“Come on, Dora, we’re waiting."

I wonder, why does getting ready take an eternity? We’re only heading out for a stroll.

At my feet, Jasper waits with the serenity of age. He’s an elderly cockapoo; time means little to him, so long as his belly’s full and his bed is warm.

Clomp, clomp, clomp.

Dora descends the stairs, her new hiking boots appearing first, then the rest of her, rosy-cheeked and apologetic. “Sorry, Michael. These took forever to lace.”

I smile. I couldn’t be cross with Dora if I tried.

We step out of the cottage, leaving the door unlocked and the windows open. Life flows more easily in the countryside.

We turn into the lane, Jasper already straining at his lead. He’ll stay tethered until we reach the woods, though he clearly disagrees with the policy. Recent rain has left potholes brimming with muddy water: an irresistible playground for a curious old dog.

Two hundred metres further on, we come to our nearest neighbour’s cottage, a weathered relic half-hidden beneath a tangle of ivy. Grace had spent her entire life there until her passing last winter. The ‘For Sale’ sign disappeared a few weeks ago, and now a sleek car sits in the gravel drive, a herald of change. I’m about to walk on when a voice calls out, loud and cheerful.

“Hi!”

I turn to see a man, late middle-aged, emerging from the side path with a hopeful smile. “You must be our neighbours.” His words are more of a question than a statement.

“Yes, we live at Rose Cottage, next down the lane.” I extend my hand as he approaches. “I’m Michael, and this beautiful lady is Dorothea, Dora to her friends.”

His smile extends across his face. “I’m Nigel; my wife, Penny, is indoors trying to sort out our stuff. Moving is such a bind.” He paused for a moment. “We’d love to meet you properly. Would you like to pop in after your walk?”

“Thanks, we will.”

We part with a friendly wave, and just beyond their boundary, we veer off onto a bridleway threading through a copse. I unclip Jasper’s lead, and he bounds ahead, nose to the ground, investigating every leaf and twig with the joy of reclaimed freedom.

The way narrows, hardly wide enough for a mounted horse; trees and brush press in from both sides. We follow it until it meets a footpath and veer off, plunging through a thicket that ends at the bank of a brook, and as we pause, I turn to her, “I’ll go first.”

Gripping a hazel branch, I edge down the slippery bank and step into the stream, its slow-moving water lapping at my boots. I turn and extend my arm to Dora.

She clutches the hazel, reaches for my hand, and gingerly steps onto the muddy slope. Halfway down, her grip falters, and she tumbles into me.

We stand there, breathless, bodies pressed together, eyes locked. A rush of feeling floods my chest. I lean in and kiss her softly. Dora’s arms rise to encircle my neck, her lips parting with quiet urgency.

My hands settle on her hips, drawing her closer while the brook flows around us. In that moment, nothing exists other than the warmth between us and the cool water.

I feel the tightness of my arousal pressed against her. My left hand slips across, pushing between our bodies until I find the gap between her thighs and press my fingers in.

Dora’s breath drifts against my mouth. "Someone might see us," she murmurs, but her thighs part anyway, the rough fabric of her trousers yielding as she shifts her stance, just enough for my hand to slip through, pushing her cleft against my knuckle. 

Further downstream, a branch snaps underfoot: Deer, maybe, or something else.

"Let them watch," I mutter against her mouth, and she laughs low in her throat. Her grip tightens on the back of my neck, and she rocks forward, rubbing ever harder against my hand.

Another rustle, but Dora doesn’t stop. Her breath comes faster, her fingers digging into my shoulders. "Oh, fuck," she breathes, pushing into my touch.

The sound of splashing water cuts through the moment. I glance sideways. A young buck stands frozen on the bank and, in a flash, disappears silently into the brush.

I stare at the bank where he vanished, nothing but trembling ferns. The moment hangs until Dora nibbles at my ear. "Finish what you started," she moans, her voice cracking halfway through.

"Don't you dare stop now," even though my movement has not slowed.

"Close," she murmurs; there's just raw need. Her whole body trembles, and her thighs quiver as she clenches around my hand.

"Keep going," her voice breaks into gasps. Her next thrust grinds my hand hard against her, and her breathing is sharp, her body taut.

