My next door neighbors Mr and Mrs Malcolm were good neighbors, in every sense of the word. They were polite and courteous, they kept to themselves, minded their own business, and when my mom had just returned from hospital after having surgery, Mrs Malcolm went out of her way to help. She brought us food and went shopping for us and even helped with the housework one day.

Mr Malcolm was a bit of a cold fish and not as personable as his wife Annette, but he was very handy around the house and he and dad had several different projects going and would help each other in the fall and winter with the yard work and general maintenance.

Annette Malcolm was something different. She was something else entirely. She was the hot girl next door, except she wasn’t a girl, she was all woman. As a horny teenager I used to fantasize about us being together and her doing the dirtiest things imaginable to me. I started having longer showers because of her, as well as having to wash my bed sheets every day. My mom thought that I had relapsed into my childhood habit of wetting the bed, which in a way I was, except it was different this time.

She thought that I was under stress at school and being bullied, which I was a little bit, but every kid is bullied at some point of their life. She spoke to Mrs Malcolm about it, much to my mortification. I saw them from my bedroom window, speaking in the Malcolm’s front yard, and I was certain that Annette knew the truth, that I wasn’t a bed-wetter but was having horny dreams about her. Every time she looked at me or greeted me when I skateboarded past her house, I was certain that she knew the truth.

For three years Mrs Malcolm graced my dreams. Even when I was dating her daughter Farah, I still dreamed of Annette. I felt awful guilty one night after having sex with Farah, really getting into it and then seeing her mother’s face, imagining I was doing her instead. Of course I never told Farah about this. I’d be the world’s biggest jerk, as well as the world’s biggest idiot.

Farah and I split up when it came time to go to college. I stayed local and went to Ohio State whereas she went to California, though it was always fun during the break when we were both home. She informed me one night after we’d had sex that she had a boyfriend back in California. I was shocked and horrified at first but quickly got over it when she started sucking me back to life.

Farah didn’t come home the following summer, which was a shame because I had spent nearly the whole semester looking forward to screwing her again. The second day I was back I went next door to see Farah. Mrs Malcolm answered the door and I inquired after her daughter.

“Oh sweetie,” she said apologetically. “Farah’s engaged and staying with her fiancé’s parents for the summer. Did she not tell you?” she asked. Clearly I hadn’t been informed because shock must’ve registered on my face. “It’s all very hush-hush actually. We didn’t even know she had a boyfriend until two months ago. And then last week she tells us she’s engaged,” Annette laughed. “Oh well, would you like to come in anyway? You can tell me all about your college life.”

She ushered me into the house and we sat at the kitchen table for a couple of hours. She was asking me questions which I was politely answering, yet it was hard to ignore the sudden blood rush to my pants region. Sitting across from me was a very attractive women wearing the tightest pair of yoga pants and a little singlet, of which I could make out the curve of her breasts against the fabric.

Two painstaking hours later and Mr Malcolm had arrived home, grunting at me in greeting. He didn’t much like me to begin with, but he started liking me less and less when I was involved with Farah throughout High School. Secretly I think he was glad when Farah and I went our separate ways after school had ended.

Mrs Malcolm stood and walked with me to the front door, hugging me goodbye. It was great to have her pressed against my body and to feel her tits against my chest, but it was hell at the same time.

“Pauly, wait,” she said, walking to catch up with me as I headed to my house. “I know you and Farah were close. Well, of course you were close,” she said, laughing a little. “I spent three years of my life listening to you two going at it. I can tell that I shocked you when I told you of Farah’s engagement. If you want to talk about it or your feelings, you know where to find me.” And then she hugged me once more, pressing those great tits of hers against me again. I was in heaven.

I almost ran across the front lawn to my house after that, gunning it upstairs to my bedroom where I rubbed one out thinking of Annette and how it felt to have her tits pressed against me. It didn’t take me long to cum. It never did when Mrs Malcolm was involved.

