NEW ‘NUDE’ NEIGHBORS
BY
CHERI CRYSTAL
NEW ‘NUDE’ NEIGHBORS
© 2013 By Cheri Crystal. All rights reserved.
THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.
PUBLISH DATE: MAY 2013, Second edition revised. Originally titled, NEW NEIGHBORS.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.
SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.
COVER DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL
FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com or facebook.com/chericrystal
A metaphorical knife sliced through the central lobe of my cerebral cortex. The resultant headache squashed any hope of concentration. Short of a lobotomy, I could not get relief nowhere, no how. The pain piqued, further obliterating a golden opportunity to complete my dissertation about the final chapter of Ulysses without interruptions. With a looming deadline, I should have finished the final draft of my thesis by now. If I hadn’t spent the morning fighting with the phrasing of the first paragraph then perhaps the tension wouldn’t be traveling down my neck to settle somewhere in the vicinity of my sacroiliac.
I rose from the swivel chair, stretched towards the ceiling and then touched my toes to the cracking sound of vertebrae. The clumsy maneuver sent the chair flying across the high-glossed floor until I managed to stop the spin with my foot. After a close save from smashing into the bookcase, I padded into the kitchen for a snack and wrestled the urge for more coffee. Forget willpower, I poured another mug full of liquid ambition and swallowed two tablets with the tepid brew, rescuing a lonely box of Bugles and the last of a Cadbury Dairy Milk Fruit and Nut chocolate bar in my other hand before it ended up as landfill.
Once back in my room, I got to work as caffeine and other assorted over-the-counter chemicals surged through my veins. It would have been nice to have something salty to counteract the sweet while I pondered, but after one bite of a stale Bugle, I chucked the box in the bin, and shouted, “Two points,” when it landed straight in the basket. I finished off the chocolate instead. Talk about distraction, but yet I couldn’t get Molly Bloom’s soliloquy off my mind, nor did I want to. She sure was one saucy woman for an age when propriety and a sense of decency kept women from pouring out their lustful hearts—at least in public.
All revved up and totally buzzed, courtesy of legal stimulants, I had finally revised the impossibly convoluted paragraph. On bated breath, I read it aloud for good measure. Is there any better feeling than success, even if it’s only in constructing context with brevity, wit and capturing the mere essence you’re after? I highly doubted it at that moment.
“Eureka!”
My shout ruffled a pile of papers, sending a few fluttering to the ground. The dogs barely moved from the comfort of my bed. One perked ear and the lifting of an eyelid were their only signs of life.
“Who cares if you mutts sleep through sheer genius in the making?” The term mutts is used with endearment since it’s impossible to stay angry with them for more than a second in a row.
As luck would have it, rejuvenated creativity and the erotic theme of classic text started my juices flowing, especially after reading an erotic scene about kissing, perfume, and breasts, and yes, I could really get into that. All at once, my head cleared. Everything made perfect sense. I began to expand upon ideas and tie up loose ends, my fingers flying over the keyboard, when the doorbell rang.
“What now?”
I stood up abruptly and this time the chair shot across the floor. Luckily, the wheels caught in the shag pile throw rug before the seat reached the wall, or worse, knocked over my extensive DVD collection.
In rapid succession, the doorbell sounded twice more. Our fearless Maltese-Yorkies Romeo and Juliette barked their white furry heads off and got underfoot, adding to my frustration. In a huff, I inadvertently stepped on Juliette’s tail. “Sorry, Jules,” I muttered.
I yanked the door open, still cursing, prepared to send the intruder away with a piece of my mind—not too big a piece—but I caught my breath in midair instead. I choked and sputtered like I’d inhaled a bumblebee.
“Howdy there, neighbor.” She offered a delicate, well-manicured hand. “I’m Lexi.” Her painted fingernails matched the pink shade of her lipstick and looked nice next to her ivory complexion. She had long, blonde hair that cascaded past her waist and brushed her backside. I opened the door wider, gently shooed the dogs back, and stepped out onto the porch. The sun, well into its descent towards the horizon, provided the perfect backdrop for her exquisite beauty. It was if she had the wings of an angel.
“Dane,” I managed, but I had trouble letting go of her hand. The scripted pink letters across the front of her sheer, white belly shirt drew my gaze to her cleavage. I hoped my lips hadn’t formed the word wow, gazing at a deep vee neckline showing enough of her voluptuous breasts to whet my appetite. It was hard, but I made a conscious effort to put my tongue back inside my mouth.
“Sorry to barge in on you, Dane. Is that your given name?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I like the sound of it. So strong.” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the house next door, which had been vacant way too long, the grass was as tall as the steps. “The previous owners have accepted our bid and the engineer is checking it out as we speak. I figured I’d pop over and say howdy.” Her eyes twinkled, brightening her smile a few hundred-thousand watts. I suddenly needed sunglasses with the highest UV-rating available. “Do you all have a good gardener?”
I cleared my throat and tried to untie my tongue. I coughed into my left fist totally oblivious to what my right hand was doing all that time. “Uh, no, sorry. We cut our own lawn, trim the hedges, and even plant flowers when there’s time.”
