at me. "Not bad for an old broad, ah?" She turned slowly around and when her back was to me she shook her ass at me and I could hear her laugh and then she completed the circle. "What part do you like the best?" I don't know if she meant it that way, but I took the question seriously. I just flashed on her face, lingered on her tits and studied her pussy which was lightly covered by a thin thicket of light brown hair. "I like the package, Mrs. Zimmer, I really like the entire package." I said this not to be diplomatic. I meant it. "Oh, no you don't. Pick a part. I want to know what part you like best," and she slowly turned around again. When she finally stopped in front of me I said, "It's a tie?" And I could see she was confused so I added, "OK, maybe I like the left one a little better." In an instant she was on top of me, her legs pinning my arms to the bed and her breasts dangling over my face and she was laughing that girlish laugh. "No one's look at my tits like that in 20 years," and she dangled her left breast over my face, stabbing my eyes with her hard brown nipple, flicking my nose with it, teasing me, poking the magnificent nipple at my lips as I tried to catch it in my mouth. "It's that time again." She sat up in near shock and looked back, expecting to see a squirting cock and when she did I bucked her off me and when she landed on the bed I jumped on top of her. We were wrestling now and laughing and she was pinching me and kneeing me, fighting dirty and I was tickling her and I could see it was driving her crazy because she was now thrashing at me with her arms and legs, trying to get away but I wouldn't let her and we fought for maybe five minutes. And then we stopped and, except for our heavy breathing, we were completely still and only then were we conscious of each other. I had my face on her lower stomach and my hand was curled around her thigh with my fingers touching her pussy. My thigh was above her face, and my balls were dangling down against her cheek. We were entirely still for a moment, adjusting to our surroundings and then I felt her hands on my ass. She was pushing my cheeks, coaxing me down. And I went, I slid down the few inches to her pussy. I had never smelled a woman before. It was strong and pungent and it lured me in, and when I breathed in her smell and studied the light brown bush between her milky white legs it occurred to me that I, Bradley White, the paper boy from three door away, was the reason for the sexual excitement in this magnificent woman and I think I kind of collapsed on her in joy and I pulled her pussy to my face and sucked in her smell, sucked in her heat, sucked in her juices and I couldn't have loved this fantastic woman more. We were in the kitchen now, I was fully clothed and she was covered in a light robe. We were hugging, we'd held the same hug for what seemed like five minutes, neither of us wanting to break it off, neither if us wanting it to end — I think because neither of us knew what the ending would bring. … … The funeral home was just a few blocks from my office so I decided to walk and use the time to search my emotions. I hadn't gone a block before I realized I hadn't any, not for him at least, I'd hardly met him, really, all I'd ever seen of him was his brown shoes and his Rolex watch. But I knew I wasn't going to the service to pay my respect to him, I was going to lend my support to her. Sad Neighbour: A Story I hadn't seen Mrs. Zimmer in 10 years and I wondered how she'd changed, I wondered if her melancholy had stayed away and I wondered how hard she'd take her husband's death. I had part of my answer the moment my eyes adjusted to the light in the room. She was sitting on a sofa beside a younger woman who was clearly her daughter. Mrs. Zimmer looked regal in black and resolute as she smiled at the people gathered around her. I stood there looking at her for maybe a minute before she saw me. I didn't move, didn't really know what to do as she walked across the room. She stopped in front of me, smiled and when she came into my arms I hugged her, conscious of all the eyes on us. