Park This!
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2015 by oyster50

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - What? Here's a single guy in a trailer park, a quirky woman next door with an itch to be scratched, and room for some divergent paths to be taken.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Cheating   Oral Sex  

Damn! Long day! At least it's springtime and seventy degrees and I'm home and there's beer in the fridge. I decided to take a book outside and read. I mean, the Louisiana Gulf Coast, there's like twelve days of the year that you can be just plain comfortable outdoors. Today was one of 'em.

I was foot-sore, a day spent tromping around a construction site in rubber boots, feet sucked into the mud with every step, pointing fingers for a half-attentive electrical foreman about what needed to be fixed. And an hour's drive home.

Now I'm sitting there in that last bit of direct sunlight that I get before the shadow from my mobile home crosses my concrete slab of a driveway/patio, sipping my boutique beer and getting to chapter four of a military sci-fi paperback and I hear the back door of the adjacent mobile home fly open and a squealing female charges out, followed by a goodly amount of smoke.

"Ohshitshitshitshitshitshit! Damn things on FIRE!" she squealed.

Did I mention it's normally a QUIET trailer park? This is a departure, for sure. Beer glass (animals drink from bottles) down, paperback down – face down – don't lose my place, and I stand.


"What's on fire?"


I jog to the back of her house and pull the main breaker. Most dryer fires are due to too much lint on an electric heating element. This is step one. Step two occurs as I hit my keyfob to pop the trunk of my company car and grab the fire extinguisher, then head towards the door.

No visible flames in the still open door. I went inside. The smoke is already thinning.

I turned and exited. Sherry was standing there wringing her hands. My next door neighbor. Cajun chick. Her husband was that hardly-known breed of welder who followed pipeline work, often on the road for weeks. Sherry Gant used to follow him.

It's amazing what you find out by talking with your neighbors over a beer or two. Sherry had an associate's degree in office administration and was now employed with one of the service companies that populated our little corner of the state. In addition to a not too bad income, she had insurance that worked well for them as he jumped from one employer to the next.

Lets talk about what I'm seeing there. Cajun girl. Dark brown, almost black hair. Olive complexion, brown eyed. Twenty or so extra pounds made her rounded, voluptuous, something definitely worth recreational viewing as she walked. I know. I've watched her pushing a mower across her little patch of lawn quite a few times.

"Want a beer while the smoke clears?" I asked.

She looked at me, the concerned look changing to a wry smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Sit!" I commanded. "Be right back." I went inside, grabbed two, one for her, the other to be my second one. And a glass.

"Here!" I said, handing her the glass. "Hold still." I poured her beer into it."

"Coulda just drank from the bottle," she said. "But thanks!"

"It's better from the glass. If you have GOOD beer. And you LIKE beer. You can smell it. Feel the little mist when the bubbles break."

"Thanks for rescuing me," she said.

"Not much of a rescue. When things clear out, we'll unplug your dryer and turn the electricity back on. At least you closed the door to the rest of the house. Shouldn't be too much smoke."

"Smoke," she said. "Every damn smoke alarm in the place went off."

"I know. I heard 'em. They've stopped. You may need another dryer, though."

"Oh, sure. Ted took off for North Dakota last week. This shit always happens when he's gone."

I surveyed her expression. Exasperated. Hmmm.

"Look, you're having an episode. Would it help if I ordered pizza or something, then we can get a look at that dryer?"

"I don't want pizza. Had it for lunch," she said. "Sorry."

I sighed heavily for effect. "Well, so much for that idea. Lemme go unplug that dryer." I did that, then turned the main breaker back on.

"You're gonna have to reset all your clocks now."

She smiled. First smile. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'm just being neighborly."

"Delivery pizza's twenty bucks. For twenty bucks we could go to the diner up the road," she said.

Okay, that perked up the old ears.

"You wanna go out to eat? Isn't that kinda..."

"Kinda what? We go up the road, eat the buffet, come back here. It's not like we're gonna hump on a table or something." She laughed. "Don't be silly."

Sorry. I'm thinking of that round ass in those jeans and humping is part of the thought stream. I didn't say that, though. "Okay. We can do that. Sounds good."

"Let me finish my beer."

"Yeah," I said. I raised my glass to her. "To your new dryer!"

She laughed. "Cute! Real cute!"

We took my truck to the aforementioned eatery.

"Stop looking all nervous, Lane," she said.

"Sorry. I don't usually go to dinner with other guy's wives."

"Get over it. Ted's gonna be gone for a month. I might just want to go out to eat a time or two..." she smirked. "Besides, if you were bent on seduction, you'd damn sure have to be doing better than THIS place!"

