She put her tongue in her cheek to enforce the last statement, to show what a sexy little minx she was prepared to be for his delectation. His expression still hadn’t cracked.
‘Why would you do that?’
‘What?’ She felt frustration bubbling towards anger. ‘Why would I act submissive or why would I fuck him? Because I can, that’s why. Because I like rude, exciting sex and I don’t see why I should have to go any further than my own doorstep to get it. I like fucking guys behind their wives’ backs. I like coming on guy’s cocks when anyone might see. Don’t give me that look of disdain because it’s not me who’s doing the cheating - it’s them. I’m just there to reap the benefits. I like a real man and you older guys know what you’re doing, and if that means sharing a few marital beds then so be it. And it’s not just Nesta’s husband and the Italian, by the way. The others around here all realise who the big prize is too. How come you don’t?’
‘Are you saying,’ he said, still calmly, ‘that you have slept with all the husbands in this street?’
‘Of course! Well, all except your neighbour, Mr Nerd with the big feet, and he’ll have to be next unless you pull your finger out!’
Was she not simply sounding like a whore? She was certainly sounding a bit manic. This wasn’t going as she’d wanted. It was meant to be two of the Beautiful Ones, laying their cards on the table, having a bit of flirty chat as mere foreplay to the inevitable coupling, since the cream of the crop are always inexorably drawn together. It was meant to be a bit of titillation whilst they essentially set the date and time, a little bawdiness to elicit tantalising snippets of what each was after from the other, of what excitement they could expect. His expression seemed disdainful. Not shocked - she didn’t seem to be telling him anything he hadn’t either known or guessed. Now he was looking a little disinterested at the thought of some sloppy seconds, and she was demonstrating that she didn’t always set her bar very high. It wasn’t sounding like an offer he couldn’t refuse. She suddenly felt young, green, and foolish alongside this man of the world, like some feckless tart of a student trying to bag the dishy teacher. It was not a feeling she was used to.
‘So you’re saying that you will seduce my neighbour unless I have sex with you,’ he said, still not looking like he was going to give in. ‘I assume this is blackmail?’
The smile was still plastered across her face but it was waning and she felt light-headed and cold. She was off-track and she didn’t know how to get back on it. Her mind was jumbled, the first time ever a man had done this to her. He was playing with her but she didn’t know how to hit back and seize the initiative. She didn’t know what answer to give, whether the blackmail thing was a way of him opening that door, of assenting to her needs.
‘If you want it to be,’ she said, just about managing to sound coy. He gave the first smile of the conversation: a very brief one that was gone almost as soon as she had noticed it. Then he had turned his back on her and was walking away.
‘Let me think about it,’ he said, without looking back.
She remained static, as frozen as the remains of the silly grin on her face. Think about it. Was that a yes or had the door just been slammed in her face? No - no way was he going to let an opportunity like her slip. It was just a game of assertion for him. He wanted to be Master. She breathed a mental sigh of relief and turned to leave, feeling just an element of triumph after what had seemed like a terrible crash and burn. He would come to her but it would be on his terms. She was stupid to have tried to force the issue. He hadn’t tried before because he thought she was a lesbian, and thereafter that she was already taken by another man. Now he knew the truth, so this uncomfortable meeting had set him straight and proved beneficial after all. Patience would get her man and when it did it would be the most explosive, scintillating time of her life. However, patience wasn’t going to sate the needs of her pussy. She felt nastier and naughtier now than ever before, now that her ego had come so close to being shattered. If he’d been spying out of his window on her rude antics then it was time to give him something to really whet his appetite. Fucking her neighbours might even serve as encouragement for him to make his move. If it was blackmail he wanted then she would give it to him. Come and get me, she said to herself, or I will turn this whole fucking street upside down!
Then, the very next night, that was exactly what she did.
