by Brent, Amy
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was in the pool with me, tugging me off the raft, taking me into his arms. He pushed me against the side of the pool and I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
His cock was huge; long, thick. He guided the tip to my hole and I gasped as the head pushed its way inside my tight young pussy. He smothered me with kisses as he slid in inch by inch until he could fit now more. His hands were on my ass, his fingers dug into my cheeks so hard it made me gasp from the pain. His hot tongue probed my mouth as his cock stretched the tight walls of my pussy, filling me up, the tip of his cock pressing against my cervix. I could feel my pussy lips molding around his girthy shaft. I could feel him in my chest and throat.
“Fuck me hard,” I whispered in his ear. “Hammer your big cock into my tight pussy.”
“Yes, my little Lolita,” he said, his voice deep and breathy in my ear. My heels dug into his hard ass, prodding him on like nudging a stallion during a race. The deep thrusts of his cock jarred my body, made me gasp for air and bite my lip. I could hear the water lapping at the side of the pool with each thrust. My tits bounced in the water in slow motion. The orgasm came quickly, shuddering through me with the intensity of an earthquake. I sunk my teeth into his shoulder and moaned as I came. I could feel his hot seed filling my pussy as my hot juices flowed out over him.
When I woke up the next morning, my panties and the sheet beneath me were soaked. I thought for a moment that I’d wet the bed. And I supposed, technically, that was exactly what I did.
* * *
Mom had her seduction of the hot neighbor planned with morbid precision. She’d give the guy to bury his wife on Thursday. She’d give him Friday to mourn. Saturday, she’d hang out by the pool in a skimpy bikini with the music playing loud enough to catch his attention (gee, what a great idea, duh), and on Sunday she’d show up with a basket of cookies from Costco that she would swear were homemade, and she’d be fucking him by dinnertime. The reason she was giving the poor guy till Sunday was that she already had dates Friday and Saturday nights.
Sorry, mom, I was already ten steps ahead of you.
Thursday afternoon, I watched through the blinds as Ben Ryder, dressed in a black suit that fit him like a glove, loaded his little boy in his Range Rover to go to his wife’s funeral. He didn’t come home until almost nine that night. I figured there was a family gathering or something after the funeral. The little boy wasn’t with him. I assumed he had stayed with relatives. I remembered Bethany Ryder mentioning a sister who lived out near Fall’s Church.
Friday morning, I dragged out of bed around ten, still groggy because I’d spent the whole night fucking and sucking Ben Ryder in my dreams. I was lucky that way. I could fall asleep with something on my mind and I’d end up dreaming about it in vivid detail. I had fallen asleep the past couple of nights thinking about him, imagining his hands exploring my body, his lips sucking my nipples, his cock pounding in every hole. I started sleeping in the nude and without fail, I’d wake up with the sheet beneath me drenched from my cum.
I was still naked and my pussy was still sticky as I walked through the quiet house, stretching my limbs, grunting at the new day. I went to the front room and peeked out the window. The Range Rover was in the driveway. I wondered what his plans were. I mean, the guy just buried his wife yesterday, so I would expect that he had a ton of things to do today, like dealing with life insurance or legal shit or just settling back into life as best he could.
Mrs. Crown across the street told my mom that Ben and Bethany Ryder had been having problems and Ben had been gone for two months. She also said Bethany went out late at night and sometimes a strange truck would park down the block and a man she didn’t recognize would go into the Ryder house. Mrs. Crown was a fount of knowledge when it came to the neighbors. She never missed anything. I could only imagine what she thought of mom and me, the horny single mom and her horny daughter who ran around in just a bikini, making the neighborhood men fall all over themselves when they passed by. Mom called her Mrs. Kravitz, after the nosey neighbor on the old Bewitched TV show.