"At least Olive Garden?" I asked.

"Iffy. You'd have to be one smooth-talking devil to get by with Olive Garden."

"What if I ordered wine with the meal?"

"You DOG!" she squealed. "Am I gonna have to start watching out for my next door neighbor?"

I watched her eyes. There was a sassy smile lingering there.

We talked about work, hers and mine.

"You're gone a pretty good bit," she says. "Company car. During the week. I'm assuming that's work?"

"Oh, yeah," I replied. "I cover a big area. Lots of nights in a hotel room."

"That's fun," she replied sarcastically. "Me 'n' Ted did that for a while, but it's hard. Pipeline work ain't usually near decent hotels. He still had to drive a lot. And I was stuck in a hotel room. I'm glad I have this job. It's an excuse to stay home."

"But no Ted."

Eyes flashed. "There is that. But I visit friends; my family is all within an hour's drive. What about you?"


"Yeah. I used to see that little red car in your driveway all the time. Ain't seen it in a while. Blonde girl drove it."

"Oh, now I'M the one with nosey neighbors!"

"Just paying attention to my surroundings, is all."

"Tracy. Tried. Wasn't gonna work. She moved on."

Dark eyebrow raised. Unspoken question.

"She thought I was a lot better financial prospect than she found out to be true. Two ex-wives ransacked my savings."

"You still make good money, though?"

"Yeah. But that was the excuse she used. Can't say I miss 'er that much, but it was nice to wake up next to somebody from time to time." At least I didn't leer.

"Oh. I don't know how I'd handle bein' single now. I could do it, you know, financially. But personal..."

"I don't recommend it."

We finished dinner, argued about her paying for her own. She lost.

On the way home I mentioned that I could look at her dryer. After all, electrical technology is my forte'.

"No, I'll just get a new one."

"If Ted was here?"

"Wouldn't let 'im touch it," she laughed. "He might be a hell of a welder, but he don't know diddly about electricity. I'd have to beat him to keep 'im from trying, though." She paused. "No, I'll get a new one delivered tomorrow. If those clothes in it didn't burn, I'll wash em again."

"You can use my dryer tonight if you need it," I said. "Least I can do."

"Oh, thanks! I do need to dry some delicates."

"Delicates? Who still calls them 'delicates'?"

"Me, being restrained."

"You don't strike me as being the restrained type."

"I have my moments."

We pulled back into my driveway. "I'll be right back," she said.

I went inside, and true to her word, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and she came inside with a laundry basket full of wet undies. "Where's your dryer?"

"Back here," I said. I led her to the laundry room. She had the dryer running in a couple of minutes.

"You have another one of those beers? I forget what it's like to drink something that doesn't say 'lite'."

"I got a fridge full of them. You wanna be careful."

Smirk. "Why?"

"The usual reasons. Male. Female. Etc."

Giggle. "What's the et cetera?"

"Well, a little buzz and..."

Smile. "Let me tell you something, Mister Lane. I know something YOU don't."

"Like what? You're really a dude named Nathan?"

"Not unless things changed when I went to the bathroom."

"Then what?"


"Do tell."

"Me 'n' Ted, we both know that weeks apart, there might just be some itches that need scratchin'. We agreed, after a week apart, eatin' ain't cheatin'."

"The Bill Clinton Defense."

Giggle. "Now, about that beer."

I poured two more.

"And that works, exactly how?"

"For me, not so much. Got me a rabbit in the drawer next to the bed. But if Ted needs a therapeutic hummer, I'm okay with it. He comes home for the good stuff." Giggle. "That's ME!"

"Oh." Inwardly I was just a bit disappointed. Things had been looking up. Some of those things deflated.

We flipped through the TV channels, found something. "One more beer," she said. "I need to go pee."

"Delicate little thing, aren't you?"

Giggle. "Okay. You're right. I need to shake the dew off my lily."

"Better." I was imagining a pink lily as I poured two more beers.

By the time the dryer buzzed, so were we. She was giggly as she loaded her clothes back into the basket.

"I'm gonna take these home and fold 'em, Lane. It might be dangerous for me to stay over here much longer. Another one of those beers, and I dunno..."

"Then get yourself home, Sherry," I said, hating to hear my own words. "Let me get the door for you."

I opened the front door. I didn't think she NEEDED to squeeze past me, but I definitely enjoyed the friction. At the bottom of the steps she turned around to look at me. "You! You're trouble."

"Me?!?" I laughed. "I'm just a kindly old neighbor guy."

