Kelsie tours her new neighbor's home after he says, "Howdy."
Based on a post by RavenAngstrom Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010
Kelsie Bluebook jogged down the Ocean View sidewalk, boobily bouncing as she did. Her ass, scarcely contained by her shorts, clapped like the chorus of a gospel choir, and it was worshiped as such. Her hair was blonde with an e, her nails were fresh as a farmer's market, her eyes were the color of Blue No. 2 food coloring, industrial grade. Her sports bra was twice as strong as Atlas, for it had to hold up two colossal globes, not one.
Every morning, Kelsie went for a jog around the neighborhood. Every morning she became a new teenage boy's fantasy or elicited a 'tut tut' from the prudish nuns who lived up the street.
She trotted past her new next door neighbor, Chuck, letting his dog out for a walk. He gazed at her bouncing form, hazel eyes wide as the moon.
He was no slouch himself, as Kelsie could see from the tight grey sweatpants he wore while letting his dog out for the morning. His cock was the side of a grandfather clock's pendulum. As mighty as a sledgehammer. A woman needed a heavy machinery license to ride him. He could body shame a sperm whale.
Kelsie had to meet him. "Hiya," she called brightly from across the street, waving vigorously.
"Howdy," he replied.
It's a little odd to say 'howdy' in these parts. I'd better investigate, Kelsie thought. She looked both ways, then bounded across the street.
Music from the 2017 movie Baywatch starring the Rock and Zac Effron began to play in Chuck's ears. That was both because he saw Kelsie running over, and also because he'd rented the film on DVD last night and the soundtrack had been stuck in his head ever since.
Kelsie bounded up to Chuck's front door. The house was cute, with fresh siding and shingles. She could suddenly imagine herself living there and redecorating, but that was because interior decorating was one of her favorite hobbies. She imagined herself living in every house she saw; swapping light fixtures, repainting, changing the curtains to blinds then back to curtains when she realized the blinds looked cheap.
She would never do this work herself, of course. She'd hire a strapping young man who dropped his tools a lot so she could bend over to pick them up.
"Hiya," said Kelsie, even though she'd already said that.
"Howdy," Chuck repeated.
"There you go. Saying 'Howdy,' again. Why is that?" Kelsie asked, popping her hip and touching her finger to her mouth. It was her thinking expression. When she put on her thinking expression, men stopped thinking and told her what she wanted to hear.
"I'm from Texas," Chuck said. "We say howdy there."
"Even to strangers?" Kelsie asked.
"Especially to strangers," Chuck replied. This was true.
"I don't want to be strangers," Kelsie said. This was also true.
"No one does," said Chuck. This was a lie, but he said it to flirt with her. Some people like being strangers with others. Chuck had neglected thinking about hermits.
"What do you want to be?" he flirted.
"Neighbors," said Kelsie. She reached out her hand and shook his. It seemed very formal to her. She'd prefer he'd kissed her hand, even though it would have been weird. He was handsome enough to pull it off. Yes. Chuck was that handsome.
"Neighbors," said Chuck, wishing he had the guts to kiss her hand. But that would be weird, he thought, wisely choosing to keep his lips to himself. For now.
"Mind if I come in?" Kelsie asked. She filled him in on the stuff from paragraph nine, the interior decorator hobby and all that, as they walked into his sitting room.
"Nice space," she said, wishing he'd pull up the carpet and expose that beautiful hardwood floor beneath. And the walls were too white, a touch of beige would really class up the joint.
"Thank you," he said. "I'm thinking about tearing up the carpet to expose the hardwood floor. After I paint the walls first, of course."
She spun around, wanting to leap into his arms then and there. "I was thinking the same thing," she said breathlessly.
Time slowed for Chuck as Kelsie’s breasts spun to face him. So did the rest of Kelsie. Keep your mind on the rest of Kelsie, Chuck thought to himself. He was trying his darndest to be polite, but his juicy, swollen, throbbing, hardening, dripping cock of his had him by the brain stem.
So determined was Chuck not to look at her buxom, heaving, bountiful, beautiful breasts, he nearly missed what came next.
"What color?" Kelsie asked.
"Bright orange," said Chuck.
Kelsie paused. That can't be right. He was so perfect a moment ago. Her mind concluded this must be a joke. She laughed, a genuine beautiful laugh that took Chuck's soul and threw it twenty feet aloft.
His soul was aloft for two reasons. One, he had made a beautiful woman laugh, one of the greatest feelings in the world (after orgasming inside a woman (or man, if one prefers) while they whisper I love you in your ear while being young (which makes everything better)).
