My neighbour

The first time I saw my new neighbor’s wife, I thought, “that’s as good as it gets.” You know the feeling — after seeing a Victoria’s Secret commercial, browsing, or gracing the cover of a magazine. You just think, for that make and model, it just doesn’t get any better. That’s how I felt upon seeing Maria. If anyone was a 10, for me, it was her. I’m not saying she was perfect, because I don’t believe anyone is perfect, but her combination was the perfect combination for me. I’ve been stunned before Catherine Zeta-Jones in Zorro, Salma Hayek in Desperado — but never in person. I’ve never seen a woman so awesome that she left me rock hard at first sight. After twenty years of examining female beauty, this was a first.

As she drove up in the U-Haul van, I immediately wanted to know who she was fucking. Because every beautiful woman in the world is fucking someone. Else. Whenever I see a supermodel, knowing that some lucky bastard is doing her is both humbling and excruciating. I will never get over the crush I had on the head cheerleader in high school, or forget how the entire defensive line banged her at a party I was not invited to. Like angels, hotties have always orbited just out of my reach — I could always look, but never touch.

All my life I wanted a Saturn V just so I could intercept one of those beauties.
I just never dreamed that a priceless meteorite would land next door. Now what am I gonna do? If I was diabetic, I wouldn’t work at See’s Candy. If I had high blood pressure, I wouldn’t work in high-stress sales. I know I’m a horn dog, so I stay away from temptation. That’s how a guy like me stays faithful. I know my weaknesses and have adopted strategies to protect myself. I stay out of the candy store.

But it never crossed my mind that the candy store would move next to me. Literally, right next door. I am fucked. Totally fucked. It would be like my fat wife inheriting a donut shop. It’s just bad news. She pulled up in the driveway next to mine, long black hair blowing in the wind, her tits threatening to honk the horn if she exhaled too much.
Oh, please let her be a total bitch. Please let me hate her fucking guts.
“Hi, neighbor!” she yelled through the window, greeting me like an old friend. She radiated awesomeness. Her smile lit up her face like a flashlight. I’ve known many bitches. This was the first time I met an anti-bitch. “I like your flowers.”

Only then did I remember I was watering my wife’s flower garden. She often works late, while I do programming from home, so I’m the house-dad. I cook, I clean, I garden. It’s why I work out so much — so I don’t feel like a total fag. Yes, yes, I know gays work out a lot — I’m referring to fags, not gays.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, drawn to her like a moth to a bonfire. “I’m Abe. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
She climbed down and her booty made me swoon. Honestly, it put those jean ads to shame.

Her black hair flowed down to her butt and shined like a mountain lake at sunset. I thought I heard that guy from Twilight Zone start talking, but the pain from my cock, straining against my kakis, zoned him out.
She turned around and realized all my fears. She looked like she fell out of Playboy. The beautiful face came with a killer body that any ninja would die for. I almost fell over like a corpse. A gentle breeze almost made me shoot my load. She only wore blue jeans and a tight t-shirt, but they explained everything that I needed to know.

“I’m Maria,” she said, holding out her hand, the complete opposite of the bitch I hoped for. Her jet black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes pulled me in like a black hole. My knee-jerk reaction was to water her shirt with my garden hose to see it cling to her artificially enlarged breasts. Instead I had the good sense to just shake her fucking hand, knowing I would never forget our first and probably last physical contact.

“I hear good things about the neighborhood.”
“Not from me,” I quipped, smiling. “Nah, it’s a great place to live. Everyone within easy walking distance must have money to afford this area, so it’s pretty quiet. Even the criminals wear suits.” Her carefree laugh melted me. I’ve never made anyone that beautiful laugh before — even babies look at me puzzled. The greatest aphrodisiac ever invented was someone laughing at your lame jokes. “I love your accent.

Where are you from?”
“Medellin, Colombia, and I’m mad I still have an accent after so many years here.”
“Accents are sexy,” I said, too quickly. She gave me that look — you know the one that women give — and I backtracked like Michael Jackson doing the moon walk. “Not yours, unfortunately, but mine is so sexy,” I said doing my best Schwarzenegger impression.

