I was a fifty-five-year-old widower when I first encountered Jessica, who had recently moved into the house next door. She was much younger than me and could only be in her twenties. I knew she was out of my league, both in terms of age and looks. Not that I was ugly, but I was no picture either, though I did try to keep myself fit with regular exercise. Jessica also kept herself trim, but, in contrast to me, she was a picture to behold. Her beauty was stunning. She was slender but still curvy, and while she didn't have large breasts, what she had were shapely and were calling out to be fondled. Moreover, her heavenly bottom was pert and firm, and swayed seductively as she walked. And her slim legs were to die for! I couldn't help but sneak furtive glances whenever I could! To top it all, she had this soft and seductive upper-class English accent. It was so alluring that I was certain she could make reading a grocery list sound sexy.

Not only was she attractive, but she was well aware of the fact, and I sensed she was also a tease. Whenever we bumped into one another, she would charismatically greet me like an old friend, despite us knowing nothing about one another apart from first names. Somehow, she had a flirtatious way of smiling that would make me go weak at the knees. She was also touchy-feely and thought nothing of patting my arm or placing her fingers gently on my shoulder.

Like me, she lived alone, and I had never seen a boyfriend enter her house. I didn't imagine for one moment that she was making a play for me, but I sensed that she knew it made my day if she let slip some mischievous comment, touched me in a sensual way or gave me one of her sassy smiles. She was right—it did make my day, and I wondered if she realised that she had become masturbation fodder.

When our paths did cross, I struggled not to stare at her, yet, regrettably, once or twice, she did catch me with my eyes dwelling for too long on one or other of her desirable assets. Then she would give me a shrewd smile, informing me with that look that I had been caught out, but she never took offence.

I found myself longing to see more of her, and, on warm days, I took to standing in my back bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in her garden. One afternoon, she noticed me staring but simply waved and smiled, while I reddened and backed away.

When the weather was dry, she would hang her washing outside, and I felt this compulsion to peep out of the window to see what she had been wearing for the past few days—by which I obviously mean what undies she had worn, and I was never disappointed by the sights that greeted me.

Then, one warm morning, in late spring, she knocked on my front door.

“Hello, Frank, darling,” she said. “I've got a problem with the car. Do you know anything about cars?”

No, I didn't know much about cars, but naturally I replied. “Yes, I'm sure I can help. What is it, Jessica?”

“There's something amiss with the windscreen wipers,” she smiled. “I'm sure I'm right in saying they should have a rubber bead on them! Yes?”

I smiled, replying, “You mean they've worn out! Oh, that's easily sorted. They just need to be replaced.”

“Oh, gosh! Is that a big job? Do I need to book the car into a garage? How long will they keep it for? Will it be expensive?” she gabbled.

This had to be an act she was putting on—I couldn't believe she was this naive, but I took her comments at face value. “Noooh! Listen, I'll pop into town and get you replacements and then fit them when I get back. Job sorted!”

“Oh, thank you so much, Frank. You're an angel and a lifesaver. That's so very sweet of you.”

oooOOooo

A couple of hours later, the task was done, and she thanked me enthusiastically. “Come and have a beer in the garden, Frank,” she said. “You've earnt it.”

“Oh, it was nothing. It had to be nothing if I could fix it,” I grinned.

“I'm sure you're underestimating your skills, darling. You seem very good with your hands,” she remarked, giving me one of her playful smiles.

We sat in her garden, drinking our beers. “So, what do you do for a living, Jessica?” I asked.

“Oh, I'm a maths teacher at the private sixth form college in the town. It's girls only, and they range in age from sixteen up to nineteen. Do you know the school?”

“Only by its well-deserved reputation! I bet the girls love you, Jessica.”

She laughed. “They think I'm an ogre! I'm too strict with them. The silly idiots think because they're in the sixth form they can do what they want.”

“I can't believe they see you as an ogre! You're so charming, Jessica.”

“Charming?!” she laughed. “Not in schoolteacher mode, I'm not! I have to be strict with them, Frank. Most of them are from privileged backgrounds, often spoilt and used to getting their own way. I have to be firm and make sure they know who's in charge.”

“You don't use the cane, do you?”

“Good grief, no! What century are you living in? I can't believe you said that, Frank. You're a dinosaur.” She laughed hysterically and shook her head in disbelief.

“So how do you punish them, Jessica?” I asked.

“That's none of your business, darling, but if you keep going with this line of questioning, you may soon find out—firsthand!”

She was putting me in my place, but in a friendly manner. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling my penis give a twitch.

“But, what about you? What do you do?” she asked.

“I was an accountant in a multinational. I was a victim of a downsizing last year, so I'm now living on my redundancy money and my pension.”

“And you manage, okay? You're not looking for another job?”

