Breeding Mrs. Stanton

by Robert Lubrican

zbookstore Edition

Copyright 2023 Robert Lubrican

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Table of Contents

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

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Foreword

I wrote a book called "Revenge is Best Served on a Warm, Naked Body" and this is kind of, sort of another version of that plot. I sometimes write Alpha and Bravo versions of the same book, but that's not what this is. This is different characters in different circumstances, but some of the plot elements may seem familiar, if you read the other book.

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Chapter One

Having graduated from high school I decided to take a gap year before going to college. I wanted to work and save up some money. My dad approved, since that would require smaller student loans and everybody knew how crippling student loans could be when it came time to pay them off.

I got a job inputting medical records for insurance claims. It was boring, but the more work you did, the more you got paid and I could do it from home on my own desktop computer. And I could work whenever I wanted to, instead of being the slave of an employer's clock. I also had four or five lawns on our street that I'd been mowing since I was twelve. I had learned to tell people to pay me whatever they thought the job was worth. Nobody wanted to seem like a cheapskate and I usually got paid way more than if I'd just charged by the hour.

I knew that our neighbors on one side of us, the Richardsons, had moved. I didn't know why. Both of them were pretty old, so maybe they moved to a retirement home or something. Their house had been for sale for a while. My parents were gone at the time this all happened, because my mother had won an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas or somewhere and they decided to use their own money to extend that to a month. They called it their second honeymoon. So I had the house to myself, which was kind of nice. I didn't have any parties, or anything like that, but I could run around in my underwear and eat whatever I felt like. I also got a lot more work done because my mom wasn't constantly asking me to do this or that chore. They thought that, since I was still living at home I should have to work for my room and board.

A while back my parents had a pool built in the back yard, with a nice patio around it. It wasn't huge but I could do some laps in it to keep in shape. I couldn't skinny dip because the fence around our back yard was only four feet high, but it was nice to be able to lay out and swim and all that.

I was doing that – laying out – one day when I heard and then saw people moving stuff into the Richardson's house next door. I didn't think much about it because it was just a bunch of guys taking furniture and boxes in.

Then a woman came out of the house and I perked up. She was a babe, one of those women who you instantly think "Jenny McCarthy" when you see her. What I mean by that isn't that she actually looked like Jenny McCarthy. Her hair was brown, for instance, but she could have been a Playboy Bunny easily. I had emptied my balls pretty regularly in high school while I stared at pictures of Jenny, which is why I mentioned her name.

Anyway, this woman next door was maybe five-nine. I'm no good at guessing weights but if I had to I'd have put her at maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. She was wearing shorts and a shirt that had the tails tied under her breasts, kind of like a halter top that had sleeves on it. That shirt was packed just full of happy looking breasts. That brown hair I noticed was pulled back in a ponytail and she had those pronounced cheekbones that I find really sexy. She was so gorgeous my cock started to react instantly.

Then she went back inside and was gone. It was like I'd had a little daydream and when I woke up it was all over. I kept an eye on things for a while but I didn't see her again.

Eventually I had to quit loafing and went back inside to do some work. About five o'clock or so, the doorbell rang. I was still in my swim suit, but I answered it anyway and I took in a breath that just froze in my lungs. It was her. She was just as good looking up close.

"Hi!" she said, her voice high and soft. "I'm Valerie Stanton. We're moving in next door. The water isn't on, yet. Could I borrow some water for us to drink tonight? They say our water will be turned on tomorrow."

I noticed she had one of those smallish coolers in her hand. It was blue and white and might hold maybe a gallon of water.

My breath finally whooshed out and I blinked several times but then stepped back. I could have just taken the cooler, filled it up and given it back to her, but I wasn't really capable of cognizant thought. She wasn't wearing a bra under that shirt and her nipples were making a clear imprint through the cloth.

She stepped in and held out the cooler.

"Okay!" I blurted. It didn't make a lot of sense but I felt like I had to say something. "Follow me!" I gasped, after that.

We had to go through the living room to get to the kitchen and she said, "What a lovely home you have."

"Um … yeah," I managed. I was aware that the front of my swim suit looked like I had a sapling in it. Well, okay, maybe not a sapling. I'm not that big, but there was no way in the world a casual observer could miss the fact that I had a monster hard on. I went to the sink and pressed up against it.

The top of her container screwed off and I put it under the faucet.

"I hope tap water is okay," I said as my mind began to function again.

"It's fine," she said. "Water is water, you know?"

For some reason I thought about that town in Michigan, where the pipes were lead and they put something in the system to clean things out, except it caused the lead to get into the water and it was really, really bad. Our water was okay, though, and my dad thought bottled water was a scam, which meant we didn't have any in the house. I started filling up her container.