Most of the stuff mom got from Mrs. Crown was just idle gossip, but what she said about Bethany and Ben Ryder’s marriage caught my attention. I was usually pretty oblivious to what went on in the neighborhood, but if they were having problems and he was away for two months and a strange man was visiting late at night, well, that told me that the Ryder marriage might have been over a long time ago. Still, the guy had to mourn. Even if the love between them had died, they had to have been happy at some point. There was love there in the beginning, and memories of love don’t go away just because someone dies. They shared a life and a child. That wasn’t something you could just forget and move on.
I let the curtain drop and went to take a quick shower. As I lathered up my bush and washed the dream sex from my cunt, I thought about mom’s plan to seduce Ben Ryder. She would probably freak if she knew what I did, diddling myself by the pool while he watched. Mom was one of those parents who preached “do as I say not as I do”. She wanted me to be a good girl even though she fucked a different guy every night of the week, and usually got something for it. When I fucked a guy, it was because I wanted to fuck him and get the pleasure from it, not because I needed a new pair of shoes or wanted a bigger TV for the den. I said it before and I’ll say it again: my mom’s not a whore, but she uses her Pussy Power to get what she wants. She considers it fair trade. Pussy for stuff. Pussy for affection. Pussy for attention. I wondered if she had ever traded Pussy for love?
I knew her well enough to know that once she set her sights on Ben Ryder, she’d be fucking him before the weekend was out. Sorry, mom, I can’t let that happen. This one is mine.
I finished the shower and towel dried my hair as I went into my bedroom. There was no need to get dressed and put on makeup. My plan was to put on a repeat performance of the other day. I’d put on just the bikini bottoms and go out to the pool, crank up the music, oil up my tits, and wait for the curtains to move. Then, if my nerve didn’t fail me, I’d crook my finger and invite him over. What happened next was up to him. I was ready to fuck him blind, just like I’d been doing in my dreams.
* * *
I was just about to open the sliding doors to go out to the pool when the doorbell rang. I was just wearing the bikini bottoms, so I grabbed a t-shirt from my room and tugged it over my head as I went to answer the door.
When I stood on my tiptoes to peer out the peephole, my heart nearly stopped. Standing on the other side of the door, on my front porch, in delicious living color, was Ben Ryder.
Ryder
I couldn’t get the girl next door out of my mind. God forgive me, but even as they were lowering Bethany’s casket into the ground, with Cody sitting quietly on my lap, and Emily and Hank sitting on either side of me, I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. Obsession, I guess you’d call it. Even though I had never really met her— hadn’t really even spoken to her—I was obsessed with her, to the point of not being able to think about anything else. Her beautiful tanned skin, her gorgeous face, her long blonde hair, her long legs, her large breasts, her dark nipples, the blonde curls between her legs… fuck, I thought I would die if I didn’t get her in my bed soon.
Emily cried softly through the entire service at the church and at the graveside. Hank was stoic, as always, the strong, silent type. His kids sat quietly next to him with their hands folded neatly in their laps, dumbfounded by it all. It was the first funeral they had ever attended and didn’t really understand what was happening. It was hard to explain the concept of death to a couple of six and seven year olds, so I didn’t even try. Hank and Emily could educate them later, when they felt the time was right.
Due to the extent of Bethany’s head injuries, I opted for the casket to be closed during the service. Okay, that wasn’t the only reason. I had seen the body before the public viewing. The funeral director had done the best he could with what was left. The truth wa
s, I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting there with my son in my lap trying to explain to him why his mommy wouldn’t wake up and climb out of the shiny wooden box and take home.
Quinn was there, of course, the only person invited from my side of the relationship. It hit me that he was the only friend I had, other than my SEAL brothers and sisters who I rarely got to see. He sat behind me at the graveside and put his hand on my shoulder now and then just to let me know he was there.
The pastor from Emily and Hank’s church conducted the service. A fat little man with a splotchy sad face, he asked if there were any particular passage from the bible that he should read, any passages that had deep meaning for me and Bethany. I politely told him to choose because I wouldn’t know a bible passage if you tattooed it on my forehead and neither would Bethany. I did recall something about coveting thy neighbor’s wife, then I remembered that I had been fucking Bonita Anderson for weeks, so I let it go.
