Three's a Circle Not a Triangle

Bill watches his new neighbor moving in with great lust.

Having just seen her for the first time and without even knowing her name, he imagined her in heels and with her hair up. He imagined her escorting him to the Oscars. He imagined sitting with her at the 50-yard line while watching the Super Bowl. He imagined the two of them cruising to some remote, tropical island to tan in the sun, play in the sand, swim in the sea, and make love under the stars in the moonlight. He imagined walking down the aisle from the altar with her after dumping his wife, whatever was her name, and marrying her. Suddenly, caught up in wondering what his new neighbor's name was, he forgot his wife's name.

Already imagining him having an affair with her, how could such a woman have such a strong hold on him when he's yet to even meet her and didn't even know what to call her? Maybe he's going through something, another rite of passage that comes with age just before retirement and collecting Social Security checks. Yet, whatever he was feeling for her and/or going through with himself, one last rollercoaster ride, he'd loved to spend the rest of his life dancing with her as his last chance partner. With her by his side, already feeling the excitement of a Prom date, he'd looked forward to living life again. With her in his bed, he'd never feel sexually frustrated again.

In the way of Michael Douglas with Katherine Zeta Jones, she was young but not too young. More mature than the young women that men like him lust over while walking through the mall but still a good twenty years younger than he was, she was a sexy sight for his old, horny eyes to behold. He'd loved to take her to Vegas and walk through the hotel lobbies and casinos with her by his side while playing some fast action on the tables before having some hot action in bed. In the way he once did with his wife, now his last hip, hip hoorah, he'd love to go everywhere and do everything with her.

She was the type of woman who made him happy that he just refilled his eyeglass prescription and asked his doctor for Cialis pills. Probably, no doubt, from watching one too many commercials, he didn't even know why he ordered the Cialis pills when he did. He wasn't having sex with Liz or with anyone. He hasn't had sex with his wife in years. Yet, now armed and dangerous with his perfect, 20/20 vision and prescription of little, yellow pills at the ready, when staring at someone like her, he'd want to see her clearly without the blurred vision and without having the softly, disinterested cock he once experienced.

Reading into her as if he already knew her, without doubt, by her beautiful face and shapely body, she was old enough to know better than to get mixed up with him, an older, married man. With all of his lame excuses already used by other men, if he ever was to have an affair with her that was discovered, his only viable defense as evidenced just by the sexy sight of her, he could always claim temporary insanity. For someone who looked like her, she'd be worth a trip to the mental institution to forever have the memory of making love to her.

"Just as my wife no longer wants me, my new neighbor would never want me either," he said sadly while already feeling rejected by her.

A troubling reality, why would someone like her want someone like him? If only he was younger, thinner, and had more hair. If only his name was Chad, or Brad, or Reggie and he looked hot in tennis shorts, a Speedo, or had a string of Polo ponies, maybe he'd have more of a chance with her. Yet, truth be told, looking more forward to retirement and to sit in a rocking chair somewhere dry in the sun than to begin a sexual relationship with a woman who'd surely give him enough sexual pleasure for him to die happy of a heart attack, he was an aging barrister at the end of a long and successful career.

Jumping way ahead of himself, having much to lose with his ties to the community and his confessed love for his wife, if only he could remember her name, he should have known better than to want someone he couldn't have in the way that he wanted his new neighbor now. No doubt, he'd be better off if he just bought a sports car and racked up some speeding tickets. As if having a crush on a movie star, his chances with her was less than the chance he'd have at winning the lottery or at winning a case that had been selected to be heard before the Supreme Court. Never having won the lottery, he never even had the opportunity to try such a case before the Supreme Court either. Only, he wished his luck would suddenly change in seducing her, his beautiful new neighbor.

Nonetheless his immediate attraction to her by his obvious reaction when his cock awoke to an erection just by the sexy sight of her, he couldn't imagine someone like her wanting to be with someone like him, a man who had seen better days. Able to afford to buy a house on his street, she didn't appear to be the type of woman who needed his money either. Just as it had been a long time since a woman gave him a double take, a second glance, and the eye, it had been a long time since any woman has given him an erection just by the sexy sight of her. Past his prime, feeling much younger than his age but sometimes looking a lot older, especially in the early morning or late at night, he had just turned sixty-years-old.