"Yes, yes," she moans, as her whole body seizes. I feel a violent shudder that rolls through her, nails digging into my shoulders. For a heartbeat, she goes utterly still, then she sags, her knees buckling, and I catch her by the buttocks before she can fall into the brook.

Her laugh is breathless. "Oh, my God," she mutters, forehead pressed to mine. Her fingers loosen their grip on my shoulders, and the brook swirls around our boots, indifferent to our passion.

We stroll on, enjoying glimpses of farmland through the trees. Eventually, we meet a crossing path, turn onto that, and almost immediately reach a wooden gate. I reattach Jasper’s lead, open the gate, and step aside to let Dora pass first.

A meadow unfurls around us, grasses swaying gently in the breeze. Dora gasps and stares.

“It’s Packwood. I didn’t know we were so close.”

I scan the field. There's no livestock today, so Jasper earns another moment of liberty. We take each other’s hand and walk on, pausing at the exact spot where she’d tripped and fallen last year.

The accident that brought us together feels distant now and faded with time. Our hands meet, and we turn as one, my world narrowing to the warmth of her lips on mine. We are lost in love and oblivious to the meadow’s other visitors; their presence has no meaning. This kiss is ours.

Then, hand in hand, we walk slowly back to the gate, back through the woodland, back toward the quiet path that leads us home.

.-.

A faded plaque on the gate says 'Woodside Cottage'. I glance at Dora. “Are you okay with going in to meet them?”

Her smile is open and sincere. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

We bypass the front door, following a narrow path down the side of the house, and knock on the kitchen door. I call out, “Hello? Anyone there?”

A clatter echoes from deeper inside, followed by the appearance of a round, smiling face through a connecting doorway.

“Oh, hello! You must be Dora and Michael. I’m Penny. Nigel said you might call. Please, come in. Don’t mind the mess. You know how it is. Moving’s such a faff.”

Her words tumble out in a single breath. I take her in quietly: short, full-bodied, animated. Her straight black hair frames a face that’s lively and warm. Her blouse strains at the seams, and her navy slacks make no effort to conceal the bulges around her waist. She’s dishevelled but undeniably pretty.

I gesture toward Jasper, and she waves us in. “Bring him too,” she says, leading us into a room where Nigel is kneeling amid scattered flat-pack furniture. He looks harried and faintly relieved to be interrupted.

He offers the customary invitation to look around, and we dutifully trail from one bare, echoing room to the next. Wherever we pause, Penny is beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, my shoulder, or my back. Dora moves ahead, asking questions, and I hope she doesn’t notice Penny’s increasingly tactile presence.

In the bathroom, Dora steps inside to inspect the new fittings, leaning over the bathtub with Nigel at her side, while I linger in the doorway. Penny’s fingers trace slow, deliberate lines across my back. It is one of my most sensitive places. Each subtle touch sends a shudder through me, and her intent is unmistakable.

Back in the kitchen, we thank them for the tour. It feels right to extend a gesture of friendship, even if the thought comes late.

“Would you two like to come for dinner?” I ask. “Two days from now?  We’re heading into town tomorrow and won’t be back until late.”

Penny lights up, nearly tripping over her enthusiasm. “Oh, that would be lovely!”

Then, I add, “And you should meet other people too. There’s a social club event in a fortnight. A themed hop at the village hall, a live band, and a finger buffet. Interested?”

She looks ready to launch into another breathless spiel, but Nigel steps in. “What do you mean by a hop? And what’s the theme?”

“Basically, it’s an evening of dancing to live music, fifties and sixties rock and roll,” I explain. “The theme is ‘tarts and toffs’, though you don't have to dress up.”

I’ll cover your tickets as a housewarming treat.”

Penny claps her hands. “Oh, thank you! That sounds brilliant. We’ll come, won’t we, Nige?”

Nigel nods, amused. “Alright, Pen. We’ll sort it out. Dora, are you dressing up?”

Dora loops her arm through mine and leans in with a mischievous grin. “Would I not! I’ve got a serving wench costume ready," she pauses for a second and looks up at me, "for my master.”

._.

