Boy next door

 I used to see Mary tending her flowers along the front walk first thing every morning as I delivered the papers. It had to be a really nasty day to keep her away, and I had to be there no matter what. It was a long time before we even started speaking. I mean, what does a 18 year old say to a middle aged woman, and every middle aged woman knows how surly a teenager can be.

So we politely ignored each other and went our ways. It was in the second spring when she put out the first petunias and I was a grown up 18 that I actually started saying good morning to her, sometimes even stopping to say more. She was really quite nice, and loved to talk. I knew she was married, but never saw him, and it seemed liked she had no-one but me to talk to. Must have been a nice relationship. I asked mom once about him, but her lips just went tight, and she said she hoped I would never be like that.

‘Like that’ turned out to be a piss tank. He held down a job, but his interest was in having a few with the boys after work, picking up a dozen more, and watching football on TV. And he was fat. I mean really obese. How he could drive to work with that gut was a feat in itself. The only times I saw him was when sometimes a taxi would pull up and the driver would take another box of beer in to him. He at least was able to come to the front door.

So it wasn’t a shock when mom told me that he had had a heart attack at work and wasn’t expected to live. Which he didn’t. I thought I might miss Mary, but the next morning there she was putting out some marigolds, looking like nothing had happened. As we talked, I could feel no sorrow or regret. Odd. I always thought when a husband dies the wife has a mourning period, downsizes, and maybe even goes to live with her sister or something. Not Mary.

She made it clear that morning especially there was no change. She never saw him then anyway. At night she could put Chopin on the stereo and not be yelled at. AS far as she was concerned, the death happened years ago, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to straighten up and clean up. The cremation was nothing more than closure for Mary.

As a bonus, she now had a craft room after she cleared his bed and stuff out. It had been ten or more years since they had shared even a room, let alone a bed. It took me a while to come to terms with her being happy about his death, but the part about him actually being dead for years did make sense, sort of. The trouble was, now that she had the house to herself, she was happy spending more time in it, and taking less interest in her flowers.

I had the feeling that we were confederates, of a sort. My folks were great, but having an adult sounding board outside the home was good too. I guess I felt a little like a protector too. Why I thought she needed one, I don’t know. Just male chauvinism, I guess. Anyway, I knew I was closet to her than her husband had been. Then I found out that she really did need protection.

A guy her husband had worked and drank with decided the widow needed another man. He started phoning and just showing up at her door. She made the mistake of actually letting him in once, and he thought he was in for good, I guess. Anyway, she became a prisoner in her own house when he wasn’t in the pub. Right after the pub was the worst time, really. The only time she came out was our early morning talks. She even talked of pulling stakes, but she liked the town and anywhere else in town would still be in his reach.

What she needed was a good man to scare off the rubble. When I mumbled words to that effect, I didn’t really mean them. As a protector I was starting to think there was no man good enough for this lady. Besides, what would she need me for then? Anyway, whenever the guy called, all he got was nobody home. If only that had stopped him I might not be writing this story. But he just kept pestering, too stupid in his little chauvinistic piss-tank world to see the rejection.

It was me who came up with the idea of maybe it should be me who answered the door if he called around again. I’m a kid, sure, but at 18 I’m 6 feet and 160 pounds, which isn’t all that skinny for my age. And as I high school footballer I wasn’t afraid to get my nose dirty Mary was amused with the idea, but grew thoughtful.

“It would be a bit tough to know when you had to be here, though. He comes when the drinks makes him brave enough. And odd times. I think he thinks he can catch me unawares. You’d have to practically live here.” She looked at me levelly, no guile at all, not that I was looking for any. “It’s so sweet of you to even think of doing that for me. I almost wish it could happen.”

I had only floated the idea as a kind of macho joke, but the way she said it made it sound like not that bad an idea. Mom knew the trouble she was having and, while maybe she might worry about my safety, she had full sympathy for Mary. The more I thought, the more logical it seemed.

