We don't talk about last night for most of the day. I walk around, cleaning all
the places I've missed. I even find a few she hasn't pointed out yet. My cock is
hot on my leg. I've tried to wear pants and boxers for most of the day, but they
just press my cock against my groin. Which makes it worse...better?
I vacuum and contemplate sticking my cock into the end of the hose - a defiant orgasm into the void. I don't, though. Mostly, I don't do anything chancy. The sound of the postal truck wakes the neighbour's sleeping dog and I walk outside to see what has come. The sun is blinding. Pure gold rays sizzling my vision as I stumble out onto the lawn. The mailbox is out of focus and turned about.
I must have stumbled off the side of the porch in my sun daze.
Vision begins to clear up as I reach for around for the door.
"Ooh, hey," a voice says from behind. "Thanks for the mail!" Shelli, the neighbour, laughs as I look at the box and the mail and the box again.
Trying to save some grace, I hand it to her.
"Uh, here," I begin. "Special delivery." She hesitates, grins, then takes the mail. She flips through the stack and mumbles something. "Sorry?" I say.
"Lucky day," she says louder and looks back over her shoulder, grinning.
She holds up a big yellow envelope. "Publisher's Clearing House." She walks into her house. I go to my mailbox and open it. Just junk mail and the same Publisher's letter. I wonder what's so special about hers. I head for the house through the garage as my spouse is getting into her car. A breathtaking beauty, she is in an emerald blouse and another black skirt. This one is not leather. She stops and leans over to give me a full mouth kiss.
"To the store," she says, smiling enigmatically. "Need anything?"
Now she is looking at my feet. No socks, no shoes. I shake my head and watch her pull out of the driveway. She stops at the top of the drive, looks next door, then drives off. I enter the house. I really need to masturbate. I try to imagine what colour panties my spouse has on, decides on black and settles on the couch to jack off. I begin relaxing for the big come when someone knocks at the garage door. I miss the timing. My cock, angry and red, glares at me, squinting like Popeye. Shelli, the next door neighbour comes in just after I sit up.
"Hey," she says, walking her tight jeans through the garage and across the kitchen. "I locked myself out."
This must have been the third time in two weeks. I motion to the key hooks by the garage door. She smiles and goes to it. Riffle the keys. I watch her ass as she jiggles from one leg to the other. She is almost tapping from one foot to the other. I think that this must be one of her fitness exercises. Ringing, riffling, and jiggling I try not to drool. "It's not here," she says. She searches more, looking on the floor, counter, everywhere.
Is she wearing panties? I try to focus, as I get up, hiding the towel behind the sofa cushions. My shirt is oversized and hangs well past my waist. I approach the key rack. She almost hops. It must be some new music she's heard. "It's not here," I repeat. "Do you have it next door?"
"No," she frowns and wiggles. "Yes, I got it from Lena the other day. Shit."
"Want to call the locksmith?" I offer her the phone. Not sure where to hold it, she's almost bouncing now.
"No, it's just..." She says. "Well, I don't need to get in, I just need, uh...I just need to go to the bathroom, BAD."
"OK, use the one in our bedroom," I direct. "The hall one is O.O.O"
She runs down the hall, past the guest bathroom and toward the bedroom.
She is the second person today who is not wearing shoes.
"What's O.O.O?" she asks, the sound trailing her by miles.
"Out of order." I look for the phone book and go into the living room. Not there. Kitchen? Nope. Dining room? No. I wander back to the hall and proceed slowly down it. The bedroom door is open and the phone book is on the bedside table. I pause at the door. I don't hear her in the bathroom.