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Zimmer." She let go of me and stepped back, "I know you are, Bradley. Thank you." Then she stepped towards me again, kissed me on the cheek and said, "Come and see me in a week or so. Will you?" "I will." I waited two weeks before I phoned her. She asked me to dinner the next night, or as she put it, "A little walk and some supper." We walked for a few minutes in silence, "It's like old time, ah?" I nudged her playfully with my hip, "It's amazing how comfortable I feel being back here with you. How are you? How are you coping?" "Good days, bad days. I'll be fine eventually, but it'll take a little time. I'll miss him." Then she nudged into me, "Thanks to you." We fell quiet again, I think she was lost in a memory, so I searched mine for other times we had walked on this trail and it wasn't hard. I had often thought about our walks together, they were some of the best memories I had. "You're in advertising." "Yes," I was surprised she knew. "And your parents are still well, you aren't and haven't been married, you like to spend time in the Rockies, you play a lot of sports, you sometimes study philosophy at night school and you once took tango lessons." I guess my surprise showed because she smiled and said, "I try to time my visits to the hairdresser with Valerie Jenkins." Mrs. Jenkins was a neighbour and friend of my mothers. I laughed but I was really pleased she still had an interest in me and I told her so. "Do you think I'd ever forget my one White Knight? Not a chance, Bradley, not a chance." As we walked back to her house in silence I hoped she was enjoying my company as much as I was enjoying hers. Susan was stirring a pot on the stove when we entered the kitchen. Mrs. Zimmer made the introductions, put a can of beer in my hand and told me to go sit in the living room, supper would be ready in a few minutes. Five minutes later she called and when I followed the voice into the dining room, she put a bottle of wine and an opener in my hands and sat down. Susan, in oven mitts, placed two serving dishes on the table and returned to the kitchen. I filled the three wine glasses and waited for Susan's return. Within a minute we were all seated and Mrs. Zimmer used the moment to raise her glass, "To old friends … and new." I threw a quick glance at her while I drank and noted her smile. I've never been good at small talk, either giving or receiving. I like to try and get into people's heads but this wasn't the time or the place so I over-chewed my food and intently followed the conversation which was, basically, Mrs. Zimmer proudly giving a promo of her daughter. I remembered Susan was about 2 years older then me, which meant that by 31 the woman had accomplished a lot: undergrad in History; law degree; state prosecutors office (Illinois); recently appoint asst. chief prosecutor here and a bunch of other things that would look great on a CV. It all struck me as being really impressive but really soulless, too. She didn't sound like a chip off the old block at all so I filled in a momentary silence by asking, "What do you like to do in your spare time?" She didn't look us from her plate when she said, "What's that?" "Sorry, I'd hoped we'd have a little more fun," Mrs. Zimmer whispered the words as I was leaving, then she added with what looked like a wink, "I think it's time for the White Knight to ride again." The door was closed before I laughed and I'm glad it was because I wasn't at all sure if my laugh was an appropriate response. I wasn't at all sure what she meant, and my full concentration on the cryptic statement during the 20 minute ride home helped not at all. But the telephone did. It was ringing when I unlocked my apartment door. She was laughing when I put the receiver to my ear. "I had to call, Bradley. What you must be thinking." "I don't know what to think." "The White Knight is for her, not me." She laughed again, "not that I wouldn't like to see him again — if he gets spurned by the fair maiden." It sounded to me as if Mrs. Zimmer had downed a few stingers in my absence. I wasn't following her and the dead air over the phone line may have made that point because she quickly explained herself. "I asked you to dinner because I wanted you to meet Susan, and as importantly, I wanted Susan to meet you. I can't tell you how much I wanted you two to ‘hit it off' as we used to say, I think you say ‘get it on' now." Then she hurriedly added, "And I wanted to see you again myself, of course, don't think for a second I didn't. You're my favourite person on this entire planet, Bradley, well, second to Susan.' There was another long pause, "I wanted to get you together." "I had fun, Mrs. Zimmer and I'm glad I met Susan." "Liar." "No, honest," I lied. "Then you asked to see her again?" "No, I, ah, didn't get the chance." "So, you plan to?" "Yes, of course, I'd sure like to." "Not as much as I'd like you to, Bradley. She needs a White Knight now about as badly as I did." I was about to say something, I have no idea what but she cut me off, "Please, Bradley, work your magic on her. The girl is lost." "Goodnight, Mrs. Zimmer and thank you for dinner." Susan and I had a