Truth be told, I was slightly scared to take her up on her offer. Apart from my wild crush on her, our relationship wasn’t very strong outside of the perfunctory neighbor relationship. We greeted each other when needed, asked politely about the other’s life and chatted when necessary, but that was it. Not even when I was dating Farah did the relationship flourish. It never could properly flourish because every time I was in Mrs Malcolm’s presence, all I could think of was her naked and the dreams I had of her. It was really awkward.

And then two weeks later, after I had been very carefully avoiding her during the day and dreaming of her at night, my mom told me that Mrs Malcolm had asked after me.

“What did she want?” I asked.

“She wanted you to help with something around the house. Mr Malcolm has a bad back so can’t do it,” mom explained. Mr Malcolm was about ten years older than his wife, and while it wasn’t anything major or radical, it was starting to become more apparent now as he left middle age behind. His wife was blossoming in her maturity, while he was being left on the side-lines. Part of me felt sorry for him, but then the other part of me was too busy laughing at him. Mrs Malcolm was forty-eight and looking better than ever, while her husband Doug was nearing sixty.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go over after lunch.”

I couldn’t exactly refuse to help her, that would be rude and then mom would know that something was up. I wasn’t exactly subtle with my admiration of Mrs Malcolm, especially when she went power-walking past our house in tight leggings and a singlet. I liked to watch her from the kitchen window. One day, dad joined me, but that was the only time. He got an earful from mom after that. Mom liked Mrs Malcolm, but disagreed with her choice of attire, and told dad and I about this often.

So, after lunch, I headed next door to see what Mrs Malcolm needed help with, getting myself into the right head-space, trying to force her tits and hot body out of my mind, trying not to remember how it felt when she hugged me. Anytime I felt as if I was losing focus and thinking of Mrs Malcolm in a sexual way, then I’d just think about physics or chemistry, the least sexy things in the world. It was going to be tough, but I was confident that I could control myself.

I was confident right up until she answered the door. When she stood there in the doorway, wearing tight leggings and a tank top, my confidence diminished. I hoped that whatever problem she had would be a quick solve because the way my thoughts were racing through my head and the blood was rushing downstairs, I wouldn’t make ten minutes.

“Hi Pauly,” she greeted enthusiastically. She hugged me again and pressed her tits against my chest. I was now down to five minutes. “How are you?” she asked.

“I’m good thank you Mrs Malcolm,” I managed to answer, hoping that I didn’t sound like a slobbering idiot. “What d'you need help with?”

“There are a couple of light-bulbs that need fixing, and then I was wondering if you could fix the bathroom cabinet?” she asked. “Doug would normally do it, but he’s got a bad back.”

“I’d be glad to help,” I said. I went into the house and Mrs Malcolm showed me the light-bulbs that needed replacing, nothing major. Their house was fairly modern and had high ceilings, so Mrs Malcolm went and got a ladder from the garage and held it steady while I was up there fixing the light-bulbs. She had all the supplies ready, it was just a matter of taking the old lights out and putting the new ones in. “Where’s Mr Malcolm?” I inquired.

“At the doctor, getting his back seen to. He had to go out of town to see a specialist,” she said.

Mrs Malcolm chatted away, telling me what Farah was up to and telling me about other kids I'd gone to school with. Several of mine and Farah’s classmates she still saw around, telling me that she always made a point of greeting them and asking how they were. Mrs Malcolm always was very popular with the boys. I finished replacing the light-bulbs and then Mrs Malcolm showed me the bathroom cabinet that needed fixing. It had fallen off its hinges.

“So Pauly, do you have a girlfriend?” she inquired as I took out some screws, kneeling on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

“No I don’t. Not right now,” I replied. It was easier to ignore Mrs Malcolm from down here. While I was up on the ladder, every time I looked down to get the light-bulbs she handed up to me, I got a great view of her tits.

“You’re a great catch,” she said. “What about Farah’s friend Nina, she always had a bit of a thing for you. You should give her a call.”

“I don’t think I’m Nina’s type,” I replied. Well, not anymore I wasn’t.

“What do you mean? You’re every girls’ type,” Mrs Malcolm said. She didn’t understand what I was getting at.

