With his wife and four-year-old son in bed for the evening long ago, Peter turned on his computer. As usual, there was nothing on television. He muttered something about Bruce Springsteen being a visionary when he sang "57 Channels and Nothing's On."
It was a Saturday night, Peter was ungodly horny and all he had for comfort was his computer. And he couldn't even doing anything with that. His backyard neighbors, a house full of just-graduated college kid rental types, were having another of their Saturday night blowouts. Peter went to the kitchen to peer through the window and check out the activity out there. There were 30 or 40 people littered along the back porch and yard, and techno music was blasting through the usually quiet suburban neighborhood. He thought about calling the cops to break it up, but Peter just wasn't in the mood to bust anybody's balls. What he wanted was a beer. And someone to talk to.
"I must be insane," he thought to himself. "I don't even know who these guys are." Peter didn't know too many people in the neighborhood. Working nights as a police reporter for the local paper didn't exactly make his social calendar bustle. In fact, he had just one night off in common with his wife. It was a wonder they had found time to have a child. But something told Peter to put on his sandals and make his way out back.
He was surprised how much the volume grew once he left the comfort of his air-conditioned home. It was a sultry June evening and the party was still going strong even though it was nearly 1 a.m. "I must be getting old," the 38-year-old chuckled to himself. He made his way to the chain-link fence separating the two yards and watched the festivities for a while. Four tiki torches burned on each corner of the small concrete back porch. There was white plastic lawn furniture in the yard beyond the porch. A volleyball net was hung between two trees. Peter watched and listened to the party-goers for a while. They didn't seem much different from himself and his friends after college.
Peter was lost in his thought when a drunken guy stumbled over to him. He could have doubled for Sean Penn's Jeff Spicoli surfer-dude character in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." He wore baggy cargo shorts, an unbuttoned red Hawaiian shirt and carried two beers. "Hey dude," Hawaiian shirt guy slurred, "wanna beer?" Hawaiian shirt guy thrust a beer into Peter's hands. Not one to want to seem unneighborly, Peter accepted and climbed over the fence. Hawaiian shirt guy put his arm around Peter's shoulders and led him to the rest of the guests.
"Hey everybody, look what I got," Hawaiian shirt dude said "I found one of your neighbors. Can he come over and play with us? Please? Pretty please?"
Peter wanted to crawl under the fence from the embarrassment, but nobody seemed to pay any attention to Hawaiian shirt guy. Which was fine by Peter. He quietly separated himself from his newfound friend and began to survey the crowd. He noticed it was about half girls, half guys and most were very drunk or well on their way to being there. He also noticed most of the partygoers were 10 to 15 years younger than him, and Peter thanked his genetic pool for looking much younger than his 38 years.
Naturally, Peter began to check out the women at the party. They were dressed for the weather, which was still quite warm for that late at night. Most in shorts, lots of halter tops and bikini tops and a few very short skirts thrown in for good measure. Peter silently cursed himself for not being more neighborly sooner.
His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on his shoulder. He turned to find a woman of about 25 wearing the shortest miniskirt he had ever seen. It barely covered the bottom of her ass. She had long red hair going about halfway down her back and perfect white teeth. It looked like she had just walked off a movie set. She wore a thin white cotton tank top and was barefoot. From beneath her tank top, Peter could see a pair of medium sized breasts and large nipples, unrestrained by a bra.
"You're the guy who lives behind us, right?" the girl asked Peter. He nodded accordingly. "Sorry if we woke you up. We tend to get a little loud sometimes," she said apologetically.
"Not at all," said Peter. "I work at night, so this is like the middle of the afternoon for me. I hope you don't mind me dropping by. My house was pretty quiet and you guys seemed to be having a pretty good time over here. I figured I might as well come over and make some new friends."
She introduced herself as Cara, and Peter soon learned she was the girlfriend of one of the party hosts. She worked as a nurse and spent lots of time at her boyfriend's house and she said she often noticed Peter and his son playing Whiffle Ball in the back yard.
"Make yourself at home," Cara told Peter. "The more the merrier." Peter felt better immediately. He feared being stuck with Hawaiian shirt guy all night, but this lovely redhead had lifted his spirits immensely. Cara left his side to check on other guests and Peter was alone again with his beer, although not for long.
"Hi. Do you know where Cara is?" asked a female voice. Peter turned to find himself staring eye-to-eye with a green-eyed goddess. Peter hadn't run into many women as tall as his own 6 feet, once inch height, but he always had a weakness for tall girls.
"I think she went to get more ice or something," Peter stammered. The tall blonde cocked her head to the side for a moment and asked "Do I know you?" Peter wished he did, but there weren't too many 6-foot, 1-inch blonde goddesses in his life at the moment. "I wish you did, but there's always time to make new friends," he replied. The girl smiled and Peter offered her his hand and introduced himself. "I'm Jayne," she said. "I work with Cara over at the hospital." Jayne took Peter's hand and he could swear he felt a jolt of electricity when their hands touched. This girl was a knockout. She had short blonde hair and was wearing a short pair of surfer shorts and a cropped T-shirt that showed off her flat belly and belly ring. Peter found belly rings very sexy and often found himself admiring them when young girls were on parade at the local mall.
Peter looked Jayne up and down and found her to be very tan and perhaps the sexiest creature he had ever laid eyes on. He green eyes sparkled in the light from the tiki torches and her full round breasts rose and fell with each breath. "Christ," he thought to himself "doesn't anybody wear a bra anymore?" Not that he was complaining. Not in the least. It was then Peter noticed he and Jayne were still holding hands. He felt momentarily awkward and went to pull his hand away, but her grip tightened on his. She smiled at him and he blushed. He wasn't used to this kind of attention from anyone, let alone a beauty like Jayne.
Jayne took Peter's hand and led him to a chair. He gestured for her to sit, but she pushed him down into the seat and giggled, then climbed into his lap. Peter's mind began to race. Checking out the girls back here was one things, but he wasn't so sure it was a good idea to let things get out of hand with his wife and son asleep in his own house just 20 yards away.
"Relax," said Jayne and Peter tried, but the bulge is his shorts made it difficult to do much of anything. Jayne talked as if they were old friends and like nothing was out of the ordinary. "When in Rome," Peter thought to himself. He had one arm wrapped around Jayne's bare waist while the other rested on her smooth tan thigh. This woman was amazing. And she was laughing at his jokes, a delicate yet honest response to his wit. And she was gorgeous. He couldn't keep from staring into her eyes. It was if he felt himself being drawn into them.
Jayne talked about life in the ER and she and Peter had some common experiences, since he had written about some of the crimes whose victims ended up in the hospital. They were deep in conversation when Hawaiian shirt guy appeared again and said "dudes... time to sing happy birthday." Apparently Cara's boyfriend had thrown the party for himself to celebrate his 28th birthday.
.... There is more of this story ...