drink after work a few days later. Our time together lasted little more then half an hour and a day later the only thing I could remember about it was the one prolonged thought that looped through my brain during the interminable session: ‘How could a woman be this gorgeous and this boring?' She talked about nothing but her work. But, remembering Mrs. Zimmer's plea, I gave it another shot a week or so later. This time I was rewarded with a headache, so on the way out of the place I asked the bartender for an aspirin, which I quickly downed with the warm dregs of my beer, and when she looked like she needed an explanation, I told her I'd picked it up playing volleyball earlier in the day after work. Somehow, my head hurt too much for me to remember, that interested her, she said she had played a lot of volleyball in college. I invited her to play on my mixed team the following week. I was surprised when she showed up; I was surprised that she was so good and I was shocked that when it was all over and I good naturedly slapped her on her sweaty shoulder, I got a sexual jolt. But even at that I was glad I wasn't sitting next to her in the bar afterwards and, though torn by my emotions, I was glad when everyone asked her to join the team. It's bad form, I know, but I'd had a few drinks before I went to Mrs. Zimmer's for dinner a couple of weeks later. But I was glad I did because when I sat down at the dinning room table I felt the same chill on my right. Mrs. Zimmer on my left, however, was in great spirits. I'd guessed she's had a couple, too. She peppered me with questions and, lubricated as I was, I cheerfully answered them and tossed a few back at her, light stuff, fun stuff and we laughed a lot and poured each other wine. Her voice surprised me, I had all but forgotten Susan was there. "What's the White Knight thing all about?" The question was directed at neither of us so much as just plopped on the table and, for me, it sucked all the fun right out of the evening. But not for Mrs. Zimmer. She gave me an obviously coy and sexy look and said, "Bradley rode into my life at the exact moment I needed him." "When was that?" "About ten year ago?" Mrs. Zimmer asked the question to me and I nodded my head. "What do you mean ‘rode into my life?'" "I'd hit a rough patch, as I'm sure you remember." She noticed that her daughter appeared confused so she elaborated, "Even before you left for college I was unhappy, your dad and I had grown apart, you and I had, too," at that Susan nodded her head. "I was deep in the doldrums for the longest time and couldn't find my way out. Bradley showed me the way." "How?" "He took an interest in me, he cared about me. We walked and talked and …" Mrs. Zimmer searched for a word but gave it up and started to laugh and when she reached over and gripped my hand I found her laughter contagious and I started in, too and pretty soon, boozed up as we were, we were laughing uncontrollably, tears were running down both our cheeks. It was the ultimate insider joke; Susan was frozen out, forgotten — until the words, "WHAT are you laughing about?" It was a sobering question and it stopped us in our tracks. I wasn't about to touch it, but Mrs. Zimmer did, she answered it honestly and defiantly. "I was lost, I was in need, Bradley helped me come alive again, emotionally, sexually, …" And that was the last we saw of Susan. She threw her napkin on the table and bolted, leaving us looking at our plates, at food we had barely touched. It happened two weeks later. It was a matter of rotten timing. I had just ordered another beer when everyone from the volleyball team finished theirs and left, everyone but Susan. I had noticed she had been drinking more then usual and even though she had half a beer left, she waved at the waiter for another. "Why haven't you asked me back to your place?" Her elbow was on the table and her chin was resting in her hand. Her eyes, though heavy-lidded, were searching into mine; it took me a moment to recognize curiosity in them. I had never seen curiosity on her face before, didn't think she was ever confounded by it. