The lockdown was entering its sixth week in London, like many I had been furloughed from my job and was staying home. I was luckier than some because I had a garden in which I was spending a great deal of time. London was also experiencing an unseasonably warm spring, which made it more bearable.

A little background to my story, I am Martin a fifty-eight-year-old recently divorced Londoner. As part of my settlement, I had bought my ex-wife out of half of the house and stayed in it. She had shown very little interest in the house and absolutely none in the garden that I had created over the years. 

The garden was really enjoying the benefits of all the attention it was getting because I had time on my hands. One evening I was clearing away some faded Tulips when my neighbour Ann spoke to me over the fence.

“I don’t think I have ever seen your garden look so good.” she complimented me. “I try with mine but it seems such a struggle.”

We began a conversation and I told her not to lose heart and to start small. Gardens were not created overnight.

She went on “And my hands are so sore from constantly washing them and trying to cut back this bush.”

“Wait there I have something that might really help,” I said nipping back into my house.

A friend of mine from Ireland had recently started her own cosmetics business and was trying to break into some niche markets in London. I had quite a few samples of her stuff at my house. I selected the hand cream I was after and headed back to the garden.

“Here try this,” I said to Ann “You don’t need much.” 

Ann held out her hands and I squirted a generous measure onto them. Without thinking I began to rub the cream into her hands and up to her wrists. I was gentle and rubbed the cream in.

“That feels wonderful,” Ann exclaimed.

“I suddenly became aware that I was still holding and rubbing her hands, long after I had coated them both. Ann didn’t make any attempt to pull them away. In fact, she did the opposite. She leaned over the fence and kissed me on the lips.

“God, you have no idea how long it has been since anybody touched me. She sighed. I leaned over and kissed her again.

“Where is Dave?” I asked

“Passed out on the sofa, again. He has been drinking since lunchtime, he is not coping with this lockdown.”

Dave was her husband. We had always got on well, in a neighbourly manner, never close, but polite and helpful to one another. That was until Brexit.

The rift that had torn Britain apart had also soured relations between me and Dave. I was always in favour of a bigger closer Europe and saw all the benefits that it brought. I was more than aware of the EU’s failings but I hoped saw the bigger picture. Dave went the other way and became angrier and angrier as the process dragged on. It got to the point that I actually avoided him rather than get into another fight.

Dave’s anger also took its toll on Ann, but she dealt with it by taking more care of herself. She had always been an attractive woman I thought, but in recent months had begun to blossom. She had started getting fit again. She had taken up cycling. There is no denying it she liked great in her lycra and I had begun to pay a lot more attention to her. She had let her reddish hair grow longer and had it cut in a much more flattering style.

Still holding Ann’s hand I knew now was the moment.

“Come over?” I asked. Our houses were part of a long terrace with adjoining gardens, we shared a common driveway to the rear of the property.

Ann’s face showed she was making a decision. On one hand whether to observe the strict rules of the lockdown and on the other a chance at an escape. She walked towards her back gate and I met her at mine.

Confidently she walked up my garden path and into my house. I closed the door.

In seconds we were in each other's arms, kissing passionately. I pulled her t-shirt over her head, her bra was much sexier than I had expected. My hands went to Ann's tits, I felt her nipples harden.

Ann’s hand went for my shorts and they soon joined her T-shirt on the floor, My boxer shorts were doing a rubbish job hiding my erection. Ann’s hand found my length. God this felt good.

Ann opened her jeans and pulled them down. I was surprised to see that she was wearing a matching sexy thong. My hands went to her bum as I kissed her.

Ann quickly shed her knickers, revealing a small neatly trimmed strip of reddish-brown hair between her legs.

“Take me to bed now,” Ann demanded.

We rushed upstairs, there were no preliminaries, no foreplay just straight to the fucking. Missionary style, I entered her and began thrusting. Ann was soaking wet and I slid in easily encountering no resistance.

We fucked like teenagers and both came quickly. Lying side by side afterwards as we caught our breath, I asked about Dave.

“He will be passed out all evening, snoring on the sofa, He won’t even know I was gone,” Ann replied before taking my cock into her mouth to get me ready for round two.

Later as dusk was falling I walked Ann to the back gate and kissed her goodnight. As I turned to return to my house I looked up to see Iris, my eighty-three-year-old neighbour, on the other side standing in her window giving me a massive thumbs up. Iris never missed a thing on that street.