There he was out there, hot in the heat, while I hid half-dressed in the air-conditioned darkness of my kitchen. I cupped a breast, flicked at a nipple with my thumb, and daydreamed about how his cock might feel between my legs. 

A slow cold flow from the hose that Ryan held high above his head splashed down onto his face, his chest, his neck, his shoulders (oh God those shoulders), and down his back across his Speedo-painted butt. If that didn’t give him goosebumps, it gave me enough for the two of us. 

How could anyone be out there washing their car in this heat and humidity, I wondered, slapping a sponge across its body, so soapy, sudsy, slick and slippery, making something dirty into something…dirtier…. 

Then reality called from only fifteen steps away: “Hey Babe! You in the kitchen? Wanna fetch me a beer?” 

“No” would have been my typical answer, but something needed to be done to finish my daydream – you know, finish my daydream – so I brought him a cold one, straddled him in his chair, and ground my pretty panties onto his crotch. 

“Whatcha watchin’?” 

“The game.” He seemed to be annoyed but that wouldn’t last. 

I popped open the can and took a few gulps. “Here’s your beer.” 

“Thanks. Could you move? I can’t see.” 

"Uh, huh,” I said, nibbling his neck and ear. 

“Thanks. You still in your T-shirt and panties? Babe, you know I love the look but shouldn't you be dressed by now?” 

Shouldn't you be getting your own fucking beer by now? “You’re right. Whatever shall I wear,” I teased while slowly stripping away my shirt. I like my tits, and I thought Bobby liked them too. 

“Dammit, Lisa! You made me miss the play!” 

He promised me we’d go to the Olive Garden after the game was over. I smacked him with my shirt and yelled, “Fuck the Olive Garden,” at him, which gives you an idea about how mad I was and ran off back to the kitchen window. 

Ryan was still out there with his car. I got to thinking that maybe I should be a good neighbor and maybe brave the heat and maybe offer him a nice cold beer, maybe two, and maybe hang out to keep him company. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…. 

My old tiny black two-piece that I dug out from the back of my dresser drawer seemed a little snug; the bottoms left more of my ass exposed than I remembered, which was fine, and I didn't bother to fish it out of my crack more than once.  Topping everything off with a giant wide-brimmed straw hat and oversized sunglasses made me seriously look like one of those rich ladies you find at fancy beach resorts. Not wanting to start things off too obvious or eager, I covered myself up with one of Bobby’s jerseys. 

Once I was outside, it only took me a few struts to get my hips swaying and swinging at full steam. Ryan seemed puzzled as I approached carrying two little pails of ice, beer, and tequila. 

“Want some help, neighbor?” 

“No thanks, I'm good.” 

“Want a beer?” 

“Sure.” 

“Tequila?” 

“Not right now.” 

“Me?” 

“I still don't date married women.” 

I popped open a can, took a sip, and handed it to him. “Don’t let my ring bother you.” 

“Okay, then, I don't date older women.” 

“That was uncalled for,” I pouted. “How old do you think I am?” 

Ryan soaked his sponge and turned his back toward me as he resumed soaping up his car. Being dismissed sucked, but God, that butt! His muscles rippled and his glutes flexed as he stretched across the roof. I wanted to slap that ass, bite it, rub against and reach around it for the prize on the other side. 

“For the record, I’m thirty-one,” I lied. 

“You’re thirty-five.” He splashed his sponge back in the pail without turning around. “Don’t post shit that you don’t want people to know.” 

“Busted.” I'm actually thirty-six but whatever. 

The shade of the huge maple tree that straddled our yards did almost nothing to lessen the effects of the heat. Perspiration glistened on my skin and sweat beaded across his back. I swiped away some of his sweat before steadying myself on his hip (I swear, just his hip) and lifted a long-neck beer out of the ice. 

“Open it for me?” I made a show of fluttering my lashes when he looked. His head shook, but a smile escaped as he twisted off the cap. 

“And how old are you?” I ventured. “Twenty-five? Twenty-six?” 

We stood there, nose to nose: “I'm twenty-two.” 

Twenty-fucking-two. "Really?” 

Ryan slowly nodded and told me to hand him the hose. I gave him my sexiest look, lifted the hose high above my head, and splashed the cold stream all over me, making my jersey cling tightly against my overheated body. 

