The Good Neighbor
Joe Brewster
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Joe Brewster/Transgressive Fiction
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ooOOOoo
Years ago I lived across the hall from a runner named Maureen.
Time after time Maureen ran off without her keys and, time after time, I'd have to let her back in the building. It became something of a running joke.
I’ll be honest: I enjoyed our brief interaction. I looked forward to it. It brightened this old man’s day.
One day Maureen came right out and made it official: As of that moment she declared me her personal doorman. She could see I didn’t mind.
That’s how it started. A routine was born.
I didn’t do anything special really---not at first. I liked being a good neighbor to all the tenants in our building. It was natural as could be. It had nothing to do with her looks. I didn't even notice how attractive she was until others pointed it out to me.
She was always so sweaty after all. And so young. Twenty-something girls can be flighty things. Not my cup of tea really. Though I did like her--- as a friend---as a neighbor.
I began to make lemonade and refreshments for Maureen while she ran. She liked that.
One hot day she declined the lemonade. She was too hot and sweaty to even stop and chat. She needed an immediate shower. “Very well. Come in. Wouldn't a bath feel better?” I asked. “I could draw it for you while you sip cold lemonade.”
Another routine began.
One day as I finished drawing the bath water I came out to find her shed of her running gear-- naked. Yes. Naked as the day she was born.
I was touched that Maureen felt comfortable enough to lounge nude in my presence. I took it as a compliment.
She was too hot to move, she said. The air conditioning was already on. “Perhaps an added fan?” I asked.
“No.”
“Something else?”
‘Yes,” she smiled and spread her legs.
Hmm.
“Come,” Maureen said sweetly, “kneel.”
“Me? Here?”
“Please,” she said. “I need your cool tongue to relieve my hot, sweaty sex.”
“I'll certainly try,” I assured her.
Maureen leaned back. Keyed up. She quickly unwound. Closing her eyes. Putting her head back. My tongue tracing the edges of her lips. Touching her clit.
I placed the palm of my hand on the flat of her firm abs just above her Mons. Hoping it didn’t bring too much warmth. She softly moaned her approval as I leaned my face into her warm, wet niche.
Oh-um, she sighed. Sliding toward me. Opening her knees to me. Spreading her thighs.
Always glad to be of service I felt honored that she confided in me so completely. The secret of her sex had my trust. I was able to pleasure her slowly, thoroughly, the way only a good neighbor can. Not a lover. Not a romantic beau. I gave her a neighborly licking of pure comfort.
Like a cool drink. Like a warm bath. A friendly face.
She spread herself across the sofa like a rag-doll. Loose. Free.
Her hands lay at odd angles to her slack body. Letting me lick freely. No need to guide. My guest reveled in the easy feel of my accommodating face.
In due time faint ripples of bliss appeared and made their way throughout her body. No hurry. She lolled along the soft sea immersed in waves of pleasant relaxation. Buoyed along, letting the sensations move through her in their own sweet way. Taking their own sweet time.
Each day went the same: she nodded and sighed as I licked salty sweat off her sweet wet lips. Each day she moaned and writhed as orgasm slowly made its way closer and closer. Each day she palmed my head and arched her back as climax burst upon her.
We shared total trust; from that day on I not only drew a daily bath, I actually bathed her.
She lay back sipping lemonade as I ran a soft cloth over her, soaping her contented body as she relaxed; making small-talk or sharing the silence.
More than anything I felt young again. Her youthful bloom had that effect. When she moved away to get married it was sweet sorrow indeed.