She retracted her hand from my grip and then tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She wore a diamond stud in her earlobe, and had a small gold hoop pierced through the cartilage on top. That sort of stuff was okay on anyone other than me. Piercings made my stomach turn. She placed her hand firmly on her hip. She had an impossibly small waist. I brought myself back to earth for a moment to answer her question and had to guess what she just said.
“Your landscaping looks professional.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you lived here long?”
I heard her speak, but her words didn’t register right away.
“What perfume are you wearing?” I blurted.
She hid her surprise behind a polite smile. “You like it?”
I wanted to get lost in her hair, her breasts, her lips and those intense blue eyes. When I realized that she was staring at my grungy attire and bed head, I fumbled. “I wasn’t expecting company.” Great save, Dane, soon to be PhD! What happened to the special filter between my brain and my mouth, I wondered. Adding further fodder attesting to my lack of social graces, I could smack myself for saying whatever popped into my head. “Your perfume smells great on you.” At this rate, I had to change the subject or hope I’d just fall into a coma. “When do you move in?”
“If all goes as planned, we’re supposed to close in about a month; we’ll be your new neighbors.”
I nearly choked because it sounded as if she said, ‘nude’ neighbors. At least I managed to catch the tail end of the sentence, thank God.
“But who know
s?” She shrugged.
“Great,” I said, despite not knowing who knew what or even if I could summon up my name at this point. It wasn’t everyday a totally hot babe showed up on my doorstep all friendly and with the most inviting smile ever.
“Are you usually at home during the day on weekdays?” she asked. I was happy she wanted to keep the conversation going.
“It depends on my schedule. I’m a doctoral candidate and have today off from teaching. What about you?”
“I’m a hairdresser, but I’m also trained in other areas of beauty treatments.” At the time I didn’t get her drift when her glance traveled the length of my body to settle on my crotch, but my cheeks heated in response to her blatant look. It was a good thing she returned her attention to my tresses or there’s no telling if I’d still be alive, not having self-combusted, to relate this encounter.
“You have lovely hair.” I had to stop gushing or die of terminal embarrassment.
“Thanks.” Her blush captivated my lust-filled imagination. How could she be so blind to her own charm? “I plan to work out of my house once we build a separate entrance and convert the garage to a shop.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. I could sure use your talent.” I ran my fingers through my unruly mop and hit a few snags.
She scrutinized my hair and raked her professional fingers through it without getting caught at all. “Yes, I could do wonders with this. It’s so thick.”
“And I could certainly use you.” There was no way to avoid conjuring up all the ways I’d love to use her body. I licked my parched lips. I prayed she wasn’t a mirage.
“Say, I know. My partner is with the engineer for at least another hour or so. Why don’t I get a few things from my truck and do your hair right now?”
“Nah, that’s okay,” I heard myself say, but I would have given anything, my bike and I’d even throw in the helmet, to have her touch my hair again. “Yeah?”
“Free haircut.” Her sweet, teasing, and irresistible voice sealed my fate; I couldn’t turn her down now, even if she had a partner.
“Sure, why not?”
She followed me indoors. Her heels tip-tapping on the hardwood floorboards alerted Romeo and Juliette to resume their barking. She didn’t have a problem with their overanxious greeting filled with jumping and a tongue bath. They calmed down promptly to her soothing coo’s, oooh’s and ahhh’s. She was a character alright. A cute character. My inward smile sent feel good vibes all down my spine.
“Adorable little critters. Oooh, wait, let me get my stuff. Be back in a sec.” My gaze followed her departure admiring the swing of her neat ass, accentuated by the tightest, low-rise, flared jeans and stiletto pumps. I glanced down at the dogs sitting quietly, wagging their tails off, and awaiting her return. Was she also a dog whisperer?
Lexi wasn’t kidding. She was back with her bag in five minutes flat. I would have ended up in traction from two broken ankles if I pulled a stunt like that on high heels, not that I’d even try them on.
I held the door for her, all of my senses at once filling with her scintillating scent, as she breezed past me. The suggestive look in her brilliant eyes and those plump lips leading to a delicate chin did wonders for my sex drive. Why were most of the desirable women taken? Probably to add to my torment. I returned her admiring glance. If I was correct, the girl was flirting with me. Romeo and Juliette were as overjoyed for the company as I was. I would have wagged, licked, and did tricks for her if she’d pet me. I’d even beg! This power she had over my body defied my intellect; I was controlled by sheer animal magnetism. How unlike me.
“I love these guys,” she cooed, rubbing their bellies after they flopped right onto their backs.
“They’re not mine. They belong to one of my housemates.”
“What’s your name pretty girl?” She had them in a trance.
“This is Juliette and the boy is…”
“Let me guess.” She laughed. “Romeo.”
“That’s right. My housemate is a total Shakespeare freak.”
“I love it.” She finally stood and smoothed out her pants.
She looked at me with arched eyebrows. “How many of you live here?”
“I live with three other doctoral candidates.”
