A sense of joy and triumph filled Abigail when she turned off the main road and into the neighborhood. For the very first time in her twenty-three-years-long life, she was driving home—to her home. It was just a rental, a duplex at that, but her name, only her signature, was on the lease. Kim, her best friend since high school, college roommate, and all-around wonderful woman, had just gotten married. Abigail moved out, letting Kim keep the large, rented home they shared for herself and her new husband. She’d always wanted her own place, anyway; it made her feel accomplished.

The venerable trees, old oaks, stout, shag-bark hickories, and maples of every kind towered over the mid-century architectural styling of the housing edition. The rustic atmosphere, heavily wooded and almost country-like, clashed with the huge panes of glass and oddly slanted roofs. The contrasting of nature versus cubism gave that patch of suburbia a mismatched feel, like some dystopian, post-modernist Norman Rockwell parody. The homes didn’t match the scenery, which made it seem quirky. Abigail loved how out-of-place the houses seemed, because she was also quirky and never fit in.

“5309 Garden Parkway,” she announced to some squirrels playing in the trees. “My new home.”

Small, being a single story, symmetrical, and looking like a sixties throwback, her new dwelling’s layout had an open floor plan and was probably quite fashionable back when people still used words like “swanky.” One entered into the living room, a few squares of linoleum serving as an entryway with deep, purplish shag carpet adorning the floor. To the right was an eat-in kitchen that, at least, had updated appliances.

A single door off the dinette alcove led to the one-car garage on the outer side, and a pair of plain, wooden doors, the hollow-core type that offered all the privacy and security of a sheet of cardboard, allowed entry to the single bedroom and ugly bathroom. The bathroom was tiled from the also-tiled floor to the ceiling in little, mottled-colored, ceramic squares that were a color somewhere in between urine and vomit. That wasn’t so bad, but the olive fixtures clashed, making Abigail wonder if the previous generations were color-blind or just lacked any sense of taste.

A common wall, dividing the two halves of the duplex, ran across the center of the building, splitting the dual mirror-image units. 5307, the other, occupied half, shared the same layout in obverse, and the living rooms, bedrooms, and bathrooms were adjacent to one another, just a single, thin wall between them. Abigail was concerned about the noise, as it might interfere with her career, but she loved the quirky, avant-garde decor, being completely on her own; not only was crime very low in the area, but so was the rent.

Dressing for comfort, ease of movement, and physical labor, she was decked out in old, tattered cutoffs, the fringe tickling her upper thighs, a plain, black tank top, and comfortable shoes. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail, a single, red scrunchy holding her blond tresses away from her face and eyes. At least the moving container rental people had kept their promises. Rather than pack everything up and move it herself, a large, metal storage box was dumped at her old place, and she just tossed all her possessions inside it. They picked it up and delivered it to her new home. She saw the shipping container as she rounded the corner; it sat there on her side of the driveway, blocking access to the garage.

Her new neighbors were outside, enjoying the perfect day by grilling some food. A man roughly Abigail’s age stood, tongs in one hand, a beer in the other, flipping the hot dogs as he manned a simple, charcoal barbecue grill. The man was cute, maybe even handsome. He was well-muscled with perfectly coiffed, short, brown hair, and he wore camouflage cargo shorts, a Taylor Swift concert shirt with the sleeves torn off—which made his shirt seem even more ironic—and a necklace of woven, hemp strands with small seashells woven through it.

The smiling, laughing woman standing possessively close to him had jet-black dyed hair, wore heavy mascara, and skin-tight, black yoga shorts with a matching sports bra that was barely covered with the wisp of a crop top, so short that most of her spandex boob-covering was showing.

“Hi!” Abigail sang out, cheerily, as she parked her Volkswagen dangerously close to the moving bin. “You must be my new neighbors.”

The nubile blond, wishing that she’d worn a bra because her tits were bouncing with every step, approached them, extending her hand in greeting. The raven-haired woman skipped over to meet her, also extending her hand.

“I’m Sirena,” she said. Her face, despite her heavy, edgy makeup, was friendly and glowing.

“Abby,” Abigail began, but she paused.

Abigail never quite fit in, and her name was similar; it just didn’t fit. She wasn’t exactly an Abby, nor a Gail, not even a Gayle or Abbie. She was used to being called Gail, Abby, B-Gail, and, even, sometimes, Abs; it depended on the person. Over the years, she’d fixated on the notion that what somebody called her when they first met, would determine how they perceived her. This was far from the truth, but she believed in it.

