The echo, the plea in my wife’s voice, the insistent
growl of her eager submission, those words excited me
hard, almost terrifying me as they cut my soul. I
loosened my grip, letting Andrea’s dark-golden locks
slip from the hard knot of my fingers. She moaned low,
with a melted wanton glare in her big brown eyes. I
turned to look out the window. A dim reflection stared
back at me.
“Is he out there?” I asked softly.
“Who?” Andrea asked, suddenly nervous.
“You’re mine,” I said, tightening my grip on her hair
again, drawing her head back. Her mouth opened and her
“Fuck me,” she purred.
Eight long years had passed and I had almost forgotten.
Almost forgotten that hot summer night when I stepped
onto the back porch at my parent’s house, weary of the
mini-drama that played on the big twenty-four inch
television. The stars sparkled as I bathed myself in
the serene darkness of the calm before the storm.
A flood of yellow light poured forth in a flash, cast-
ing a long geometric shadow over the lawn through the
chain link fence that divided my parent’s back yard
from the house beyond. I couldn’t help but cast a
glance at the view through the panoramic window. I
couldn’t help but stare as a young woman stepped boldly
into the lamp light. I couldn’t help but gasp, when I
saw that she wore a black silk chemise.
I held my breath as I realized the woman was the good
wife Jane. I had met her a few times, even greeted
her calmly when I had been cutting our lawn. Jane was
young, no more than twenty-five at the time, a shy girl
with a pretty smile. I was only eighteen. Jane
laughed happily, reacting to someone just out of my
“Do you think so?” she asked, teasing the hem along
her thigh. Insects buzzed a steady beat in dark trees,
but Jane’s voice rang clear to me above the drone,
through an open screen.
I nodded my approval as I watched her, enraptured, and
without thinking I pushed my jogging shorts down.
Jane’s husband, Ted, crossed the room and took a seat
on the sofa, facing me. Suddenly anxious to stay out
of sight, I ducked down behind the pine railing, peek-
ing over the edge as Jane bent over to turn on some
music. Her chemise lifted slightly as she fiddled the
controls, offering me a quick glimpse of the final
curve of her bottom. Ted smiled and drank from a tall
glass of beer.
I thought I had completely chased those memories away,
but I can still recall the way Jane looked that night
with photographic clarity. She started dancing as the
music faintly hummed, stretching her long legs, tossing
that silky gown with each bump of her hips, giving me
short peeks at her perfect backside. Jane’s ass never
looked so delicious under the loose blue jeans she wore
when she was tending her garden. Teasing her husband,
she let the thin straps fall from her shoulders. The
supple wings of her shoulder blades fluttered gently as
she showed Ted her breasts. The silk gathered at her
waist and then slipped to the floor. I bit my lip,
wanting her, tormented to madness by the first flash of
the dark curls below.
Jane turned with a smile. I will never forget that
wicked grin as she rubbed her ass in Ted’s face,
squeezing her tits almost angrily. Her dark nipples
pulsed toward me with each contraction of her hands,
enticing me forward, making me ravenously hard. Jane
licked her lips and ground her backside into Ted’s
She seemed to orgasm, smiling at me in my dark hiding
place. I stroked my young cock furiously. I had never
seen anything like this before. Ted stood up. He
laced his fingers through Jane’s dark mane and yanked
her head back.
“You’re mine,” he snarled.
“Fuck me,” she said.
I watched as he did, and I soon watered the lawn with
my lust brewed concoction. Time passed, an hour at
most, but an eternity of images burned into my memory.
Then Ted extinguished the light. I pulled my shorts up
over my still throbbing prick and went to indulge in
gushing wet dreams of my neighbor, Jane.
I saw her the next afternoon in those loose blue jeans,
bent over to tease her dahlias. To my experienced eye,
plain Neighbor Jane now faintly glowed with the sim-
mering fever of the bawdy Slut Jane and I found myself
staring nervously, smiling and coughing as I pretended
to weed the lawn. My mother laughed when she saw me
sitting on the grass, jerking a dandelion out of the
ground. I ignored her amusement and continued sneaking
peeks at sweet Jane.
I had no plan, no scheme, no intent, but my hormones
assumed control of my being and I soon found ways to
speak to Jane, to ask her questions, give her advice,
chattering helplessly about anything that came to mind.
I found myself in her path when she needed some help,
when something heavy needed lifting, when some high
branch needed pruning. Jane smiled prettily and said
as little as politeness could modestly bear. I had
watched this woman fuck ecstatically a few nights gone
by, but in the light of the day, Jane still appeared a
shy, beautiful woman.
