The live-in girlfriend is gone for the night. Staying near the beach with one of her girlfriends so that they can get an early start tomorrow, she won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. So I'm sitting and watching TV, and working on my next Literotica submission. The Callie and Rebecca stories seem to be receiving good scores. And it's time to write the next chapter. It's been almost fourteen years since some of those incidents and trying to remember them has not only allowed me to remember a very interesting time in my life, but made me horny in a way that I haven't been in a while.
I rarely drink. The common joke is that I will drink for my birthday, but since the date of my birthday is also the date of a yearly party for my friends and it is near Christmas, I usually don't get the chance to imbibe. Since "I don't drink", I usually get to be the designated driver for those who do. It's cool; I don't mind. But my chance to get silly and act the fool is usually missed. But tonight, I had nowhere to go, no chance of trying to drive while impaired. I can sit and write my story and chug Jim Beam until I pass out. No one will be endangered and no one will know. Or so I thought when I started drinking a few hours ago.
I was pretty concerned about either being stopped by writer's block or by my own inebriation. The neighborhood kids outside making noise attracted my attention. When I looked out the window, I saw almost every kid in the neighborhood riding down the long hill past my house on scooters, skateboards, bicycles, roller blades, and go karts. Sneaking a long look through the blinds, it was funny to see such an odd assortment of conveyances all rushing down the steep hill with young kids of all ages—girls and boys—flying down the slope laughing and calling after each other. Since it is such a long hill, they usually don't come back to the top for a long time after one of these excursions. When I saw Brent, the next door neighbor kid roll by on his gas powered scooter with his little dog sitting in his lap, I looked to see if his mom was outside.
Sure enough, Joyce was standing in the front yard watching them. She had a drink in her hand and was clearly dressed up to go out. In heels and a skirt, she looked hot. She is short, has dirty blond hair, medium sized tits, and a great ass. But when she wears a skirt, I feel like a voyeur when I see her in her yard. I want to stand behind the blinds and jack off while watching her. She's not model-hot, but there's something about her that makes me want to empty my nuts. Since her boyfriend moved out a year ago, she has been taking better care of herself and has been going out more often. She doesn't drive, so a girlfriend always picks her up and they don't come home until after the bars close. With her new Friday and Saturday night bar crawling schedule, I was getting to see her more and more in her "pick up" clothes. I swear she was dressing to get picked up and laid, but she always comes home alone.
It was all I could do to not drop my shorts and run a nasty batch onto the Hummel figurines near the window while watching her walk around her front porch. She was pacing the boards and leaning over the railing every once in a while looking down at her well-manicured yard. There's something about her that turns me on. She's not a kid anymore; she's probably my age which puts her in her forties. She's not as fit as a younger person would be, but neither am I. In fact, I would characterize her as "sloppy". It's not meant to be a put-down. She just comes off as not very disciplined in her manner or dress. If I didn't know her better, I'd say she was poor white trash. Her clothes are always a little out of style and her body is always a little too unrestrained by her clothing.
But her hip-swaying, tits-jiggling, poorly-combed hair, and drink in her hand attitude is a turn on for some reason. I've always thought that given the chance, I'd probably fuck her silly. I watched for another minute and she was clearly growing impatient as she looked up the street for her ride. She drained the last of her drink and went back inside, most likely to pour herself another one, since she soon re-emerged with another clear glass full of brown liquid. Her hipshot stance and anxious look at her wristwatch belied the fact that someone was late. I watched her for another five minutes while weighing my options. Since I enjoy talking to her, I made an impulsive decision. If I acted quickly enough, I might get to talk to her before her friend Sheila showed to pick her up.
I wobbled to the bathroom just off of my foyer. I hadn't realized that I would be wobbling but whatever, the liquor was making me brave. I checked my look in the mirror (thanks Bruce Springsteen) and noticed that I was quite a bit more red faced than usual (thanks Jim Beam). I poured a fresh Beam and Coke in the tall glass and slipped on a pair of shoes and walked out the door. Halfway across the yard, I realized that I am no prize. What on earth is she going to give me a second look for? She's always been polite to me, maybe even friendly, but I've always assumed that's because I pay her son to cut my yard and in her household, every penny counts. Untucked t-shirt, untied sneakers, no socks, athletic shorts, why was I—as shabbily dressed as I was--going to talk to her? My large glass of liquid courage was half gone by the time I stepped from the street into her yard, which was about the same time that she noticed me coming.
She lit up and waved. "Hey, neighbor!" she enthused and started to walk towards me while also looking up the street. She came down the steps from her wrap around porch and greeted me in the middle of the lawn. It was getting darker by the second and I wondered when her fourteen year old son would come back. If my plan's timing didn't work out, he might catch me railing his mom in the backyard on the picnic table.
"I noticed you out here all dressed up and it doesn't look like your ride is on time," I said. "So I thought I'd come over and hit on you."
"About time," she said.
Hey, I was joking, but this was starting off well.
"What's in the glass?" she asked.
"Uhhh, whiskey...and cola. I'm alone tonight, so thought I'd get drunk since there is nobody to piss off in my house."
"How sad. You should get drunk with us," she replied.
I made a show of looking up the street at exactly zero cars coming down the hill and said, "Who's 'us'?"
"Well, Sheila is supposed to be here by now. Should have been here half hour ago." She looked down at her watch again and then looked at her drink which was nearly empty, and said, "Time for another of these."
As she turned to walk back into the house, I drained the last of my tall glass. I wobbled a little as I had my head tilted back and I felt her diminutive hand on my arm, "Steady there, cowboy," she whispered. I looked down and saw her in a new light. The lines on her face from caring for a young son and a house alone were gone. The blue of her eyes was not the tired shade that I'd always seen before. The body was not that of a forties-something single mom who had no time for herself. I saw the young girl that she'd been twenty or so years ago. That "something" that had always attracted me to her was now clear. At any age, she was hot. The look in her eyes told me that she too saw me as the younger, more virile man that I had been in my twenties. Recognition of this fact, showed in her eyes, and she looked away sheepishly.
She looked at my drink and back up at me. "You need a fresh one?" she asked.