Caught
It was the first Girls’ Night Out Nesta had missed for as long as she could remember. She had been going out, right until the very last minute. Her husband had phoned to say a system crash at work meant he was going to be late home. She did her chores and fed the kids as normal and got herself ready to go out the moment he got in. When he wasn’t back by seven she knew she might have to follow the girls into town on the next bus. When the clock moved round to eight and he still wasn’t home, all hope of getting that bus faded too. She conceded defeat and realised she would be stuck in for the evening.
She despatched her children to bed and changed into her pyjamas before settling down with a mug of tea in front of the TV. She was resigned to a mundane, drama-free evening. A text just before nine informed her she would be lucky to see her husband within the next hour and a half. It was some unexpected alone time but she felt at a loose end. If she had just stayed spread out on the sofa, just for another minute or so, then maybe the ball would never have started rolling. But something impelled her to move. There was no conscious intent behind the trip to the kitchen. Sure, she did seem to go in there more these days, sometimes seeking almost any excuse. This time it was to take advantage of an ad break to put her mug in the sink.
The light in the kitchen was off, a signal that occupancy of that room was done for the night. However, the slats of the blinds were still in the open position, even though it had been dark outside for hours. This was another trait she had picked up over the last few weeks. It should have gone against the grain for someone as innately private as her. Even though they didn’t have strangers in their street to look in, it was still cosier to close them. However, that meant shutting him out. She never would have confessed to such flighty nonsense being behind her actions, but there was no other reason. There was no way she would admit to herself that she could be prone to such foolish, lovelorn behaviour. It was almost like her subconscious had seized control and overthrown her normal habits. There was a chance, albeit a very slim one, of catching sight of him until the blinds were closed, and so they stayed open.
Maybe if his house hadn’t been directly opposite she wouldn’t have found herself a slave to this newly acquired form of OCD, this desire to keep walking into the kitchen just to peer down towards his place. It was totally irrational, more so because she was perhaps the most sensible female she knew. Sometimes she almost slapped herself around the face for such silliness, especially since he lived some sixty or seventy yards away, meaning any sightings that did occur were going to be distant and lacking any detail. Still she found herself doing it, as if compelled by external forces.
The reason it was so difficult to stop doing was because it came with a tingle. As with thoughts of him or actual sightings, just looking at his house brought of a reminder of the first time they met, and with these thoughts came a reproduction of the tingle she had felt between her legs that day. Of course it wasn’t as powerful, but it was still a delightful little frisson that had her thighs squeezing together and her breath catching. Still now, even without being there, he was able to send this miniscule current of electricity through her most sensitive spot. She didn’t know how he was able to induce this trigger but it ensured he was on her mind far, far more than he ought to have been.
Evenings seemed to be worse, this one in particular because she was alone. She had just meant to put the mug in the sink and then return to the lounge, but she had hesitated too long and then she was staring down towards his place, standing in the darkness looking at the thin
outline of light around the closed blinds of his front window. With it came the flashed image of his face and the warm, lovely tingle down there. This one was strong enough to drive her hips forward to press to the sink unit. She wanted to leave her thoughts right there and go back to the safety of the lounge, but she was rooted to the spot. She wasn’t quick enough and suddenly it was too late. He was a mere sixty yards away and she was there all by herself. Maybe he was even aware she had not gone with the other girls. Maybe he had spotted that her husband’s car was not on the drive. What was she to do if he suddenly emerged, heading straight for her front door? What if he came there innocently, seeking her husband for some abstract technical advice, but found only her there instead? She would have to ask him into wait. It would be rude not to.
She stepped back from the sink, aware of how desperate it was to be trying to elicit thrills from the furniture. She almost broke his hold but then carelessly, stupidly, she gave into the quickly spreading buzz in her body and let him back into her mind. Automatically her hand went down between her legs, squeezing there to bring the measure of relief the hard surface of the sink unit could not. She exhaled hard. Masturbation in the kitchen was not something she did. Masturbation anywhere in the house was rare, and more so now that she was scared he might wheedle his way into her head as the subject matter. It wouldn’t be right. It was just too close to home, too potentially possible to dwell upon. She feared him in her mind and taking hold of her thoughts, but he was starting to do it again and her hand wasn’t just on her crotch but creeping inside the elasticated waistband of her pyjama bottoms, beneath which she wore nothing.
