Darrell wiped the perspiration from his brow, then wondered what to do with his now moist hand. Christ, he’d been sweaty. It was embarrassing, sweating like this, even though they were in the air conditioned house, and even though the temperature had sunk to almost springtime levels. Mid-day and it was seventy degrees instead of ninety. The summer was finally gone.
As he wondered what to do with his handful of sweat, another large dollop fell from the end of his nose and splashed down onto Sherrie, into the little divot at the back of her waist. She didn’t react, didn’t move; Darrell could never tell if she was politely ignoring things like that, or didn’t notice.
In the end, he wiped the load of sweat on his own hip, and bracing himself with the other hand he eased himself out of her. She gasped just as he pulled out, which he always liked hearing.
She turned over and flopped down, the flesh of her tits running to either side of her chest and pooling on her arms. Her skin was so tanned now that you could barely tell where the nipples began. Sure, there were those liver spots, but who cared, he was old and spotted too. She was still a beautiful woman, a desirable woman.
“That was nice,” she said, her eyes closed. Her hands ran up and down the sides of her naked belly, her hips, her thighs, as though she weren’t controlling them, as though it were someone else feeling her skin up and down.
Then she stretched her arms out. “Come here,” she said.
If he leaned over her, he’d sweat all over her and when she put her arms around his neck she’d discover the disgusting wetness collecting in his hairline. He quickly passed a hand over his face and leaned down to give her a peck.
“Be right back,” he said, and was up, had escaped to the ensuite. It was like the old days, after they had the boys, running to the bathroom to get rid of the condom.
He took his time, though. Standing on his toes, he got his balls over the edge of the sink and rinsed himself with some warm water. Not worth getting the soap—he’d have a shower later, probably.
Outside, the sun was just barely pushing through the clouds. First all those weeks of torrid heat, then six weeks of rainy, clammy grey, now finally some sun—a little to look forward to. Maybe he’d be able to take one more dip in the pool before he had to close it up.
He turned from the window to the full-length mirror Sherrie had had him put up. Not great, but not bad for fifty-eight. He adjusted the skin a little, so that his cock draped down between his thighs to its best advantage. It was a pretty good size, although after all this time, it would be pretty stupid to get hung up on things like that. Still, it mattered somehow, didn’t it?
He was peering at a mole that was forming on his left earlobe when he noticed the scene in the mirror behind him. From the mirror, through the window, across to Keith’s window, and from there to the big mirror over the bureau in their bedroom. That mirror gave him—yes, he got right up to his own mirror and he could just see it. He had a view, a good full view, of Keith and Lisa’s bed.
It wasn’t much, but he could see it well enough to see their rust-coloured bedspread, their beige pillowcases, the fact that they hadn’t made the bed today.
And if they were there—they weren’t, the room was deserted, but if they were—he would have a full view of them. And if Keith were fucking Lisa, just the way he’d been fucking Sherrie a few minutes ago, he’d see it all. Sure, on a very small scale, but he’d be able to see it. And it would be real, too, not a tape that Keith and Lisa decided he should see, but the real thing. The act, in the flesh, so to speak. No one made tapes these days anyhow—not Stan, definitely—and if they did, they weren’t dropping them off at his back step any more.
He could almost imagine the flash of red hair as she tossed her head, the scowl on Keith’s face as he pounded his way into orgasm, the arch of her back as she felt him coming deep, deep inside her—
He was getting hard again already, and Sherrie would start to wonder what he was up to. He flushed the unused toilet and wrapped a towel around his waist. He’d come back to the window later, maybe tonight. Lots of time.
Zsolt threw the robe over his shoulders, struggled to get his elbows through the sleeve holes. The doorbell rang a second time as he hurried down the stairs. “Hold your fucking shirt,” Zsolt muttered as he cinched the robe closed in the front.
He unlocked and opened the door, and sized up the pair of them right away. They both looked about twenty-one, as they’d promised on the phone. One, the blonde one, was too skinny, and he was smoking, too. The other was a little shorter, a little more filled out. His hair was spiky like a punk rocker’s, but he didn’t have any safety pins through his nose or anything. Okay, they’d do.
Zsolt leaned forward and pushed the screen door open. “Hi, guys,” he said, calm and offhand and not too friendly. “Which one’s Mike?”
The blonde kid flicked his cigarette into the bushes and raised his hand. “Hi,” he said glumly, his eyes shifting back and forth.
Zsolt didn’t like him much, but, he realised, he didn’t have to. The other guy stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Chris,” he said. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for—uh—inviting us.”
“Okay.” Zsolt appreciated the gesture, although he didn’t want to get to know them all that much. “Come in,” he said, and ushered them inside, suddenly realising they would be visible to anyone passing in the road. He glanced out the door as they came in, but the street was deserted.
