Jane and I were next-door neighbours. She lived alone and I lived alone and the only time we interacted socially was to say hello. Apart from neighbourly acts, like taking the refuse bins off the pathway or making sure no mail stuck out of letterboxes, that was the sum total of our relationship. It was a perfect situation.
Jane and her husband had moved into the house just after they married. However, I hadn't seen him living there for years, so I assumed she was either divorced or separated. For my part I was always respectful of her as a woman and the fact she lived alone. I was much older than Jane -- me being in my late-forties and she, I believe, in her twenties.
This wasn't to say I was indifferent to her feminine charm. Oh, no, she was a nice looking girl alright and from what I could tell possessed a fine figure, an opinion based on the occasional glimpses I'd had of her. On these rare sightings it was always her breasts that drew my eye. Not big or overly large, but full and rounded and heavy looking; I often wondered how they would look naked or moulded into her lingerie.
Then, one warm summer evening following 18 holes of golf and one or two snifters in the 19th, I was relaxing on the patio eating my dinner - I was a fair cook and proud of the way I looked after myself, when I noticed Jane in her garden. Feeling rather mellow after the day's intake of alcohol I gave her a wave and a cheery hello. She stopped what she was doing and looked my way, and once again I became attracted to her breasts. Fortunately, I was wearing sunglasses so I could stare openly and appreciate their beauty beneath her vest and cut-off jeans.
Jane returned my greeting and to my surprise walked to the dividing fence of our properties. It appeared she was interested in chatting, so I removed my sunglasses and went to speak with her properly for the first time in seven-years.
"Beautiful evening isn't it?" I ventured.
"It certainly is." She replied brushing dust from her legs. "I've been sorting out my larder and getting rid of food long out of date. I wonder why I bought half the stuff, I rarely cook for myself. Do you like cooking, Mike?" Her use of my name took me by surprise.
"Yes, I quite enjoy it."
"Sounds like you're a modern man."
"I suppose it does." There was a brief pause while I managed to briefly clock her legs. Then, on the spur of the moment I asked. "Look, if you haven't eaten dinner yet, why not join me? It's nothing fancy just a quiche with salad and pasta, plus a cool, crisp chardonnay." Jane considered the offer.
"Well, I was going to send out for a takeaway, but your invitation is very tempting and it's time we got to know one another better, don't you think? So great, I accept; set me a place. I'll just change and clean up first, won't be too long." Jane hurried indoors leaving me to consider my luck; we were finally going to meet properly.
Jane was taking longer than I expected to change and I began to fear she'd changed her mind. I'd set another place and drunk a further glass of wine, then I heard the door chimes.
"Sorry, I took so long." She said flouncing past me in a floaty dress and high heels; now, I could appreciate why she'd taken so long, she looked ravishing. My startled expression must have been obvious.
"Sorry, I'm staring, I didn't expect you ...," I was tripping over my words. "... to appear looking quite so fabulous and smelling delicious." I said leaning forward slightly to inhale her perfume. Jane seemed to take my compliments in her stride.
"Well, it's not very often that I accept dinner dates, so I thought I'd better make myself presentable."
"You were perfectly presentable before. But I'm so pleased you didn't take me literally. Please, go through to the patio." Was this girl being flirtatious, or was I totally misreading the situation? I asked myself.
Jane ate with relish and wasn't afraid to help herself to the wine; I counted two glasses before the offer of tiramisu, which she accepted. Afterwards, we sat together on the swing sofa and talked, everything from our respective jobs, interests and family and why we had never done this kind of socialising before, to her marriage breakup. Then the conversation became more personal and I didn't feel comfortable.
"Mike," Jane suddenly sounded serious. "Can I ask you a personal question, well, two actually?"
"Ask away." I replied wondering what she was going to say.
"Promise you won't be offended."
"I promise," I said crossing my heart.
"OK, how old are you, Mike. I mean I know you're older than me but by how many years?'
"I'm forty-six." I answered honestly knowing that lying would be futile and might possibly scupper any future friendship between us.
"Really," Jane was genuinely surprised. "That makes you twenty-years older than me!"
I made no comment. "And the second question?" I prompted. This time Jane took her time.
"Well, you're not married, live alone and no girlfriend. Are you gay, Mike?"
I collapsed with laughter. "No," I said choking on my wine. When I'd recovered I took Jane's hand in mine. "But, if I was twenty-years younger you'd know that already because I would have asked you out before now!" I kissed the back of her hand in a gallant manner before releasing it.
Jane's eyes met mine and I could tell she'd drunk too much. "Don't let that put you off, Mike!" She said leaning toward me. I felt her fingers tracing my face then our lips met, gently at first before quickly gathering passion. Jane edged closer to me and I felt her breasts pressing against my chest. I wanted this girl now, here in the swing. I wanted to caress her, wanted her legs to part for my fingers to explore.
It was a thrilling moment. My ego had been inflated by this young woman wanting to kiss me, but I was sensible enough to realise her motive was driven purely by the wine. She couldn't really fancy me, could she? No, it was the wine talking, Christ; I was old enough to be her father! I pushed her away.
"No, Jane, just think about this for a moment." I saw then that she was extremely tipsy and went to fetch some water, my erection clearly showing. Jane pleaded with me not to leave her.
"No, Mike, I like you, you like me. Come back and kiss me again. I can see you're keen." She said pointing at the front of my trousers.
"OK, that's enough it's time to go home." Then it struck me that a neighbour might see me assisting a drunken Jane through her front door, so I decided to take her around the back way. I hauled her to her feet. "Come on, it's been a lovely evening, Jane, please don't spoil it." She stumbled, her breasts forcing themselves against me; God they felt nice!
I managed to walk her out and across the patio to the fence, where she passed out. I picked her up, carried her indoors and upstairs. After figuring out which was Jane's room, I laid her down fully clothed then found a bucket to put beside the bed, in case she felt sick. Back home I cleared up and thought about her. Tomorrow, when she was sober, I doubt if Jane would recall anything about kissing me.