“Gail,” she completed, “Abigail.”

“You’re definitely an Abby, aren’t you? Gail just seems so plain for somebody as pretty as you.”

“Thank you. So, how’s the neighborhood? This is my first place!”

“Oh, it’s alright, I guess. Quiet, peaceful, ugly. I don’t live here, actually. I’m just the girlfriend. I do stay here on weekends, and drop by now and then, though.”

Just like that, the preening woman had revealed much more than most people would note. The implications were not lost on Abby. Sirena had just told her that her new neighbor lived alone, was in a relationship but not such a serious one that they’d moved in together, and that Abby should keep her paws off of him.

“Aaah! That’s too bad.” Abigail cooed. “You look like so much fun. I was hoping that we’d be cool neighbors and become friends.”

“She’s a lot nicer than the last one. What was that Karen’s name, Gene?” Sirena turned to face her boyfriend as she spoke, and Abigail saw how sexy the other woman’s posterior was. Spandex is a privilege, not a right, and Sirena was very privileged.

“Karen,” Gene laughed. “Her name was actually Karen.”

Sirena looked at Abby and made a silly face.

“I’m Gene, by the way, Eugene, your neighbor. Welcome to the hood. Want a brewski?”

Gene was a personal trainer, and Sirena worked in retail. They seemed nice, friendly, and welcoming, all of which was a bonus. Abby accepted the olive branch in the form of bottled lager, and they got to know one another, briefly, for a few minutes. She was nervous about blurting out her occupation, so she stretched the truth somewhat, stating that she was a counselor, helping people be happy, online and over the phone.

They accepted her misleading but not fictitious explanation without even raising an eyebrow. The actual truth was that her career was another reason why she chose to move out when Kim got married. “Not only will you be able to keep this place at the lower rental price, still being on the lease, but I shouldn’t be around the newlyweds, considering what I do for a living,” were her actual words.

Her source of income had no bearing on that moment, though, so she chugged her beer and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby recycling bin, then got to work. As much as she tried to mentally will it, her belongings wouldn’t unpack themselves.

“Thanks for the beers,” she said, accepting another. They clinked their bottles together, Abigail’s second, full one spilling a little on her hand, toasting to budding friendships.

She toiled through the day, stopping after one hour to peel off her panties. Thinking that plain, cotton panties would be appropriate, the tightness of her threadbare shorts was making them bind in the most sacred of places. She removed the musky-smelling garment, tossing it on top of the antiquated washing machine, crinkling her nose at the smell of the laundry room, which was more the size of a closet. The tiny space smelled like a yeti had died in there about three weeks ago.

While it seemed to take forever, as well as three trips to various stores to purchase sundries that she needed, including odor-killing air fresheners, she’d finally transported the myriad boxes, stuffed trash bags, and other wares inside. The sun had begun setting long before she’d even gotten all the boxes and parcels into the proper rooms. Too tired to cook, not that she’d purchased any food, she ordered a pizza and sat in a chair destined for the dinette, drinking wine out of a red plastic cup and dining on a few slices of double-pepperoni, stuffed crust as she watched the lovely hues of the twilight surrender to starry darkness.

Deciding to at least hang some sheets over the huge front windows, Abby covered the view of her home's interior from prying eyes, then stripped off her two remaining garments and took a long, hot shower. Not having to worry about using too much hot water felt like pure decadence, and she moaned in luxurious pleasure under the near-scalding cascade.

· · ─────── ·· ─────── · ·

Gene was simply ecstatic that his new neighbor wasn’t just cool and friendly, but also smoking hot. His girlfriend was sweet, nice, and sexy, but somebody new is always something different. He had no complaints, except, maybe, predictability. Sarah Rena, who truncated her first and middle names into the exotic-sounding Sirena, was a creature of habit, despite her edgy looks that hinted at a wild streak.

Every Saturday morning, she’d show up, dressed casually and sexually, and they’d hang out. He liked her, a lot, but wasn’t certain about love, just yet. They’d talk, kiss, and spend time together, then go out to dinner, almost always returning to his place for some sex, unless she had to work the next morning. Like their relationship, the sex had grown to be predictable. Usually, Gene spent the mornings browsing porn, so he’d have some fantasy in his head during sex. It was the lesser evil, given the choice between a little mental stimulation in the bedroom or breaking up with his girlfriend because he was bored with his predictable, unchanging sex life.

