Doug Graham was the perfect neighbor. He lent me tools and returned mine, took great care of his lawn and was almost as lousy a golfer as me, but still a blast to play with the five or six times a year I felt like hitting the links. Well, almost perfect. Perfect ended two years earlier when his first wife Emma caught him banging his secretary and divorced him. Emma had been a good friend of my wife Marie, still was, and the divorce ended any possibility of us doing anything with Doug as a couple. Especially since the new couple he was a part of included the offending secretary, Paula.
Doug kept the house after the divorce and Paula moved in a week after his settlement became final. She promptly told him she was finished with working, demanded and got a wedding ring, imposed a strict ban on children, joined the Junior League and made a quest for respectability her life's work. Paula was an absolute, grade A, USDA certified bitch. She was 25, or ten years younger than Doug and me, but acted ten years older; she regulated Doug's life like a hawk, mainly objecting to anything that was fun. Marie maintained an unrelenting boycott of activities that included Doug, but took great pleasure in telling me that he'd gotten exactly what he deserved.
In fairness, I probably ought to add that Paula is a fox. She is without a doubt the best-looking woman I ever met in person and maybe ever saw, period. She's about 5'9"and a hundred and fifteen pounds, with thick, silky natural blonde hair and the tiniest waist you ever saw. She has these eyes that could swallow you whole; deep medium blue with lashes about an inch long. Paula is the kind of girl that could get you to sell your soul just to fuck her once. Doug would have been better off if he stopped there, in my opinion.
One time I went to dinner at a Mexican place with Doug and Paula, just the three of us. Doug was enjoying this great sampler platter of fantastic, spicy rellenos, burritos, and enchiladas; really digging in with one elbow on the table, while I was trying to carry on a conversation with Paula without staring at her tits. She saw the waitress walking down the aisle toward our table and without missing a beat Paula reached over and picked up Doug's plate and handed it to her. Doug was so surprised his fork gouged the table. Paula gave him an icy stare and said something like 'You've had enough.' She wanted him to lose ten pounds.
I've got a lot of 'Paula's a bitch' stories, but you get the general idea. Which takes me to a Saturday night in early May. It was close to midnight and I was trying to decide whether to turn on HBO and watch a movie with some skin in it; Marie was already asleep. I could see a light on by Doug's patio so I decided to check it out. I was pretty surprised to find Doug relaxing in a chair by his pool, drinking beer and smoking a cigar. Paula didn't like it when Doug drank beer and she thought cigars were disgusting.
"Hey Mike! Take a load off and have a beer," Doug said, reaching into the cooler by his feet and handing me a longneck. As I opened it and sat down, he took a big drag on his cigar.
"Have a cigar too, they're Dominican," he said. There was another cigar, plus a cutter and a lighter on the little table between our chairs. I glanced nervously toward the house.
"Paula around?" I asked.
Doug laughed. "Don't worry, you're safe; she's already asleep," he said.
I clipped the cigar and lit it. Doug had apparently already had quite a few beers; he seemed pretty loose. We enjoyed the excellent cigars for a minute in silence.
"So what're you doing up?" Doug asked.
"I usually stay up late on the weekends. As soon as Marie gets Amanda down she likes to go to bed herself. It's kind of nice having the house to myself," I said. Amanda was our four-year old daughter.
We sat and talked guy talk for an hour or so, about our jobs and how crappy our 401-Ks were doing and what we thought of the Buccaneer's chances to repeat and win another Super Bowl, stuff like that. It felt really good, and not just because I was gradually overcoming Doug's headstart on beer consumption. We hadn't talked like this for quite a while, and I missed my good friend's companionship.
When we finished all the beer in the cooler I figured we'd call it a night but instead Doug went into the house and got another twelve-pack. He opened two bottles and handed one to me.
"No point in stopping now, Mike. I've had too much already to go in and get laid," Doug said. I frowned.
"I thought you said Paula was asleep," I said. Doug gave me a wicked grin.
