Christopher sat on his back porch, staring off into the dark. He could hear crickets chirping on the other side of the screen, and, as he lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips, he wished like hell they'd quiet down. He'd had a long day. Trying to stay busy, he'd cut the front grass, trimmed bushes, fixed a broken shutter, and filled in a groundhog den being dug at the corner of the patio.
He'd done good, hard physical labor to keep his mind off his wife. Today was Emily's birthday. She would've been 40. The big four-oh, and he would've rubbed it in, the way she'd done when he reached that mark not long before... before...
"Fuck," he said, out loud.
Emily had been dead for two years now. Cancer. It'd been quick -- if that can be considered mercy. She'd gone from a beautiful, athletic, seemingly healthy woman to a scarecrow in a matter of months.
Em was his muse. He'd written everything for her, and she'd pushed him to submit his work; to find an agent; to get published. His success was due to her as much as to him. And yet, somehow, he always felt his work failed her; his words -- any words -- were inadequate to describe her -- his love for her; what she meant to him.
When she left him. No, he corrected himself, it hadn't been a choice. It's not like she abandoned him. She died. That's it. If it weren't for Mr. C, she'd be sitting next to him with a drink of her own. Or, maybe on his lap. He could still feel her there. Still recall the smell of her.
"You're not doing a very good job of not thinking about her," he said.
For several months, he did nothing; hardly even bothering to drag himself out of bed. He'd barely strung together three words since night fell on his world. He couldn't bring himself to write. His agent and his publisher had called for a while, but gave up. A half-finished novel sat on his hard-drive, collecting cyber-dust. And, he rarely even thought about it anymore.
His mind drifted, and he remembered making love to Emily. She still excited him, and he realized his cock had hardened. He wiggled in the chair, and reached down to adjust himself, stroking his shaft a few times as he did so. Grumbling, he determined that he couldn't recall the last time he'd cum.
Rising, he went in the house, and made his way upstairs to his office. Sitting down at his computer, he opened a file. A video started playing. The scene began with Tori Black -- a young brunette porn star who reminded him of Emily -- wearing a skimpy black bikini, and strappy black heels which clicked across a hardwood floor. Panning up, the camera followed her, focusing on her gorgeous ass.
His right hand fell into his lap. Tori knelt on a couch as a man approached. He grabbed her hair and slapped her ass. Chris pushed down the front of his sweat pants, letting his cock pop free. Freeing his balls as well, he let his fingers caress the wrinkled skin, then trace up along the stiffening shaft.
From there, things moved too quickly. Though he tried to control himself, enjoying the sight of a woman being pleasured, only a few minutes passed, and as the couple on the screen began fucking -- Tori moaning loudly -- Chris closed his eyes, envisioning Emily riding him. His balls tightened and he groaned. His body convulsed, and he came. Wanting to avoid making a mess, he cupped his hand over the tip of his cock, and blocked the cum as it shot out. The sticky goo dripped off and rolled down his shaft.
As his body relaxed, he opened his eyes. Tori clawed at the couch as the man, kneeling behind her, drove his cock deep into her pussy. Letting the video continue, Chris reached out for a box of tissues. His breathing returned to normal in the two minutes it took to clean himself.
Clicking the X, he closed the window, and stood up. He noticed his curtains were still open. Looking out, he could see across the driveway to the house next door. Luckily, the curtains were closed in the window directly across from his.
"Should probably remember to close those, or turn out the light, next time," he thought.
He did both, then walked out of the office, toward the bathroom, needing to make a stop there before going to bed.
The next afternoon, Chris rolled the lawn mower into the back yard. He bent over to snag the ripcord and yanked it, starting the machine. Beginning a shrinking square pattern over the patch of grass, he approached the fence between his property and that of the Strong family.
Ten years ago, they'd moved in next door; only six months after he and Emily. Charlie, a colonel in the United States Air Force, met Vivian while stationed in Taiwan. They'd brought with them three precocious young daughters: Hailey, 8; Samantha, 9, and Michelle, 10.
Emily and Chris quickly became unofficial aunt and uncle to the girls. They'd watched them grow up. But, when Em left, Chris pulled back, having minimal contact with the family since -- though he still cut their grass, and kept an eye on the house, when Charlie deployed.
Currently, Charlie was in Germany. He could've taken his family with him, but two of the girls were already in college, and Hailey would be starting in the fall. Charlie decided to leave them State-side rather than disrupt their studies.