Her easy chuckle somehow tickled my toes. I immediately thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t ask if she was from Mexico. Central Americans, in particular, hate being called Mexicans. I don’t know why I thought she was Mexican. She was beautiful, and not even beautiful Mexicans look Mexican. Just take Selma Hayek. “And how long is that?”
“Since Sheldon married me almost ten years ago.”
Stupid me, I whistled. “Sorry, but you don’t look like you’ve endured ten years of marriage.

Unless they were dog years. You smile too much, for one thing.” Indeed, I put her at 23 at most. Time to change the subject. “No kids?” I asked, hoping she had a dozen rotten brats.
“Nope. I had an injury long ago that made it dangerous for me to have kids, so the doctor tied my tubes.

How about you?”
“A fourteen-year-old boy, Alex, and a sixteen-year-old girl, Justine.”
“Ah, you’ll be a grandpa in no time.” She just met me and already she was fucking with me. Fun, funny, hot, friendly, cheerful — she even seemed super nice. God was tempting me like Job. No wonder God named “work” after the bastard.
“I told my kids I’ll disinherit them if they make me a grandfather before I’m 40. I’m still trying to convince them to not make me a grandfather before they’re 40. What do you do for a living?”
“Make my husband happy.” There. She said it.

I like that she made no bones about her role in his life. Now, maybe I could put my temptations to bed. So to speak. “He’s a heart surgeon at UCLA Medical. He also teaches at the university there. Me? I make hand-crafted dolls that I sell on EBay, but it’s more like a hobby that funds my shopping sprees. I don’t need expensive clothes or jewelry, but I’m a sucker for shoes. This whole van is just for my shoes.”
I looked in astonishment at the U-Haul. Then her smile gave her away, and I realized I probably looked like Forrest Gump examining shrimp.

I must have matured over the years because, instead of getting defensive, I laughed and held up my palm. She completed the High-Five with a satisfying slap as I lost myself in her dark eyes. I never knew eyes could have such depth or warmth. I didn’t appreciate until much later just how long she met my gaze. An eternity seemed to pass in comfortable silence.

The moment finally passed when she whispered, almost sadly, “I’m guessing you’re not gay.”
I laughed, then laughed at her ability to make me laugh. “Were you aware that a gay man can look a woman right in the face and, no matter how beautiful she is, still speak coherently?” Her laughter let me push the envelope. “What the hell, man? How is that even legal? Do you realize what I could have done in high school with such a superpower?”
She smiled all the way to the back of the van. Theatrically she opened the doors. I saw a lot of boxes, but not one fucking shoe.

“I saw some moving guys here yesterday,” I said.
“Yeah, they brought the heavy stuff like furniture and my emotional baggage.”
Despite myself, I couldn’t help but like her. Maria was unbearably attractive. “Yes, I saw the forklifts.”
Even her laugh was wonderful. Oh, this is not happening. I’m a married man. Not a happy one, but one, nevertheless. Just because my wife was fat didn’t give me the right to hurt her. Not that I loved her now like I did twenty years ago, but she was a good person who worked hard, took care of my kids, and meant well.
Even if fucking her was like tackling a sea lion.

I grabbed something heavy and thanked my lucky stars that I still worked out. “Where is your husband?”
“Oh, probably fooling around.” I swear I almost dropped her dishes on the sidewalk. “Nah! He’s gassing up the Lexus. He wouldn’t fool around on me. I don’t leave him enough juice to fool around on me.” She saw the look on my face as we carried stuff inside. “He saved my life ten years ago. Anything but a world-class surgeon and I would have died. So I take care of him in every way possible.”
“I can imagine.” Crap. Did I say that out loud?

Maria just laughed, completely comfortable. “I bet you already have.”
It’s like she could see through me. Maria saw all my many flaws, and liked me anyways. “You’re no gambler.”
She unlocked the front door and I placed the box on the kitchen counter. When I turned around, I found her studying me. Again. But this time, she had a hand on her hip like a teacher about to school the class slacker.

