The New Neighborhood

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I awoke Tuesday morning, my body aching all over. The relentless unpacking of boxes and crates had predictably taken its toll. Every muscle was sore, and sleep ceased to be the great rejuvenator it once was. I needed a hot shower and coffee — lots of coffee. Maybe two more days of unpacking and we could move through the house without feeling like mice searching for cheese in a maze of cardboard.

We had moved to Shreveport the previous Friday, August 4th. My husband, Fred, accepted a position as head of security for one of the riverboat casinos and was working twelve-hour days getting oriented into his new job. The house is beautiful and spacious, but in a typical suburban setting where homes are so close you can count the slats on your neighbor’s venetian blinds. It would take some time making the adjustment, especially after living in rural Tennessee where our closest neighbor was a quarter mile away.

Damned! No coffee. We drank the last of it yesterday, and I neglected to go to the store for more. I undressed and slipped into the hot mist of the welcome shower cursing myself under my breath for my forgetfulness. Maybe one of the neighbors would have some coffee I could borrow. I stood beneath the invigorating rain allowing the warm spray to gently massage my face. The water cascaded down my neck, over the slopes of my breasts, falling in twin streams from my erect nipples to the shower floor below. After lots of soap and a good rinse, I turned the shower head to the pulse setting and let the stinging force of the water pummel my aching back, shoulders and arms. Like a thousand tiny needles, the high-pressure water droplets battered my skin and the aching muscles underneath. It was like liquid acupuncture. Stepping out of the shower onto the bath mat, I grabbed a towel. The full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door allowed me to take stock of my middle-aged body.

My blonde, shoulder length curls framed a round face making my brown eyes the focal point. . A few small wrinkles at the corners of my eyes suggested my age of 42, but there were no bags, and the eyes were still large and still bright. My skin was relatively soft and supple, and at least so far, without blemishes. My breasts were larger than I wish — 38D, and admittedly had started to sag a little, but the light pink areolas were perfectly round and smooth, with half-inch nipples only slightly darker pointing straight ahead and staying always erect. My belly was flat, but a pinch along my side divulged a hint of the dreaded love handles. My legs were long, predictable for a frame of 5′ 8″, but I always thought too skinny, especially for a woman with such large breasts. I considered a breast reduction several years ago, but my husband wouldn’t hear of it. Of course he didn’t have to carry them around all day. He always told me they were beautiful. I thought they made me look like a cow with bloated udders. My pussy had very small lips. The skin around my pussy just disappeared into the fold of my slit below a small, triangular patch of blonde pubic hair. I turned sideways to check out my butt. The cheeks were still firm and round. A quick pinch told me they were still pretty tight as well. All in all, my body looked O.K. for a 42 year-old, but I told myself that I needed to do something about those love handles.

I dressed quickly, throwing on a navy blue sweat suit, a pair of white, ankle-high socks and New Balance running shoes. No bra. No panties. I was only going to be gone a minute. My hair was still damp, so I donned my husband’s Cincinnati Reds baseball cap, grabbed a small, disposable, Glad Ware container and headed out the door in a noble quest for coffee. I stood on my porch and studied the houses on either side of mine. They were all designed alike — typical of a suburban neighborhood, so I evaluated the cars parked in the respective driveways. To my left was a cream colored Lexus sedan, to my right, a dark blue Toyota 4-Runner, backed into the driveway as if to facilitate loading or unloading. The porch light was still on at the Toyota house. Thinking they may still be asleep, I chose the Lexus. The mailbox proudly displayed the name, “Wilson,” as did brass lettering above the porch, and a green, turf mat in front of the door. “A little self-absorbed,” I thought to myself. I pressed the illuminated doorbell and immediately heard chimes so loud they sounded like Big Ben striking the hour. Instinctively I looked around for someone to accept my apology, embarrassed at having broken the morning silence so rudely. Within seconds, a bespectacled woman in her fifties opened the brown, wooden door with a genuine friendly smile and spoke through the glass of the storm door.

“Yes?” She asked.

She was dressed in a very becoming business suit. Her hair and face looked as if she had just completed a session with a Hollywood make-up artist. Every hair was in place and her cream colored skin looked as soft as corn silk.

“Mrs. Wilson?” I asked, confirming her identity.

“Yes,” She answered.

“I’m Mandy Trainor from next door,” I explained. “We just moved in and I’m afraid I’ve let myself run out of coffee. I really hate to bother you bağdatcaddesi escort this early in the morning, but could I borrow enough coffee from you to make a pot?”

