In the Neighbourhood

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Chapter 5: In Bed

Keith swished the water around his mouth, spat, swished more water around, spat again. He washed the toothpaste residue down the drain with the water he had left in the glass, not wanting to touch the tap again while Lisa was in the shower.

He could just make out her form, her fair skin, through the frosted class of the shower door. When they had first moved in together, they had showered together whenever they could. In this house, the shower stall was too small for both of them—a trade-off for the big whirlpool tub they hadn’t used yet.

But even the frosted glass couldn’t obscure the curves of his wife’s waist and hips, of her breasts, her bountiful, beautiful breasts. Could he make out the slight coloration of her nipples through the glass? He couldn’t be sure.

He did miss their showers, though, the feeling of his wet, soapy skin sliding against hers, the closeness and intimacy. And of course, the sex—for a while, it seemed like the only sex they ever had was in the shower. Lisa all but demanded it, and Keith was more than happy to comply.

The sound of water slapping against the shower wall meant that Lisa was almost done—she was vigorously getting the excess water off her hair, throwing it out with her hands. A squeak, and the water turned off; Keith knew there would be one more slap, then the door would open. He grabbed her pink terrycloth robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and went to meet her.

“Thanks, honey,” she said as he wrapped it around her. “Hand me a towel.”

She slid her arms into the sleeves and reached for the towel he held out to her, wrapped it around her plume of dark red hair, made almost chestnut by the water. He watched her secure it in place, a complicated operation of twisting and wrapping.

She never secured the robe for this procedure, which Keith appreciated. Her breasts swayed beautifully as she moved and then she stood up straight, the robe pulled open to display her magnificent body, her fresh white skin, her smooth legs.

Keith had only seen Sherrie in a swimsuit, but he knew Lisa was far prettier, and not just because she was younger and a little thinner. She was better-looking than Stan’s wife, Marie, too; Marie was thinner, and her face was attractive, sure, but he’d choose Lisa over Marie in a second.

“What?” Lisa asked, and Keith realized he was staring at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“Oh, hush, she said, rolling her eyes.


“I’m so fat right now,” she said, smacking the palms of her hands on her belly. “Look. I’ve gained so much weight these days.”

“It’s just the stress. Moving and everything.”

“Fat is fat.” She rubbed underneath her breasts with the robe’s fabric. “These things are so saggy, too.”

“Not at all. They’re lovely.”

“Only you think so.”

She turned to the mirror and started to examine her face closely, rolling and stretching the skin. “Ugh. So many blackheads. Where are they coming from?”

Keith wandered into the bedroom and got into bed. What would a tape of him and Lisa look like? He found it hard to imagine—not because he couldn’t imagine it, but because the image itself made him uncomfortable. Lisa always said she was fat, but since they’d been together, he’d gained more weight—way more. He wasn’t obese, he hoped, but the belly, the love handles—he hated looking at his own reflection in the mirror, much less letting anyone else see him.

Then again, Darrell and Sherrie were apparently perfectly happy to show their naked, fucking selves off to others. They were pretty much the opposite of anything you’d see in a porno film: middle-aged, fast approaching senior citizenship; fat, hairy, wrinkled; getting soft in all the wrong places.

But despite all that, there was a market for the tapes they made of themselves, at least in this neighbourhood. If they weren’t worth watching, would they still be getting tapes from everyone else? Did it matter what you looked like when you were having sex, if everyone watching you were just other, average people?

The idea was intriguing for another reason, too: Keith had a sneaking suspicion that Lisa would like watching tapes of other people having sex. They had never watched a porno tape together—Keith was afraid to suggest such a thing, not sure how she’d react—but there had been that one time, about a year ago.

They were watching a movie one night, late at night. It was a movie Lisa had wanted to rent, Kiss of the Black Widow, a British film set in Renaissance Italy. Keith had no interest in it at all, but he didn’t complain—she watched Star Trek and 2001: A Space Odyssey with him, so it was only fair for him to watch a costume drama with her every now and again, if that’s what she wanted.

Except that this was no ordinary costume drama. Most of the movie took place in a Venetian brothel; the heroine was a courtesan who slept with rich noblemen, then killed them and stole their money. There was probably more to it than that, but Keith had been distracted by the loose, filmy dresses of the courtesans, and hadn’t paid much attention to the story.

Apparently Keith wasn’t the only one distracted. After a while, maybe a half hour of the movie, Lisa announced that she was too warm and went upstairs; she came down wearing only panties and a halter top that she hardly ever wore any more. Then she snuggled up to Keith on the couch, moving closer and closer, her chest against his shoulder, her hand draped over his thigh. He could feel her warm breath on his neck, hear her licking her lips.

He was no idiot. As the movie’s next scene began, he shifted slightly and her hand felt neatly on him. She purred softly in his ear, and shifted herself.

Soon she was straddling him, and he was stretching the halter top down further than it was supposed to go. He pressed her skin against his mouth, then his tongue, and she pressed her hips against him, hard, pulling herself down forcefully with her arms.

“Now—” she began.

Keith stayed where he was and watched as she went to work, first pulling the halter top up over her head and tossing it aside, then dropping and stepping out of her panties in one fluid, magical motion.

Lisa knelt in front of the couch and tugged meaningfully at the waistband of his jeans, blinking up at him through her long eyelashes. Keith wasted no time undoing them and pulling them off. Her hands were on him at once, running up and down.

She turned around, something Keith had never seen her do before in this situation. She deftly lowered herself onto him, breathing heavily, her hands clutching back at Keith’s chest for balance.

Her head up and, as far as Keith could tell, still watching the movie, Lisa worked herself up and down his shaft, with a desperation and intensity Keith had rarely, if ever, felt from her.

“Oh, yes,” she said loudly, and her back arched and Keith put his hands around her and pulled her back to him and came as well.

When they were both able to speak again, she turned and straddled him once more, buried her face in his neck. “That was awesome,” he said.

Amazing,” she answered. The movie played on behind her, but soon they just turned it off and went to bed.

A couple of times since then, Keith had mentioned that movie, but once Lisa said she couldn’t think of what movie he was talking about; the other time she had reddened slightly before remembering something she needed to get from the laundry room.

So Keith was intrigued and excited by Lisa’s apparent enjoyment of sexy movies, but he was at a loss as to what to do about it. He didn’t want to ask her outright, and have it turn into a difficult and embarrassing conversation, so he ended up saying nothing, just leaving it alone, and wondering.

Maybe those tapes of their neighbours would be another excuse, another way to get her interested again, in... sex. Sex like that. It might be worth finding out.

At last, Lisa came into the bedroom in her old university t-shirt and ratty blue pajama bottoms. She was yawning. “So tired these days,” she said apologetically.

She quickly fell asleep, leaving Keith awake and wondering. If he left the video camera there, at the end of the dresser, half-hidden by that stack of cartons of winter clothes, would she notice? Was it worth the risk?

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