“C’mon, Lisa, will you just let me wash my car?” 

“Humph!” I let the hose fall, stomped away, stomped back for my buckets, and stomped away again. “Hey!” I shouted over my shoulder and, refusing to give up, tossed him another can. 

Back in the house, I lobbed another beer into Bobby’s lap. He didn’t notice that his wife was soaking wet, but he didn’t notice earlier either, so fuck him. I told him I was going to wash the car when he asked what I was up to. 

“In this heat? Uh, you don’t need a hand with that, do you?” 

Yes. “No thanks.” I ditched my drenched jersey in the corner of the bathroom, grabbed my keys and some sunscreen, and drove the car around back. 

I slammed the car door hard to make sure Ryan knew that his helpful neighbor had returned, even though driving a car through the yard probably made that pretty clear anyway. His car looked a lot newer than ours, but whatever. 

Ryan acted like he hadn’t noticed me, which was impossible, and pretended to be surprised when I tapped him on the shoulder, offering up a beer. He declined, pointing at the unopened one next to him on the ground, but he did accept a swig of my chilled tequila. I planted a soft peck on his lips, which he didn’t return, then apologized for hitting him with the brim of my ginormous hat. 

I set the ice buckets halfway between our cars and proceeded to ‘wash’ mine with a stealthily stolen pail of his soapy water. “Tell me again why we're out in this heat washing our cars and not snuggling in an air-conditioned bedroom?” 

“They're dirty.” 

Dirty, dirty, dirty. 

Washing cars has always been more of a spectator sport. Even back in high school when we’d have car-washing fundraisers, I was the one in the wet t-shirt holding up the sign, and not the one actually doing the work – smart, right? 

This wasn’t any different, so I hopped onto my hood to watch (OK, ogle) the one doing the work, but damned if it wasn’t hot as hell on there from being out in the sun. Ryan laughed, which pissed me off but at least it proved that he was watching me too. I cried, “Ow, ow, ow” all the way over to him. “Kiss it better?” 

He puckered up like he might actually do it, but rudely hit me with a cold shot from the hose. 

“Hey! I said kiss it better!” 

He quit laughing and wrapped his arms under my stomach, doubling me over and lifting me a few inches above the ground for a short peck on one cheek. “Better?” 

“Sure,” I sighed. Figuring that this was my big chance, I slipped my hands under the backside of his Speedo. 

“Hey!” He backed away, scowling.  

“Sorry, not sorry,” I giggled and chased him a bit playing grab-ass and grab-whatever-else I could, thinking we were having fun. 

But then he hollered at me something like, “Enough!” and, “why the hell do you have to be like that,” and stormed off into his house. 

All stunned and confused and not knowing what else to do, I plodded over to my car and dully slapped a soapy sponge across it, wondering whether I was more stupid or foolish. With every flirt, every peek, every finger that I poked beneath my panties, it never once occurred to me that he'd say ‘no.’ 

It was definitely too hot for me to stay outside feeling sorry for myself when I could be just as miserable in the cool indoors, so I picked up my buckets to go home. But then Ryan came back out, in swim trunks instead of Speedos, carrying a cooler filled with more ice and beers. He shook my little buckets into it, twisted open two bottles, and handed me one. 

It was my turn to be puzzled, but I didn’t say anything except, “Thanks.” 

I sat cross-legged on the ground at his feet, outwardly indifferent yet inwardly delighted and relieved. “Nice trunks. Can’t leave 'em dry, right?” Ryan barely flinched as I used his hose to re-wet his mid-section. 

He sat down next to me in the cold, wet grass and took a couple of swigs of his beer. “Why do you do that stuff?” 

“I dunno. It’s hot. I was just cooling you down again.” Also, I wanted to see what his junk looked like under his wet shorts. 

“No, I mean all of this.” 

I didn’t really understand his question, I guess, and told him I was just messing around is all. 

“I like you, Lisa,” he told me, “I really do.” 

Damned if it didn't feel like he was breaking up with me. If he was going to say we could be friends I would have either started bawling or throwing things or both. I took a good swig of tequila to brace myself. 

He took the bottle from me. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.” 