She opened the storm door with a genuine smile. “Please, come in, Dear.”

“Thank you,” I replied as I stepped inside, my shoes sinking into plush, light green carpeting.

The house was spotless with everything in place. It looked almost as if nobody actually lived there, but rather it was just a showpiece. The pleasing fragrance of apples and cinnamon permeated the air. The house was silent, save for the gurgling of a large aquarium where a dozen brightly colored, exotic fish glided lazily through sparkling water.

“Gail Wilson,” She introduced herself as she presented her hand. “Nice to have you in the neighborhood, Ms. Trainor”

I extended my hand. She grabbed it, pulling me slightly toward her and began pumping vigorously like a politician during an election campaign. Her hands were strong but soft. She reminded me a lot of Barbara Walters, but with dark hair that showed a few wisps of gray, and very large breasts that strained the buttons of her white, silk blouse. I was sure she was fifty, give or take a year, a very attractive, well-bred woman.

“Please call me Mandy,” I offered, still shaking her hand.

“O.K. Mandy, I’m Gail,” She smiled, finalizing the handshake with a single downward thrust. “I’m so sorry, Dear, I don’t drink coffee. My husband does when he’s in town, but he drank the last we had when he was home, and since he won’t be home for another three weeks, I haven’t been in any hurry to get more. Have you met Brenda Richardson?”

“No,” I answered.

“She lives on the other side of you,” Gail volunteered. “She drinks coffee by the gallon. I’m sure she’ll have some to spare.”

“Her porch light is still on, so I wasn’t sure anyone was up,” I explained.

“She’s up,” Gail assured me, “She’s always up early. Works out every morning. As a matter of fact, she may not hear you at the door, because she plays her music pretty loud when she’s working out. Let me call her for you.”

“No,” I said, not wanting to put anybody out. “You don’t have to…”

“Nonsense,” Gail Interrupted. “Brenda won’t mind at all. Trust me.”

With that she picked up the phone and pressed a single button. The speed dial took over and after a short pause I heard half of the conversation.

“Hello, Brenda?” “This is Gail.” “Fine.” “No, nothing’s wrong, Dear. The woman who moved into the Stevens’ house is here. She needs to borrow some coffee and I’m fresh out. I’m sending her over to you, but I figured you were working out, and I was afraid you wouldn’t hear the doorbell with your radio blasting that stuff you generously call music.” She chuckled as she offered the sarcasm, then closed the conversation with, “O.K. I will” “Bye.”

Gail placed the receiver back into its cradle. “Brenda said she just made a fresh pot of coffee and you’re welcome to join her.”

“Thank you so much,” I said sincerely.

“Well you’re certainly welcome, Dear,” She replied. “If you need anything at all, just come over. Maybe I can be of more help next time.”

I left thinking how nice the people in my new neighborhood must be. I walked past my house to the home of Brenda Richardson. As I reached for the doorbell, the front door flung open wide. I was greeted by a tall woman with dark red hair wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe. A matching cloth belt cinctured her waist. She was much too energetic for that time of the morning. Her coffee obviously wasn’t decaf.

“Come in. Come in,” She welcomed me excitedly. “I’m Brenda Richardson. I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Make yourself at home.”

She led me through the living room into the kitchen, where a small, white, wrought iron table with a glass top displayed two cups of steaming coffee, each in front of a matching wrought iron chair. A small, pewter cream pitcher and sugar bowl occupied the center of the table, augmented by a tempting assortment of pastries.

“That’s Half And Half in the pitcher,” Brenda pointed out, “I have the powdered stuff if you’d rather have that.”

“No thanks,” I said, “Just black for me.”

The coffee was delicious — rich, black and hot. I could feel the caffeine slowly sweeping away the morning cobwebs. The pastries looked delicious, but I remembered the love handles in the mirror and fought back the temptation.

Brenda Richardson was a statuesque, buxom woman — 43 years old, 5′ 10″, and with breasts even larger than my own. She had a very small waistline and a flat tummy — no doubt the result of her daily workouts. Even through the loose fitting bathrobe her curvaceous body was apparent, and she had curves o’plenty. Her oval face was quite lovely, framed by long, flowing, red hair. She had bright green eyes, full lips and a few freckles scattered about.

“Wanna take the grand tour?” Brenda asked.

“Sure,” I said, “Why not.”