Okay ... hanging around with Sherry gave a fertile imagination fodder for an unusually productive whacking off that night.

Didn't see her the next day. Life's back to normal. I came home, went through the motions, fed myself, cleaned a chunk of the house. Watched a movie.

The next day, though, when I pulled up, Sherry's back door flew open. "Hey, Lane, can I get you to help me out?"

"Depends on what you need help with," I answered.

"New dryer. They delivered it, but they don't hook it up."

"Oh, I guess I can do that. Let me put my mail up and change clothes." I knew that laundry rooms could sometimes be nasty. Other than that quick jump in the door on the day of the fire, I had no idea what sort of housekeeper Sherry might be. I have some old jeans and shirts that would work well for the project.

"Just come when you're ready. Back door's unlocked."

"I'll be there in a few minutes." I changed clothes. Grabbed my tool bag, then walked across the narrow span of grass between her trailer and mine. As directed, I pulled open the back door and went in.

"I'm here!" I said loudly.

Her footsteps came up the hall. "I don't think it's very hard, but there's this electric cord, and that hose. I could prob'ly do the hose..."

I'm thinking that I have a hose she could do. I shoved it out of my mind. She was just asking for some neighborly help.

" ... but that electric cord, I'm not sure what I'm doing."

"That's the easy part," I said. "Four wires. Two brass. One silver. One green." I tipped the dryer over to gain access to the back. "Four screws. Two brass. One silver. One green."

"Now I feel stupid."

"Don't," I laughed. "My thing. I know zilch about accounting. You do that."

She crossed her arms, smiled as I made short work of making the cord connections. Hooking the duct up – that 'hose' – was a pain in the ass, pure and simple. I had to squeeze between the dryer and the wall, uncomfortable, although I did note that the space was cleaned. It took a bit of grunting, a few sotto voce profanities and a barked knuckle, but I finally got it. The whole time, Sherry was watching, offering to help.

"Can I hold something for you?" she asked.

I restrained myself from the answer I wanted to give. Instead I said, "No, there's no way we can both fit back here." Finally, "Got it!" I had to climb out over the top of the dryer to get out. I was gingerly trying to slide off the top of the dryer when I felt a hand on my butt. My feet hit the floor. I turned to look at her.

"I thought you were slipping," she said.

"I appreciate the help," I said.

"I owe you for this," she smiled. "Wanna beer? I bought your brand."

"Look, Sherry," I said, "I'd LOVE one, but I'm sweaty and uncomfortable. Can I get a rain check? I need a shower. Bad."

Her nostrils flared. "Uh, yeah ... I can smell ... Maybe after you shower?"

"You're going to invite me into your house?"

"You're IN my house."

"But I was being a good neighbor."

"And I am repaying a good neighbor. How about if I order pizza. You go shower. You should be done by the time the pizza gets here."

"Well, if you're gonna bribe me with pizza..."

"Anything special?"

"Pizza. That means Italian shit. No pineapple. No barbecue. Past that, I'm easy."

"Got it. Go shower."

I walked out the back door wondering just what I was getting myself into. Shower. Remembered the hand on my ass, surveyed it over in my mind, came to the conclusion that it was decidedly different than how I'd help stabilize somebody who was slipping.

So I'm in the shower, hot water, soap, thinking that my ass just got grabbed. I took the opportunity to relieve the pressure.

Relaxed, I went back next door, had pizza and a couple of beers with that sassy Cajun girl next door. We watched a sit-com while we ate, laughing together. I kept waiting for some kind of sign from her that we might move on to other activities, but I saw none. By now I'm thinking that maybe I was hallucinating about the 'eatin ain't cheatin' comment and that just maybe the hand on my ass was actually as represented – an attempt to help me keep my balance.

Amidst that confusion, the clock hit seven and her cellphone sounded off. She put a fingertip to her lips, mouthed "my husband" and answered. She talked happily for some minutes, describing the delivery of the new dryer, NOT mentioning that I helped set it up, went on to some domestic issues, ended with "I love you, too!" and ended the call.

She saw my eyes. "What?"

"You didn't mention me."

"Oh, yeah, let's see how I do that – 'Yeah, babe, I've got the guy from next door here, trying to get 'im drunk... '. No, that bit of information is not conducive to domestic harmony."

"Oh," I said sharply. "I see."

"Oh, nothing, Lane. I appreciate your help. That's why you're getting dinner and beer. And I appreciate the company."

"Okay," I replied. No sense in pushing anything. Maybe I really did misread all this. We picked up where we left off with the banter and chitchat until eight.

