The year was 1989.

Clank-clank.

At the sound of an aluminum ladder being positioned against the side of the next-door house, Maria practically leaped from her seat in the breakfast nook of her sun-splashed kitchen and sprinted for her bedroom window. Her heart was racing. Oh, yes, he’s going on the roof again!

Skittering through the back hall, Maria kicked off her stupid marabou bedroom slippers, then stopped, turned, and remembered to pick up a pair of small binoculars off the bookshelf. Her bathrobe flew open as she rounded the corner to her bedroom and raised the binoculars to her eyes.

“Yes, baby, do it,” she said. “Come to Mommy.”

The sweet seventeen-year-old boy next door, Allen, was going up to the roof of his home. On the summer mornings before his senior year, he would wait for his parents to leave for work and then slink out the back door of the house in his pajamas. Allen would then pick up a ladder lying in the tall grass and lay it against the side of the house. That sound was like a dinner bell for Maria, and it got her wet like Pavlov's pussy.

After setting the ladder, Allen would go inside and then quickly return, wearing only tennis shoes and a pair of Ray-Bans. He would already be getting hard. And that's exactly what was happening, again. He carried a shower basket that appeared to have his Banana Boat suntan oil, some zinc oxide for his nose and cheeks, and the house's cordless phone — one of those big plastic things with the telescoping antenna. He also had a large blanket thrown over his shoulder, and a pillow under his arm along with a porn magazine, usually a copy of Cheri, or High Society, or Playboy’s Book of Lingerie that he had shoplifted from the convenience store up the street.

Maria's heart was pounding with anticipation. She could see everything. Maybe Allen wanted her to see everything? That thought thrilled her. But no matter how he lay on the roof, she had a perfect view of Allen's morning horny-guy ritual from her bedroom window. Allen took the squirt bottle of Banana Boat suntan oil and drizzled it all over his cock, which was now fully erect and pointing straight into the California sky. Through her binoculars, she could see the page numbers and the picture captions on his porn magazine, that's how close she was. Maria frantically focused the binoculars for a close-up view of Allen's gorgeous, pulsating, oiled-up dick as he began stroking.

“Oh, do it, honey,” Maria moaned as she watched him spread out the blanket and lie down. “Oh yes, do it for me, baby.”

Maria’s pussy was practically gushing wet, she was so excited. The insides of her thighs were literally shiny with pussy wetness. It had been six months since the divorce was finalized and she had the house all to herself; her toned, tanned, SoCal cougar body cried out for release every morning. She slipped her left hand down to her pussy as she tried to hold the binoculars steady and watch Allen perform his own ritual of self-pleasure.

Allen kept going. He had no quick trigger and had that pure, young-cub stamina that Maria craved. He was reading Penthouse. Not for the articles, either! His cock looked so delicious, Maria thought. My God, she thought, how is this boy not having sex every day with every girl he sees? She would fuck his goddamn brains out on the dining room table in front of his family at his graduation dinner, that’s how delicious he was, and that’s how badly she had craved sex after divorcing her cheating bastard husband last year.

Maria found herself actually considering picking up the phone and dialing the house, to give Allen a nasty, breathy, obscene phone sex call to push him all the way to a big finish. But Christ, his mother would kill her if she found out. Instead, Maria reached down to her sopping wet pussy and slipped two fingers, with painted press-on nails, inside, spreading her own sugar walls apart and reaching up to find her g-spot in rhythm with Allen’s gently bucking hips and pistoning fist.

Then he dropped his porn mag. This was the signal he was going for it. Maria pulled her fingers out of her pussy and strummed her pussy lips. Give me that cum shot, baby, she thought as he pumped his beautiful dick. Give it to me. And then—

Allen rolled over suddenly, picking up the cordless phone and stabbing the answer button. Then, his jaw dropping into a look of pure panic he turned over and grabbed the blanket, pulling it over himself.

“What?! Fuck! No!” Maria yelled. “What the fuck! No! No! No!”

Allen looked over the opposite end of the roof. He slapped the top of his forehead and kneeled over shamefully, exposing his wonderful ass and hairy butthole to Maria's binoculars. But he seemed to be apologizing to whoever it was on the phone.

“Fuck!” Maria screamed. “No!”

Allen took the bottle of suntan oil and the Penthouse mag and threw them off the roof of the house into the bushes below. Then he cloaked himself in the blanket and practically crawled off the roof in shame. When he got to the bottom of the ladder he pulled it from the side of the house and threw it to the ground, where it landed with a painful-sounding crash. Allen scampered inside his house, slamming the back door behind him.

Maria, her own body crying out for release, was filled with a mixture of sexual desire and burning frustration that she had never felt before. She was trembling. But as her mouth hung open and her binoculars followed Allen back into the house, she caught a glimpse of who had shamed him off the roof.

Lillian. The seventy-year-old bitty two doors down.

She was standing on her back porch, wearing her goddamn June Cleaver apron and cat-eye sunglasses, with her cordless phone in her hand on her hip, still looking very disapprovingly into Allen’s yard.

That fucking bitch, Maria thought, as she flung off her robe and got on the four-poster bed. God damn that fucking kindergarten teacher grandma. Maria put a pillow underneath the small of her back and elevated her ass. The vision of Allen jacking his oiled-up dick filled her mind. All the times she saw him cum all over his chest and stomach came flooding back. Maria spread her drooling pussy with her right and used her left index and middle finger to furiously strum her clit to a shattering, spiteful, but frankly unsatisfying orgasm. She didn’t even cry out Allen’s name like she usually did.

That fucking prude Lillian was going to pay for this, Maria resolved.