The second reason his soul was aloft: he was not joking about painting the room orange, and his heart was panicking like a lost child at a petting zoo with more rams than supervision.
"I'm kidding," said Chuck, saving the moment and a lot of money on terrible paint. He laughed along, a nervous laugh, like getting too close to a mountain cliff and a couple rocks fall as you scamper back to safety.
Chuck is so funny, thought Kelsie’s brain. "You are so funny," her mouth echoed.
They paused, admiring each other's bodies through their peripheral vision so not to disturb the social contract of not being obvious about checking someone out. Also known as not being a creep. But deep down, they wanted to creep all over each other.
Alas, they could not.
"Shall I show you the kitchen?" Chuck said.
"Oh, yes," said Kelsie. She looked around, not sure of the direction to go. The hallway from the living room branched in two directions, you see. It was a half split level. She could go up, but that was the way to the bedrooms. Around the corner was down, the way to the kitchen. But she couldn't know which was which, because she'd never been there.
She'd spied on the listing, of course. But it was so much different once you're in the house. The photos weren't clear at all in this case. The previous owner had done them himself. Always a disaster, she'd thought at the time.
Chuck put his hand on Kelsie’s back, guiding her down the stairs to the kitchen. Kelsie swooned inside. She hadn't swooned like this since she saw a Hemsworth brother out on one of her jogs. She didn't know which one it was, she didn't get close enough. But it was definitely one of them.
The kitchen sparkled like a ethically sourced diamond. Granite countertops, complementing the white shaker cabinets on a sensibly tiled floor, with a backsplash depicting the 1990's hit show Baywatch in a series of glass tableaus.
"I like it. The backsplash is interesting..." Kelsie trailed off. It was incredibly done, even though the subject matter was a little odd. The detail of the mosaic was exquisite. Shards of glass the size of a fingernail clipping were sprinkled in as chest hair on a four inch depiction of the 'Hoff.
It would almost be a shame to get rid of it, she thought. So much care went into this. "Did you buy the place specifically for the backsplash?"
Chuck laughed for real, a deep boom that no doubt echoed around in his testicles for days. "No, but I tried to watch the movie last night. Turns out I rented the wrong one."
"These damn remakes," said Kelsie. "Still, the movie industry keeps me employed. So I guess it's better than no-makes." Kelsie laughed at her own joke.
Chuck laughed too, a polite, extra hard laugh signaling he was into her.
No one would laugh at a joke that terrible, thought Kelsie. Maybe he's stupid.
Kelsie walked to the island. That's right, the kitchen had an island too. Piles of move in boxes were stacked on the counters. Kelsie strolled around the island, surreptitiously peering into the box for anything feminine. The pots were at least fifteen years old.
"I got those in college," Chuck said. He'd noticed she was looking in the box, but chalked it up to general nosiness. He was the same way. No drawers ever went unopened when Chuck was around. No box left unexamined. He'd root around until the job was done.
Definitely no wife, probably no girlfriend, Kelsie concluded. She was right. She could have been a detective, or a private eye. Instead, she worked at a movie theater. Until she broke into reality TV, of course. That was right around the corner, she told herself. But with an IQ of 85, the truth was, she was too smart for it. Not that IQ is a good measure of intelligence, but, you get it.
"So, what do you do?" asked Kelsie as he led her upstairs (if you recall, that's where the bedrooms where).
"I'm a fireman," said Chuck. "But the name is a misnomer. I put out fires, I don't start them. That's called a pyromaniac, and they're in a different department than us."
"I've been to the pyromania department several times, and it's always a drag," said Kelsie, batting his muscular arm with her dainty hand. She squeezed his muscles quite obviously, biting her lips as she did.
Chuck was used to people feeling his muscles. It was always a good sign. That was usually what happened before his dates took their tops off. But he only ever went to second base nowadays, after what happened to her...
Chuck flashbacked. He was saying goodbye to his wife as she left for the department store. She was going to grab more extra-large condoms. They weren't trying for a baby. And they didn't want to be trying for an abortion, either.
When the police came to his door a few hours later and said, "Mr. Ock, your wife has been killed in a Columbus Day shopping stampede, you need to come with us to identify the body," that's when he knew something bad had happened. He never celebrated Columbus Day again; he was an Indigenous People's Day man now.
He'd moved to Ocean View, California get away from all that. But you can't always outrun your past.
Chuck un-flashbacked. Somehow, they'd entered the master bedroom. His king size four poster bed was on the only thing set up. Atop it lay a magnificent tiger's pelt. It was a fake, because Chuck respected animals, but it was a really good fake, so it appealed to everyone.
