The Neighbor Next Door

by Cassandra Dee

  But ChatWorld seems okay. The people are attractive, but not so attractive that I think they’re fake. Plus, there seems to be a good ratio of men to women. Sites that have way more dudes than women are a bad idea because the females get inundated with desperate come-ons. Uck, not what I want.

  So slowly, I start filling out a profile. What to call myself? I could easily go with something like JaneJane or JanieBanie, but that seems too close to home. So instead, I go with HeartLove. So lame! But whatever. It’s not like this is real.

  Next, I have to fill in my details and my heart sinks. Body type? Should I select curvy? I cup my huge tits with my small hands, watching them overspill onto my wrists. Are these the tits of a curvy girl or a “big” girl? And what about my ass? I don’t want to mislead anyone, after all. I cringe as I image a man expecting someone who looks like Kim Kardashian, and instead getting me, all creamy flesh and rolls. So intent on being honest, I look for the “big” option in the drop-down menu, but it’s not available. Curvy, it is, then.

  I scroll through some of the selfies on my phone to find a profile picture, but with a pang I realize I’m not comfortable putting my face, or body, for that matter, out there for the masses to see. Putting pictures up on social media is one thing, but on a dating app? A shiver runs down my spine. Instead, I focus on the next part: my interests. Hmm, that’s easy: cooking, baking, and trying out new foods. And then comes the part that’s actually interesting: what I’m looking for in a man.

  For kicks, I type into the box exactly what I want, as crudely as I can. “A big strong guy with a big thick cock who knows what to do with it. I want it to really hurt when I finally lose my virginity.” I giggle to myself again as I hurriedly hold down the delete key, feeling my face burn up. Instead, I write: “Curvy brunette virgin seeks strong guy to show her the ways of passion.” But rolling my eyes, I delete that too. I don’t want anyone to know I’m a virgin. Nor how corny I can be. So I try again, and keep it to: “Curvy, shy brunette seeking strong man to show her ways of love and pleasure.” That’s better. Classy, right?

  Having created my profile, I decide to start browsing the data base for guys, my heart pounding in excitement. In the filter drop-down box, I select “tall,” “muscular,” “tattoos,” “dark hair,” and when the results come up, I realize I’ve been describing Trent. But none of the results of the search have come up with guys even close to the magnificence that is my next door neighbor. I close my eyes and imagine his muscular body on mine, the way my tits would crush against his chest as he entered me, his eyes looking into my soul. I wonder what color his eyes are?

  Suddenly, I’m interrupted.

  “JANIE!” Vivian shrieks from downstairs, giving me a near heart attack.

  “What?” I call back, annoyed at having been sucked out of my reverie about Trent.

  “Your cookies are burning!” she calls back.

  And rolling my eyes, I press “submit” before closing my laptop and rushing downstairs. Because it’s not like anything’s going to happen. I didn’t even upload my picture, and guys are visual. They need to see the goods before buying. So with a sigh, I rush downstairs, figuring that that’s the end of ChatWorld … at least for now.

  3

  Janie

  I just about manage to save my cookies from their charred fate.

  “It’s not like you to burn stuff, Janie,” manages Vivian through pursed lips as she applies lipstick, staring in her pocket mirror. “What were you doing up there?”

  I dig the spatula under each cookie, piling them into a large, colorful cookie jar.

  “I was browsing through men on a dating website,” is my sarcastic reply, even if it’s the truth.

  “Don’t be salty with me, young lady,” Vivian raises her eyebrow while scrutinizing her perfectly done make-up. “What were you really doing?”

  I sigh. What’s the point of all this? Instead, I go with the unobjectionable answer.

  “Homework,” is my mumble.

  My mom perks up.

  “Well, Chris will be here soon,” replies Vivian. Of course, sometimes I feel like what I say doesn’t matter at all because she’s not listening.

  “Chris? Why?” I ask, astonished. Chris is Vivian’s third husband. Or ex-husband, I should say. They got divorced a few months ago and I hadn’t seen him since. Not that I minded, since he was a lech of the worst sort.

  “None of your business!” says Vivian with a smirk. “Some of us have love lives, you know.” I bite my lip because my mom’s love life is out of control. She’s only in her thirties, and yet she’s been married and divorced three times. There has to be some sort of Olympic record for this, right?

