Hole in the wall

(c)Anne Douglas 2007

Oh my!

It wasn’t everyday you pulled a peeping tom through the knot-hole in your boundary fence and saw your hunka-hunka-burnin-love neighbor dancing around his swimming pool.

Now you might think neighbors dancing around their pool not to be an unusual occurrence. But when they did it butt naked, and wiggling his rather fine, fine, ass to such Disco favorites as Rock the Boat, and Shake your Bootie…you stopped and looked. Looked again and tried real hard not to swallow your tongue and whimper while trying to restrain your lust; trying being the operative word in that sentence.

“Oh my good lord!” The words popped out in a reverently whispered rush.

Jane watched him make the silly ‘ship on the ocean’ dance moves to go with the song, then poke out his totally edible ass and shake it like there was no tomorrow.

Hrmm, he must do this a lot – no tan lines.

When he turned full frontal Jane couldn’t stop the gasp. Holy Freaking Salami Batman! The guy was built like the proverbial brick shit house – everywhere! She wiped her chin just to make sure she wasn’t drooling.

He was slowly stroking his cock as he stood at the end of the pool. His face turned up to the sun and he still wiggle back and forward to the song, but now concentrating on what he held in his hand. Jane’s fingers snuck under the waistband of her denim skirt and echoed his movements.

Fingers flying over the slickness of her pussy, her climax came upon her with a rush; she tasted blood as she bit down on her lip trying to keep quiet. When she looked back through the hole, she could only see the slick dark head of her new neighbor as he powered his way across the pool.

Pulling away with a small sigh and a very large grin, Jane headed back into her house.

Later that evening she sat on her front porch with two long glasses of fresh tea waiting on the table as a very tall, handsome, well tanned man with very bad pitch, made his way up her front stairs, tapping a compact disc case against his thigh with a preppy disco beat.

Jane smiled, big.

It seemed her little ploy, updated for the digital age, worked as well now at twenty-seven, as it did at fifteen; he was grinning just as big as she was.

She had left a bottle of sunscreen, a mixed cd chock full of crazy disco club hits, and a welcome to the neighborhood note from Jane at 1134 with a little post script – Please, stop over for cold tea and disco…anytime.

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