Walking back along the lane, Jasper tugging at his leash, I turn to Dora. The difficult admission has finally taken shape in my mind.

“Did you notice how touchy-feely Penny was with me? Her hands were everywhere. She even stroked the top of my back. It felt like she was trying to seduce me.”

Dora glances sideways, her expression unreadable. “Funny, you say that. I didn’t clock her, but Nigel was the same with me. There was lots of intense eye contact, and when he wasn’t staring into my soul, he couldn’t stop looking at my boobs. I know my top is a bit snug, but I'm at least fifteen years older than he is. I can’t imagine why he’d be into my saggy tits.”

“I love your saggy tits,” I say, without hesitation. “So, if they keep this up, what do we do when they come for dinner? Should we be polite but firm and say it’s not for us? Or do we let it run and see where it goes? We’re together, but we never promised monogamy.”

Our boots crunch along the gravel for a dozen paces before Dora answers.

“We’ll let it run, if you’re okay with it.” She hesitates, then adds, more slowly, “I don’t want to commit. That part of my life is over.”

I reach for her hand and squeeze it gently as we amble toward Rose Cottage, Jasper trotting ahead, tail high.

._.

I glance around the table and check the four place settings. The red wine is uncorked and breathing, the white is chilled to perfection, and ice waits in the bucket for later. Everything is ready for our guests.

Returning to the kitchen, I stir the veg, slip an affectionate squeeze around Dora’s waist, and brush a kiss against her cheek. She turns away from the pan of sauce simmering on the hob and plants her lips on mine, a moment of intimacy.

._.

Through the meal, I watch Nigel closely. He behaves exactly as Dora described during our tour of their home. His gaze is locked on her eyes, intense and unwavering. But when she looks away, his attention drops, lingering on her cleavage with a quiet hunger.

To my side, Penny is a constant presence. Her knee brushes mine, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines along my thigh. It’s arousing. I know what she’s doing, but it’s also unsettling. I am caught between desire and unease.

The empty pudding bowls signal a successful evening. I make one final gesture as host, lifting the cafetiere. “More coffee, anyone?”

Three heads shake gently.

“Please go to the sitting room while I clear up. Dora can show you the drinks.”

Dora leads Nigel out. Penny remains, leaning on her chair with a soft smile. “Michael, let me help. Four hands are better than two.”

She gathers the empty wine glasses with elegant fingers and heads to the kitchen. I follow, arms full of bowls and plates. At the dishwasher, I begin stacking the crockery and cutlery.

As I work, her touches are constant. Light brushes against my arms; fingers graze mine. When I kneel to load the lower rack, I feel her fingertips drift from my waist and across my upper back, soft as breath.

From the sitting room, music drifts through the house. Dora has chosen one of my favourite CDs, and Karen Carpenter’s haunting voice is unmistakable.

Penny’s fingertips press harder. She begins to sing, her voice low and teasing: “I want to be close to you.”

I straighten to load the upper tray. Then I feel her against me, hips grinding into mine, hands sliding across my lower back, settling on my waist.

Her voice continues, soft and melodic:

“Why do stars fall down from the sky every time you walk by?

Just like me, they long to be close to you.”

I turn. Penny's mouth is open, quiet now, the flick of her tongue tracing her lips. I fall into the moment, lowering my face until our mouths meet. The kiss is slow, sealing something intangible between us. My hands find her back, drawing her close as her thighs press and shift against me. My desire builds, and my need is urgent and undeniable.

I take her hand and lead her out, the dishwasher forgotten, the kitchen fading behind us.

In the sitting room, the music swells, filling the space with melody. Dora and Nigel are nowhere to be seen. There’s only one place they could be.

Dora has made her choice. Nigel is upstairs now, claiming her. And I know Penny will claim me. I turn to her, and the only phrase that escapes me is, “Shall we dance?”

Penny melts into my arms, her hands clasping behind my neck. We sway together, a slow shuffle that feels timeless. The heady drift of her perfume fills my senses, stirring something deep.

I brush my lips against her cheek, and she turns until our mouths meet. The kiss is tentative at first, then yielding, her softness answering mine. My hands slide from her waist down to her buttocks, clawing her closer, pressing her against the proof of my desire.