“I'm not rich, but I manage, and I'm not going to find another job aged fifty-five, unless it's stacking shelves at the supermarket,” I chuckled.

“Nothing wrong with manual labour, Frank. Hard work and serving others never hurt anyone. It's to be encouraged!”

I glanced at her, and she was being serious. “Er... I suppose not, but I manage, Jessica.”

“You're not married, though?”

“I was. My wife died five years ago.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry to learn that. You cope okay on your own? Can you cook fine meals, do you keep your house scrupulously clean, do your own laundry, following all the label instructions to the letter?”

“Goodness, yes, no problem at all,” I answered, puzzled by her questions.

“No relatives?”

“I've a grown-up daughter but I don't see her much—our relationship was strained, shall we say. And I've a sister five years younger than me who lives locally, but we don't get on too well, either. You can choose friends but not family, Jessica! Have you got anyone in your life?”

“No, I'm single and fancy free,” she chortled. “I'm waiting for the right man to come along. God knows when that will be! No sign of him yet.” She said it innocently, but the message was that I was not the man she was waiting for, not that I had expected differently.

We exchanged more pleasantries and phone numbers, and then I returned home. Only when I got there did it occur to me that she'd not paid me for the windscreen wipers. She must have forgotten, but there was no way that I could remind her. I was fairly well off, while she was on a young teacher's salary. I tried to forget about it, but it did niggle me that she had made no attempt to refund me, if only so I could turn down her offer of payment.

oooOOooo

Then, a week later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and standing on my doorstep was Jessica, dripping in sweat. She had just finished a run and, apart from trainers, all she was wearing was a crop top sports bra and a skimpy pair of shorts. She gave me one of her coquettish smiles, and I instantly felt my penis wakening up. Despite being fifty-five, I still responded quickly to the sight of a pretty girl, the problem compounded by me not having a steady girlfriend and it being a couple of years or more since I had last had sex with a woman.

“Hello, Frank, darling,” she said in her low, sultry voice. “I'm so sorry, but I've only just remembered I didn't pay you for the windscreen wipers. How much do I owe you?”

“Oh... think nothing of it, Jessica,” I replied. “It's my treat.”

“No, I must pay you, Frank.”

“No, honestly, Jessica, I'll be insulted if you do. It's the least I can do for my new neighbour.”

“Oh, gosh, that's so sweet and kind of you, Frank.”

“Any time, Jessica. If you want any odd jobs doing, I'm your man.”

“And you'll pay me to do them?” she laughed “Sorry! I'm teasing you, and it's very naughty of me. Smacked wrist!” She playfully tapped her wrist, while giving me one of her seductive smiles.

oooOOooo

A week or so passed before I saw her face-to-face again, although I had furtively watched her sitting in her garden a couple of times from the window of my back bedroom. Again, on one of those occasions, she had looked up and spotted me. I had blushed and turned away, but not before noticing her sly expression.

Then, on a Saturday afternoon, there was a knock on my front door. “Sorry to bother you, Frank, darling,” she said. “As you're such an absolute wiz with mending cars, I bet you know everything there is to know about taps as well. Eh?”

“Taps? Well, not much, Jessica. What's the problem?”

“My outside tap is dripping, so I'm wasting water. I'm guessing the washer needs replacing. Is that the case, Frank?”

“Yes, it sounds like it.”

“Will you be an angel and sort it out for me? If you're not busy, that is.”

“I'm not busy and I can come around now.”

I grabbed a spanner and a spare washer and followed her to see the leaking tap. Fortunately, she knew how to isolate it from inside the house, so I was quickly able to disassemble it and change the washer. It was a five-minute job at most.

“You're so good with your hands, Frank,” she said, in her sultry voice.

“It was straightforward to do, if you have the right tool.”

“Well, I can see you had the right tool, Frank, and you knew where to place it and what to do with it. What more can a girl ask for?”

I reddened at the double entendres. “Er... like I say, it was nothing, Jessica.”

“What do I owe you, Frank? Or are you going to pay me?” she laughed.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, like with the windscreen wipers. You ended up paying me, not the other way around,” she grinned.

“Oh, yeah! I did, didn't I?” I made it sound like I'd forgotten, but of course it was stuck in my memory that I'd paid. I decided to go along with the joke. “How would £20 suit you, Jessica, and I get a beer in exchange?”

She laughed. “Now, you're teasing me,” she grinned. “But... but—if you're serious—I'll get the beers. Are you serious?” She looked at me earnestly, adding, “Please, please tell me you're being serious and not teasing me.”

My God, was I being serious—was she being serious? Or was she teasing me? This was embarrassing.

I smiled at her, trying to judge the situation. She stared back at me, pleadingly and wide-eyed, while running her tongue over her top lip. I sensed a twinge from my penis, caused by the provocative way she was looking at me.