A fated afternoon led me into her house. I cannot
remember what task had brought me into their marital
sanctum but I quickly recognized the play room from my
recurring dreams. Jane brought me a glass of lemonade.
I thanked her. She smiled at me. I reached for a
stool at the same moment she reached, bringing us for
one instant too close. I could almost taste the tart
heat of her breath as she lightly laughed. I kissed
her. She moaned. I laced my fingers through her dark
“You’re mine,” I said. Her eyes opened wide, melted
“Fuck me,” she said.
Two days later I sat on my parent’s back porch and
watched the sun go down. Jane and Ted’s house erupted
with anger, cries, and a harsh symphony of accusations
and denials. I listened, painfully, scared as I
waited, expecting to hear my name burst into their
howls of complaint. A door slammed. Jane cried. I
turned away, trying desperately to extinguish my tears.
An hour went by, silent, brutal, lonely. Satisfied
the episode had finally ended, I exiled myself to my
room, burning with shame. Their house was soon sold.
I tried to forget. I did forget.
I spent a lazy hour after dinner lounging on our sofa,
skimming through a short novel my brother had recom-
mended, when Andrea joined me. I hardly even noticed
her entrance at first, staying with the book long
enough to finish one more sentence and then looked up
to acknowledge my wife. At my first glimpse of Andrea,
my eyes opened wide. Then my heart skipped a beat and
the breath fled my body.
Andrea can look simply ravishing. And she did then.
It was about half-past eight. The bright summer sun
had only just set and the wide stretch of sky I could
see through our picture window had been painted with a
stroke of deep crimson. Andrea turned on one and then
another of the lights in the room, transforming the
glass panes into an array of translucent mirrors. Her
short silk dress tickled up the back of her thigh as
she reached for the second switch, testing my imagina-
tion with a flurry of hungry naked dreams. Living
with Andrea is a sensual feast and I have become a
shameless glutton. “Hi, honey,” I said as I closed my
book and set it aside. Andrea smiled as she pulled
some CDs from the rack and flicked on the stereo.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted
to listen to some tunes.”
“That’s great,” I said with a smile. At her command,
a slow, sultry rhythm filled the room. Andrea walked
over to the window and cupping her hands around her
eyes, she peeked out at the night sky. Leaning over,
the lace tops of her stockings crept into view, steal-
ing my attention. Andrea slowly swayed her silk-encased
bottom from side to side.
As I leered salaciously at my beautiful wife, a glimmer
in the yard caught my eye, a quick burst of motion out-
side, something like the shimmer of a white T-shirt
before it ducked down behind the hedge. I shifted on
the sofa, trying to find a better angle, wondering if
I had really seen anything. An anxious reflection
stared back at me.
“What was that?” I said softly.
Andrea moaned softly and a shiver seemed to caress her
body. I tried to look past her, through the reflected
shadow of her deep blue dress and into the night, but
Andrea turned, obstructing my view with a wiggle of her
hips and a flip of her hem. Black satin panties hugged
her firm bottom in that quick instant before the dress
dashed back down to swing lightly across her lean
“Sure you don’t mind?” Andrea said as she strolled
past me, saucy and cool. I nodded, wondering if she
would pull the drapes, curious if she had seen the
fleeting apparition outside. I squinted slightly,
still nervous as I studied the dark shadows of the
night’s descent once more, anxious to chase the
specter from my thoughts. Distracted by the woman
before me, I quickly decided there was nothing to be
seen. “A squirrel or bird,” I said to myself. “That’s
it and nothing more.” Andrea smiled knowingly and I
suspected she had been playing with me, teasing my
fear-torn love of exhibitionistic thrills.
Her silk-clad thighs held my attention as she followed
the music’s slow rhythms, Andrea dancing, enticing,
conjuring lust filled desires with each swing of her
hips. I stared raptly, hypnotized by the shudders as
they dipped, her breasts wobbling as the drum beats
grew faster, cascades of her girlish inhibitions
falling like a sudden shower of rain.
I leaned forward to catch her, to draw my angelic
beauty into my arms. Turning, she pressed her bottom
to my lips and I kissed the rich crevice of flesh,
teasing her with deep licks. Andrea laughed and
shuddered, giggled and ground herself into my lips.
I stood and laced my fingers through her long golden
“You’re mine,” I groaned.
“Fuck me,” she said.
And I did…