She sings again, a fragile melody breathed into the kiss:

“I know I need to be in love,

I know I’ve wasted too much time.”

She eases away, her fingers lacing with mine, leading me with certainty. I know I am being taken from my chosen path, yet her allure is irresistible.

On the landing, the spare room door sits just ajar. From within, there are unmistakable sounds. Dora’s whimpering in pleasure and the rhythmic slap of flesh freeze me in place. For a heartbeat, time halts. Then, at Penny’s gentle urging, I follow her into my room, the door closing behind us with a soft click.

Penny snorts, "Now we know why Nigel was staring at Dora earlier."

I can't answer. My mind is still processing the sexual and private sounds I just heard.

I sink onto the edge of my bed. "He's been staring into Dora's soul a lot." I continue to mutter, “And down her cleavage.” The truth is, I can still hear her breathy moans echoing in my skull.

"Well, he's got needs." She runs a hand through her hair, then stops, glancing at the shared wall separating us from the spare room. A muffled gasp leaks through the void. She smirks. "Christ. They're not even trying to be subtle."

I never realised how thin the walls are. The three-hundred-year-old plaster on lath had never troubled us while raising a family. Now I catch myself wondering how much of our lovemaking carried through, as Dora’s moans climb in pitch before breaking off.

Penny shifts, straddling my legs, then lowers herself onto me, her thighs pressing firmly against mine. "Guess they’re not the only ones with needs," she murmurs. I feel her fingers brush my neck, insistent and demanding.

Her other hand slides down my chest and pauses just above my belt. "Shall we do something about that?"

Before I can answer, the bed next door makes a violent thump against the wall, followed by a deep groan. Penny rolls her eyes and smirks. "They’re like animals," she mutters, while her fingers tighten on my waistband.

My hands rest on her hips, pulling her closer, and then she shifts against me, her knee pressing between my legs. "I'm thinking too much," tilting her head to nibble at my earlobe.

There is silence from the other room. Penny's knee presses harder, and I gasp.

Penny growls low in her throat. "I want you." Her fingers slide under my shirt, nails grazing skin. I buck against her. She responds by grinding down, her breath hot against my neck.

The silence from the spare room doesn’t last. A faint sound carries through the wall. Penny freezes mid-motion, her tongue licking inside my ear. "Hell," she hisses, pulling back just enough to glare at the plaster as if it’s personally offended her. "They’re off again."

I can’t answer because her hips roll against mine in a way that takes my breath. She notices and repeats it much harder. "Distracted? Me or her?" she whispers, dragging her thumb along the waistband of my trousers. The button pops open under her fingers.

Through the wall, Dora’s moans crescendo into pleading. Penny’s grip tightens reflexively, her nails digging into my shoulder. "Fuck this," she mutters, then surges forward, crushing her mouth to mine. The kiss is messy, her tongue hot against my teeth.

She breaks away just long enough to pull at my shirt. "Off," she demands. Her blouse hangs open, revealing the flushed skin beneath, and then it joins mine on the floor.

The spare room bed slams against the wall rhythmically, but Penny’s gaze locks on mine. "Eyes only for me," she growls.

I fumble with her belt clumsily until she swats my hands aside and undoes it herself before lifting to slide her slacks off. The material catches on her ankle for a maddening second before she swears and kicks it free.

"That’s better," she breathes against my lips and then bites my lower lip hard enough to make me squeal. Her hips roll in a slow, deliberate circle, and I can feel her heat even through the layers of cloth.

The wall seems to shake as their headboard slams against it again. This time, it is enough to rattle the framed photo of Dora and me. It clatters onto the floor facedown. She barely glances at it. "God, they’re awful," she mutters, "but I can be worse."

Her mouth crashes back into mine, her tongue hot and insistent. I lift her just enough to push my trousers and pants down before kicking them off.

The spare room’s noises – Dora’s whimpers and Nigel’s grunts – fade into the background as Penny rocks against me, her panties damp against my bare thigh.

My fingers slip beneath her panty waistband. She arches her back, her breath ragged. "Finally," she moans, grinding down harder, fingers pressed deep into my shoulders.