Growing closer to the chest-high, wooden, shadow-box fence, he spied someone kneeling on the other side. Two someone's, as a matter of fact. He quickly deduced the two female forms were working in the flower bed on their side. Vivian's smiling face appeared above the fence as he reached it. She was joined by Hailey. Two sets of brown eyes sparkled at him.
"Hey, Mr. M," Hailey sang out as he killed the engine.
"Hi," he returned, noticing, for the first time, how beautiful the girl had become.
Taking after her father, Hailey hardly even looked Asian. She looked... American... he thought, then silently chided himself for the idiocy of it. They were all American. The kids were born here, and Viv had worked hard to become naturalized.
Hailey stood about 5'6". Very little of her petite body was hidden by the black spandex short shorts and sports bra she wore.
"Good day, Chris," Viv said, bowing her head slightly, an old habit she still carried.
"Hello, Vivian," he replied, running a hand over the three days growth of beard on his face. "How are you today?"
"I am well," she responded.
As they spoke, the other two daughters, Samantha and Michelle, walked out of the garage. Both wore shorts and bikini tops. He averted his eyes, glancing once more at Hailey. She beamed at him, and he noticed the nipples of her perky 32A breasts were hard, pushing out against the dark material. Raising her arms, she adjusted the scrunchy holding back her shoulder-length raven hair. The action lifted her breasts, as if she were displaying them for him.
The other girls approached and greeted him before their mother asked the three young women to give them some privacy. Obediently, they climbed the steps to their back porch, and poured themselves some water as they gazed toward the fence, wondering what their mother was saying.
"Tomorrow, I am flying to England to meet Charlie," Viv announced.
"Nice," he allowed, not knowing what else to say. "I'm glad you'll get to see him."
She smiled at him.
"I will be gone for five days," she said. "Would you please watch the girls?"
"I..." Chris began.
"I do not mean baby sit," she interrupted. "Just watch the house while I'm gone."
"Of course," he agreed.
"They have been told to throw no parties," Viv stated. "And, no more than two guests at any time. They are good girls. They will listen."
Chris nodded his understanding.
"Still," Viv continued in a conspiratorial whisper. "It is good to have a spy."
He laughed loudly, and she grinned.
"I'll cut your grass when I'm done here," Chris offered. "If that's OK with you."
"Thank you, Chris," she said. "That will be OK with me... if I can send over some dinner later."
He knew not to protest. She wouldn't take no for an answer. Besides, her cooking was better, by far, than anything he'd ever had at a Chinese restaurant.
"I would like that," he acknowledged.
Vivian gave him another small bow, and turned to walk away. She had a grace to the way she moved -- as if she were gliding over the ground. As the girls surrounded their mother, Chris re-started the mower.
By the time he finished both yards, he was covered in sweat. He'd fought to avoid staring at the girls as they worked with their mother. He'd had to keep himself from eyeing her, too. It was easy to see where the girls got their beauty. After refilling the gas tank, he put the mower in the garage, and then dragged his tired ass into the house.
He stopped in the kitchen to chug a Powerade. Then, needing a shower, he climbed the steps. Standing in the bedroom, he peeled off his stinky, wet clothes. He dropped them in the hamper and turned. Through the window, he noticed Hailey, kneeling in her yard. Bending over, she pressed some flowers into the soil. Chris' eyes traced over the curves of her body, lingering on her ass. It was perfect. She was perfect.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered.
On her hands and knees, Hailey rocked back and forth several times, patting the dirt, then pouring on water. Chris realized his cock was hard. It stuck out in front of him, and his hand was wrapped around the shaft. Part of him wanted to turn away; ashamed of acting like some dirty old man, playing with himself while ogling a young girl. But, he didn't retreat. He remained, watching her, and jerking himself.
Hailey wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then turned. Her face lifted, and she seemed to look right at him. Chris tried to keep from ducking out of view. Slowly, he stepped away from the window. Embarrassed, he headed for the shower, stopping to shave first.
As he stood under the spray of hot water, he decided she couldn't have seen him. No way. He'd been hidden in the shadows of the room. It was just his imagination. He succeeded in convincing himself. His thoughts returned to Hailey's body, and his hand once more found his hard cock.
The back doorbell rang just after 6:00. Opening the door, Chris found Hailey there, holding a bowl. Steam emerged from the towel covering it. Hailey had put on a pair of cut-off denim shorts, but still wore the sports bra. She smiled at him.
"Hey, again, Mr. M," she said. "My mother asked me to bring over your dinner."
He was getting lost in her eyes.
"Thank you," he managed to say.
They stood speechless for a moment.