I stood up. "Guess I'll go," I said. "I appreciate the dinner and the company."

"I did, too. The company, I mean," she said. She saw me to the door.

The next day a situation at work degenerated into disaster four hundred miles away. At least it happened early in the morning. I ran back to the house, packed a bag, and hit the road. It's easier for me now that I don't have a girlfriend.

I was gone three days. Sure, problem solved.

I was in the house a bit after four when there was a loud knock on the door. I wasn't expecting anyone, so I peeked. Sherry. I opened the door.

"Where have you been?" she blurted.

"Off in Mississippi. Work!"

"You could've told me something," she said.

I guess she parsed her own statement because she looked down, then back up at me. "Okay. Okay. I know ... Not my place. But I just wondered. Was looking for somebody to watch TV with." She sighed heavily. "You should tell a person where you're going."

"Uh ... Nobody cares where I go, or when."

"So I could watch your house, I mean..."

"I didn't want to put you out," I told her. "I've been coming and going ever since I moved in here and nobody watches."

"I just thought it would be neighborly."

She just barged right on in. Looked around. "This place is a mess."

"I have lost my penchant for meticulous housekeeping."

"Lane," she said, "A little sloppy, I can understand. This is headed towards disgusting."

"Gee," I said, "I'm so proud! I've never attained 'disgusting' before. I've just got in from a road trip."

"This is not from the road trip. It's had time to form layers."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."

"You should. Have you had dinner?"

"No. Was gonna shower, then figure that part out."

"Shower. I bought sliced roast beef and po-boy bread. I can make you a hot roast beef sandwich."


"Gives me somebody to talk to in the evening."

"Glad to be of service," I said. "Lemme go defunkify myself."

"Just walk in the back door when you get done," she said. She stood up, sashayed (yes! I know a sashay when I see one!) out the door and left me standing there in my mess of a house.

I offloaded the dirty clothes from my travel bag and stripped down for a shower. Hot water and soap clarify the thinking. I'm wondering what's going on in my dark-haired neighbor's head. Worse than that, what's going on in her pants. It isn't an inquiring mind that wants to know.

I know. Married. She's married. I'm not. And a stiff prick has no conscience. I got stiff just thinking about it. Thought about whacking one off, but then I thought that this might be a night where I get some help in that task. If I didn't, well, I could always do it myself later.

I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a comfortable colored T-shirt, slid my feet into an old pair of loafers and headed across the little patch of lawn to Sherry's trailer. Following instructions, I went right in. I found her in the kitchen laying out the fixings for the promised sandwiches.

"Griddle's heating," she said. "Sit down and find out what's on TV."

"I can't help you?" I asked.

"Nope. I got this." She paused. "Tell you what, get us each a beer out of the fridge."

I opened her refrigerator, was surprised. "You bought THIS? What happened to that 'lite' shit?"

"You spoiled me, Lane," she said. "Good beer!"

"I figure that if I'm going to have one, it should be a good one," I replied. "I want flavor."

"I had a pretty pleasant buzz going the other night," she replied. "I don't get that unless I chug most of a six-pack of that lite stuff." She giggled, "And then I have to go pee. A lot."

She caught my look. "I only drink when I have company."

"I ... Well, sometimes when I'm watching TV, but never to the 'buzz' level. I like the taste of good beer with meat, too."

"Steak and beer," she posited.

"Yeah. Or chili. Or a lot of other things. Makes it food, not necessarily recreation. Like a cup of coffee early on a weekend morning."

"Hmmm. Philosophical." She smiled. "Don't expect a lot of philosophy in a trailer park."

"You'd be surprised what all is in this trailer park," I said.

Two beers later, we're at the end of the movie. That buzz I wasn't seeking? Had it. So did Sherry.

She turned to look at me. "Did I ever tell you that eatin' ain't cheatin'?"

"I remember that conversation," I said. "Sort of pushed it out of my head, though."

Giggle. "Can you drag it back up, bud? The other day when you were climbing off that dryer..."

"I was sweaty. You kept me from slipping."

"You have a nice ass."

"Thank you. It's nice to be noticed," I chuckled, halfway trying to defuse the situation.

"You owe me a set of AA batteries?"


"When you went home, I buzzed myself to oblivion. Uses AA batteries."

"Oh. Guess it's not a kick-starter, huh?"

Giggle. "Nope. Jus' me 'n' my little rabbit. I could do it again tonight, but I'll trade you..."

"Trade me?"

"Don't play dense, Lane. You lick me to oblivion and I promise I will suck you inside out..."

Chapter 2 »