  But I just keep my composure.

  “Never mind,” I mumble. “I’ll be upstairs doing homework,” I say before turning on my heel, taking the cookie jar upstairs with me.

  “Don’t eat all of those, Janie!” Vivian calls warningly after me. “We have to keep ourselves attractive for the opposite sex!”

  But snacking on my own baked goods while I read my romance novels is my favorite thing to do on a Friday night. I’m vaguely aware of how sad my peers would find this if they knew. But those straight A’s don’t get themselves: I study really hard all week, and mostly during the weekends as well. Friday nights are my own - where I get to put on my fairy lights, indulge in something new I’ve baked, curl up on my bed with my book, and shut out the world.

  Of course I often get excited, reading those romance novels. There are loads of steamy sex scenes and they often leave me all hot and bothered, my heart fluttering, my panties wet, not knowing how to rid myself of the building pressure between my legs. I’ve heard of masturbation, of course, but I’ve never really figured out how it worked or what I’m meant to do. I can’t discuss these things with Vivian, and I don’t have any sisters or close friends to ask. And I’m too terrified someone might find my search history if I try to look it up online! So I’ve gotten used to letting the feeling pass. It does, eventually, even if I’m aching and horny still.

  As I enjoy cookie after cookie, guilt-free and wrapped in the warm little fairy-lit world I’ve created behind my locked door, I become immersed in the new romance novel of the series I’m addicted to. But when it comes to the sex scene, I’m imagining the hero as Trent from next door. It’s his strong arms that lift the heroine from her horse. It’s his raging hard-on I see when she strokes his bulge. It’s his breath I feel on my neck as he lays the heroine down in the straw.

  I feel my pussy contract with lust and I moan at the frustration that’s building between my legs. Feeling restless, I get up and start pacing about my room, trying to dispel the pent-up sexual energy. Suddenly, my gaze is caught by something glinting outside my window. It’s late by now, so the darkness stops me from seeing properly. But the movement is coming from Trent’s garden. I hastily turn off my lights so I can see better while staying in the shadows myself.

  My breath catches in my throat as I realize it’s Trent himself, taking a midnight dip in his pool. I squint, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness and as my pupils grow large under the full moon. The silver light of night glints off the water as Trent finishes a lap and suddenly rolls over onto his back, allowing his muscular, tattooed body to float effortlessly on the surface, his arms and legs outstretched, black hair floating around his perfect face. He’s so hot!

  As if he couldn’t possibly get any hotter, he pulls his arms in carefully so as not to lose his float, letting his hands rest on that sculpted chest for a moment. Then he slowly runs them down his washboard abs. I can’t believe it when he pushes his fingers under his swimming trunks and pushes them down off his legs, grabbing the fabric and flinging it onto the side of the pool. Because holy shit, he’s naked! He swims around a little and I can’t see much; I imagine he must be enjoying the feeling of the water flowing freely around his private parts. I swallow as I imagine his cock floating between his thighs and bobbing in the water. But I don’t have to imag
ine much longer.

  Arriving on the shallow side of the pool, he hauls himself out of the pool to sit on the cement ledge. Wow, this guy is powerful and perfect in every way, with bulging shoulders and a carved, muscular back. He shakes the hair out his face, sending little silver droplets flying, before smoothing the strands back with one hand. The moonlight shines off his dripping, rippling muscles and as he turns slightly, I see it then. A huge, thick cock hangs heavily over one thigh. Holy shit. My heart starts beating faster. Even from here I can tell that thing is the size of a baton, and if it were erect it would easily be as thick as my forearm.

  To my scandalized astonishment, Trent then seizes his cock with his hand and shakes it gently, as if to show off its heaviness. My mouth goes dry as I watch it grow bigger and bigger is his hand, getting harder and harder. He strokes it gently as he tilts his head back for a moment, his strong jaw outlined by the shadows the moon is casting. I can see him biting his bottom lip as he lets his head rest backwards and continues stroking his cock. Then he lets it go and looks down with a slight smile on his features. By now, his shaft stands straight up like a monument to masculinity: huge, strong, and so virile. I watch his hand go back to it as he encloses his fist around its thickness and starts jerking in earnest now.