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders helplessly — I couldn't tell her that it had never occurred to me. "I'd like to see how my mother's White Knight lives." She stood up and tugged at my arm, "Come on, let's go." We took my car and were there in a few minutes. It's the third floor of an old mansion: solid, bright, big rooms, high ceilings and remarkable wood. I've been in it for four years and love the place. Though she did an obligatory twirl in the living room, I didn't think she really noticed it. "Can I have a beer?" She was sitting on the couch when I put the glass down on the coffee table and when I sat down beside her she got up on her knees threw her arms around my neck and forced her lips onto mine as if she wanted to bruise them. The rest happened so fast I felt I was being attacked. I watched — I was going to say helplessly, but that isn't true, more in fascination — as she fumbled with my belt and my zipper, as she pulled my pants and underwear off, then she stood up, stripped off her own pants and panties, took my prick and forced it into her, forced it so hard that pain retarded a full erection, then she squirmed on it for about a minute before letting out a long, plaintive moan, soaking my lap and the couch with a torrent of fluid. She then collapsed on me and I though she may have passed out but she was breathing too hard for that and after a couple of minutes she got off me, put her panties and pants back on and sat down. I hadn't moved when she turned to me and said, "I guess I've got to be going." She was in no shape to drive, so I took her home. At the only stop light I looked over at her. Her mouth was slightly open and she was snoring. Susan wasn't at volleyball for the next two weeks, I'd figured she's given up on that and me. Then she appeared at my door one night at about 11 o'clock. She looked awful — tired, haggard and lost. "Can I come in?" She sat on the couch, sat forward with her head down, her arms on her knees and she was wringing her hands. "You haven't called me." "No." "Why?" "I don't think we're happy together." She said nothing and continued to lean on her knees and stare at the same point on the coffee table. I searched for something to say, "I think you're way more into your career then I am." She didn't move when she said, "I quit my job two days ago." That stunned me, her job seemed to be her life. When she turned to me there appeared to be a little hope in her eyes. "Does that make a difference?" "We aren't the same kind of people, Susan, we …" "It was the last time, wasn't it?" "That didn't help." She turned on the couch, bringing a leg up, facing me. "You can." "I can?" "You can help me, like you helped mum." "Your mother helped herself, Susan, I was just there." Susan smiled at this, the first friendly, open smile I had ever seen on her face. "Yes, you were there, mum told me about it, she told me what happened, she told me what it meant to her, she told me what you mean to her." She leaned into me and rested her head on my shoulder. We didn't talked for the longest time. Then I heard my voice say, "Come here tomorrow. At 7. But you have to agree to stay 24 hours, I don't want you running away at the first sign of trouble." She kissed me on the cheek, got up and left. When I made supper the next night, I didn't know if I was making a meal for two or a meal and some left overs; I had no idea if she was going to come and I hadn't really worked out whether I wanted her to. On the one hand I did: she was gorgeous, built, lost — I find that, as you know by now, really alluring — and there was that promise I made to her mother. On the other hand, while I saw a lot of promise in her — she was after all her mother's daughter — she seemed rigid and humourless; she seemed like too much work for too little reward. The knock on the door settled the issue. She kissed me lightly on the lips as I closed the door then she kissed me on the cheek. "The one is from me, the other is from mum." Then she added, "She said she wishes you luck." When I smiled, I think I was smiling more at the mother then the daughter, "I hope we don't need any." She took off her jacket and placed a big purse on the floor beside the couch. "I brought a tooth brush." "And some resolve?" She didn't answer me, she just put her arms around my neck and held me and as I held her, squeezed her to me, I felt a little hope. I put the wine down in front of us, in about the same place the beer had been the first time she was here. "Do you know how many flower shops my mother owns?" She was leaning on her knees like last night, I could tell she was nervous. "No." I didn't know where she was going with this. "Neither do I but a lot. She built up a whole chain of them in all kinds of cities. She did it all by herself, with a lot of hard work. That's what landed her in her doldrums, as she calls it. She lost all the balance in her life. She's fun, that's really what she's about. All that work and no play …" She trailed off into her own thoughts. "That's what was happening to me. All work." When she leaned into me I put my arm around her and we sat like that, silently, for a long time, then she looked up at me, "Give