My heart raced when I thought we were finally going to get naked but it sank when instead he retrieved shot glasses, a saltshaker, and a lime from a pouch on the cooler. “Let’s get rid of that shit tequila of yours - get mine out of the cooler.” I huffed at him but did what I was told. 

“You ever do tequila shots the right way?” He handed me the shot glasses and had me pour, while he cut some wedges from the lime. I was too embarrassed to answer but thankfully he didn’t give me much time anyway. “That’s okay,” he said, “it’s like this.” He held the lime wedge, licked his hand between the thumb and finger, then sprinkled some salt there. “Ready?” He licked off the salt, downed the shot, then bit into the lime. “Your turn.” 

I had seen that in movies but never done it myself. “Like this?” I cupped his hand in both of mine and gave it a slow, sensual lick, tasting the bit of salt he left behind, or maybe it was his sweat. I sprinkled on some more and took my sweet time again licking away the salty patch, then threw back the tequila (which tasted a whole lot better than mine) and flicked my tongue against his palm before biting the lime away from his grip. 

“Not exactly what I showed you, but there’s no arguing with success.” 

More pleased with his compliment than I should have been, I moved my face close to his but waited to see if he’d lean toward me. Our lips met for a tender, almost chaste, kiss. I opened my mouth, just a little, and barely touched his lip with the tip of my tongue. He opened up and we dove into each other, kissing like sixteen-year-olds on the living room sofa. He broke the kiss with me wanting a lot more. 

“I’m glad we did that,” I eventually said. “I like how you kiss.” My fantasies had not included kissing, for some dumb reason. 

He stood up looking like he was going to do something, and even though his cock was inches from my face, and was no longer resting peacefully against his leg, I fought the urge, this time, to molest it. 

“I need more sunscreen,” he said. “Do you want some more sunscreen?” 

Climbing to my knees (and brushing the grass from my cold, mostly bare ass), I retrieved my tube of no-name lotion from the ice. He looked like he didn’t trust me, and I admit I hadn’t given him any reason to. I tossed my hat away like a Frisbee because, as high-class as it made me look, it was getting in the way. 

Dabbing a little lotion from my palm onto two fingers and, innocently (enough) pressing my chest against his, I drew twin lines of sunscreen across his forehead and down each cheek, slowly, methodically caressing the cream into his skin, our faces near enough for me to smell the beer and liquor on his breath. It was kind of funny but in some way, we were too close to kiss. 

A zig-zagged line of lotion across his back looked like mustard on a hot dog bun, and I eagerly worked it into those shoulders and down his sides – that slender twenty-two-year-old waist that was too young for love handles. He moaned a little and told me it felt nice. That was so much more intimate than mauling his crotch, and, maybe even sort of affectionate, rubbing the sunscreen around his back, and arms, and each long finger on those strong hands. 

I placed the long neck of his beer against his lips. “Don’t let it get warm,” I warned, as I pushed it past his teeth and tipped it straight up. 

He gulped some down then slapped it away with a little cough. “Are you trying to drown me?” 

“If I did, then I’d have to give you mouth-to-mouth.” I put it back to his tightly shut lips. “I promise not to make you gag this time.” He reluctantly relented, and this time one mouthful, and then another, was swallowed without incident. “You don’t have to make me that promise, you know; it takes a lot to make me gag.” 

That made a really good idea pop into my head. “Hey - wanna see a party trick?” I tipped my face forward, pushed the neck down my throat, and flipped my head back so that the bottle emptied itself right into my stomach. I spit the bottle out onto the ground and waited for his reaction. 

“We do not go to the same parties,” he said, shaking his head, obviously impressed. 

“I know, right?” I took more time lotioning his chest than was needed, playing with his nipples, outlining his abs and taunting his waistband. I was a little envious of his very flat stomach but reminded myself how sexy my little belly was. His chest was almost hairless, and I asked him if he shaved, wondering if he shaved anywhere else. 

“No, that’s all there is. My family isn’t really hairy.” 

“That’s okay,” I said quietly, fluffing the sticky hairs up and painting them back down again. “They’re soft. Nice.” 

“Alright,” Ryan said abruptly, “I think that’s enough sunscreen.” 