"Still thinking about them?" Grinning as she taunts me.

“Shut up,” I mutter, rolling us over. I pin Penny beneath me, gazing down into her face.

"Or what?" she goads. Then she pushes my head down, my face pressing against the rough cup of her bra.

I fumble with the clasp, but she scoffs and reaches back, flicking it open herself. "Hopeless man," she whispers, but the way she shudders when my mouth finds her nipple betrays her words.

Her fingers dig into my scalp, just shy of pain. “Don't stop," she orders, and I obey, my tongue circling her stiff brown teat. From the other room, Dora's voice rises in a wordless cry, but Penny only whimpers, breathless, ”Keep going, don't stop, don't stop.”

Her underwear is soaked. I drag a finger along the gusset, and she curses, thighs clamping around my wrist. "Like that," I press in, slowly, and her back arches off the bed. "God, yes," she hisses, nails biting into my shoulder.

The spare room's noises fade as Penny's breath grows sharp. "More," she demands, rocking against my hand, "don’t change it. I’m close…so close. Please…please."

The orgasm hits her like a punch. She goes rigid, mouth open in a silent scream, then shudders violently.

"Ha," she pants, blinking up at me. "Told you I could be worse." Her fingers, still grasping my scalp, pull me down for a kiss that's all teeth and shared breath.

Through the wall, Dora whimpers something incoherent. Penny breaks away with a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Fuck. They're still going?" She reaches down between us, her fingers wrapping around me with deliberate slowness. "Guess we'll just have to..." Her grip tightens, thumb circling my cockhead, "...try to outlast them."

Her breath hitches as I push into her, stretching her slick tunnel folds apart. Then she smirks, grinding in a slow, torturous circle. "There. Now, fuck me."

The headboard knocks against the wall as I thrust deeper, and Penny's gasps deepen. "Oh, fuck. Harder, please. Harder."

"Harder," she demands again, hips rolling to meet mine with each snap of my pelvis. In the spare room, Nigel's rhythm falters. I hear a muffled curse, then silence. Penny barely notices, too busy biting on my shoulder to stifle her moans.

Dora's breathless voice drifts through the wall. "God, you're insatiable,” followed by Nigel's low chuckle.

Penny giggles. "Pot, meet kettle," she mutters, then arches sharply as I angle my hips just right. "There, don't stop." Her thighs clamp around me, heels digging into my cheeks to pull me deeper.

Our headboard slams into the wall again, harder this time, and Penny's laugh is ragged. "Do you think they heard that?" She gasps, her sweat-slick chest pressed against mine. I can't answer because she's tightening around me, her muscles squeezing my life away.

Dora's muffled cry shoots through the wall, but Penny just growls, rolling her hips harder. "Ignore her," she pants, fingers clawing at my back. "Fuck me."

I oblige, driving into her with a desperation that leaves us both shuddering.

The bed groans under us. Penny seizes my wrist, guiding my thumb to her clit with a sharp inhale. "Make me come again," she orders. "I want more." She gasps as I rub tight circles, her body bowing off the mattress. "Yes, yes."

Through the wall, Nigel's groans signal their finale, followed by the thud of collapsing bodies. Penny ignores it, dragging my mouth back to hers. Her climax hits like a tsunami; she clenches around me, a scream muffled against my shoulder, her hips stuttering. "Fuck," she sobs, nails digging into my arms.

The aftershocks ripple through her as I chase my release, her thighs trembling against mine. "Say it," she pants.

I groan, “Penny, I want... I want to cum in you,” and she rewards me with a slow roll of her hips that drags me over the edge. The room blurs as I shoot into her with a shudder.

Penny collapses against me, panting against my chest. The spare room is silent now. She exhales sharply, nodding toward the wall. "Bet they've crashed out."

I roll off her, wincing as my back protests. She notices and murmurs, "Dirty old man," then yawns, stretching like a satisfied cat.

From the other room, I hear Dora's soft, sleepy murmur, followed by Nigel's chuckle. Penny rolls onto her side beside me, her head resting on the crook of my shoulder, an arm flung across my chest, and falls asleep.

I lie quietly, enjoying her warmth, and gradually feel sleep overcome me too.