Sixty years old? He was just forty-years-old. What the Hell happened? Where did the time go? What happened to the last twenty years? Except for bits and pieces, he couldn't remember anything of the last twenty years but for major events. No doubt, looking at how young she is, he has hats, shoes, and golf clubs that are older than his new neighbor is.

Being that she was alone in her new house, he wondered if she was married. Maybe she's divorced. Nonetheless her marital status, he wondered if she had children. Someone who looks like her must have a man in her life. Being that there's always a good reason why someone is alone, he wondered what was wrong with her. Maybe she murdered her last two husbands and bought the house with their life insurance money. Maybe she's a terrorist living innocuously in suburbia until she receives a phone call with detailed instructions on how to assassinate the President.

Nonetheless, her possibly being a murderess or a terrorist, looking for clues in who she was by the furniture and possessions that the movers moved in her house from the moving truck, he persevered in his study of her. He wondered if she liked dogs, a dog as dirty as he was to lick her face, blow in her ear, and impale his tongue in her mouth before spreading her legs and having her put her ankles upon his broad shoulders while he licked and fingered her pussy. Who knows, maybe someone like her could teach someone like him, who didn't have a Facebook page, never texted a message, and didn't know how to Twitter, some new tricks?

Oh, yeah, he'd love to be her dirty, albeit old, loyal dog of a neighbor. Dangerously convenient, how good would that be to have his mistress living across the street from him? Only, with her living just across the street, how would he see her unnoticed by his nosey neighbors and his angry wife? They'd have to drive their cars to a secret hideaway to discreetly meet somewhere off the beaten path. No doubt, he'd have to get an apartment somewhere in the city.

"Woof! Bow wow," he said for no one to hear when he saw her bending down to pick up something she dropped. "Wow, she has such a beautiful ass."

She was blonde but not a bleached blonde. He could tell that even from across the street.

"My compliments to my ophthalmologist," he said for no one to hear.

Even from this distance, he could tell that her hair didn't look like straw and feel like hay. With highlighted layers glimmering with multi colored highlights from white to honey to bright blonde and with all of the yellow hues shining to compliment the sun, her hair looked much lighter than straw and softer than hay. If there was such a machine that could spin the soft, gold, metal into hair, her hair was the color of spun gold.

He didn't have to see her blonde, magic carpet to know that she was a real blonde. He could tell by her eyebrows and by her complexion that she was a natural blonde. Even from where he stood, he could see that she had freckles. He loved women who had freckles. Maybe, one day, she'd allow him a closer and deeper inspection of her freckles that no doubt dotted her chest too.

"What are you doing?" He imagined his sexy neighbor asking him.

"Nothing," he'd say embarrassed that she caught him looking, leering, and staring down her blouse.

"Why are you looking down my blouse?" He imagined her asking him.

Duh? Why do you think I'm looking down your blouse, he wanted to say but didn't.

"I, um, was just looking at your freckles," he imagined saying with the nervous smile of a perverted, old lecher.

"Freckles my ass. You were staring at my tits, weren't you, you horrible, old man," he imagined her saying and storming off mad at him.

Now that he imagined that about her, how he perceived she'd react to catching him ogling her, he'd take care not to offend her when he did meet her. No doubt, if she was leaning over in front of him, he couldn't help himself from looking down her blouse or up her skirt. Only, keeping his eye on the prize by not allowing her to catch him ogling her, he'd rather be deemed her lover than some dirty, old man trying to get a cheap down blouse peek or up skirt view of her panty clad, blonde pussy. Surely, he'd much rather seduce her than to offend her with inappropriate leers.

He opened his desk drawer to retrieve his binoculars. Not much of a bird watcher, he's been known to spy on his neighbor's wives should they forget to pull their shades or close their blinds. Only with his neighbors as old and older than him, he hasn't had much of a chance to use his binoculars with any kind of sexual excitement since the Wilson's son had a big party when they took a cruise and left him to housesit. He never saw so many young, topless and naked woman in their swimming pool.