I handed him the tube and turned my back to him for my turn. He unexpectedly turned me back to face him and took my sunglasses to hold between his teeth. He lifted up my face by the chin and our eyes locked as he dabbed lotion along one cheekbone, up over the bridge of my nose, and across the other side. Then he gave me a firm, gentle facial, the actual good kind, which kind of made me melt. 

Ryan put my sunglasses back on, kissed me just below the collar bone, then applied some sunscreen across my chest and down the valley between my breasts. Keeping some space between our bodies, he massaged my shoulders and back. “Do you and, uh, your husband do this? Rub sunscreen on each other, I mean.” 

“Bobby,” I added. 

“Yeah, Bobby, I know what his name is.” Ryan sounded irritated. 

“Maybe we don’t talk about Bobby. Why does it matter?” 

“Because I don’t date married women.” 

He kept rubbing the lotion on me, so I risked asking him what he thought about dating older women. 

“I’m in the middle of re-thinking that one. And for the record, you look twenty-nine.” 

I gave him a happy little kiss. Wishing that I had brought lip balm, I wet my lips with a piece of ice, and then his lips, and then we shared the rest of it as it melted in our mouths. 

Afraid that I’d do something to chase him away again (ignoring for once the slut who was screaming in my head) I suggested that we should make sure I had that tequila-shot thing down right. 

Happy for the break, I think, Ryan and I shared my open beer while I got the stuff together and filled the shot glass. “Don’t say anything until I’m done. I don’t want any hints. OK? We’ll do yours first. 

“First, we lick next to your thumb.” We bumped heads with our tongues sticking out. “Oh! Sorry, my mistake, you go,” I giggled, making as if I needed his help. He licked the salt that I sprinkled and reached for the tequila, which I promptly poured into my mouth and kissed into his. 

“How’d I do?” 

“You forgot the lime – still technically incorrect and yet somehow still successful.” 

Triumphant, I swaggered and staggered to Ryan’s car and plopped onto the ground, leaning against the door. “Do my feet.” 

Ryan popped open a can and sat spread-eagle in front of me, lifting my leg onto his lap. He squirted out some lotion and proceeded to mash my foot with those big strong hands of his. I didn’t know if someone could fucking cum from a foot rub, but it felt like I might find out. I playfully scooched forward and tried to hump his foot. 

He bent his leg up away from me and said, “we’ll not have any of that, young lady.” 

Aww. The twenty-two-year-old called me ‘young lady.’ 

Ryan switched to my other foot, and I softly moaned as he massaged my heel, the arch, and each little piggy. 

“Doesn’t Bobby do this?” 

Why did he keep bringing up my husband? “Not too often and not nearly as well.” I closed my eyes and lightly tap-tap-tapped the back of my head against his car. There were lots of things Bobby didn’t do too often, or well, but I didn’t want to get into any of that. 

I reluctantly lifted my foot away and climbed onto my knees, between Ryan’s legs. I waddled closer, draped my arms around his neck and gave him a look. “I believe my tits need a little sun.”  

I pushed down on his shoulders to get myself standing and headed for the cooler. “Watch,” I said and poured a shot. “Lick, salt, lick, drink, lime.” Then I turned my back to him, unclasped and dropped my top, then spun back around with a flourish and a bounce: “Ta-da!” 

Ryan had the nerve to tell me I was drunk. 

“You’ve had as much as me.” Neither one of us was sober enough to even wash a car, I think. “Would you like to lotion up my titties?” Yes, I actually called them ‘titties.’ 

He stood up and swung my arm over my head, whirling my back into his chest, ending up with our arms crossed in an embrace below my breasts. He held me captive as he sloppily nibbled and sucked on my neck. 

Grinding my ass against his crotch knocked us off-balance and we almost fell, but he caught me as if we had rehearsed it; like he had dipped me while dancing. When he slowly lowered us to the ground, I thought that this was it, he was finally going to unblock his cock and fuck me like I wanted. 

“We need to cool down,” he said. 

“No, baby, we really don’t,” I pleaded, but any touching was good touching. 

He laid some ice on my belly button that was so cold it almost hurt but he made me keep it there.  

He melted more ice under my bikini bottom, holding it there until all the frigid water pooled in the crevices between my lips and thighs. I warmed his fingers inside me and told him, “You will never, ever have enough ice to cool this.” 