I think thinking about Flint Michigan had gotten me preoccupied or something because when her little gallon Igloo was full I screwed the cap back on and just turned around to give it to her. She was standing four or five feet away, looking at all the little plaques my mom has decorated the kitchen with. Like "This is Julie's Kitchen. If you're not Julie you need to leave". Not that my mom's mean or anything. She is just territorial when it comes to her kitchen. That was one reason I was glad they were on their second honeymoon. I could make a grilled cheese sandwich and not have Mom standing over me the whole time reminding me to wipe off the counter and put my dishes in the dishwasher and sweep the floor for crumbs and wash the skillet and on and on.

Anyway, I said, "Here," and she turned to look at me. I was holding the container out in one hand and, as she looked at it, I saw her eyes fall to what I had forgotten about. I know she saw it, but she didn't say a word. She just walked toward me and took it.

"Thank you. You're a lifesaver …" She paused in that way that gives the non-verbal indication she's waiting for you to say something and her voice inflection as she said "lifesaver" rose a little, which suggested she had a question in her mind.

"You're welcome?" I said, making it a question instead of a response.

"What's your name?" she asked, bluntly.

"Oh! Um … Bob! I'm Bob!"

"Well, Bob, you're a lifesaver. This will give us enough water to drink tonight."

I have no idea where this came from, probably some You Tube video I saw somewhere, but I thought about where that water would end up after it was finished being used. With guys it's easy. The whole world is our urinal. But female types don't like to squat in nature and that meant by tomorrow their new toilet might be pretty odiferous.

"I think we have a bigger one of those I could loan you so you could flush your toilet before tomorrow," I said. I pointed to the gallon jug she was holding in two hands, pressed to some other jugs that also looked like they could hold a gallon. At least together.

"That's so sweet!" she said. "I didn't even think about that!"

"I'll bring it over in a bit," I said. "I have to find it, first."

"I could have my husband come over and get it," she said.

Damn. Husband. Oh well. I thought about Mark Wahlberg's brother getting to fuck Jenny McCarthy on a regular basis, so knowing she was married wouldn't severely impact my future masturbation fantasies.

"No," I said. "I know we have one but it's out in the garage, somewhere. You guys have had a long day moving in. Just relax and I'll find it and bring it over later."

"All right," she said in her perky soprano voice. "You're just a doll for helping us like this."

"No problem," I said.

"You said 'we' earlier. Who is 'we'? Are you married?"

"Me?" I gaped. "No! I just graduated from high school! This is my parents' house. They're away on their second honeymoon."

"Now that's adorable," she said. "All right. Our furniture is here so we can relax. I'll leave the front door open so you can just drop the water off."

"Okay," I said.

She left and I watched her ass cheeks go up and down, alternately, like you see on a big cat when a jaguar is stalking something. Her ass was even beautiful.

She let herself out, since I was still standing in the kitchen, like an idiot. I looked down and it could not have been more plain that I had a boner in my swim suit.

"Fuuuuck," I groaned. "You're such an idiot, Bob," I said to myself.

I wanted to jerk off then and there, but I needed to go find that Igloo water cooler my dad had used when we went camping when I was young. We didn't do that anymore. They said it was because I grew up, but I knew it was because mom hated camping.

So I went to the garage and saw the big orange container right away, on a shelf high up. I had to get a stepladder to get it but by the time I was thinking about which hose to use to fill it at least my boner had relaxed a little.

I filled it up and screwed the lid on it. Then, since my brain was actually working again, I changed out of my swim suit into thick, denim jeans and a checkered shirt that I knew hung low enough in the front that it would cover the penis I planned to have tucked up flat against my pubes when I delivered the water.

I carried the five gallon container over and when I tried the doorknob it was locked.

So I rang the bell and the door was suddenly opened by this kind of fat guy who was going bald and needed a shave. He reached for the handle on the Igloo, said "Thanks, kid," and then stepped back to slam the door in my face.

It's amazing how disappointing it can be when you expect one thing to happen and another one happens instead.

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I didn't see Mrs. Stanton for two more days. Then, while I was working one day, around three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. I was wearing running shorts and no shirt. My parents believed that the thermostat should be no lower than 75 in the summertime. "If it's ninety-five outside, that's a twenty degree difference," my dad said every so often, like he thought I might forget he'd said it ten times before. "When you come inside it should feel like you're in a meat locker!"

I'd never been in a meat locker, but I was pretty sure they didn't store raw meat in a room that was 75 degrees.

Anyway, that's what I had on because it was cooler so I opened the door and there she was. This time she was wearing an actual halter top that was fairly overflowing with soft looking breasts. I also saw a big smile on her face, but only after I saw all that cleavage and then looked up and saw I'd just gotten caught ogling her. A smile like that can be interpreted in several ways. It could be a laughter type smile, as in, "How funny is that? As if he'd ever have a chance to see more of them." Or it might be along the lines of "How sweet. He's wracked with puberty, the poor boy. The least I can do is brighten his day." It could just be "Hi, I'm happy you helped me. Thank you." But I didn't think of that, then.

"Hi again," she said. "Here's your jug back."