“Nina and I play for the same team,” I answered, hoping that that would throw some light on it, but Mrs Malcolm returned my statement with a blank stare. “She’s a lesbian.”

“Oh right,” Mrs Malcolm said, nodding in understanding. She gave a little nervous laugh and then quickly changed the subject, asking me about other kids from school, and if I was still in contact. It would have been easier for me if she wasn’t there, her incessant nattering was starting to get on my nerves a little, and my plan of thinking about chemistry wasn’t working. All I could think about were her great tits.

I finished the tasks she gave me and was keen to get out of there, but Mrs Malcolm had other ideas.

“Please stay for coffee,” she said. I saw a pleading look in her eyes so I agreed. I had to. I couldn’t refuse. I sat down at the small round table in the kitchen while Mrs Malcolm put the jug on and got two mugs out, filling them with coffee granules. Once the jug had boiled she filled the cups with hot water and sat down opposite me at the table.

She didn’t say anything for a while, but I could tell that she wanted to speak to me, she just couldn’t find the words. “This is nice,” she said after a while. I thought it was incredibly awkward, but each to their own I guess. “I have very few friends and no one I can really talk to.”

“I always thought you rather popular,” I said. Her sudden confiding in me had caught me off-guard and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Giving advice had never been my forte.

Mrs Malcolm gave a small smile. “You’re sweet to say so Pauly, but I mean people I can talk to, friends I can trust. I don’t have very many real friends and women tend to not like me, but I can trust you though, can’t I Pauly?” she asked. I nodded my head.

“When Doug and I first started dating, I never noticed the age gap. Well, ten years isn’t that much of a gap, and we got along great. We were two kids in love. He was coming out of a bad first marriage, but when we met I was twenty-two and I made him feel young and happy again. He forgot all about his first wife and what she had done to him. He used to love the way I dressed and acted. Every day he told me that he was the luckiest man alive.”

She sighed before continuing her spiel.

“But now, with Farah all grown up and off at college and Doug thinking about retirement, he’s grumpy all the time and short of temper with me. We had a pretty big argument last week. I went to a work function with him and he told me that he didn’t like the way I dressed and that it was embarrassing for him when I paraded in public dressed like I was ten years younger.” She was very clearly emotional about the subject and I felt a slight pity for her.

“Doug turns fifty-nine soon, which isn’t that old, but I find myself seeing the age gap between us more and more now. I like to be active and social and put myself out there, try new things and go to new places, while Doug would rather stay at home and watch sports or do a crossword. If we go out to dinner with friends or go to parties, we’re usually always home by nine. Doug has the same routine, he hasn’t changed his routine or been spontaneous in fifteen years,” Mrs Malcolm said. I just sat there, not saying anything, taking this all in. She needed to release her pent up emotions and frustrations and I let her.

“You know?” she said. “It’s the same thing day in day out, the same hum-drum existence. In bed by nine thirty, up at six. For breakfast he’ll have plain, bran cereal and a cup of weak, milky coffee, read the morning paper and complain about the state of events and then he’ll go to work. He rings me every day at one o’clock when he’s on a lunch break, gives me a brief overview of the day’s events while he eats a tuna salad sandwich. He’ll finish work at four thirty, be home by five, have dinner at six thirty.and then afterwards he’ll have one glass of wine, which is always red. He'll settle down to watch television and then it’s off to bed, to do it all over again the next day. 

“When we first married, I loved his routine and natural organisation. It worked great because I was such a scatter brain. He tempered out my natural chaotic side but now I find it so boring. And yet Doug is content. He wants for nothing, he told me so the other day when I asked him about it. But he can’t be entirely content if he’s picking fights with me for no reason.” She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. Her unloading of her personal life was over, it seemed, and I could see the look of relief on her face. It seemed that she really needed to talk to someone.

“Have you talked to Doug about it?” I cautiously suggested. I’ve never been good at this advice thing.