“So why don’t I live here until the jerk goes away? Its not even inconvenient. When I’m at school he’s at work. We’ll let him know your never alone.” I watched her eyes widen as she realised I wasn’t fooling, then a whole flood of emotions walk across her face, hope, doubt, amusement.
Finally she said’ “Stay with me for supper and maybe a bit later. As long as you have nothing to do. Sure as hell he won’t show now. But its time we knew each better anyway. You’re so nice.”

And the very first evening he showed, pissed and ready for action. Calling on his sweety. He even said, “Hi, sweety” before he saw who he was talking to. Then;” Who are you?”
I gave him my best Conan the Barbarian stare, “I guess I’m sweety.”

He stared, was about to sputter something, thought better, and stumbled back down the walk. Mary watched him climb into his truck and burn rubber down the street. The cop cruising the other way did a fast U-turn and was on his tail within seconds, while we shared the best laugh Mary at least had had for a long time. Mary sent me home shortly after that, but not before she hugged me. I’d never been hugged like that and I have to say it felt like more. I floated home, trying to find a place for Mary’s hard little breasts against my chest in my universe.

Mom wasn’t that sure I should be home. She didn’t think the jerk would necessarily quit that easy. I didn’t need any persuasion to go back to Mary, even if it was a bit tough to get her to answer her door. And you know, it wasn’t five minutes later he called and wanted to know who the kid was, and was she fooling around on him, and when would the kid be gone, and did she know how much his ticket was.

She hung up before it ended, but that call made it certain I would at least spend the night. And it might have been a good thing, I stepped out to pick up the paper the next morning, just in my pyjama bottoms, and as I turned a truck pulled away down the block. I knew the truck, and now he knew I was there for the long term. We would see where he wanted to take it from there.

We never saw him again, that week or so far. But after a few days I decided I better stay on just in case. Mary loved having me around after all those years of only having a drunk for company, and I really got on well with her. Her hug had changed my view of her a bit though. Now I could see her without her gardening stuff on, I was finding her body intriguing to say the least. First of all, she had always been small and slim, but now I could see she had shape.

The memory of her breasts pressing into me never left me, and had me covertly catching any glimpse of skin that I could. Once or twice I might have wondered what kind of honey she might have been when she was younger, but the fact is she still was. I was almost starting to think I was a dirty old man, and I better get out before I blew my cover.

Before it came to that, one night shortly after we turned in, Mary came to my room asking me to listen to a sound at the back door. Since my window overlooked the backyard, we peered out the window between closes drapes, hoping not to draw attention to ourselves. Then we were both laughing as the motion detector was triggered and a family of racoons went on raiding the trash can. I jumped back into bed and Mary sat on the edge, tucking me in.

On impulse, mostly from nervous release I think, she flopped down and hugged me. The hug went on, and my efforts to get an arm around her succeeded in getting her under the blankets. The hug at first had blankets between us, now suddenly there was only her night dress and my PJ’s.

“Hmmm,” Mary nestled closer into me, snuggling her nose into my neck. In response I pulled her even closer and kissed her ear, causing her to jerk back to look in my eyes with a question on her face. I guess I misunderstood, but I kissed her then, and I guess I did pretty good for a rookie, because she kissed back rather emphatically. It was a hot steamy minute, her leg sliding up to pull me even closer.

“Oh, god, Donny, I sorry. I forgot who we are. It just felt so good. Don’t hate me.” Sniveling, she was gone, and I felt very alone and…I didn’t know exactly what I felt, but laying alone wasn’t helping it. Not when I could hear the lady still weeping in her room. I heard the creak of her bed and wished I could be with her. I was here to keep Mary from having to cry, wasn’t I?

Her door wasn’t closed, and she turned to me as she felt my weight sitting on the edge of her bed. She looked so miserable and helpless and I felt so much in control and manly. I slid under her down quilt and cuddled her body back to me. She gave no resistance, just asked a question with her eyes that I had no answer for at that moment, so I kissed her again., and again her leg found its way over mine to pull me in.