Ryan wetted a larger piece of ice in his mouth and drew it along my neck, over my throat and between my breasts. He toyed with me by holding the ice just high enough so that my nipple nudged it every time I took a breath. I pressed his hand with the ice firmly against my tit and he took the other one into his warm mouth. I couldn’t decide which I loved more, the fire or the ice, lying on the cold wet ground under the burning sun. 

He straddled me on his knees, squirting hot, watery lotion all over my breasts, quickly warming my witch’s tit as he kneaded the lotion deep into my skin. “That’s what you want – a titty-fuck?" I pushed the girls up and together. “C’mon, drop those trunks and fuck my tits. Let’s see that cock of yours. Fuck ‘em and squirt on ‘em and rub it all in!” 

He grabbed my wrists when I tried to tug his shorts down. I wrested myself free and slapped his hand away when he touched my face. 

“Why the fuck won’t you fuck me?” 

He shushed me. “The neighbors! Your husband!” 

“Fuck the neighbors! Fuck my lard-ass husband! Fuck me!” 

With a low growl, he leaped up and tossed me over his shoulder. He hosed down and mostly cooled off the hood of his car before dumping me there. Yeah, this is it, I was sure, and wriggled my bottoms off, spreading my legs for him as I slid myself toward him. 

He gave me his tongue instead of his cock, holding my ass and lifting me to his mouth as my arms flailed and my hands failed to grip the steel bed that he put me on. He had me up on my shoulders, with my fists pounding on the hood and my pussy pointing toward the hot sun as he ate me like he hated me. A climax built up in my belly and exploded onto his face but that wasn’t all. I didn’t have time to crash before I swear to God my second orgasm started inside his tongue and shuddered up to my tits and back down to my thighs. 

My feet landed unsteadily on the ground after he almost dropped me. His expressionless gaze swept up and down my body. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but there would be no doubts about my thoughts if he would only look. 

I slowly squatted to spread my knees and expose as much of my pussy as much as I could. 

“Do it,” I huffed. 

Ryan took hold of my hips and turned me around, almost slamming my tits onto the hood. One hand held my neck down while the other drove fingers inside – so many fingers. I moaned, almost cumming again. He frustrated me when he withdrew until I saw his trunks land in front of my face. 

He rubbed his cock head around my pussy lips, then up and down my slit, slick with the day’s want. 

“Do it.” 

But he didn’t. The tip of what I imagined to be the most wonderful cock in the world was right there, right there where I had wanted it to be for so very long, but he wouldn’t put it in. “Baby, don’t make me beg, ‘cause I will.” I could hear his heavy breathing; I felt his hands tremble on my hips. 

“For our first time….” 

“Baby?” 

“For our first time, I was going to light candles for you.” 

“Oh, fuck, Ryan, for our first time we’re going to have fireworks,” and I lit the fuse. 

I forced myself back onto him, him into me. That cock – that cock was everything I’d hoped it would be: thick, long, so very long, so very hard, like steel. He moaned, he growled again, he withdrew, and then he fucked me. 

I almost thanked him without shame for sticking his cock in my cunt. All my senses were focused on our fierce first fuck, but those words of his kept echoing through my head: “For our first time.” What did he mean by that – by candles?  

Then it clicked – he wanted me. He had been thinking about me for as long as I had wanted him. I was fucking wanted. I wrapped my feet around the backs of his knees, making him hold me up as I balanced myself on his car. “More! Oh, God, baby, don’t stop!” 

But ‘all good things,’ right? He eventually thrust into me that one last time and, feeling his grip on my hips tighten, I planted my feet back on the ground. He tried to shove himself even deeper inside and I felt his cock throb, his hot cum surge, and I felt his want. He collapsed onto my sweaty, sticky back and I rested through his last few spasms. 

We rolled over with our backs against the car, too out of breath to speak. He dabbed at the perspiration on my face and chest with his trunks, which made me laugh at the sweet futility. Then we held hands in silence. 

“I really wanted that,” I confessed. 

Instead of saying, “No kidding,” he simply said, “Me too,” and then, “Now what?” 

I honestly didn’t know. I still don’t. 

He held my hand tighter as we sweat naked and sated against his car, under the inadequate shade of the huge maple tree that straddled our yards.