I looked down and saw our Igloo hanging from her right hand. As she lifted it I looked at her cleavage again. I couldn't help it! I wasn't trying to be rude. It was like her boobs were magnets and my eyes were made of iron. I watched the right one tense up as her arm lifted the weight. It was kind of fascinating. Then I came back to Earth and reached to relieve her of her burden.

"Thank you so much, Bob," she said.

"Any time," I said, on auto pilot.

I looked at her face for once and saw her eyes were not looking at my face. Instead they seemed to be looking at my chest.

That was okay, because I'm kind of proud of my chest. When I was in high school I was a wrestler and I worked out a lot and I got pretty buff. In the month since I'd been a civilian I hadn't worked out, but I hadn't lost too much definition. So having her look at my chest was better than having her look lower, at the loose sports shorts I was wearing, which were clearly exhibiting another erection caused by this fabulous woman.

"I have a question," she said. I forced myself to meet her eyes, at which time her eyes had moved … lower … and then came back up to meet my own. "Is there any way it would be possible for me to take a quick dip in your pool? I've been working on the house all day and I could really use a break."

"Of course you can," I gushed, as if I were answering the question, "Is there any way possible I could walk across your grass to get my frisbee that landed there?"

"Oooo thank you!" she chirped. "I'll go get my suit on. I really appreciate this, Bob."

She left and I went to put my jeans on again. I had a T shirt I got somewhere that was a 3X and it hung on me like it was a dress or something, but it covered my groin.

Ten minutes later she rang the doorbell again and I opened it to find her wearing a pretty conservative one-piece suit that was the color of blue that the girls on the swim team wore. She still had all the bulges, but her skin wasn't so visible. Well, her legs were, and the bottom of the suit was kind of cut high. She had the legs to go with her body and face. I wanted to ask her if she'd ever posed for Playboy but managed not to commit that blunder. She was holding a big towel and had that smile on her face again.

I just led her through the house to the sliding doors that opened onto the patio. She went out and looked around. Then she put her towel on one of the chaise lounges. Then she walked over to the pool and made a beautiful swimmer's dive. She turned over immediately, like an otter, and let her momentum carry her to the middle. Her breasts were in the air but I only got a glimpse of them before her body dropped and she began treading water.

"This is great!" she called out. "You're lucky to have a pool."

I realized I was just standing there, like a dufus. I needed to do something so I called out, "You want me to lifeguard or are you okay?"

'Real smooth, Bob,' I thought.

She breast stroked toward me, where it was shallow, and stood up. Good grief she was beautiful!

"You're a very thoughtful young man," she said. It made her sound old, but she couldn't have been older than maybe twenty-five.

"I try," I said. It was the only thing I could think of.

"I think I'll be okay," she said. "You can check on me every so often. If you find me floating face down do you know CPR?"

I thought she was joking.

"I can probably manage," I said.

"Okay!"

With that she turned and dove, swimming overhand to the other end of the pool, a distance of maybe twenty feet. I went back inside.

This time I stood by a window that looked out on the pool and jerked off as I watched her frolic in the water.

I knew I should feel like a pervert … but I didn't.

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As soon as I caught my breath from cumming, my conscience made me feel bad about masturbating while I was invading her privacy. I mean when I look back on that, it's kind of creepy and stalk-ish. But I wasn't stalking her. I just had to do something or I'd end up with blue balls. And she was in my swimming pool, so I wasn't exactly spying on her. She had even said I could check on her. So I didn't feel bad as I filled a Kleenex with my spunk. I can tell you it was a very good cum and I felt a lot better afterwards.

I forced myself to go back to work and, because I had just emptied my balls, I could actually concentrate. I was doing routine stuff when I heard the sliding door roll on its track. The desktop is in my bedroom. Before I started working for the medical billing and coding company that hired me, I had used it for school work. My parents made me put it against the wall opposite the door, so they could see what was on the screen if they walked in. This was to protect me from the perils of porn, but they had to sleep sooner or later so I just waited until they were in bed before I surfed in that way. I wasn't addicted to it or anything. It was just good for jerking off. Like looking at pictures of Jenny McCarthy, who had very blond hair and very dark, almost black pubes.

Anyway, my back was to my bedroom door, which was open, but I figured she'd just walk through the house and go out the way she came in, so I just kept working.

"Thank you," came her voice from behind me. I swiveled my desk chair and she was standing there ruffling up her hair with the towel. Her boobs moved under that tight, wet cloth as her hands moved the towel over her head. When she stopped and lowered the towel all I could think of was that tousled hair on a woman who has just gotten royally fucked.

"Any time," I croaked.

"I might take you up on that," she said. "That was very refreshing."

"Okay," I said, inanely. This woman just devastated my ability to think normally.

"See you later," she chirped, and turned to disappear.

I had to jerk off again before I could get back to billing and coding.

And yes, I know how pathetic that was.

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She did not come over every day to frolic in my pool. In fact I didn't see her again for three more days. When I did she wasn't in her swim suit. She was in cargo shorts and a work shirt. For once my cock didn't spring instantly to attention.