  I’m beside myself with lust. My hands are on my tits as I squeeze the creamy mounds, panting with excitement as I watch Trent stroke his cock up and down below me. Instinctively, I let my right hand drop to my pussy and feel it through the material of my pajamas, pressing my fingers against the top part - it sends a wave of pleasure through my pussy and I do it again, this time hungrily plunging my hand into my panties. Feeling my naked folds with my fingers, I realize I’m all wet and slippery and I push a finger into the creaminess, before stopping myself. I’m not sure how it works, but I don't want to be the person entering my pussy for the first time. So reluctantly, I let my fingers slide back up to my clit and gasp with sudden pleasure while pressing down on the button.

  As Trent jerks his cock faster and faster, I imitate his movement and move my fingers faster and faster over my clit, imagining that it’s our new neighbor stroking my pussy. I moan suddenly, out of control, and place my left hand against the window frame to steady myself, parting my legs to get a better angle. I stare down at Trent as he lets his head fall backwards again, his strong jaw opening in silent pleasure, those washboard abs tensing up as he beats at his cock, now bigger than ever. I slide my fingers over my clit faster and faster as I moan, the tension inside my inner channel becoming more and more unbearable. A creamy liquid starts leaking out of my wetness as it starts to contract in pleasure, while below me, Trent gives his cock a few more strong jerks. And then to my aroused surprise, a thick white liquid, almost the same color as the moonlight, shoots out of the tip of his cock and sprays all over his abs and pecs. It’s too much for me. The tension in my pussy explodes then, shattering into a million bright lights. I moan loudly, feeling my knees buckle beneath me as my cunt pulses, hot spasms jerking through the soft folds.

  But then I hear it. There’s another moan, distinctly female, sounding out somewhere close by. Oh god, does Trent have a woman with him? But no, the handsome man is still alone on the pool deck, pulling at his cock as the last drops squeeze out.

  My eyes fly open as understanding dawns in my mind. Because it has to be Vivian. Gross, she must be having sex with Chris somewhere in the house!?! Why, oh why, would she get it on with a guy she just divorced a couple months ago? But at least my mom will have been distracted and not heard me having my fun in my room. So straightening my clothes, I stand up, heart still pounding in my chest and in my pussy from the excitement. But as I turn my attention back to Trent’s garden, I see that our new neighbor is gone. While I was thinking about Vivian’s problems, he must have picked up his swimming trunks and headed back inside the house.

  I slump down onto the edge of my bed, waiting for my breath and heartbeat to return to normal. A small laugh escapes and I’m incredulous at what just happened because I’ve never been able to understand how to pleasure myself. It’s always been a mystery how to satisfy the building tension between my legs, or how to find an outlet for the lust coursing through my body. But then my gorgeous next-door neighbor moves in, and bam! Problem solved. Trent is thoroughly incredible, hung, and soooo male. Too bad that he has no idea what just happened … or how much I want him.

  4

  Janie

  A week later …

  The roar of the lawnmower wakes me from a deep slumber. How dare someone mow their lawn at this ungodly hour on a weekend? I open my eyes and lie there for a moment, keenly aware that the sound is coming from the left side of the house: Trent’s side. I lie there, resisting the urge to get up and peek out the window to see if it’s him. Because it’s been a week since I watched him masturbate in his pool, pleasuring himself until semen flew in a great arc through the air. It was amazing, and I loved watching him climax, not to mention the session I’d had with myself.

  But then again, it was a little weird because I was basically a Peeping Tom. I was a creeper of the worst sort, spying on my neighbor in the privacy of his own back yard. But if he didn't want to be seen, why’d he masturbate out in the open like that? Did he really think it was that dark? I couldn’t decide, and frankly, I haven’t been able to come to terms with myself. Because I’m a shy girl, and yet I’d been a total voyeur that night, like some gross old guy who peeps in on teen girls changing.