“Several times,” she admitted. “But it always ends up in an argument. Doug’s very narrow-minded and set in his ways. I need fun and excitement. I can’t stand not doing anything, while Doug’s fine to sit around for hours watching television or doing a puzzle. I love Doug, of course I do, but our marriage is very trying at the moment.”

“Do you think he’s frustrated? Perhaps he sees himself as the old man and you as the young, attractive wife?” I offered awkwardly. The last time I had given someone advice it had ended in a breakup, I just hoped that what I'd said to Mrs Malcolm was helpful.

She smiled at me, reached across the table, grabbed my hand and stroked the skin across my knuckles. Her fingers were so delicate and her touch so soft, I was aroused. “You’re kind to say that. Perhaps Doug is frustrated, but he never talks about his feelings. He’s your typical, Midwest blue collar worker. He works hard, he loves his family and his house, but he never talks about what’s going on behind the scenes. He thinks that if a man breaks the barrier and talks about feelings then he’s weak,” she said.

I understood, of course I did. My grandfather was the same, it’s a generation thing. My grandfather was a man’s man. Work was completed to a high-standard, beer was drunk cold, women prepared the food and feelings were rarely touched upon. But I didn’t voice this comparison for fear of upsetting Mrs Malcolm. Comparing someone’s husband to your grandfather isn’t the best idea.

“And,” Mrs Malcolm said, not finished with her emotional unloading, “we haven’t had sex in ten months. Ten months Pauly. I have needs, I am a woman. Every time I try to initiate something he either ignores my signals or turns me down.” She sighed and ran a finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “You must think I’m a terrible person,” she said.

“No, no I don’t,” I replied. She squeezed my hand gently and I felt my cock pulse inside my shorts. She continued to hold my hand across the table for the rest of the short conversation while we finished our coffee. My plan of thinking about chemistry and physics was long ago abandoned. It was hard to do that while she sat there, looking incredibly hot in her workout attire, stroking my hand with her long delicate fingers.

And then I had the image of her delicate fingers wrapped around my cock. I had to get out of here now, to save us both some embarrassment. I stood up abruptly, perhaps a bit too abruptly. “Thanks for the coffee Mrs Malcolm, I should probably be going now,” I said, speaking fast. It didn’t even make sense to me, so I can only imagine what it sounded like to her.

“Pauly wait,” Mrs Malcolm said. I had nearly made it to the front door and to freedom when she caught up with me. I decided that I’d rather face the embarrassment of having Mrs Malcolm see me with a hard-on than leave so abruptly and rudely. “Why are you leaving? Oh,” she said when she saw the bulge in my pants. I looked sheepishly at the floor, unable to give her eye contact. “It’s okay Pauly. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Well it’s nothing to be too thrilled about either right now,” I replied.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the neighbor, my mom’s friend and also the mother of my high school girlfriend,” I replied.

“So?” shrugged Mrs Malcolm. “Nobody else needs to know apart from us.” And with that she took me by the hand, leading me away from the front door and sitting me down on the sofa in the living room. My head was spinning. Is this leading where I think it is ? When she pulled my pants down, and then my boxers, my dick breaking free of its confines, it confirmed that yes, this was leading where I thought it was.

She was enthusiastic, that was for sure. She set to the task with such zeal, licking around the head of my dick and then licking up and down the shaft. She gently trailed her tongue over each of my balls and an involuntary moan escaped my lips. She licked the underside of the shaft and gently sucked on the head of my cock. She looked up at me with those sweet light brown eyes and I was in heaven. This was better than any dream I’d ever had of Mrs Malcolm.

She sucked gently on the head with her warm tongue, her brown gaze never leaving my hazel eyes. She eased her mouth off me, licked up and down and all around the shaft and base. She licked my balls again, gently rotating the tip of her tongue in little circular motions across each of them, which made me shudder. She sucked me once more, taking more and more of my cock into her warm mouth. She put her hands on my hips and tried to force herself further down on me.