"Hey," she said. "We're going to host a kind of housewarming barbeque tomorrow, to invite the neighbors in and introduce ourselves, you know. I know your parents are gone but you're here. You want to come?"

I wanted to cum, but all I did was say, "Sure."

"Okay. You don't have to bring anything. It's starting at four."

"Got it," I said.

She turned and left. Her ass and legs looked just as good in those cargo shorts as they had before.

The rest of that day and most of the next day, which was Saturday, I mostly worked. Around noon I went out to take a dip in the pool and then lay out in the sun for a little while. It was while I was doing that, just lying in the sun, that I found out there was trouble in paradise, next door.

When I heard the yelling I turned my head from side to side, to locate the source. All the houses on our block were cookie cutter places when they were first built and the window next door – on Mrs. Stratton's side – where I decided the noise was coming from would be the largest of the three bedrooms in the house. So … master bedroom. I got up and moved towards that location, pressing up against the back of the house so I could listen around the corner without being seen. The window was obviously open, so maybe the curtains were, too.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to do this kind of shit?" yelled a male voice. "I don't go to work every day so you can feed all the neighbors and buy them booze!"

"No," came Mrs. Stanton's high voice. "You go to work so you can fuck your secretaries and interns. When will you learn not to do that, Randy? I'm tired of your work life blowing up and us having to move. If we could stay in one place for more than a year I might make a few friends and I wouldn't need to invite the whole fucking neighborhood over!"

"I don't fuck around at work!" yelled Randy. "Those are all lies made up by people who want to screw me over!"

"So it's just coincidence that two of your secretaries and one of your interns filed sexual harassment complaints against you, right, Randy? Even I could hear the sneer in Mrs. Stanton's voice. "Maybe when your new secretary, here, files a complaint they'll finally fire you instead of just shuffling you to another office in another city."

"You fucking bitch!" screamed Randy. "They transfer me because they have problems and I'm smarter than anybody else in the fucking company! And if you acted like a wife instead of a shrew maybe I wouldn't want to fuck other women!"

I heard the slam of a door, followed by silence, and then the roar of a motor and screeching tires. I wondered if it was Randy at the wheel, or his wife. I also wondered if there was still going to be a party in two hours.

There was, as it turned out. Around four I went outside and looked over the fence into their back yard. There was a charcoal grill smoking on their patio. I went to the front and looked to see Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson walking up the walk.

I figured I might as well go. At least I'd get to see Mrs. Stanton again. I knew I had it pretty bad for her because as I was walking over my heart was pounding in my chest. The door was open so I just went on inside. I saw several neighbors and friends of my mom and dad’s. Our street was actually pretty decent, in terms of everybody knowing each other and getting along and all that. Most of us had lived here for years and years. A guy from three houses down, Mr. Larson, came up to me.

"Hey Bob what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I figured with my folks being gone I should represent the family," I said.

"Well, aren't you growing up," came a sultry female voice I knew to be Ralph Larson's wife, Heather. She was another smoking hot wife on our block and I thought of Megan Boone whenever I saw her. She'd hired me to do several things around the house that Mr. Larson either didn't know how or didn't want to do. She was friendly, but didn't exactly flirt. She caught me staring at her boobs, too, and had done the "My eyes are up here" thing with me. She'd been smiling, though, so I didn't feel like I was a pervert or anything. That had been when I was fourteen. She was in her thirties now, by my estimation, and her husband was probably five years older. He was the manager of the cement company in town.

"I'm trying to," I said.

"Well, say hi to your parents when they get back," said Mr. Larson. "I'm going to go get another drink."

"Bring me a Jack and Coke," said Mrs. Larson.

"You've probably had more than you need already, Dear," he said.

"You're no fun," she pouted.

He left and I saw Mrs. Stanton come in from outside. She saw me, and stopped. Her eyes looked a little puffy, like she'd been crying, but she put on a totally fake smile and came over to us.

"Bob! I'm so glad you came!"

"You two know each other?" asked Mrs. Larson.

I was now in the presence of two women who could be bunnies, and my penis gave up trying to be good and stiffened up.

"We're neighbors, now," said Mrs. Stanton. "He saved me from dying of thirst our first night here, before they turned on our water."

"He's a sweet boy," said Mrs. Larson. "He's the neighborhood handyman, too. It's too bad he's going off to college next year."

I wondered why Heather Larson thought it was too bad I was going off to college.

"Well, I'd better keep moving," said Mrs. Stanton. "See you later, Bob."

"So, what are you doing this summer?" asked Mrs. Larson, looking at me. I was a little unnerved that she seemed to be treating me like anybody else in the room, instead of the punk kid who lived down the street.

"I'm working as a medical billing coder," I said. Something urged me to ask a question so I just did. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What's that?" she asked.

"Why did you say it was too bad I was going to college next year?"

One of her perfect eyebrows rose and she moved to slip her arm through mine.

"Why Bob. You're my favorite eye candy in the neighborhood. I'm going to miss seeing you mowing Trudy's lawn without your shirt on."