Wondering what color eyes she had, he wanted a closer view of her pretty face. Focusing on her while pushing his zoom lens, she had big, blue eyes that looked excited to be moving across the street from him, he imagined while knowing that was his fantasy and not hers. A little, white lie but something he needed to tell himself was the imagined truth he needed to continue the fantasy and to hold onto the ray of hope of being with her one day. He'd be crushed if she had a boyfriend or a husband. Only, someone who looks like her must have a man sniffing around her. Definitely, someone who looked like her would never be without a man.

Already planning his escape as if breaking out of prison with his warden ensconced downstairs, he planned his next big party in his head with her as the star guest and the main attraction to make all of his friends and neighbors jealous. He wondered how he'd get away with not inviting his wife to his private party, especially when they lived in the same house. Maybe he'll just wait until she's gone for a week to see her mother. While the cats away, hoping to God that she'd take her cat with her too, this big rat would play.

Not a typical Texas, blonde, beauty pageant winner, appearing to be blessed with more intelligence than that, if only judging her imagined big brain from her high forehead, she was beautiful nonetheless. She had that kind of beauty that took hold of him the first time he saw Marilyn Monroe, Morgan Fairchild, Elizabeth Montgomery, Kim Basinger, Heidi Klum, or Cheryl Ladd. Interestingly enough, he had lusted over them all in the way that he was lusting over her now. Knowing full well that it was his sexual imagination playing sexy games with his mind, she looked just like that woman, Susan, in that porn video he was just watching. Damn, she was beautiful, sexy and hot, just as beautiful, sexy, and hot as his new neighbor. How cool would that be if a porn star moved in across the street from him?

"Holy cow," he said for no one to hear but himself.

He wondered what it would take to bed her. He wondered what he could do to impress her or what he could say to make her interested enough in him for her to want to remove her clothes. He wondered about all the men she must have kissed and rejected to be so alone now. Feeling a sudden pang of rejection, he wondered with deep regret and pitiful sorrow if she was lesbian.

'Boy wouldn't that be a kick in the balls if she was a pussy licker instead of a dick sucker. That would be so unfair if she preferred women to men,' he thought to himself.

Yet, now that he thought more about it, one who always loved women, a licker instead of a sucker himself, if only by his own definition of lesbianism, then he was lesbian too. Nonetheless his admitted attraction to women, he was a man and not a woman and that trumped his definition of him being a lesbian. He wasn't a lesbian but a horny, old man who longed to recapture all that he's missed with his wife with his younger, beautiful, new neighbor. A reason for everything and a reason why she moved in across the street from him, he hoped she was his reason as much as he hoped she preferred sucking a cock to licking a pussy. Only, her being lesbian wouldn't be a total waste so long as he could watch.

She had big tits, not circus sized breasts but big enough and hung low enough for him to tell that they looked real and weren't created by some plastic surgeon's Playboy Playmate's image of what he thought women's breast should look like. Too many women who get breast implants tend to error on the bigger side than on the smaller. Being that she was tall, in the way of former Miss America, Linda Carter of Wonder Woman fame and Cybil Shepherd of Moonlighting fame, she was built to carry big breasts, the kind of breasts that had a deep line of cleavage in the way that Loni Anderson of WKRP fame had sculpted in her phony breasts. Mountains of mammary glands with a deep valley between them, he wondered if he stuck his mouth down her blouse and yelled 'bit tits,' if there'd be an echo.

'Big tits! Big tits! Big tits!'

Where Liz was a padded B cup, easily, his new neighbor was a D cup but he suspected that she may even be a double D cup. Wow. He could only imagine what it would feel like to kiss her while feeling her enormous breasts through her blouse and bra. He could only imagine what it would feel like to remove her bra and feel her big, naked breasts. He could only imagine what it would feel like to finger her erect nipples while she sucked his cock. With his horny hands and lips his true, built-in breast measurement tools, for sure, he'd have to more closely examine her breasts to tell their true size.

'If you don't mind,' he imagined saying to her as if he worked in a lingerie shop and was fitting her for a bra. 'Just one more feel of your big breasts and one more suck of your erect nipple will allow me to tell your true breast size.'

'Well, okay,' he imagined her replying. 'Only keep your pants on this time.'