Unfortunately it was just too easy to do it. Just as it would have been so easy for him to go there and spend an hour with her without anyone being any the wiser. As easy as it was in the fantasies she had of exactly this kind of scenario. So simple, in fact, it seemed it might rob you of the moral wherewithal to prevent it happening. If he came to her, right then, even in all innocence, and put her straight into one of those scenarios without any kind of contrivance at all, how then would she stop reality playing out exactly as her fantasy always did? The ease of it seemed to make it near impossible to stop.
The urge was too strong to give up on now. She should move back to the comfort of the sofa. It seemed more desperate to have to do it there, where she stood. But to go would be to admit that one could break his hold and still think of him. This way, with his house in sight, at least it seemed like his influence was working upon you, that it was him dictating your thoughts and in no way your fault at all. In her head he was coming, quiet and determined, as unstoppable as always. He was coming for her. The strong, concealed passion he hinted at would this time go unchecked and swarm all over her, leaving her powerless. Principles would count for nothing under this advance.
She couldn’t be seen from outside - that’s what she told herself. It was too dark in her kitchen. Still she closed her eyes to shut out the guilt. This was the moment she had tried so hard to avoid since that day they had first met, when, to her subsequent mortification, she had capitulated and let him take her over. She had sworn from that moment not to let it happen again. If she allowed him into her head now she knew the battle was lost and it would happen again and again. He would gain ground that she could never win back. He would dominate her thoughts, leave her wanting, have her yearning. She could never just dismiss it as frivolous fantasy because he was too close, too likeable, too hard to ignore. She wouldn’t be able to stop the chemistry in her body making him vital. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself from falling for him. What she might have thought were just safe, natural fantasies would begin to blur into reality.
It was already happening. Her legs were quivering from the urgent motion of her fingers and she heard the distant closing of a front door. He was on his way, on a mission to have her. She didn’t dare open her eyes just yet. She wanted to be caught like this by him since then at least she could argue that he took her when her defences were down, when she was already rendered speechless. He would see her in the darkness of the kitchen since he saw everything. Nothing and no one escaped him. He would force his way in silently. She wouldn’t have a chance. Before she could act his lips would be on hers. His hand would replace hers and then it would be too late for her to even bother opening her eyes.
She heard the footsteps. She leant forward, her free hand grasping the worktop to steady herself. Her breath was already coming fast, the current spreading through her. Why was he wearing high heels? Clack-clack-clack, three times in a row in the evening stillness, then nothing, as if he was walking on tiptoe to mask the sound. It was about that instant that it occurred to her the door she had heard closing could not have been his. It had come from the right, not from the other end of the street. The fantasy fell away and her eyes sprang open to see not Hunter out there but Eva, very much real, walking awkwardly upon her toes across the street.
She was indeed wearing high heels. And what looked like fishnet stockings above them, although they appeared to be over some kind of skin-tight pale leggings. This was an odd style even for the biker girl. As she moved under the centre of the beam of the street light, Nesta found herself leaning right forward, squinting into the gloom in the hope of disproving what her brain was already telling her. The orange glow only confirmed these suspicions. They were not skin-tight leggings at all, they were just skin. Eva was wearing high heels and hold-up stockings which went to her mid thigh. From there up to her waist she was naked. There could be no mistake. The curve of the backside was clear. One could even make out the tiny jiggle in the flesh with each step. Involuntarily, Nesta’s fingers pressed hard within her pyjama bottoms at the sight of her neighbour’s partially nudity.