She sounded dead serious and I was astonished. I felt her breast against my arm for a second and saw her husband wandering back over towards us.

"Thanks?" I said, my voice making it clear I thought she must be messing with me.

"No, thank you for being who you are. I hope all young people your age are as high quality as you are. You're going to need to be to solve the problems the rest of us older people have created."

"Heather, stop molesting the poor boy and let's go see if the Jenkinses want to play cards next week," he said.

Mrs. Larson squeezed my arm, squashing her breast even harder against it and then let me go.

"I wasn't molesting him," I heard her complain as they walked away. I wish I could have heard his response, but they were too far away by then.

I looked around and saw other people I knew-but-didn't-know, people who my parents knew, adults who had seen me grown up, for the most part. I saw the table that had drinks on it and went over there. I knew better than to try to take any alcohol. Word of that would get back to my parents, quite possibly before they even got back. I took a Coke instead. I saw Mandy Jefferson outside. She's the same age as me and we graduated together. She moved in different circles than I did in high school and we had one of those nodding acquaintances. I knew she was going to college at the end of this summer because she had told people she had a boyfriend who was in college.

I went out and approached her, greeting her by name. We chatted for a few minutes, during which I found out she couldn’t wait to leave town, never to come back, according to her. She had stars in her eyes about what college was going to be like. I invited her to come over to my house and swim some time and she said, "Maybe," but I could see she wasn't really interested, so I told her I'd see her around and left her alone.

I looked at the grill, but the guy I'd seen at their house when I delivered the toilet water wasn't anywhere around. Mr. Palmquist was tending the grill, which didn't surprise me. Tending grill was his favorite thing in the entire world and he offered to do it at every barbeque I'd ever been to.

I didn't see Mrs. Stanton anywhere and I wanted to pay my respects before I left, so I went looking for her. I went down the hall toward the master bedroom, thinking she might be in there for some reason because I couldn't find her anywhere else. I knocked and didn’t get an answer so I opened the door a little,

"Hello? Mrs. Stanton? Are you in here?" I asked and again I didn’t get an answer. I wanted to see what her bedroom looked like (I know – creepy) and I walked in. Nobody was there and I spend maybe thirty seconds looking at the furniture and some of her clothing lying on the bed. Part of that was a pair of black lace panties. I wanted to go pick them up, but I'm glad I didn't because when I turned to leave the bedroom door opened and there she was, right in front of me.

"Bob!" she said, clearly surprised. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was looking for you," I said. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

She arched an eyebrow at me in clear question.

"I was out on our deck and I sort of heard your husband leave, earlier," I said. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"Oh," she said, her eyebrow relaxing. "Thanks for your concern."

"Hey. What are neighbors for?" I said.

She looked around.

"When I first saw you in here I thought maybe you were raiding my panty drawer. Do they still have panty raids in college?"

"Not that I know of," I said. "Most guys in college don't have to do a raid. Girls just give their panties to a guy they like."

"I've only been out of college five years," she sighed. "Already everything is changing." She shook her head. "I suppose we should get back to the party," she said.

"You came here for something," I reminded her.

"Oh!" she said, and I saw her blush. Then she stared at me. "You're a big boy. There's no harm in you knowing. When I'm upset or tense I take ten minutes with my vibrator and it calms me down."

"Oh!" Now it was my turn to blush. "I'll just leave and give you some privacy, then."

"You can leave, but if you would, please guard the door for me? And if my husband comes back, stop him from coming in here."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked.

"You're buff," she said, eyeing me critically. "Randy used to look like you, but he's gone to fat these days. If he wasn't one of the supervisors none of the women who work for him would look at him twice. Personally, I think they let him seduce them just so they can get a big settlement from the company and quit working."

"Okay. I don't think it's cool to push a guy around in his own house, though."

"Just knock on the door and keep him out long enough that he doesn't know what I'm doing," she said. "I don't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing I have to resort to using a sex toy."

Chapter Two

I stood there, listening to the soft buzzing of the vibrator I knew was stuck up in Mrs. Stanton's pussy. I had a boner but there was nothing I could do about it. I arranged it in my pants so it was up and down and pulled my shirt out of my waistband to let it hang down and cover things.

I was pretty frazzled. I was three months from turning nineteen and a new neighbor, a woman I barely knew and had only interacted with twice, really, had calmly told me she used a vibrator to reduce her tension and then asked me to guard the door for her while she did it! I was pretty sure this didn't happen to other guys like me, but then again, I had no idea what was "normal" for high school graduates who happened to know smoking hot married women.

Maybe ten minutes later Mrs. Stanton opened the door. She was flushed, but smiling.

"You're a darling," she said. "Remind me to do something nice for you. Shall we go?"

We went back into the throng separately, her ahead of me, and I mingled for a while. The next time I saw her she was in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Larson. The sight of these beautiful ladies together made my already hard dick hurt as it pushed up against my jeans. I saw Mrs. Larson look at me while she said something to Mrs. Stanton and then Mrs. Stanton turned to look at me, too. I got this funny feeling they were talking about us, so I approached them.