This time she couldn’t help but feel my boner butting into her pube and tried half heartedly to separate our hips, but I rolled her under me, managing to get both knees inside hers. I could feel my cock cradled by her labia, praying she would let it last, not send me away. It was so perfect, and she wasn’t crying anymore. She was struggling though, and I , like the good kid I was, lifted my weight, expecting the worst.

What I got was her dress pulled up to her neck and my PJ’s pulled down. Then I was back on her, skin to skin, feeling more eroticism than I knew existed. We clinched desperately for minutes, me afraid to move for fear of spooking her even yet, then I moved to bring my boner down to her vagina.

I had no real idea how it might be done, that it must just slip in. It’s what we were built for, right? If only it would slip in before Mary guessed what I was doing, she might let me stay. But Mary knew. When she realised how inexperienced I was, she reached down and guided my shaft into her vagina. Oh, god!, what a feeling to know your cock is inside a lady at last! And not just any lady. This was Mary, and she liked me there, and was trying to pull me deeper! And then I was as deep as I could go, and Mary was making little noises in my ear.

I tried a couple thrusts which drew only encouragement and so didn’t stop. Then there was the familiar feeling, the feeling that had threatened so many sheets before I managed to sop them off my belly with a Kleenex. I couldn’t do that inside my angel, could I? But Mary was humping back madly, and I knew I would, and then I knew I was, and I lost myself in the wonder of both the sensations and the obvious fact Mary knew what was happening and begging for more. So I gave her more, even as the orgasm faded, I switched my attention to the feeling of warm slippery muscles stroking my cock, wished I could join her as she came again, but at least able to maintain the cadence that was driving her wild.

It was with regret I eventually pulled out. Even then I didn’t know if it would happen again. Mary kissed my cheek and swung her feet to the floor, gravity making her night dress hide her body from me.

“Time for me to carry the cum to the toilet, lover,” she was gone and back in a few seconds, “Its been so long since I last did that. I didn’t think it would ever happen again.” She snuggled into me again, to my great relief.
“You didn’t mind?” I stammered.

She laughed, then seeing my stricken face, became caring serious, “No, I didn’t mind. What would have bothered me is you not filling me full. And I was full. Its what a girl longs for, to be able to get her beau off. Besides getting off herself, I mean.”

My relief must have shown, because she was laughing again. Wow!!, this was so great. I could feel stirrings again and became very shy,
“Can we do it again sometime?” my earlier boldness replaced with yearning.

Mary cupped my face with both hands, “We can do it again as soon as you are able. I’m so full of myself that you would find me attractive enough to want me. Do you know the last time I fucked was before you were born? Oh, my goodness, you’re ready now, aren’t you? Oh, my, this is going to be a fun time.” She sat up quickly and drew the night dress over her head.

Mary threw the quilt off and spread her sweet legs open for me, luxuriating in my gaze, stretching for best effect, reaching eagerly for my cock when I rolled onto her. The feeling of re-entering, of knowing it wasn’t for the last or only time, made it even sweeter. No clutching desperately in the fear that something might put her off. Just the delicious feel of her vagina engulfing me, seeming to be pulling me in.

Then the strokes not fueled by reflex or instinct, but by the purpose of giving her pleasure, seeing her slowly rise again to the rapture that I was at least co-authoring. Glad that her bed was firm enough that most of my weight could carried by elbows, that I could feel the length of her body against me without actually crushing her. My second orgasm was a mere bonus. I didn’t know I could do that. Cool! And she had called it a fuck!

In the afterglow, knowing that was all either of us had for a while, Mary became shy again. She wondered if I would mind sleeping with her. She didn’t want to wake in the night and have to wonder if this all had actually happened, that it was still all right, that wouldn’t start having remorse. I stopped her with a kiss, then faked a snore in her ear, which go a laugh. She went on to ask if it might be alright if she slept nude, skin on skin. What a question.