me a chance, Brad." I took my arm from around her neck and sat up. "Are you here for 24 hours." She pointed to her bag, "I brought some clothes, too." "Excuse me for a moment." I went to the kitchen, turned off all the dials on the stove, returned with the wine bottle and as I sat back down and pulled her into me I told her I wasn't hungry. She settled into me again, this time closer. "I am." And she looked up at me with that new-found radiant smile of hers and that was the start of it. Her moan began the moment I kissed her. It started almost like a whimper and got louder and more guttural and she got up on her knees, like she did before, and she squeezed my neck so hard it hurt. This time I had no intention of being her victim. I pulled her around so she was sitting on my lap and when I looked at her it was clear she was in urgent need and when I put my hand between her legs, she pressed at my fingers and forced her face into my neck and I could feel her scream in every vessel in my body. It took a long time for her body to go limp, it seemed to spasm for awhile, but she was finally still and when I removed my hand from her jeans her word was childlike, "Sorry." I hugged her in encouragement, "I'm not, you were beautiful." She was quiet for a few moments, then she started laughing. "What's so funny?" I didn't get it. "I'm a Bradley." I turned her a little so I could read her face. I didn't know what she meant. She smiled at me with real laughter in her eyes. "Mum told me. When you were together. She thought it was so funny. You had to explode every few minutes. You couldn't help yourself." Then she hesitated waiting for me to make the connection. I didn't. "I'm a Bradley, I can't help myself either." When I finally got it I joined her laughter and for the first time felt connected to her. We talked for a bit. She told me about her talk with her mother, how her mother told her everything, how she told it so matter of factly, as if there wasn't a shred of guilt involved. Susan told me it took her a few days but that she finally thought she understood: she understood that her mum wasn't so much cheating on her marriage as trying to save it, and save herself in the process. "It's a beautiful story, Brad. I loved mum's courage, if I can call it that …" and she turned into me and pressed her face into my chest so I almost didn't hear her words, "… and I love you for it." The words got to me. I started to stroke her hair with one hand as I rubbed her arm with the other. Then I went under her arm and rubbed against her side and when I brought my hand up to touch the side of her breast she started to squirm. "Oh God, Brad." And when she laughed, I quickly got up, and she helped me pulled down her pants and panties and I kneeled on the floor, brought my mouth to hers and when my finger found her pussy her hand came on top of mine and she forced me into her as she groaned into my throat. Afterwards, I tried to removed my hand, but she wouldn't let me. She caressed the back of it, really lightly, reassuringly. "Did you ever get enough, Brad?" "Enough?" "When you were with mum, did you ever get enough, were you ever satisfied?" "No. It took me a long time to get over your mother. Not sexually, I don't mean sexually, I don't think of your mother sexually. We were connected your mother and I, or at least I thought we were. That woman taught me how to love, how to care. I think she did more for me then I ever did for her. I love her for what she did for me, I always will." I kissed her, as I thought about the mother and she kissed me back with more passion then I knew existed. Then she began tearing at my buttons and I helped her and struggled out of my shirt and she pressed her face to my chest, which was hot with sweat and I held her for a moment, then I pulled her to her feet and as I headed towards the bedroom she passed me, she was running and laughing and her spectacular ass shone white below her black sweater. She was taking off that sweater when I joined her by the bed and then she reached behind her to take off her bra but I stopped her. "Those are a couple of presents I'd like to open." I didn't have a chance to blush at the line. She was on her knees in front of me and she had by belt undone and when she pulled down my pants with my underwear my hard-on sprang out like a jack-in-the-box and she sat back on her heels transfixed. "I've never really looked at one before." She leaned forward, held it gently with both hands, curious, turning it to inspect it, then she cupped by balls with one hand and brought her lips down to it, kissing it, licking it, then she put it in her mouth and sucked on it.