She led me through the house pointing out the obvious — living room, bedroom, bath, etc. The layout of the house was much like my own. I figured most beykoz escort of the homes in the neighborhood were simply carbon copies of each other, with barely enough differences to let the developer sell each one as, “Unique.” The house had three bedrooms — hers, her son’s, who was away at college, and one which she had converted into a workout room with state-of-the-art equipment sufficient to rival a modest sized health club. The house was neat and clean, but at least it looked lived in — unlike Gail Wilson’s showpiece. She lived alone except when her son was home from college. She had divorced her husband eight years ago after she caught him with his secretary.

“They’re married now,” Brenda confessed, “But we’re still friendly. I call him every now and then when I’m real horny and need a good servicing. It sort of feels good being the other woman for a change.”

“I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on my husband,” I laughed.

“Oh no. Nothing like that,” she assured me, “It’s just my version of revenge.”

As we stood inside the workout room, I told Brenda of my self-evaluation in the mirror earlier and my pledge to do something about the love handles. I pinched an inch for effect.

“You should come over and work out with me,” Brenda insisted, “It’s always more fun than working out alone. I start at 6:30 every morning and go till about eight.”

“Sounds like fun,” I told her, “6:30 is just about the time my husband leaves for work.”

“It’s a date then,” She dictated, “I always leave the patio door ajar in the morning so the cat can go in and out. You come whenever you get ready. Just come on in. I probably won’t hear you if you knock.”

“Do you work out in a bathrobe?” I asked, “Seems pretty bulky for working out.” After all, I had interrupted her workout, and she was wearing a bathrobe.

“Oh no,” she assured me, “I work out in the nude since I’m usually alone, but I wear a body suit if someone is here with me.”

We went back to the kitchen and finished our coffee. Brenda offered me some to take with me. I thanked her but declined her offer, assuring her I would go to the store later for more.

* * *

The following morning I went to Brenda’s house at 6:30 sharp. The sliding glass patio door was open about six inches as promised, so I let myself in and made my way back to the workout room. The classic rock station was blaring out “Slow Ride,” by Foghat on the radio. Brenda was sitting in the butterfly machine, her arms moving the padded levers back and forth in time to the music. When she saw me she abandoned the butterfly and jumped to her feet to turn down the radio volume and welcome me.

Brenda wore a bright red body suit that reinforced my earlier observation that this woman had a body to die for. The suit fit her like a second skin and every curve was enhanced by the look. Her massive 40DD breasts made her look top heavy standing straight out and sagging very little. Her half-inch, semi-erect nipples were perched proudly out front and slightly upturned. I could easily make out every small bump on her large areolas through the thin material. Captivated by the sight of the sexy body before me, I found myself wishing the body suit was gone. I felt a little confused. For the first time since college, I had the desire to see the naked body of another woman.

For a week or so we repeated the morning ritual; a ninety-minute workout in body suits followed by an hour or so of coffee and small talk. Each day I became more and more obsessed with my craving to see Brenda’s nude body. Accordingly, I found myself scheming to find a way to fulfill my want. Suddenly, Sunday night, I had a brainstorm. I called Brenda and told her something had come up. I would have to forgo my joining her Monday for our morning workout. She understood and hoped we could get together Tuesday. My plan was to show up anyway and tell Brenda a last minute change allowed me to join her. I knew she usually worked out in the nude unless she had company, so if the plan worked as designed, I would walk in and catch her exercising in the buff, and at least get a brief glimpse of the nakedness I was dying to see. She would probably quickly cover herself and run to put on her body suit, but I would tell her if she felt comfortable exercising in the nude I would feel at ease joining her. I would wear my bathrobe with nothing underneath, and tell Brenda I was in such a hurry that I decided to change at her place. That should sound plausible whether she was naked or not, but I would have my body suit just in case she was uncomfortable exercising together in the buff. I was proud of myself. It sounded like a good plan. She would never suspect a thing.

Monday morning I showed up fifteen minutes later than usual. I carefully opened the patio door as quietly as possible. Stepping inside I could smell the now familiar, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Silently making my way back to the workout room, I could hear, “Stairway To Heaven,” by Led Zeppelin playing on the radio.

“Now that’s appropriate,” I said to myself.