That morning, though, he didn’t need porn. Abby, his new neighbor, had just begun moving in, and she made his cock hard. Her tits were larger than Sirena’s, sitting high on her chest, all pert and bouncy. When she pulled into the wishbone-shaped driveway, veering to the right at full speed, she nearly slammed her little Jetta into the storage container that sat in front of her side’s garage door. He was wondering what sort of speed demon his new neighbor was, when she jumped out of her car, boobs bouncing. Gene had to hide behind his little, grocery-store-bought grill to hide his erection.

Despite having nice knockers and not wearing a bra, she also had shiny, long, straight blond hair, and Eugene loved blonds. Her skin was smooth and had a healthy glow, the curve of her pronounced ass, and the shape of her legs proved that she had a killer body. Abby was also cool enough to show her amazing figure off by wearing short shorts that exposed a hint of her butt cheeks. Her vibrant eyes, a medium gray, added uniqueness to her appearance, which made Gene conceal his lower portions every time she’d stroll back outside to grab another box.

Although she had work in the morning, Sirena was acting extra-horny that particular Saturday. Even before he’d finished grilling their lunch, shortly after his new neighbor showed up, she got all clingy, never letting him out of her sight, and started talking about sex. Gene was all for that; it was a side of her he’d seldom seen, except when they first met.

The fact that Sirena unconsciously felt inferior to Abigail hadn’t registered to him. Gene knew precious little about women, let alone the fact that most young women size up the competition on instinct. Sirena saw how her boyfriend’s eyes followed his new neighbor’s movements, riveted to her luscious boobs or sexy butt. Gene’s flushed cheeks and childish smile revealed more to her than she was ready to admit.

Eugene just felt lucky. He mentally retraced his actions and words throughout the day, trying to discern what he’d done to put her into such a horny state. He had hopes of isolating the actions that netted him those positive results for repetition.

“Let’s skip dinner, sweetie,” she’d told him. “I have to work early, tomorrow, so let’s head to the bedroom and have dessert.

In his similarly ugly bathroom, Gene combed out his hair, washed up, paying special attention to his groin, just in case her head, by some miracle, traveled down there, and brushed his teeth. The spontaneity of lusty passion had ebbed from their relationship. The pre-sex ritual involved a calm, casual stage of preparation.

However, that evening, he could hear his new neighbor in her bathroom, just opposite his wall. Barely discernible moans emanated from the ugly wall tile, and Gene fantasized that Abby was touching herself while she showered. He imagined her squeezing her tits, one hand running down her taut stomach and finding a burning need between her thighs.

The thought turned him on so much that Gene’s cock swelled to full mast, long and hard, visibly throbbing. He pressed his ear to the cold wall, listening while he stroked himself. He almost blew his load right there, but, luckily, managed to stop himself, his breath coming in soft pants as he fought down the urge to cum.

He hurriedly finished getting ready and walked into his bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Gene shouted when he saw his girlfriend.

Sirena had disrobed, leaving a trail of clothing from the bedroom door to the bed. She lay on top of it, on her back, with her legs widely spread. She had one hand behind her head, her black hair splayed out, and her other hand was between her thighs, gently rubbing her pussy.

“I’m just so horny,” Sirena said. “Do me.”

Gene knew that was the closest she came to dirty talk. Nonetheless, she was hot, horny, fingering herself, and had just asked for sex. He smiled at her, told her how sexy she was, and then climbed between her legs, thrusting his hardened shaft into her juicy puss.

· · ─────── ·· ─────── · ·

Abigail frowned at the interior wall when she heard the sound of the toilet flushing next door. She delightfully discovered that if she took two steps back, the sounds couldn’t be heard. Regretting the decision to put her bed against the dividing wall, she promised herself that she’d move it in the morning. For that night, though, she was exhausted, and sleep was a better option than manual labor.

Nude for once and feeling free, as there was no roommate or her fiancé to accidentally encounter in the buff, she crawled under her heavy blankets and sighed, awaiting sleep. That was when she heard the barely audible sounds of sex from next door. She heard her neighbor's voice—was his name Greg or Gene—say something. She couldn’t hear the words clearly, but the tone was pleasant and filled with humor.

She laid there, hearing an occasional giggle, very distant sounding, and tried to drift off to slumber land. Then she heard his girlfriend moaning. She remembered her name, Sirena.

