Chapter 26: An Interesting Idea
“Hey, Stan,” Darrell said from the other side of the gate. “You busy?”
Stan opened the gate, please to find that it no longer squeaked. “Not really. How are ya? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
Stan gathered up his tools while Darrell stood there. “We’ve been—I don’t know—we’ve used the pool—”
“One sec,” Stan said. Who knew fixing the gate would feel this good? He should have done this weeks ago. “I’m gonna chuck these in the garage, before I forget.”
Darrell followed him around the house to the garage’s side door, so Stan kept talking. “You guys must be enjoying this hot weather. Getting your money’s worth out of that pool, anyway.”
“It’s been a good, hot summer,” Darrell agreed.
Something about Darrell seemed a little off, like he was uncomfortable or something. But who cared? It was a nice day, a nice Saturday, Stan was getting things done, and last night—oh, that, too.
“Wait here one second,” Stan said. “I’ll be right back.”
He went into the house and went quickly down the basement stairs. The tape was still in the editing machine. It seemed to take a week and a half to unspool itself and then rewind. When it was finally ready, Stan popped it out and looked for something to put it in. All the crap that collected in this basement, year after year, you’d think there’d be a plastic bag in easy reach, but no.
He returned to the garage, slightly out of breath. “Here,” he said, holding the tape out. “Just finished this one.”
“Thanks.” Darrell was just being rude, the way he reacted. He didn’t smile, just glumly took the tape from him. Stan might have expected this kind of thing from Keith—that guy obviously had no manners—but Darrell was supposed to be the mature one in their little circle.
“Have you got a bag or something?” Darrell asked.
Goddamn him anyway. “I dunno. There must be one around here somewhere, I guess.” Stan cast around the garage. What was he, Woolco?
“This one okay?” Darrell pulled one out from some wood piled up on the workbench. It looked pretty dirty.
“That crap’ll get all over the tape,” Stan pointed out. “Hang on, I’ll get one from the house.”
He found a paper grocery bag in the kitchen and held it open for Darrell. Darrell dropped the tape in and took the bag, making a big show of rolling up the top and folding it under the tape.
“Thanks,” Darrell said. “Sherrie was just saying, it’s been a while since we contributed, too.”
Not that anyone’s missed you, Stan thought. “Whenever you guys feel like it.”
Darrell examined the joists in the roof of the garage for a while. “You want a beer?” Stan offered. Not that he wanted to spend any more time with Darrell while he was like this, but you had to make the offer.
“Nah,” Darrell said, still staring at the joists. “I gotta get going. But...” He came to, sort of, and looked directly at Stan at last. “We’ve got a problem in this neighbourhood,” he said.
What had Keith done? It had to be the new guy—there weren’t any problems in the neighbourhood, ever. None that Darrell had ever needed to talk to him about, definitely.
“It seems,” Darrell said, giving him a very intense stare, “that we’ve got a peeping Tom on our hands.”
Stan felt a twinge of guilt at assuming Keith was the problem. “You saw him?”
“No. Keith’s wife, Lisa. He told me that she caught someone looking in their upstairs bathroom window, while she was showering.”
“She’s really upset.”
“Of course. That’s awful.” Still, the peeper had good taste. He wouldn’t mind seeing Lisa hot, wet, and soapy.
“So—wait—upstairs bathroom? Did he use a ladder or something?”
“There’s this little bit of roofing there over the door, right outside the window,” Darrell explained. “Keith found tracks in the flowerbeds below.”
Stan remembered the bit of Keith’s house that Darrell was talking about. It wasn’t much, but obviously it was enough to stand on. And it was around the side, so you couldn’t be seen from the street.
“So anyway, we want to spread the word,” Darrell went on. “And we should all be careful. Keep our eyes open.”
“You haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary lately, have you?”
Stan paused to show he was giving the question an appropriate amount of thought. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Well keep your eyes peeled. Right?”
“Thanks for this,” Darrell said, waggling the tape. “That reminds me, I’ve got one for you. One of Keith’s.”
“Great.” He wasn’t trying to sound sarcastic, but it came out that way.
“I’ll drop it off tonight,” Darrell promised.
It began with Keith sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the camera. He wasn’t wearing anything, but his legs were crossed, one over the other. The light was a little too low and the picture was grainy, so it was hard to tell, but Keith seemed to be smiling.
He got bigger—that is, the camera got closer. There was a vibration in the picture as the camera holder took each step towards him. Soon Keith filled the entire screen, from his thighs to the top of his head.
“Move your legs.” Lisa’s voice muffled and distorted by the shitty mic on the low-grade camera. “Let me see it.”
Keith did as he was told. Even in the grey-toned, grainy half-light of the video, Keith’s erect cock was clear, almost glowing as it strained into the air from his lap.
“Is that it?” Lisa asked. “That’s all you’ve got for me?”