With shock and bewilderment came a fizz of anxiety. Eva was on her way to Hunter’s, to claim the prize. But she wasn’t - this was already plainly evident. She was heading straight across to Number Five, bare-arsed. She was after Roni. Now Nesta’s head was spinning and her stomach clenching with the raw alarm. Roni wasn’t in. She knew it and Eva knew it. All the girls were out, a few miles away in town and not due back for at least an hour, probably two. Not even able to get back until the next bus to the village came by at just past ten. Nesta should have been with them, she would have been expected to be with them, rather than here able to witness this. Eva stood at the door of Number Five. She had already knocked, too softly for the noise to carry through the night air. Nesta could see the grin on her face. Then the door opened to spread a different paler light out onto the doorstep. The jut of the backside was visible in all its naked glory. Then the grin widened, and in she went.
The brain can sometimes misinterpret information but here it was reasonably clear cut. The bare bottom confirmed it. Nesta’s neighbour was fucking her other neighbour - her best friend’s husband, who himself was one of her best friends. This was undeniable, however shocking. They were probably at it at that very moment, since no underwear suggested a real urgency to get right on with the dirty deed. Still it seemed too hard to believe. She had always considered Roni’s husband to be a gem of a man, so likeable and humble despite his good looks. After her own husband she considered him the least likely male of the street to do such a thing. There was just no sense in it, since in Roni he had such a wonderful, warm, gorgeous, funny, and loyal wife. There was nothing Eva could offer to match this. It was utter madness.
It also meant that Eva’s skills of hoodwinkery had fooled them all. All the wives thought she flirted with the boys just to get them to do her favours, before ignoring all male advances to go back to her girlfriends. Now it seemed the brazenness was not a guise at all. Yet she was a lesbian. Nesta knew she was a lesbian because she had once come perilously close to being seduced by her. A couple of years ago Nesta had invited the girls round for the night for drinks. That was back when she got on really well with her new neighbour - the single, raucous, sexy and very amusing biker chick. It had ended up just t
he two of them. They had talked about Eva’s girlfriends, even what she did with them. No boys had been mentioned. Nesta had even admitted to once having a crush on another girl, without revealing that it was a current one and Roni was the subject. Almost inevitably they had kissed, for some time actually, before Nesta’s alcohol-clouded head cleared and she pulled away.
She had told Eva she could never be attracted to her. It had come out all wrong. She had meant she could never allow herself to be attracted to her. She couldn’t explain that she had already suppressed her feelings for one girl because she knew it was still cheating, even if her husband - like most married men of his age - might have been turned-on by the idea. She hadn’t allowed it because she was never sure she could have kept the strength of her feelings in check. She could never fall for any girl - for anyone at all - because she had found her one true love and married him. Giving your heart was not something to do lightly, and once you had done so you had to fight every inch against the desire to do so again, and prove to yourself you had bestowed it upon the right person.
It wasn’t intended as an insult but she could see she had caused offence. The look on Eva’s face was memorable to that day. You cannot flash that look of hurt and confusion unless you genuinely want someone, for more than just a bit of fun and games. Disappointment like that only comes when you are looking for deeper feelings, and that suggested Eva only wanted to fall in love with other girls. Many times since then Nesta had wanted to explain herself, to go back on what she had said rather than let it drive a wedge between them. But how could she without it sounding crass and unfelt, or without it sounding like an invitation to repeat the advances? Better to let it go and lose a friend rather than put your heart right back in the firing line.
She stayed there at the sink, hunched right down so that there was no chance of her silhouette being seen from outside. Her head swam with the enormity of the secret she had unearthed. Minutes went by and her anxiety increased with every one of them. She tried not to think of what was going on behind those walls, although it was hard not to when her body had just been so warm to the idea of passion and illicit fucking. She took on the stress of discovery that they must have been feeling, willing the girl to make her quick exit and get away unnoticed. She was almost praying her husband did not come back now, straight into it, to discover what his best friend had been doing behind everyone’s back.
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