He closed the door and turned back to the two guys. “Okay,” he said, watching them shuffle nervously. “You go upstairs to the right, in the bedroom. You can leave your clothes there. Both of you take a shower.”
“I showered before I came here,” the blonde kid said peevishly.
“You take a shower,” Zsolt repeated firmly. “When you’re both ready, you come down the hall to the other bedroom. Okay?”
“No smoking in the house,” he added, looking the blonde kid in the eye. “You aren’t virgins, are you?”
“No,” the dark-haired guy, Chris, said.
“Fuck no,” Mike said.
“Okay. Good.” That would be all he needed, some kid fumbling around or coming before he got inside or whatever. “I’m going to be there the whole time. If I say stop, you stop, or I’ll make you stop. And you wear a condom the whole time.”
“No problem,” Chris said.
“Okay.” Zsolt felt like he needed to say more, but also hated having to make a speech. He had to, though. The whole situation was so weird, it wasn’t like you could ask someone or loo the rules up in a book.
He pointed up the stairs. “Go ahead,” he said, and followed them up. Their heads were bowed as they made their way down the hall, and they closed the door quietly behind them. Well, they might be assholes, but they wouldn’t be any trouble.
Zsolt eased the master bedroom door open and slipped inside, leaving it open just a crack so the two cocks would know where to go. The curtains were drawn, so only a little bit of light was coming into the room, and it took a few seconds to adjust. He could see Elena’s white legs soon enough. He dropped his robe beside the bed and knelt beside her. “They’re here,” he said quietly to her, in Serbian.
She smiled, and her chest rose and fell a little more quickly. “Are they—nice?”
“What do you care?” He placed one of his hands on hers, stretched out to the corner of the bed, tied to the post. He squeezed it to comfort her. “Don’t worry. They’re okay.”
“Okay.” She was definitely nervous, or maybe just really horny. “Can you lift up—just for a second—lift the bandage?”
“Too tight?” Zsolt asked. He let go of her hand and tugged the blindfold up to her forehead. “I can tie it again.”
“No,” she said. “I just wanted to see you.” She smiled her sweet, sexy smile.
He leaned down and kissed her, not like he was going to fuck her—gently, like he was just waking her up. Her lips were warm, soft, perfect.
“Make me ready,” she whispered in his ear, lifting her neck so her face was close to him. He pulled be blindfold back down and moved into position.
“No, I think they’re still there,” Keith said, lifting the corner of the curtain a little bit higher, leaning over just a little more. The blue fender of the truck was just visible. “Yep, definitely. Not yet.”
He sat back down on the couch, and put his arm around her. “It’s past noon. They’ve got to be done soon.”
“I hope so.” She slipped her arms around him. “I’ll feel so much better.”
He hugged her back, feeling the closeness of their bodies, the tightness of the embrace. She loosened her squeeze a little, and he took the opportunity to place a hand on her waist.
“Are you hungry at all?” she asked. “It’s lunchtime already.”
“Nah,” he said. Sure, he could eat, but that would mean she’d go into the kitchen. He wanted her with him, here, more than anything else. “Maybe in a bit.”
She settled against his chest and he ran his fingers over her hip bone, back up to the inside of her waist, back down. He was able to get his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt on the next pass. She didn’t react, so he ran his hand around her back, to her shoulder blade. She nestled in closer.
He drew his hand back again, and this time brought it up her side, feeling the fold of skin under her breast with his fingers.
She shook slightly. “What?” he asked.
“You,” she said. “You’re so silly. Here.”
She hoisted herself onto his lap, pressing her thighs tightly against his, lifting her shirt and burying his face between her lovely breasts. He could barely breathe, didn’t care, cupped both tits in her hands, her nipples taut between his fingers, her legs squeezing tighter, his cock getting hard already.
Lisa was gone, and Keith looked up to see her dashing to the window. “The engine—” she said excitedly. “Open it, open it.”
Keith pulled the cork out of the bottle, glad that it complied with a festive and cheerful pop. He poured two glasses, not waiting for the foam to subside, and rushed to meet her at the window, just as the long, blue moving van rumbled past.
Lisa raised her glass. “Good riddance.” Keith clinked his against hers and they both drank.
Then she smiled at him and kissed him, and Keith felt almost weightless, the bubbles in the wine floating to his forehead, leaving him deliciously dizzy.
She kissed him again. “I have an idea,” she said.
“Go get the video camera.”
He looked at her closely. Was she joking?
“Just for us this time,” she said, then frowned, little delightful lines creasing her smooth forehead. “At least, I think so,” she added.
“New neighbours, soon,” Keith pointed out.
She shrugged, smiling again. “I don’t know. I just—want to.”
Anything, anything. Keith kissed her forehead, then bounded up the stairs, not wanting to be away from her for her a second longer than he had to.
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, Matthew McDermottWrite a Review