Keith mumbled something that the camera didn’t quite pick up. The camera lowered until only about a square foot of Keith was visible, framing his cock, a bold white shaft amid the irregular shadows. Keith’s hand entered the view. He gave himself a gentle tug, more to shift his position than to really stroke himself.
Stan glanced at the stairs and listened carefully. Marie had gone to bed an hour ago, but between her and the kids you just never knew. He paused the video, waited. Nothing.
With one hand he restarted the video; with the other he undid the drawstring of his pyjama pants.
Another hand—Lisa’s, looking surprisingly large and strong. Probably just a trick of the light. She took hold firmly, and Stan could see, almost feel, Keith’s shudder. Keith leaned back, and his cock bobbed around as Lisa worked it, slowly, patiently. Stan could feel himself stiffening, too, could almost pretend Lisa’s fingers were on his cock, not Keith’s.
“You want—” Lisa’s hand stopped. “Here, you take it.” The picture was suddenly a swirl of dark and light lines and shapes, and then one shape. The camera focused and bobbed a bit, and there was Lisa, from her belly to her neck. Her nipples beamed at him, as though they were two eyes searing him with their stare.
Lisa’s body lowered, and then only her face was visible. “You gonna get this?” she asked, giving the camera a knowing look. “You want to see this?”
“Oh...” Keith breathed.
Here we go. She’s going to go down on him. Then they’ll fuck. Why did they have to make three tapes a week of this stuff? At least on his tapes with Marie, Stan knew to turn the lights on.
Stan considered turning the tape off, putting a different one in, one of him and Marie. Any way you looked at it, their tapes were better: better quality, better sound, better—what do you call it—action. And Marie was in better shape, too. No little creases under her arms, no sag in her belly.
But as Lisa went to work, Stan decided not to bother changing the tape. Everyone was all obsessed with Keith and Lisa these days; maybe he should watch it all the way. Who knew, maybe they had learned something lately.
Lisa held Keith’s cock straight up and ran her tongue down, then up, up, to the tip, lingering at the edge of the head, lingering, running her tongue from side to side. Then, just as Keith shuddered again from the sensation, she dropped away, her tongue following down the shaft until her face was buried between his thighs. Her breath was heavy and raspy.
“That’s so good,” Keith said.
Sure, Lisa’s tits were bigger than Marie’s. But in ten years, they’d be saggy and stretched out. Marie’s would still be nice and tight.
“Oh,” Keith said in anticipation.
And she was on him. She took him between her lips, then deeper into her mouth. She descended onto his cock, forcing herself down, down, deeper.
Then she released him, and he came free with an audible pop.
“Your tits,” Keith said, fully audible for once, as though he’d been reading Stan’s thoughts.
Lisa smiled and levered her body up on her arms. “These?” she said, swinging her chest slightly from side to side. Stan felt his head move at the same time, waiting for the warm, soft skin to brush his cheeks.
“This is what you want,” Lisa said, grasping them from the sides and pressing them together, surrounding Keith’s cock beautifully. “Right? You want this?”
“Yesss...” Keith’s voice dissolved in a soft hiss.
“Yeah.” Lisa raised herself and came down again, agonizingly slowly. “God, your cock is so warm.”
“Mmm.” Keith obviously didn’t know or care at this point.
Lisa continued to squeeze, continued to rise and fall. Stan felt his own hands lowering his jogging pants, freeing him. The cool air was a slight shock—Stan was as warm as Keith was, obviously.
She varied her pace, first working quickly, then slowing for a few long, tantalizing strokes, then speeding up again. Stan’s hand moved in time. He’d never know what this felt like, with Marie; he could only imagine what it felt like with Lisa’s huge, soft, beautiful tits. Keith had no idea how lucky he was.
And now he knew—the little outward piece of the house, right below the bathroom window. Lisa showering—no—in the bath. Towelling off. Not tonight, of course—too late—but maybe...
Lisa released him and took him in her hands, wrapping her fingers slowly and carefully around Keith’s shaft as it stood quivering between them. She lowered her lips to the head, gave it a little playful lick, giggled as she looked up at the camera.
Stan moved his hand faster, faster, still imagining her tits wrapped around him, sliding in and out—
“You know what I want?” she said, looking straight at him, her eyes on the screen locked on Stan’s.
—he would come all over her, on her neck, her throat, her face, between her tits, into her hair, everywhere. He wanted to spray her face, could feel it welling up inside him, the muscles clenching, ready—
"I want you to fuck my ass," she said, with that tiny, devilish smile.
It was everywhere, suddenly, and Stan couldn’t stop it, the relief, the release.
He sat still for a while to catch his breath, then used his other hand—the clean one— to find the remote and stop the tape. He’d watch the rest, but later, some time.
He padded carefully to the kitchen, his pants hanging still around his knees. He mopped up with some paper towels, went back and wiped the couple of little spots on the sofa.
Soon, he’d see Lisa—but for real. Soon.