"Wow!" exclaimed Kelsie. "That's one fantastic duvet!" She stroked it, causing goosebumps to erupt on her neck like moguls on a double black diamond run.
"Try laying on it," said Chuck. He didn't even mean anything suggestive by it, he was genuinely excited to show off how it felt.
Kelsie leapt backward onto the pelt, falling at just the right speed to ensnare Chuck's imagination forever. The sight of her beautiful body falling onto his magnificent bedspread was forever etched in his mind. It would be the last thing he'd remember before dying at a ripe old age.
Just when Chuck thought it couldn't get any better, he caught a glimpse of her panties as the wind caught her short shorts. His cock throbbed again, making his head spin as the blood drained out of his brain like the last drops of a bath.
Kelsie had been a cheerleader, and always looked forward to a chance to show off. Her slow motion fall onto a tiger pelt faux-skin was the perfect time. She didn't literally slow time, but she'd often heard men describe the experience of watching her fall in such a way. All of those men died with her as their last thought, at ripe old ages when they had forgotten everything else, even friends and family. But that's getting too far ahead.
The tiger skin was even more luxurious on her back. She made a fur angel in the pelt.
"That's exactly what I did too," said Chuck. He leapt next to her, wanting to make a fur angel of his own.
Alas, all his muscle came at a price. He was heavy (not fat though), and if Chuck had one flaw, it was that he didn't spring for a memory foam mattress. Instead, he sprung for a spring one, purchased last spring on the day the clocks sprang ahead.
As Chuck plummeted to the bed, an equal and opposite reaction caused Kelsie to fly upward an equal amount, minus friction, air resistance, and all that. She landed on top of Chuck.
Kelsie’s boobs breasted against Chuck's chest. His dick cocked against her pelvis. Their noses cracked into each other.
Realizing what he'd done in his reckless abandonment of Newton's Third Law, Chuck grabbed Kelsie and pulled her close, stopping her from tumbling off the edge like an outdated stereotype of a lemming.
You're a hero, Chuck Ock, he thought. Not as big a hero as if I'd stopped a terrorist, but a hero all the same.
He wants me, Kelsie thought. And I want him. She kissed his mouth (it was sensible, their heads were close together). He returned her kiss with a passion she'd never felt before. A passion like an old man has for his model train set that looks like a small mountain town in Colorado.
This was unexpected, Chuck thought. But nice. Very nice. His inner monologue had a Borat ring to it. Chuck's thoughts were easily polluted by popular culture.
He ran his muscular fingers down her back. She had curves like a timekeeper's hourglass, with a hell of a lot of sand in both sides. His fingers rounded her ass, tracing back around to her front.
Kelsie’s breath caught in her throat. Is this happening? Kelsie thought. Am I going to fuck my next door neighbor? I barely know him. But from the way he nibbled her ear, he knew her.
Just second base, Chuck thought. For Phoebe.
Chuck flashbacked once again. The cops were sitting on his sofa, delivering the news. "Her last words were, 'I hope my husband, Dr. C. Ock, Esquire (he had a law degree), moves on from me and finds a new love, even if it's a simple fling with his new neighbor.'" Then the cop patted his back, trying to comfort him.
Chuck had never figured out what his wife's final words meant. They had always puzzled him, like the show Lost.
Until now. She had wanted Chuck to be happy.
I hope he's okay, thought Kelsie. He's spacing out a little. She wished he'd make another move.
Suddenly, Kelsie saw clarity. Be the change you want to see in the world — Mamma Gandy. She remembered that quote from school. She misremembered the attribution, but hey, at least she could point to India on a map. Can you?
Seizing the moment, Kelsie slid her own hand over his cock. She confirmed her suspicious. It was a monster. Cocky McCockerson. Enough wood to last a lifetime. The cock of the walk. Dicky McSchlong. The Prince of Penises (King seemed a little judgmental, after all, there were probably a couple dicks better than his (there were, but not many (less than you can count on your hand).
Kelsie grabbing Chuck's cock was the go-head signal he needed. He un-flashbacked once more, his purpose as clear as a plate glass window. With his dead wife's blessing, he was now willing and able to enter Kelsie, please her, and leave her sated.
So he began.
His mouth moved South along her body, pausing to make base camp between her tits. There, he climbed from mountaintop to mountaintop and back, warming up her cunny with his finger as he did.
Kelsie savored his gentle touch. Combining his fingers with his tongue, he made two great feelings better, like peanut butter and chocolate. She pushed against his strong, muscular hand; manly callouses on his palms from saving lives, both human and puppy. She wanted more.