  Oh well. It was worth it, and the spasms of my pussy were the best I’d ever had. So I put it out of my mind temporarily. But before I can decide whether to get up out of bed and look out of the window, the sound of the lawnmower stops and doesn't start again. The silence is thunderous, and after a few moments I can’t resist. I swing my legs out of bed and edge carefully over to the window, confirming my thoughts: it had been Trent mowing the lawn, but he’s nowhere to be seen now. The red metal of the lawnmower shines, abandoned, in the early morning sun.

  My phone buzzes. What? I blink blearily. I have a text? It’s probably from Ying, my lab partner, arranging to meet up this weekend to prepare for our test. But as I grab my phone to answer text, I realize it’s not from her. It’s a notification from my ChatWorld app. Oh right. I’d forgotten all about my profile on the site. Someone has sent me a message and I see it’s from an avatar called EasyDude. Sighing, I open the message.

  EasyDude: Hey, how’s it going?

  Hmm. Should I even answer this? What if he’s some weirdo? He doesn’t have a picture, but then again, neither do I. Shaking my head, I put my phone down and pull on my bathrobe as I start thinking about what I want for breakfast.

  But as I glimpse Trent’s abandoned lawn mower, I’m reminded that there’s no point hoping to hold out for a guy as hot as Trent - he has no idea who I am, and even if he did, he’d never be interested in a curvy girl like me. I may as well answer this EasyDude person. I pick up my phone and settle back into my pillows.

  HeartLove: hey, not bad.

  HeartLove: I almost didn’t answer this. And I’m still not convinced I should have. But the guy pings back almost immediately.

  EasyDude: how come?

  I figure I should just be honest.

  HeartLove: I’m totally new to this. I’m a bit unsure lol

  EasyDude: don’t worry, I’m not a creep :)

  HeartLove: good to know lol

  Ok, so maybe this isn’t so bad. He seems nice. At least he doesn’t have any spelling errors so far.

  EasyDude: how come no pic?

  HeartLove: I could say the same about you

  EasyDude: ha I guess

  EasyDude: can you describe yourself?

  Oh gosh, here it goes. Should I just continue on the honest path? I suppose there’s no point in lying. I mean, he can see my description in my profile. Maybe that’s why he contacted me in the first place? But surely, when he thinks “curvy,” he’s imagining curves like Niki Minaj’s, and not my generous swells. Ma
ybe I should play it coquettish?

  HeartLove: you first ;)

  Shit, this is so not me! My face blazes up, blushing furiously as I await his reply. It comes immediately.

  EasyDude: if you like ;)

  EasyDude: I’m 6ft3, black hair, blue eyes, pretty ripped. Hope you don’t mind tattoos?

  Holy shit. He sounds just like a dream come true. I’ve always had a thing for tats. I’d never get one myself because needles freak me out. But tats on guys are insanely attractive, and immediately, my cunt tightens a bit thinking about Trent’s ink.

  HeartLove: not at all. I love tats. where do you live btw? Can I ask that?

  My heart beats in my throat as I wait for him to reply. I can’t be Trent, can it? It can’t be him, it can’t be him!

  EasyDude: florida

  I sigh, relieved yet a little disappointed as well. Because it’s not my hunky next-door neighbor. This guy lives halfway across the country. But I suppose it takes the pressure off actually meeting and we can just flirt a little. No big deal.

  EasyDude: now you ;) where do you live?

  HeartLove: I’m in Iowa. I’m 5ft5, curly brunette, brown eyes, very curvy

  EasyDude: very curvy? ;)

  HeartLove: I’ll be honest - I’ve got double D’s, a big ass, wide hips and lots of soft rolls.

  I hit “send” before I can change my mind, and squint my eyes shut until I feel the phone vibrate in my hand with a reply. And it takes forever! Certain I’ve turned him off, I throw my phone down on the bed and leap up, feeling like an idiot. Just as I’m heading out of my room to go down and make some pancakes for breakfast, I hear my phone buzz and I stop in my tracks. He’s answered.

  EasyDude: you sound gorgeous

  EasyDude: wish you didn’t live so far away

  Holy shit! He thinks I’m “gorgeous”? That’s a word to describe Cindy Crawford and Sports Illustrated supermodels, not girl-next-door Janie Martin. But I find myself smiling at his compliment, even if it’s just based off my own, but very true, description of myself. But maybe he’s just being polite? Time to check.