“You’re not gonna be a problem, are you?”
Fuck! I blinked. How could I blink? I realized that she knew I understood exactly what she meant. Crap. All that left me was honestly. “I don’t want to be a problem.” And, truly, I didn’t. “And just how would I become a problem?”
“By staring at my tits too long, or fucking up my marriage.”
Too long? Did that mean I could stare in short bursts? Several flippant remarks crossed my mind before I settled on talking to her like an adult.

“It looks like you got a great thing going, you seem like a good person, and I don’t want to fuck up your shit. And if I stare at your fantastic tits too long, just smack me across the head. That almost always works.”
“I’m gonna have to wear sweats around you, aren’t I?”
“I promise not to break out the binoculars, as long as you realize that I’m only human and you’re totally hot.”
“So you’re one of the honest, blunt guys. I hate the passive-aggressive lying asshole types. I hope we can still be good neighbors, even though you are attracted to me and I am in no way, shape, or form attracted to you.”

“Don’t beat around the bush. Give it to me straight. You wouldn’t have sex with me even for a million dollars.”
Her laughter broke her hard expression on her face. Her lips curled up involuntarily. “I don’t know. That’s a lot of money for two minutes work.”
This reminded me of an old joke: a guy asks the hottest chick at the party if she’ll have sex with him for a million bucks. She jumps up and down and screams yes. Then he asks if she’ll fuck him for just one hundred.

Insulted, she demands, “just what kind of girl do you think I am?” He replies, “we’ve already established that. Now we’re just negotiating the price.”
“How about a thousand?” I joke.
Her expression changes. “Sorry, Abe. My marriage is worth more than that.”
“How about a month of unlimited sex on demand for $10,000?”
Now she took a step back to gauge my seriousness. “A few things come to mind. 1, I’m not a prostitute. 2, you’re an idiot to pay $10,000 for a month of sex. And, 3, my marriage is worth a hell of a lot more than $10,000. Do you realize how much my husband makes as a world-class heart surgeon? Sorry, Abe.

You’re just gonna have to beat off while holding binoculars. Especially if I take up skinny dipping again.”
“Sorry for pushing this, but how about $100,000 for a year?”
I totally held my breath as she studied me. I was fucking serious, and I think she could see that.
“Hypothetically, just out of curiosity, what exactly would you be paying me for?”
“We both work from home, and both of our spouses work long hours. You don’t have kids while mine go to high school. And it’s easy to climb over our fence. So for $100,000, I get to have as much sex with you as I want, whenever I want, as long as your husband isn’t here. I’d get tested to prove I’m clean so we wouldn’t need condoms.”

“My husband gives me all that I need.”
“Oh, I can tell he keeps you satisfied. It’s one of the many things about you that I find attractive. But this isn’t about you or him. It’s about me. You’ll understand why I have so little sex when you meet my wife — and I don’t say that cruelly. Please don’t answer now. Sleep on it. You may not need the money, but maybe it’ll help him retire sooner, or vacation with you longer, or help your family back home.”

“Maybe you’ll come to your senses after you beat off. A guy can’t think straight with his balls full. That’s why I blow my husband every morning he has surgery. Still, I can’t believe you propositioned me.”
“Not counting my hand, I haven’t had sex this year, or great sex in almost twenty years. I tried a prostitute ten years ago and it was worse than masturbating with my left hand. I know I’m not George Clooney, but I’m in reasonable shape, I’m not a pervert, and my offer is sincere. Although I feel like a total putz for even bringing it up to such a class act.”

She peered into my face again to make sure I wasn’t fucking with her. “Promise me you won’t fall in love with me, or any crap like that, because I can’t tolerate that shit. It’s why I only work from home. My last three jobs I got hit on all day, twice by supervisors. Sure, I got fake boobs, but I don’t flaunt them. I’m not looking for a fling. I don’t flirt or tease, yet men won’t leave me alone.”

“Yeah, it must totally suck to be so hot,” I said with a straight face.
Maria’s smile melted the tension in the kitchen “Smart ass. You just wait until my husband gets home. You’re gonna feel like shit that you propositioned his wife.”
“I feel like shit already, and you haven’t even shot me down yet.”
“Smart ass.”