"That's the whole idea. Paula's a really deep sleeper. It's almost impossible to really wake her up once she's out. Even if she does wake up she usually doesn't remember anything the next morning, and her subconscious is a whole lot more fun. More like when we were dating," Doug said.
All of a sudden I felt pretty sorry for Doug. Being married to a babe like Paula ought to at least guarantee you a great sex life, and without playing games to get it.
"That wouldn't work for me I'm afraid," I said.
"Why not?" Doug asked.
"Marie has a lot of trouble sleeping anymore, so her doctor gives her pills. Not for every night, mainly for when I'm away and she's nervous. She takes them on the weekends sometimes too, when she wants to sleep really well."
"So why is that so different from what I'm talking about?" Doug asked.
"Because even her subconscious is pretty out of it; it'd be like screwing a corpse, if you know what I mean," I said. Doug laughed, maybe a little too loud but I chalked that up to all the beer.
After another half-hour I needed to take a leak pretty badly and asked Doug if I could use his bathroom. He'd been gradually slumping deeper into his chair and had a glazed look as he nodded and waved toward his back door. I hurried toward the half bath near their front door glad that I didn't have to try to make it all the way back to my place.
I was way more aware of my surroundings after I answered my urgent call from nature, and noticed how close the bathroom was to the master suite. The bedroom door was open and the thought of Paula in there sleeping was pretty exciting. As I walked by I glanced in but couldn't see much, and then I felt guilty for looking. Like a high school kid trying to peek up some girl's skirt.
When I got back to the patio Doug was asleep in his chair. I shook his shoulder, gently at first but then more vigorously, getting no reaction. This posed a problem. The thought of hauling Doug anywhere wasn't all that appealing and what was I going to do, dump him into bed next to Paula? I decided to leave him where he was, but wanted get him as comfortable as possible. I pulled my chair around and propped his legs on it. Then I went back into the house, got a pillow off the sofa and looked around for a blanket. Finding nothing suitable I wandered closer and closer to the door to the master suite, finally slipping inside.
I was just looking for a blanket; what better place than the bedroom? As my eyes adjusted slowly, details of the room appeared. The only details I was noticing involved Paula. She was huddled under the covers on her side, facing away from me. The rise of her hip and the outline of her upper leg got my heart pounding, even though I couldn't see anything. Something about being in her bedroom as she slept was incredibly arousing.
Near her feet there was a lump on the bed; a folded spare blanket. I moved toward it as quietly as possible, but I cheated toward Paula's side of the bed just a little. I could still reach the blanket fine, but from there I could see Paula's face and just a tiny bit of her right shoulder. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and the small amount of light from the patio made her cheek seem to glow.
Then she shifted a little, startling me and reminding me just how stupid it was being in the room. I picked up the blanket and tiptoed out. Back on the patio I sat down and waited for my breathing to return to normal before covering Doug and sliding the small pillow under his shoulders. I cleaned up our cigar mess and threw away all the empty beer bottles; it went without saying that Doug didn't want Paula to know about our little party.
The next morning I was pretty hung over so I let Marie take Amanda to church while I recovered. As I made coffee I saw Paula out on the Graham's patio, and since the view was better from the second floor guestroom window with a pair of binoculars, I trotted up there. When Paula went to her Junior League meetings she wore Versace and Armani dresses but around the house she still dressed like trailer trash sometimes. Today she had on a plaid halter top and a pair of tiny pink knit shorts that showed the bottom third of her butt cheeks and hugged every line and crease of her pussy.
Paula was poking around by the chairs that Doug and I used the night before. The pillow and blanket were gone and I hoped Doug put them away before Paula got up. She looked into the cooler, then sniffed the ashtray I'd wiped clean. I watched as she circled their house to the trashcans, finding and counting the empty beer bottles. What a bitch! Doug was going to catch hell for this. As I watched, Paula spotted something behind one of the cans and leaned to pick it up giving me a great camel toe shot from the rear. It was a cigar butt, and she held it at arm's length like it was a turd or something as she headed into the house to confront Doug.
.... There is more of this story ...