Being that it was the winter and wouldn't be the summer for several more months, he envisioned her tanning year round. He imagined her sunning herself topless out back in the winter, the spring, the summer, and the fall without benefit of a coat. Moreover, imagining her being impervious to the cold, he'd love to see her lying on a snow bank without her bikini bra. He imagined her using him as a model to perfect an anatomically correct snowman she made with a cock created from an icicle that was as long and as thick as his cock. With her playing the starring role in them, how perfect his life would be if his sexual fantasies were his sexual reality with her in it.

William loved tall, young, beautiful, blue-eyed blondes with big tits. He wondered if his wife had spotted her yet. Just as he was watching her from the upstairs windows, he figured that she was watching her from the downstairs windows. Being that he didn't hear any noise coming from downstairs, he figured she was already watching their new neighbor too. He and his wife needed to get a life. They were home too much for them to be too focused on spying on their new neighbor.

Typical for this small neighborhood, Liz was always noticing things that were none of her business. Always snooping and spying in the way of Mrs. Kravitz on Bewitch, if she was a man she'd be a voyeur in the way that he is. Even after the kids were long gone, if she was a man, he'd have decked her already instead of staying together with her in this empty marriage for the sake of the house, the kids, and the dog. Nonetheless, more out of habit than anything else, he was still weighted down by the mistakes of romance and marriage that he made early in life.

No doubt, if he was single he'd be helping his beautiful, blonde, busty neighbor move and rearrange her furniture while hoping to catch a glimpse of her big tits with a few down blouses and her panties with a few up skirts, that is, before she had changed into jeans. No doubt, if he was single, he'd be inviting her over for coffee or tea or sex. If he was single, he'd ask her out to dinner, a movie, a ballgame, or for some heavy breathing and sweaty humping. Someone like her makes him regret being married. If only he knew that he'd meet someone like her twenty years ago, when he was 40-years-old and she was 20-years-old, he would have ended his marriage then before the children went off to college to bury him in college tuition debt.

With the four moving men she had, it was obvious that she didn't need his bad back, bad knees, bad hips, or his get out of their way help. She had plenty of help from the moving men making eyes at her. Nonetheless, if his wife wasn't downstairs watching her, he'd be out there introducing himself and telling her about the neighborhood and about the neighbors while warning her about this one and that one. Yet, in the way that he felt about her now, he was her biggest sexual threat. Already spying on her through his binoculars, what would he do tonight when she was hopefully and shamelessly parading around in front of her big, bay windows without blinds, shades, or drapes while in her sheer nightgown, low cut bra and sexy panty, or naked?

He wondered why she chose this house and this neighborhood to move into when all the residents were older instead of younger and were getting hip and knee transplants instead of being hip and cool. Ready to pounce if it wasn't for his wife being home, wishing he wasn't so hindered from making his move, he watched her as if he was a cat watching a canary. She had nothing on the windows and the lights were all ablaze in the house. He hoped she was a nudist and lived like that so that he could watch her dress when sipping his coffee in the morning and undress while having a cocktail at night. Way better than imagining Adele topless, he'd love to masturbate over the sexy sight of her dressing and undressing.

He wondered her name. Someone like her had to have a beautiful name. Someone like her could never be named Debbie or Linda or Liz in the way that his wife ruined the image of that name whenever he met anyone else named Liz. For such a soft name, that evoked the beauty of Elizabeth Taylor, Liz was a hard sounding name now, as hard as she was bitchy and hard to please. Now whenever he heard the name Liz, the name evoked an image of a female Nazi storm trooper holding a riding crop and beating him into submission. It would be okay if he was into sub and Dom stuff but, bruising too easily, a bleeder, and a big crybaby when it came to pain, he wasn't.

Why couldn't he be married to someone like his new, beautiful, blonde neighbor, no doubt named Alexandria, Evangeline, Isadora, Juliana, Katarina, Magdalena, Ophelia, or Veronica? Surely someone so tall, so blonde, so beautiful, and so busty must have a 4 or 5 syllable name. Surely someone like her must have a name that takes longer to say while evoking the beautiful image of her as he admired her magnificence.