There had been a violent storm overnight and I'd been called out for emergency services. A tree had come down on a house and we had to get the people out and put up some temporary coverings on what was left of the roof to prevent what damage we could. Then there were the two trees on the road that we had to get off the road. And it was wet and cold. Fortunately I was in a position that I could sleep in the next day and I swore I wouldn't be out of bed before noon.
Typically, the day after the storm was beautiful. The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky and the temperature was already climbing, promising a nice hot day. I observed all this at the ungodly hour of nine, hours before I wanted to be awake. Why was I awake at nine instead of sleeping the sleep of the valiant and righteous?
Well, for a start, the bed seemed to be shaking. The windows were rattling. The whole house seemed to have the nervous jitters. Earthquake, you suggest? I wish.
It was, for want of a better name, music. Teeth grinding, nerve rattling, headache generating music. Imagine a full orchestra playing the 1812 overture, with cannons, in your bedroom while you're trying to sleep. It would have been preferable to the soul shattering din I was getting. Quite frankly, if the bass got any louder I think my windows would all have shattered. I was surprised to find they hadn't.
"Ah," I thought to myself. "The MacKenzies have gone out, leaving Amanda at home alone."
There was no way known Amanda would play music at that volume if her parents were at home. Her father would have walked around putting his foot through every speaker in the house and considered the cost justified.
Amanda likes loud music. She has been asked, told, ordered, threatened, to keep the volume down, but she does tend to forget on occasions. Like this morning. If I wanted quiet I'd have to go over there and request it.
Don't get me wrong. Amanda is a nice girl apart from this quirk. She's around nineteen, dark haired, brown eyed, reasonable figure, reasonably pretty. And she's not hard of hearing so she doesn't need the music at that volume.
I dragged myself out of bed, had a quick shower, threw on some clothes and went next door, feeling justifiably resentful. I rang the doorbell, which was polite, but a bit of a joke. Who could hear it over the music? Checking the door I found it unlocked, opened it, and walked in.
The main blast of music seemed to be coming from the front room so I walked on in, intending to turn it off and speak to Amanda when she came running. It turned out I wouldn't have to wait for Amanda as she was already in the front room, doing exercises or something, in time to the music.
Amanda had her back to me. From what I could see she was wearing an abbreviated one-piece gym costume that had to have been sewn onto her body, it looked so tight. I mentioned that she had a reasonable figure. I have to amend that. In that outfit she had a damn fine figure.
I called out to her but she couldn't hear me. My voice just blended into the raucous cacophony of sound blasting from the speakers. She was definitely going to deafen herself. I was about to walk around in front of her so she could see me, but then she changed her exercise routine or dance or whatever the hell she was doing.
Have you ever seem videos of girls twerking? It's sexually stimulating, what with that squatting stance and those hip movements that have their bottoms bouncing happily. That's what Amanda started doing, going into a nice squat and humping away without a partner.
It would embarrass her to be caught doing that sort of thing so I didn't walk around to where she could see me. Instead, I moved up behind her and put out my hand, palm up. Timing it right, Amanda twerked her bottom sharply downward just as my hand slid into place, with the result that the slapped her pudenda fairly and squarely onto my hand, which naturally curved to cover all the area. That thin outfit she was wearing let me feel the heat of her right through the material.
As you might expect, finding herself slapping her pussy against a man's hand came as something of a shock to her. She promptly lifted up off my hand with a shriek I heard over the music. I should point out that she didn't lift her pussy up off my hand immediately, because my hand followed her upward movement, keeping contact. Contact was only broken when she made a leap forward, landed on the couch, and curled up into a ball.
I took the chance to step over to the stereo and hit the off switch, feeling the blessed calm of silence descend.
"Morning, Amanda," I said.
She stared at me for a moment, slowly letting recognition filter through her stunned mind.
"You, you. . ." she stuttered. "My god, I thought I was going to be raped and murdered. This is it, I told myself. I'm dead. And it's just you, you evil pervert. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
She might have started with a stutter, but she finished with a furious shriek.
"I'll tell you what I'm not doing," I countered. "I'm not home in bed after a hard night out with the emergency services. And do you know why I'm not home in bed? That's right. Your perpetual noise machine."
"All you had to do was knock and ask me to turn it down. Have you heard of phones? They let you send messages without even leaving the house."
"I did knock," I pointed out. "I did phone. No answer. I stood behind you and yelled your name and you didn't hear me from three paces away. So I touched you to attract your attention."
"You call that touching?"
"Well, yes. You felt it, didn't you? Why on earth did you have the music that loud? You know you've been asked repeatedly not to use volumes that interfere with the neighbours. You're going to damage your own hearing as well as get in trouble with the law. I could easily file a nuisance complaint about you."
"I just like loud music sometimes, and you're changing the subject. You goosed me. You sexually assaulted me."
"If you like loud music then I suggest you get some actual music. What was coming out of your speakers was pure noise without a shred of musical meaning. And I didn't goose you. I just held out my hand and you sat on it."
"Oh! That is such a lie. You deliberately poked me there knowing how I'd react. You wanted me to think I was going to be attacked. You deliberately tried to scare me. And just because you've got old fashioned taste in music doesn't mean I have."
"You worry too much about sex. Too much effort for me to try and rape you. You're just trying to turn the subject away from your excessive noise, and the fact that you have been told about it before. I just feel I'm entitled to sleep after being up all night with emergency work."
"Oh, I'm so sorry you can't sleep your life away, but it is daytime. And just what do you mean, too much effort?"