She did wake up once in the night, though, to feel my boner in the crack of her bum. With a pleased little ‘oh’, she showed me how she could be easily made slippery again, then we were fucking again, This time she didn’t carry me cum to the toilet. She just pushed a was of Kleenex between her thighs and passed out.

We fucked often over the next couple weeks Mary had been closely watched in her adolescence, and been a virgin when she married, but had quickly become very fond of sex,, but her husband had a weakness for the booze. Thing is, he never felt very adequate as a lover. He knew he wasn’t very big and the only time he felt like a real man was when he had a few. Trouble was a few made him even less adequate, and few more made him absolutely limp. Maybe if Mary hadn’t been so inexperienced herself she might have been able to help him.

After a few years he just gave up on it and by that time Mary was willing let him. Being mauled by a soft-dicked drunk wasn’t what sex was like. So she became the little gardener that I knew, doing whatever she could to keep out of his way. Now she wouldn’t even speak his name. She knew the heart would happen long before it did. So no mourning period.

We both know this can’t go on forever, no matter how good it is. I’m just going 18 and Mary is 45. We had been fucking for almost a month before we talked of it, but when it came up, it was plain both of us had been thinking. I am going off to college in two months, that much was sure. Also sure was that neither of us was about to go back to celibacy, even if the quality of sex did dip. But Mary had no notion of how to get with another man. She certainly wasn’t about to troll the bars. I wasn’t worried about me. I’d heard stories of college girls.

Mary had made me confident enough that I had no fears of that.
Mom was no help. She was a bit happy to hear of Mary’s quest, though. I think she might have been a bit worried or suspicious about how deep our involvement might be. I learned in that time that my father was not really my father. Mom had got pregnant in hr last year of high school and had me and married Dad a few years later. I really had no problem with that. I thought I was a bit dark skinned for either of them. That was why she had raised me so conservatively and why in this age I could be a 17 year old virgin. Anyway, she knew of no-one for Mary.

So we checked out the on-line match makers. So far it looks like the best bet. There are a couple guys she wants to check out, and believe it or not I’m not jealous. I’m there to make sure she doesn’t cry, remember? Even if the first one isn’t the permanent one, at least she will get some nooky. And our relationship has taught us there is nothing wrong with casual sex, although we’re still not that casual. Mary reckons we have fucked as many times and she and her husband had and we still had a lot of time.

I mean, we’re still like the proverbial minks. But she had little she could teach me about the arts of it, so we’ve been teaching each other with much help on-line. Doing pretty well, too. Mary didn’t know nice people did oral, but she’s all for it now. After that revelation, she isn’t about to question anything without at least trying it.

We even looked into cyber matching me, but what we got mostly from that were singles looking for one-night action, or swingers looking to hook up with a young stud third. That thought got us giggling.
“Do you think your new man would like a threesome maybe on Christmas break?” I almost choked.

Mary considered and reckoned the kind of man she wanted probably wouldn’t share her. “Mind you,” she was quick to add, “If he was it sounds like a fun time. Lets keep that thought open.”
I had opened another Window. “Maybe my girlfriend would like a swinging romp with you two.”
“Oh, that’s sick! My man is going to be maybe fifty. Your girl will be less than twenty.”

“I don’t know,” I looked sideways at her body, still partially dressed from the last fuck, “Any guy that you choose is going to have lots of life left and won’t be hard to look at. And you stipulated he had to like sex, which is saying you do too, so he’s coming forwarned. And what’s sick about us? Are you being sexist?”

She regarded me with an open mouth, “God, you know, you’re right. It would be the same spread, wouldn’t it?” She paused to picture it, liked what she saw. “Can we hold that thought? It’s a fun thought, isn’t it? Maybe, just maybe, September isn’t the end of it.”
I told her I’d hold the thought and then we fucked again. It was going to be a lot easier, leaving in September, with just the possibility that it wasn’t over.