There were several people at the service I didn’t even know. Emily identified them as members of the church who were there to support her rather than to mourn for Emily. I glanced over my shoulder now and then, looking for a stranger who might be lurking among the gravestones watching his lover being lowered into the ground. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching.
If I was her lover I’d certainly be there… fuck… what a strange goddamn thought to have. Get hold of yourself, man, I thought. Bury your wife. Focus on your son. Mourn like a decent person is supposed to…
There was the kicker.
I was not a decent person. to.
I was the asshole sitting next to his dead wife’s grave who couldn’t stop thinking about fucking that girl in the pool…
* * *
Okay, I know what you’re thinking.
Don’t judge me. Not yet.
You must be thinking, what the fuck, dude? You’re a thirty-three-year-old man and she must be eighteen or nineteen at the most. You’re a grown-ass man and she’s still a child. What you’re thinking about doing would get you locked up in some states. Get the shit beaten out of you in others.
Don’t do this, Ryder.
You’re better than this.
You’re a goddamn United States Navy SEAL, man.
You’re a disciplined, moral, ethical, dedicated, honest, upright kind of guy.
Don’t take advantage of that poor girl.
And you’re right, for the most part. I was a grown-ass man and while I didn’t agree that she was a child (not with those tits), she was considerably younger than me. The point that was probably sticking in your craw (and in mine) was that it had been less than twenty-four hours since I buried my wife. Don’t get me wrong. I loved Bethany. I was so incredibly sad and sorry that she was gone. But Bethany had moved on months ago. She told me she was filing for divorce. She told me she didn’t love me anymore. The fact that she had another man’s baby inside her was proof that our marriage was over.
I wasn’t going to lock myself away and grieve for the rest of my life. That wouldn’t be fair to me or to Cody. He needed his daddy whole—a happy, smiling, caring, loving daddy dedicated to raising him right and making his life as good as it could be. And that’s what I intended to do. I was going to be happy—I was going to make myself happy—and as a result, make Cody happy. And at the moment, deep in my soul, I knew that nothing would make me happier than fucking the girl next door.
* * *
After Bethany’s funeral, Cody pitched a fit to go home with Hank and Emily and their boys. I had no idea how to handle a kid who was stomping his foot and turning red with anger in the middle of a cemetery, or any other place for that matter. What I knew about parenting wouldn’t fill a tin cup. I was wondering how Bethany would have handled it when Hank put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me aside.
He said, “Let us take him for the weekend. He’ll be with the boys. It’ll take his mind off things. Plus, you probably could use a little quiet time yourself. We’ll drop him off back at your house after church on Sunday.”
I started to protest, but then realized he was right. Cody had been spending a lot of time with Hank’s boys. They were his family now. And Hank had been more of a father to him than I’d ever been.
“Okay, Hank, thanks.” I shook his hand and watched him lead my son away. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if a hand had wrapped around my heart and was wringing all the blood out of it. Cody was smiling up at Hank, chattering away, all the tears and confusion long gone. I was jealous of their relationship. I had a long road ahead of me. Uncle Hank had some very big shoes to fill.
On the ride home, my cellphone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize. I hit the button on the steering wheel to put it on the speaker. “Hello, this is Ben Ryder.”
“Mr. Ryder, this is Lieutenant Mason with the Arlington PD. Sir, I just wanted to let you know that you can pick up the car anytime you like.”
I frowned at the digital display, as if the man was talking to me from inside the dash. “I’m sorry, the car?”
“Yes, sir, the car belonging to Mrs. Bethany Ryder. It’s registered in your name, sir. That’s how we tracked you down as next of kin because we couldn’t get Mrs. Ryder’s ID from the car until several hours after the paramedics were able to lift her out, so we called up the tag number in the DMV database to get the registration name and address. We tried calling you, but couldn’t reach you.”