"Hi again, Ladies," I said, formally. I had been required to use formal address with adults ever since I could remember. My dad insisted this would present the image of a capable, honest man, which would be useful to me some day.

"Oh, hello Bob," Mrs Stanton said.

"Speak of the devil; we were just talking about you," said Mrs. Larson.

"Now I'm nervous. When two pretty ladies talk about me that could spell trouble," I joked.

"Bob is the neighborhood flirt," said Mrs. Larson. "Not that he tries to be. He's a perfect gentleman and as trustworthy as the day is long. We ladies have voted that if there's ever a gigolo living on the block, we want it to be him." She giggled and I realized she was a little drunk. She covered her lush lips with one finger and said, "Oops! I wasn't supposed to say that in front of him!" she giggled again.

"How interesting," said Mrs. Stanton, as her eyes raked over me.

"We're not serious," said Mrs. Larson. "You know how it is when you're lonely, bored and maybe a teensy bit neglected." Her eyes crossed and went owlish. "I think I'll just stop talking now and go sit down somewhere," she said. Mrs. Stanton and I watched her go.

"I guess I'm not the only one who has issues to deal with," said Mrs. Stanton.

"She's really a nice lady," I said. "I think she just had too much to drink."

"I'm sure," said Mrs. Stanton. She glanced at me. "Bob, the neighborhood gigolo, huh? How much do you charge?" She smiled.

Do not ask me why, but I blurted out, "The first time is free." I looked away, worried she'd yell.

She laughed instead.

"I think I'm going to like living here after all. At least I have interesting neighbors this time."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Maybe it was because of what Mrs. Larson had blurted out, but I noticed a lot of the neighborhood women liked to chat with me and smile a lot. Of course I had chatted with them all before, lots of times. I either mowed their lawn or did some kind of handyman job at their house to make spending money as a teenager. I'd kind of stopped doing the handyman stuff these days, but I still mowed lawns because they all said they couldn't find anybody else to do it. They said kids these days didn't want to work.

I stayed there, watching Mrs. Stanton moving around in her flowery, light summer dress which was snug up top and flowing down where her legs were. She was just beautiful to watch. So was Mrs. Larson but her husband dragged her out around six. I managed to slip some bourbon into the Coke in my Solo cup, but mostly watching the people who were there. I was beginning to see people I already knew in a different way.

About seven or so I slipped out the front door and went back to my house. I sat down in my dad's Lazy-Boy and reclined it, unzipping my pants and reaching in to squeeze my hard dick. I remembered Mrs. Larson and Mrs. Stanton standing there, together, looking like babes and tried to imagine them calling me to enlist my gigolo-ness to make them both happy at the same time. My pants were too tight to stroke and I couldn't slide them down very easily. I had just gotten them below my balls and started jerking when the front door opened and Mrs. Stanton walked right in.

"Bob?" she called out. "Are you here, Bob? Have you got any ice?"

Then she saw me. She stopped. I stopped. We both stared at each other.

"I am so sorry!" she yipped, turning around.

But she didn't leave.

"Gimme a second to get decent," I gasped.

I worked the lever of the chair and stood up, pulling my pants up over my offending member.

"You wanted ice?" I said, trying to sound like everything was as normal as pie.

"I couldn't find you and I thought maybe you'd come back here," she said, still facing away from me.

"Let me wash my hands and I'll get your ice," I said.

"Thank you."

That was it. Just a common-sounding thank you. As I washed my hands I wondered if she was thanking me for washing my hands, or getting her some ice. Suddenly she was right beside me.

"I'm sorry I intruded on you," she said.

"Remember when you asked me to guard the door?" I asked, as I opened the freezer and pulled the big ice bucket out.

"Yes."

"I kind of intruded on you by … um … listening through the door."

"I don't know why I did that," she moaned. "I don't even know why I told you I do that!"

"My mom says everybody does that," I said.

"Your mother?"

"She caught me one time, kind of like you just caught me. She felt like it was necessary to have a long talk about it."

"Oh my. How embarrassing," she said.

"No more embarrassing than you seeing me doing it," I said.

There was an awkward silence as I filled up a used plastic grocery bag with the ice.

"You want me to carry it for you?" I asked.

"Would you, please?"

"Sure," I said.

I took it over to her house but then lied and said I needed to go because I had to be at my friend's house the next morning to help him move into a new apartment. There was no friend and no apartment, but it was too awkward being around her after what had happened.

"Thank you for coming," she said, she approached me and invaded my personal space. "I'm sorry you had to hear my husband and me fighting, earlier."

"It's not my business," I said. "I should have gone in the house and not listened."

"And I'm sorry I … interrupted you."

"No problem. I hope I didn't disgust you."

"I wasn't disgusted at all. Like your mother says, everybody does it. You're a very nice young man," she said, leaning to give me a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks again," I said.

As I was going out the door she called out, "Bob?"

I turned and looked at her.