Chuck made his way South once again, having satisfied his lust for her twin mountains. His kiss jumped her naval like a show stallion. He kissed her clit, thank god he knows where that is, Kelsie thought, then ran his tongue along her lips.
A moan sprung from Kelsie, loud enough to wake Chuck's next door neighbor, if his next door neighbor hadn't been getting her cunny eaten out. Kelsie’s senses grew dimmer as the aching in her body overtook her. It was coming. It was coming. She was cumming.
Chuck wore his lover's legs like earmuffs, deafening him from her orgasmic cry. His ears popped when she removed them, draping her thick thighs over his shoulders instead.
"Don't quit on me now," Chuck growled, revealing his titanic hog. His voice was so low when he made love it was practically in the basement.
"I never give up," said Kelsie. "Fuck me raw, like W W E."
Chuck sprang into action, leaping to his knees in a single move.
So acrobatic. I wonder if he likes Cirque du Soleil? thought Kelsie. He slipped his cock inside her, and she groaned with pleasure, halfway to orgasm yet again.
"Do you like having your hair pulled?" Chuck asked, completely respecting her boundaries.
"I do," said Kelsie. He grabbed a fistful of her thick blonde hair, pulling like a horse's reins, steering her body to pleasure. His cock pushed in and out of her, and Kelsie’s breath grew short.
Kelsie felt her body tensing. Chuck's arms wrapped around her, lifting her into the air as easily as if she were a warm luffa. He was as strong as the bond between a man and his dog. Strong as the bond of an experienced arc welder. Strong as the bond in a bear market. Strong as the Bond in all of those movies and books by Ian Fleming.
Kelsie gazed into Chuck's eyes. They were so bright and loving. She could feel the joy in his heart, a joy she'd uncovered like the living room's original hardwood floors.
"Chuck?" she panted, as he pounded her (gently) like a dirty, dirty girl (respectfully).
"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes filling with lust.
"Are you wearing a condom?" she asked.
"I put one on while I was licking you," said Chuck. "I hope that isn't too forward."
"Not at all," replied Kelsie. Satisfied with his answer, and the rigorous fucking she was receiving, Kelsie came again, drenching Chuck's cock with her slick. She moaned as she came, grabbing her own tits as she did.
The sight of Kelsie squeezing herself set Chuck off like a rocket. Cum flooded Kelsie’s insides, stopped by the latex levee. Although neither had an STI, they didn't want to get pregnant. Not yet.
Chuck collapsed with Kelsie atop the tiger skin blanket. They held each other as new lovers do; tightly, afraid letting go will spoil the moment.
"Wow," said Kelsie. "You weren't kidding about this tiger skin."
"It's magical," said Chuck.
They lay side by side, enjoying the beat of each other's hearts, as lovers often do. But the dastardly villain of all happy moments, Time, reared its ugly head.
Kelsie checked her smartwatch, which definitely knew she'd been having sex, and had already sold that data to governments and companies around the globe. Soon, she'd be getting targeted ads for prophylactics.
"Oh noes! I was supposed to finish my run an hour ago," she exclaimed. They had made love all morning, it had turned out. In the heat of the moment, it felt like minutes.
She sprung to her feet, adjusting her top and bottom back in place where Chuck had cast them asunder like watermelon seeds on the fourth of July.
"I should get to work," said Chuck. "Those fires aren't going to fight themselves. Still, it was nice of them to wait until after your visit."
"Maybe I can cum again," joked Kelsie, leaning into the double entendre.
"I feel like you will," said Chuck, escorting her to the front door. He hadn't put his pants back on, and Kelsie felt his cock bounce against her ass. Marking her as his.
"I'll see you around," said Kelsie, once she was outside. She smiled in the noonday sun, her perfect teeth dazzling like 28 cubic zirconia (she'd had her wisdom teeth removed at age twenty).
"Cum again," said Chuck, reusing her joke in a slightly worse way in an attempt to forge a deeper connection and show he listened to her.
How nice of him to acknowledge my joke, thought Kelsie. She turned to leave.
"Maybe you can help me redecorate," said Chuck.
She twirled back toward him, giving him another booby lifetime memory. "I'd like that," Kelsie said. "I have a ton of great ideas." She bounded off down the sidewalk, happy as she'd ever been.
Chuck called his dog back inside, then returned to the bedroom's en suite bathroom to shower. First, he put away the box of condoms. The extra-large type. The box his wife had made her final purchase.
He was ready to use them on someone new.
Based on a post by RavenAngstrom for Literotica.