“Cool. I’m living next to smarties. Where should we set up, then?” she asked, and stepped out of her pumps. Without heels, the top of her head reached my chin. Even her feet were petite and her toes went in perfect descending order from the big one to the pinky. There was that pink again. Each toe was tipped in cool, pink nail polish with an off-pink moon at the tip of the nail like one of those French manicures. She wore a single toe ring on her right foot.
“How about the bathroom?” I would have suggested the kitchen, but I was so busy writing that the sink was full of dirty dishes from the previous evening. Nearing the end of the semester, we all scrambled to meet deadlines, no time for housekeeping because we preferred to shoot-the-breeze in spare moments and I was a sucker for distraction. At the moment, this hairdresser was distracting my brain and all my focus was on my underpants, getting moister by the minute.
“Great idea. I’ll need a sink to wet your hair.”
I took the heavy bag off her hands and led her upstairs. “You have bricks in here?”
“Of course not, just my beauty supplies, shears, blow-dryer, flat-iron, dyes, gels, stuff like that. Oh, it’s just heavy because I have a few hairstyling books in there too. To give you some ideas if you want a new ‘do’.” She glanced around as she spoke.
“Nice house.”
“Thanks, we just rent it, though.” The synapses in my brain were designing ways I could eventually buy so her neighborly exploits could continue ad infinitum. Talk about getting carried away and I was so far gone it wasn’t funny!
“It looks a lot like the house we’re buying; only the layout is reversed.”
“Hey, you want the fifty-cent tour?” I offered. “Only now it’s a buck three eighty-five, inflation and all that.” I laughed, and so did she.
“Sure.”
I apologized for the mess but she didn’t seem concerned. I deposited her bag on the bathroom floor, rubbed my sore shoulder, and continued the tour. Next stop, the boudoir.
In my room, she checked out my framed movie posters of Desert Hearts, Casablanca, and To Have and Have Not. She fingered my picture of Aphrodite, and I thought, no, I wished, Lexi, with wings of an angel, could be my love goddess. Her gaze stopped at the bookshelves, not the one with the textbooks, but the one with Radclyffe Hall, Ann Bannon, Rita Mae Brown, and at least a dozen of my favorite contemporary lesbian authors.
“I love “Rubyfruit Jungle,” she enthused.
“You what? You know Rita Mae Brown?”
“Sure, in fact, I’ve read most of these books.” She swept her hand in front of the shelf. Her excitement was contagious. “Oh, and Katherine Forrest. Curious Wine? Great. Wow.”
I didn’t know any hairdressers with a fascination for books before, not to pigeonhole them all this way, but still, this was a first. I appreciated the way she fondled the covers.
“Oh my, it’s like the library in here.”
“Feel free to borrow any ones you haven’t read.”
“Thanks, I will.”
She then turned towards me and checked out my features. “I can see you as a model for one of the characters in the novel my partner wrote years back.”
“Your partner is an author?”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have time to write much anymore.”
Shit, she’s straight, figures. I tried not to let my disappointment show. She didn’t stop to catch a breath.
“He’s working as a technical editor for the university. That’s why we moved up here in the first place.”
“Who is he?”
“Jon Boynton.”
“No kidding!” The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t remember the title, only that he was a one-hit wonder in the underground genre, before LGBT fict
ion became easier to get. He was a gay-rights activist some years back.
“I kid you not. Now, let’s do something really imaginative to bring out your incredible features. You ready?” She moved my chin this way and that to view my head in every angle. I shifted from one foot to the other, hardly able to contain the unbidden thrumming of every region in my misbehaving body.
“Same athletic build, carelessly cut collar-length hair, and those high cheekbones, strong chin, and rugged good looks. Very handsome just like Jon.”
I blushed furiously. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me you have no idea how gorgeous you are.”
“You have good taste.” She winked.
“I bet you would taste good, too.” Damn, I was out of control and living way too precariously. I had no idea how big and strong her boyfriend was and I certainly didn’t want to find out. If I were him, I’d put this woman on house arrest. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Her coy, shy smile in return was irresistible. “No need for apologies. I’m always open. I find saying how you feel very sexy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“What if I’m dying to kiss you? Won’t your boyfriend object?”
“He would love it.”
“You both live dangerously.”
“We do and you’re just our type.”
“Oh, God, I’d better not.”
“Your choice, but my lips are here for you, if you want them.”
How in the world was I supposed to resist this blatant invitation even if I never fancied myself in a three-way with an established couple—one of whom I wasn’t entirely sure of the gender? There was a niggling notion that Jon Boynton wasn’t a man, which I found preferable, but I wasn’t certain. More importantly, I had a thesis to write, I was easily distracted, and they would be living right under my nose for at least until the end of the semester, possibly longer. What kind of precedent did I want to set? Right now a strong sense of smell was a major downfall. Just inhaling her scent, with its potent aphrodisiac qualities, had me dizzy with desire. And if her boyfriend did find out, open relationship or not, since I didn’t really know this Lexi and had no idea if she was being honest, wouldn’t I end up with a knuckle sandwich at the very least?
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