"I'll let you know when I want my free trial." She said it with a straight face, but then she gave me a brilliant smile and laughed.

This time, when I got inside my house, I leaned against the door, pushed my shorts down and beat my meat like it owed me money.

I was totally unprepared And had to catch it in my hand.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

I have no idea how things might have gone forward after that, had not this other thing happened. But it did happen and it changed everything.

It was only two days before my parents were due to get back and I was cleaning the pool (again! It always needed cleaning!) when I heard some yelling next door. I could hear her higher voice screaming and his deeper voice yelling back. I thought they were having a fight and it had just gotten loud. Then Mrs. Stanton ran out the back door of their house being chased by the guy who I had only seen once and assumed was Mr. Stanton. I could see over the fence that she was barefoot and something glinted in his hand. Everything happened so fast. She was screaming and I saw him catch up to her and grab her hair. He pulled it viciously and her head snapped back as she let out a yelp of pain. Her feet went out from under her and she landed flat on her back.

"I've told you not to disrespect me, bitch!" he yelled. "Now you're going to pay! Turn over! You're taking it up the ass this time!"

"No! Not there!" she wailed as he reached to flip her dress up over her back. I saw him literally rip her panties off her body and throw them to one side. He held her down with one hand on her back while he fumbled with his zipper with the other hand. Before he did that he dropped the shiny thing in his hand and I realized it was a knife.

"No!" she squealed. "Get off me!"

Now, I didn't know the law or anything, but I just figured it wasn't right for a guy to force himself on a woman, even if he was married to her. And, technically, since nobody had ever introduced me to him and the only words he'd ever said to me were "Thanks, kid," I wasn't even sure this guy was her husband, so I jumped over the fence and ran toward them.

"Get off her!" I yelled. The guy looked up at me.

"What are you doing in my yard? This is none of your fucking business!"

"Get off of her," I said, my voice normal. "No means no. Let her up."

The guy got to his feet and leaned down to pick up the knife. Even from three feet away I could smell the stink of alcohol on his breath. Maybe the wind was coming from behind him.

Mrs. Stanton rolled over and tried to cover her loins with her dress. I could see that her face had been hit, and hit more than once; that beautiful, pale face was all puffed up and bruised.

He stood beside her and looked down at her.

"You stay right there, you fucking bitch!" he snarled. "Don't you move an inch! I'll deal with you in a minute. Don't make me chase you again!"

Then he looked at me.

"You're trespassing. I'm gonna count to three and if you're not out of my yard I'm gonna break your legs."

I let him say, "One!" and then I stepped forward and kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. As he bent over I followed it up with an upper cut that felt like it broke two of my fingers. He went down like a sack of rocks and the steak knife he'd been holding dropped on the ground. He groaned, but then relaxed, out cold.

Mrs. Stanton sat up and stared. That's when I saw the blood.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

I didn't know it then, of course, but she had filed for divorce and when he was served, he came home to kill her, detouring to a bar, first, where he got a snootful of booze in him. I heard her tell the cop who got there just before the ambulance did about the divorce and that he was drunk. I had been standing by Mr. Stanton, ready to kick him in the head if he woke up. When the cop came into the back yard he had his gun out and it swung up to point at me. She screamed that I wasn’t the guy who had stabbed her and he took the time to look at her. He leaned his mouth to his shoulder and said something into his microphone thing. I contributed my part of the story as the cop tried to do some first aid to Mrs. Stanton, where blood was making circles on her dress that were getting bigger and bigger. Mr. Stanton woke up and started moving around on the ground, cursing and threatening … me, I guess, since he didn't know the cop was there, yet. He found that out when the cop put handcuffs on him and did exactly what you see them do on TV, talking about how he had the right to remain silent and have a lawyer and all that. It would have been cool, except Mrs. Stanton was hurt bad. I was never so happy to see paramedics in my life when they finally got there and started taking care of her.

Things got chaotic for a while, with more policemen showing up and some guys in civilian clothing. Some of them walked around inspecting things. One of them picked up the knife off the lawn and put it in a paper bag. One of them came over to me and said he was a detective and he interviewed me. He said I'd have to testify in court and I said I'd be happy to. Mrs. Stanton had already been taken away in an ambulance, its siren screaming on what was usually a very quiet street. I saw some neighbors out front but police were keeping them out of "the scene". They got to see Mr. Stanton get stuffed into the back of a patrol car, but that was all.

I went home and worried all night that it might be serious. There had been a lot of blood. I was so shook up I called my parents and talked to my dad, telling him what had happened. He said I'd done the right thing and to cooperate with the investigation and they'd be home soon. I could hear my mother asking him what was wrong and he kept telling her to be quiet and he'd tell her in a minute. Then he hung up. I half expected my mom to call back, but she didn't.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The next morning I got up and tried to work but attention to detail is very important in that job and my mind kept wondering how she was. Around ten o'clock the phone rang. It was her.

"Is there any way you could come get me?" she asked. "My husband is in jail and my car is at home."