“Mmm, oooh, mmm,” she moaned.

Abigail giggled to herself. Men don’t want that; they need dirty, trashy talk, Abigail’s forte, and to be made to feel like they’re the most well-hung, orgasm-giving man to have ever lived. Moans are nice, but have fun, go crazy, and be wild. Then she heard the bed squeaking.

Having not been fucked for weeks, Abby fingered herself while she listened. The thin walls may have been annoying, but they held some benefits. Two of her fingers penetrated her ignored pussy, another one invading her asshole, as she rubbed and tugged on her clit, trying to time her orgasm to Sirena’s.

“Oh, ah… aaahhh!” came from the other dwelling, and the bed abruptly stopped creaking. She hadn’t even gotten off.

A few minutes later, just as she was drifting on the clouds that separated reality from the dream world, a slamming door startled her back to alertness. Still naked, aware of it but liking the naughty feeling of walking around her own home in the nude, she got out of bed and walked to the living room, navigating the maze of boxes and bags. Lifting a corner of the sheet, she could see Sirena and Gene kissing each other goodnight. Her neighbor’s girlfriend backed through the driveway, then stomped the gas when her car hit the common, middle run, peeling out onto the street.

Too anxious to sleep, Abigail rummaged through her boxes until she found the one with her vast collection of sex toys and her weed stash. She needed both for work. While she wasn’t working that night, she thought to herself that some Wedding Cake strain would pair nicely with cold pizza and room-temperature wine. She was correct.

About half an hour later, stoned to horny giddiness, she retook her bed. Luckily, she had the foresight to charge her toys before packing them. Taking her time, Abigail ran her hands all over her nude body, sighing at the sensations, and anticipating the intense orgasms she’d give herself with her toys.

· · ─────── ·· ─────── · ·

Gene was almost thankful to see Sirena headed homeward. As usual, her tires ran off the asphalt driveway and onto the grass. Although hotter than usual, he was still horny. Despite his cock, which was both long and thick, just not overly so in either dimension, being flaccid and covered with pussy juice, he still felt that need for release. He thought that he loved his girlfriend, but his new neighbor was just so smoking hot that he couldn’t get her out of his head. Those dirty thoughts of his led to his manhood tingling.

To make it worse, she’d hung plain, white sheets, very thin, over her windows. Gene didn’t mind that at all; anyone was better than the ill-tempered, abrasive bitch, always whining about how offended she was, curtains or not. But, when he walked the few paces to accompany Sirena to her car, he could have sworn that he saw Abby’s silhouette backlit by the kitchen light. From the view he’d received, it looked like she was nude, and her figure stirred his loins.

Feeling perverted and creepy, Gene waited, undressing himself for easier access, and waited until he couldn’t stand it any longer. When he felt that his new neighbor was deeply asleep, he powered up his computer, a state-of-art gaming system that was perfect for his online MMORPGs, as well as streaming porn. Chugging some more beer, he turned on his system and searched his favorite porn sites—he had a few—using “sexy blond neighbor” as his search terms.

He scrolled through a few pages of video thumbnails until he found one where the porn actress had a strong resemblance to Abigail. With one hand on his clicker and the other on his cock, he pulled up the video, ignoring the phone-sex advertisement, and began stroking his growing shaft, imagining that it was Abigail showing off for him, then masturbating in urgent need.

Gene moaned, fondling his testicles for additional pleasure, and turned the volume up while he stroked. Lost in fantasy, listening to the moans of the blond on his screen, he was oblivious to the action on just the other side of the wall.

· · ─────── ·· ─────── · ·

Abigail had herself so horny that she no longer cared if the walls weren’t soundproof. They could be separated by only a piece of paper, and she still would have plunged her mammoth dildo into her needy cunt. She fucked herself, hearing masculine moaning from the other side of the wall, and that just made her masturbation marathon more intense.

She knew he was stroking his cock, and she imagined that it was because of the way she’d dressed. Gene hadn’t exactly leered at her, but she’d caught him looking occasionally. She fucked herself, adding her clit-sucking toy to her clit, and moaned loudly, timing her dildo thrusts to match his fapping. She had one satisfying orgasm before he’d shot his load, another one after he moaned his head off, breathlessly muttering “dirty whore” before all went quiet.

Abigail finally drifted off to sleep, her toys on the pillow beside her. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day with all the unpacking that needed to be done, but she wanted to christen the other three rooms before she got to work.