“I was out of the country,” I said quietly.
“Yes, sir, we eventually figured that out. When we couldn’t reach you one of the nurses at the hospital was smart enough to check the hospital records to see if Mrs. Ryder had ever been admitted before. Turned out your son was born at St. Vincent’s, so we got your employment information from the insurance forms and I was able to contact your employer, Mr. Blackwell.”
I flexed my fingers around the steering wheel and tried to focus on the road as I listened. “I don’t understand. You say it took several hours to get the car back on the road?”
“Yes, sir, it went down a steep embankment and landed about fifty feet down off Old Post Road just outside of Fall’s Church. Paramedics had to repel down to get your wife out. It took a while to get a chain on the car to pull it out.”
“Jesus,” I sighed. “Were you the officer on the scene, Lieutenant?”
His voice went quiet. “One of them, yes sir.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid not,” he said. I could hear him sighing over the phone. “She was in pretty bad shape. It’s my understanding that she never regained consciousness and passed an hour after arriving at the hospital. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Ryder.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Where is the car?”
“Well, sir, it was totaled, as you’d expect. Not drivable. It’s at the city tow yard. I can give you the number of a wrecker service who can tow it wherever you like. I would suggest that you personally remove any of Mrs. Ryder’s personal effects that may still be inside the vehicle.”
“Personal effects?”
“Yes, sir. Whatever is still in the car you might want to retrieve. I bagged her purse and gave it to the lot manager to hold for you. There was a car seat in the back, some kid’s toys, personal papers in the glovebox, that sort of thing.”
“Do you know if her phone was in the purse?” I asked.
“No sir, I don’t think it was. It might still be in the car somewhere.”
“Right, okay. I’ll take care of it, Lieutenant. I appreciate you calling.”
I hadn’t even thought about Bethany’s purse or her cellphone. I would go down Friday afternoon to have a look, then have the car towed to a scrap yard. I was too beat to do it today and it was already after five so the lot was probably closed anyway. I pressed the gas and headed home, my mind reeling. For a moment, I wondered if the car might hold any evidence as to the identity of the man Bethany was fucking. Did I really care? Did I really want to know? My macho bullshit ego aside, kno
wing who Bethany was fucking probably wouldn’t have impacted my life one iota, not in the way fucking the girl in the pool was going to.
* * *
When I woke up Friday morning I couldn’t get the girl next door off my mind. It was crazy, I know. Borderline obsessive, even. I had zoned in on girls in the past, when I was much younger, back before I was married, but nothing like this. I can even remember seeing a news report about a forty-something science teacher in Alabama running off with one of his fifteen-year-old students. I remembered thinking what I’d do to a guy like that if that was my little girl. But this was different. The girl next door was legally an adult. She had masturbated in front of me. I mean, she had to have known that I was up there watching, didn’t she? Yes. Of course, she did. Why else would she do what she had done the moment I peered through the curtain?
In the SEALs, we had to meet with the Navy shrink once a quarter just to make sure our heads were still screwed on straight. You had no idea what that life did to some guys. Some guys melted down while others were cold as ice. One guy, a private from Idaho named Bixby, started hearing voices a month after he arrived and blew his brains out in the middle of the mess hall one morning during breakfast. Most of us just kept eating our powdered eggs and pancakes while the medics scraped the poor fuck off the floor.
“You either thrive or dive,” Quinn always said whenever a young recruit would ask how he handled all the bad shit we saw and did on a daily basis. “And if you dive, brother you ain’t coming back up.”
The Navy shrink would have probably said that I was obsessing over the girl as a way of dealing with my anger and grief over Bethany’s death. That the filthy dreams I’d been having for the past couple of days were just my brain reconciling itself with the fact that Bethany was gone. I was focusing on the girl to deal with the stress and grief of my wife’s death.
What the fuck ever, doc.