"Of course," I said. "Give me half an hour and I'll be there."

"They said it will take an hour for them to process me out," she said. "Can you do me another favor?"

"Sure, what?"

"The police locked my front door for me but I think the patio door is still unlocked. Could you go in and go to my bedroom and get me something to wear? The police took my dress as evidence."

"No problem," I said.

I went over and it was kind of spooky going in her house, but I went upstairs. I looked in the closet but most of that was dresses and that didn't seem appropriate, somehow. I looked in her chest of drawers and found a sweat suit. Then I looked for socks and the first drawer I opened was her panty drawer. I stared at colorful, lacy things and tried to decide if it would be awkward for me to take her panties to wear. I finally said, "Screw it. She asked for clothes. I'm taking her clothes." I picked a pair of blue panties up and put them with the sweat suit. I found bras and got one of those out, too. Socks was last and then I grabbed a pair of running shoes from the closet and bundled it all up. When I got home I stuffed it all in my old gym bag and took it to the car.

I got there about forty minutes after she called me and then had to go through explaining why I was there, and that I had clothes for her. Somebody came and got the gym bag and they told me to wait in a chair in the lobby. I sat down and half an hour later a nurse pushed her into the lobby in a wheel chair. I almost couldn't recognize her because her face was so swollen, bruised, and black and purple. She had Mrs. Stanton's hair and voice, but it was hard to look at her.

The nurse asked me where my car was and told me to go get it and bring it to the entrance. I did and she got slowly into the suicide seat. My gym bag had been on her lap and I tossed it into the back seat before I helped her buckle her belt.

Driving away with her was surreal, too, something I had never even dreamed I would someday do. The situation was so strange that I just went on autopilot.

"You okay?" I asked, and then felt stupid. Of course she wasn't okay."

That's when I found out he had stabbed her three times. Actually, when I later saw the wounds, he had slashed her two times and stabbed her once. The stab wound wasn't deep because he'd hit a rib and they didn't have to do surgery. They stitched up most of her wounds. It was the fact that she had all those wounds and he didn't have any that lent her (and me) credibility in our stories. Then there were the bruises that made her face almost unrecognizable.

"Are you in pain?" Again I felt stupid. Of course she was in pain.

"They gave me some pain killers and it dulls it. I feel sore everywhere."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I said.

"You saved my life, Bob. I owe you my life."

"No you don't," I said. "Anybody would have done it."

"I think I'll be the one who decides if you saved my life or not," she said.

"Hey, what are neighbors for?" I replied.

I got her home. There was one of those keypads where you could punch in a code that would unlock the door and a circular bell push if you were a visitor. She punched in the code and I helped her inside. She moved slowly and held my arm tightly. The doctor had said a couple of her ribs might be cracked.

"I might need your help tomorrow," she said.

"Okay."

"I'm supposed to change the bandages, but I can't reach some of them."

"Okay. I know some first aid."

"They gave me some bandages. I put them in your gym bag. You can just bring them with you tomorrow. Come over around ten or so."

"Got it," I said. "Call me if you need anything. I'm right next door."

"Okay. Thanks."

Then I went home.

For once I did not masturbate after spending time with Mrs. Stanton.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

I worked until almost midnight. I was in the zone and working kept my mind off the woman next door. When I went to bed I must have slept like the dead because the phone woke me up the next day. It was her.

"Where are you?" she asked.

I looked at the clock. It was ten-thirty.

"Sorry. I worked late and overslept," I said.

"If you come help me change my bandages I'll make you brunch," she said.

"You don't have to make me brunch," I replied.

"Do not be difficult, Bob. You're my knight in shining armor and if I want to make you brunch I'm going to make you fucking brunch!"

"Yes, Ma'am," I said. "Don't get excited. You'll pull your stitches."

"Just get over here. I don't like being alone."

I remembered she'd said the stuff to change her bandages was in my gym bag, which was still in my car. I got dressed and stopped by my car on my way over.

When I opened the gym bag, the blue panties I'd taken for her to wear were lying inside.

I rummaged around in the bag, but the only other thing in it were some big square gauze pads in sterile envelopes and a little roll of tape. I stood there, looking at those panties.

What the fuck did they mean?

I didn't know. Not only did I not know what they meant, I didn't know what to do with them. I decided that, when she'd gotten dressed, she'd just missed the fact that a pair of her panties was in the bag. Yeah, that was it. She just didn't know they were in there. So I picked up the whole bag and went next door. I rang the bell and a good minute later it opened. She was wearing a short, satin summer robe that exposed a lot of her legs.

"I'm here," I said, inanely.

"Thank you for coming. The police said he couldn't get out of jail but I couldn't sleep last night, worrying that, somehow, he'd get out and come back."

"You should have called," I said.

"I've imposed on you enough," she said.

"Bandages," I said, holding up the gym bag. "And … um … something else. I brought your clothes in this, remember? You left something in it."

"You mean the panties?" she said, without any pause at all.

"Uh … yeah."

"I left them there for you," she said.