“Okay, Jessica, how could I refuse to buy a pretty girl like you a beer,” I replied, sheepishly. I was sure she was taking me for a ride, yet I couldn't bring myself to say no.

She smiled back at me, saying, in an alluring voice, “Thank you, darling. You're really sweet.” And gullible, I thought to myself.

A few minutes later, she came back holding two bottles of beer and pointed me to a garden chair.

I sat down and stretched out a hand to receive a bottle.

“Uh... uh, money first, Frank, please.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a £20 note. She took it off me in exchange for the bottle. “Thank you, darling,” she whispered, “You're so kind to me. You're a good neighbour.”

We chatted aimlessly for half-hour or so and then she signalled that my time was up. “Sorry, Frank, but I've got marking to do. You're going to have to go.”

“Oh, okay, Jessica,” I replied. “Thank you for the beer.”

“And thank you for sorting out the tap and paying me to do so,” she chortled. Was this a game she was playing? If so, it was proving expensive, but I didn't want to fall out with her and miss our friendly chats.

oooOOooo

About another week went by before I saw her again. She appeared at my front door one Saturday morning looking irritated. “Sorry, Frank,” she said, “But the damn tap started leaking again.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it's a proper bummer! I don't know what you did, but it only lasted five minutes. I've had to get an emergency plumber in, and he said the washer you used was the wrong type. I've had to pay him £100 to fit the right one.”

“What?! You've paid £100? He's ripped you off, Jessica!”

“What was I to do, Frank? I had to get it urgently fixed, so he came out of hours.”

Surely getting a leaking tap fixed didn't constitute an emergency, but before I could say anything she laid into me. “It seems you misled me about your prowess as a plumber, Frank.”

“Oh, I don't think I gave you the impression that I was an expert. I told you I was an accountant, Jessica.”

“Well, I thought you knew what you were doing, Frank, so I trusted you. More fool me, eh?”

“I'm really sorry, Jessica. I just did the best I could.”

“I suppose you did, Frank, but your best, as you call it, just wasn't good enough, and now I'm £100 lighter. Do you think I can afford to waste £100?”

“No, it's a lot. I'm very sorry!”

“And so you should be, Frank!” She was becoming agitated, unnecessarily so. She continued, “I think it's you who should be paying, not me. If you'd fitted the right washer, I wouldn't have needed to call in someone who actually knew what they were doing.”

“Sorry?! You expect me to pay?”

“Yes, why not?” she hissed.

Then her demeanour softened and, speaking more softly, she continued, “You let me down, darling. Don't you want to share any more beers with me? Hmm? We want to be friendly neighbours, don't we? And I'm a new teacher, on the lowest of the low salaries you could ever possibly imagine, while you seem to have an endless supply of dosh.”

“No! I don't have an endless supply of money. I said I was comfortably off, Jessica.”

“Well, you've got far more than I have, Frank. You seem wealthy to me.”

This was all an exaggeration, but she was putting me on the spot. I should have told her to get lost and slammed the door, or at least firmly explained to her that I wasn't there to pick up her bills.

And then it occurred to me that if she was so impoverished, how could she afford her house. She read my mind. “If you're wondering, I inherited the deposit, and Daddy is helping me with the mortgage, but he can't keep doling out money. He's not as well off as you, Frank, and it would absolutely break his little heart if I had to sell up. He would think he'd failed me. Do you follow?”

Her facial expression had changed again, into one of her seductive poses. She looked at me with pouted lips, waiting for me to reply.

Having a physical relationship with her was beyond my wildest dreams, and I could see no way it would happen, but just spending time with her over a beer was reward in itself. Besides, as she continued to stare at me, waiting for my answer, my penis was starting to engorge. There was something about the assertive way she was treating me that was turning me on.

“Er... you're right, Jessica. I should have done a proper job with the tap, and I don't want your father to think he's failed you, so I'll willingly pay for the plumber.”

“Oh, my God! Will you, Frank?!” she screamed, her face alight with a big smile. “Thank you, darling, you're a real honeybunch! Why don't you pop round this afternoon for a beer—when you bring the money.”

“Yeah, I will,” I laughed, but it was a mirthless laugh intended to cover my embarrassment. “There's no charge for the beer, is there?” I joked, sarcastically, trying to recover the initiative.

It backfired! “Ah... I'd not thought of that, Frank. Shall we agree to another fiver for the beer, making £105 in total? Oh, and my beer as well, so we'll make it £110. Okay? See you later, Frank, darling.”

She walked away, swaying her hips which served to accentuate her shapely bum. How could she get away talking to me like that? But she had, and, as soon as the door was closed, I rushed upstairs, grabbed some tissues, lay down on my bed and wanked as I recalled this latest embarrassing encounter.