She bobbed her head up and down, suctioning with her mouth, her tongue, every now and then moving around as best as it could. I started thrusting my hips into her mouth and at first she started gagging but then she managed to find a rhythm, taking my cock all the way. She moved her right hand from where it rested on my hips and swept it down until she found my balls, rubbing them and fondling them, gently squeezing them. I wasn’t going to last much longer, and I think Mrs Malcolm knew that. I had been holding off cumming ever since she first touched my dick, but now I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold off for much longer. If I had it my way this would have lasted forever, but my cum was boiling in my balls and I needed that release.

I lasted another minute or so with Mrs Malcolm sucking my dick and playing with my balls, before she squeezed them gently.

“Oh shit,” I said. I tensed and twitched and with that, I shot my load down her throat. She kept her mouth wrapped around me and sucked me dry. When I ceased to cum she leaned back, her gaze never leaving mine, and she swallowed. She sat back on the floor, a grin on her face.

“Well, that was quite fun,” she said. I nodded my head, spent for the moment. Mrs Malcolm grinned. She stood up and slowly started undressing. She had a great body for her age. She was fit and toned and clearly took great care of herself.

Her tits, though not as perky as they perhaps may have been in her youth, were still great. She would have been a D cup. Her areola was dark and her nipples were hard and pointy. She then took off her sports leggings and stood in just her plain blue panties. She took them off and stood in front of me, in all her naked glory. My eyes roved over her body, from the great tits to the light covering of red hair between her legs. Despite how spent I was I felt myself start to stir again and Mrs Malcolm noticed, giggling like a schoolgirl.

She sat down on the floor in front of me, except this time she lay back on the carpet and spread her legs so I saw everything. She was wet and glistening, her labia spread slightly and her clitoris only just visible. She sat up and looked at me, motioning for a couch cushion. I gave her one, neither of us saying anything. Apparently the fun was far from over. She put the cushion on the floor and then rested her head on it. With her now slightly elevated instead of flat on the ground, I had a better view of her chest and face.

She started playing with her tits, rubbing and grabbing them, moving them in large circular motions. Her nipples stood erect through her fingers and I heard her sigh. She pulled on her left nipple, and then her right, mashing them between two fingers, pulling them and rolling them. I was hard again in no time, as I watched the live show. While her left hand was playing with her nipples, her right hand trailed down to her pussy.

She rubbed her clitoris first, very gently, taking small strokes, moaning a little and sighing every now and then. She dipped two fingers inside her and then pulled them out. She raised her head slightly and smiled when she saw my expression. This apparently was encouragement enough as she pushed the two fingers inside again and gently worked them back and forth. It was so hot as I watched her play with her nipples and finger herself. Her moans were getting louder and louder and I realized that it must have been a while since she last had an orgasm because she was building up fast. She stopped playing with her tits and used her now free hand to swirl her clitoris round and round while her other two fingers moved in and out of her.

Her hips started rolling with the motion and then she moaned loudly and I knew then that she had reached her peak. I got down on the floor with her, gently pulling the fingers out of her pussy and replacing it with my cock. It slid in easily enough, Mrs Malcolm being well lubricated. I held her hips and slammed into her and she kept on playing with her clit while I screwed her on the living room floor. It wasn’t long before we were both cumming for a second time as I shot my second load deep into her.

I pulled out and lay down next to her on the carpet.

“Thank you Pauly,” she said. “You had no idea how much I needed that.”

“You needed it a lot, I could tell,” I replied.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I did. Thank you.” She stood up and started to dress again, a smile across her face. She was beaming, very happy and satisfied. I also dressed, glad that I'd decided to come over and help Mrs Malcolm, and not just with the odd jobs around the house. “Your payment,” she said, reaching for her purse on the side table.

I put my hand up to stop her. “I’ve been paid enough, thank you Mrs Malcolm,” I smiled.
She led me to the front door, but before opening it she kissed me fully on the mouth and rubbed me through my pants. “I may have some more work for you around the house in the future, if Doug’s back problems persist,” she said, her light brown eyes daring and seductive. I beamed in response and then went back next door to sleep. It seems my dreams had just come true.

Author's Note: Please check out my other stories, and my profile page.