Brenda was standing in the middle of the room wiping her forehead with caddebostan escort a towel. Her red hair was damp and beads of perspiration made her naked body glisten under the bright lights. She was breathing rapidly — her heavy breasts rising and falling with each breath. She had been working hard. My eyes instinctively focused on her crotch. A small patch of neatly trimmed red pubic hair punctuated a large pussy below. Unlike me, she had fat pussy lips, dark pink and swollen. The puffy lips folded into a wide slit that started just below her pubes and disappeared under her torso. It looked like a half-open hot dog bun ready for a wiener.

When Brenda saw me standing in the doorway, she reacted with a big smile — her green eyes sparkling. She made no attempt to hide her nakedness, nor did she look surprised to see me. “I hoped you’d come,” She said. (So much for my secret plan)

I took a few steps into the room and stopped, still admiring Brenda’s lovely body. For a few moments we stood across the room from each other. The silence was deafening as we stared into each other’s eyes smiling. She slowly moved toward me, stopping a mere foot away. She took the body suit from under my arm and tossed it onto a chair. She then grasped the sash of my bathrobe and tugged on both ends releasing the tie and letting the ends fall loose. She reached up and gently slid the robe over my shoulders. I felt my arms slide through the sleeves as it fell to the floor behind me. A million thoughts raced through my mind. Was I sure about this? Had I gone too far? Did she really want to see my body too? Would she think I was fat, or ugly? I was naked. I was vulnerable. I was so nervous I could feel myself trembling. I was the one who started this, but for the moment at least, I wished I hadn’t. I think Brenda sensed my fear. She reached up and touched my cheek with her hand.

“It’s OK.” She sounded reassuring.

I could only respond with a nervous half-smile. She took a couple of steps backward, studying my body with her eyes. I could feel my face quickly redden; embarrassed by the tense situation I had created.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, “You’re beautiful.”

Brenda moved back toward me. Our large breasts touched and I felt an electric shock surge through my body. I thought my knees would buckle as I felt my nipples grow harder pressing against hers. She held my face in her hands and gently pulled me toward her brushing her soft lips across mine. I was non-responsive as my mind still raced. I wanted so much not to want her, but I did.. I wanted her desperately. I wanted her in every way one woman could want another. Brenda moved her mouth back toward me once more, this time letting her lips linger on mine. Almost unconsciously I raised my arms up behind her back and pulled her toward me pressing my lips hard against hers. My trembling had stopped. Any reservations I had were now dispelled. I slowly opened my mouth preparing to thrust my tongue into hers. Brenda followed suit and our tongues met in the middle. Apprehensive but determined, we carefully explored each other’s mouth like an observant spelunker cautiously entering an unfamiliar cave.

Much too quickly the kiss was over. For a few seconds we stood silent, staring intently into each other’s eyes. The want in Brenda’s bright, green eyes was unmistakable, and I’m sure she saw the same in mine. I started to speak, but Brenda gently placed her index finger over my lips to silence me. She was right — nothing need be said. I opened my mouth and captured her index finger between my lips sucking lightly. Bobbing my head, I let her finger slide easily in and out of my mouth while I sucked, never taking my eyes off hers as I slowly and deliberately mimicked the action of sucking a man’s cock.

Brenda pulled her finger from my mouth with a pop and placed it in her own mouth. She closed her eyes and slowly ran her finger in and out of her mouth as a soft moan escaped her.

Brenda placed her hands on my shoulders and, touching me with only her fingertips, slowly moved her hands down my chest. Her touch was so delicate; it felt like a feather brushing my skin. My whole body was covered with goose bumps. Her magic fingers, still barely touching me, followed the contour of my sloping breasts, inching ever closer to my nipples. Rather than touch my nipples, however, she let her fingers slide around the sides of my large breasts until they were underneath. She then cupped my breasts in her hands and gently lifted the heavy orbs until my nipples pointed straight up toward my face. I could sense what she wanted me to do, so I lowered my head and licked across my nipples with my tongue — first the right, then the left. Brenda pushed my right breast a little higher. I opened my mouth, wrapped my lips around the nipple and sucked hard. I could feel my nipple grow even harder in my mouth. She then pushed my left breast up and I repeated the process with the other nipple. I glanced up at Brenda. Her wide eyes told me she was enjoying this immensely. Wanting to please her even more, I clamped down hard on my left nipple, letting my teeth sink in around it. I removed Brenda’s hands and the heavy breast seemed to defy gravity as I held it up with only the suction from my mouth. I held it there for 10 seconds or so, then opened my mouth and let the nipple slip out with a pop. My left breast fell, jiggling and bouncing a few times until it came to rest in its home position.

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