John N Julie
Chapter 1: One Naked Neighbor
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, True Story, Safe Sex,
Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1: One Naked Neighbor - John was a man's man and was soured on romance. Julie was half owner in "Menage A Trois," a sexy woman's boutique. It took corrupt cops, a shooting and a TV reporter to get them together. Oh yes, John got his erect "profile" shown on television. That helped the romance a little.
How many unmarried ladies closing in on forty would answer the door and not call the cops when she found a naked man standing there? You can take it to the bank this is how Julie got introduced to me. From our oddball introduction on to the present, everything about our relationship was strange and unusual, to say the least. The last thing I was looking for was romance or anything else that might disturb my dull and boring life. Back then, I thought dull and boring was great. No one could imagine how far out things got out of this world crazy after our first oddball meeting.
Hell, the way we met. That was was pretty funny by itself and kind of set the tone for how our relationship has gone ever since. No matter how you figure it things got real crazy. I didn't realize it at first, but the day Julie Roberts moved in next door to me was the best day of my life. No, I don't mean the famous movie star Julia Roberts who seems to be a real fine lady and all, from what I have heard of her. However I mean my Julie Roberts who is the finest of them all...
Okay, first about me, my name is John Strait. I am a mechanic and I have my own little garage. It's nothing fancy. I repair cars. My guys and I do good work and charge fair prices people can afford and make our few mistakes good at no charge. Strait Automotive Services is well known and respected all over our end of the state.
When all this started I had just begun to close in on my forty-fifth birthday and didn't like the idea even a little bit. Anything that causes me to slow down is the enemy and growing old slows people down the most. I like to fish and to hunt and get out in the woods by myself and enjoy just being an alive male who loves to use his body. There is something about making your muscles stretch and strain all the money and deep thoughts in the world can't even come a close second to. However I find, as I grow older, I can't do these things with the ease I once did, so I hate what the politically correct bastards call "the aging process." That calls up a mental image of a bunch of people standing in a line and a horse faced nurse walks down that line handing our "aging shots" with a big needle. Every day people get their aging shots with a big square needle and ... Well you get the idea. I got a screwy mind.
It all began on a Saturday morning. As usual, I sat in my apartment naked and watched television. I alternately watched the usual Saturday morning fare, CNN or ABC for comedy relief and feel good political correctness and Fox or News Max for a biased coverage of the conservative side of the news. All TV news groups are full of shit except the one you agree with. That's my observation, anyway.
I had the morning paper spread out all over the floor in front of me. This was the way I spent almost all my Saturdays and Sundays, naked, alone and not too miserable about the way things were. If there were any reason for me to be down at my garage, one of my guys would call me. They liked to run the place without me breathing down their necks and I liked my weekends off.
The ex and me got a mutually appreciated divorce ten years before and I moved in to my not too shabby apartment before the final decree had been granted. I sleep naked because I prefer it to getting choked up with pajamas. I don't like to sleep in my underwear all night, not after wearing it all day. I'm fussy, I guess. So, anyway, on Sundays I would just dangle and flop around the apartment, thankful I didn't have anybody nag at me to do otherwise.
If I farted while I watched the TV and the air got too bad, I would go to the kitchen for a beer and a wait for a minute for the air conditioner to do its job. I don't know about other guys, but this is how I lived after I split up with the one big mistake of my life. You know the old joke, "Question: How do you get a woman to stop wanting sex? Answer: Marry her." Then, there is the second part, "Question: How do you get her to start having sex again? Answer: Get a divorce." Now you know the story of my married life up to the divorce. The only thing was, when we married she didn't stop having sex, she just stopped having sex with me.
I married Rena Perkins right after we graduated from high school. On our first date she played hard to get and I got pissed and told her, "We screw or we go home, your choice." She screwed. After that, we had no arguments. Some times we went one way and some times we went the other for the two years until we graduated and got married.
Then I joined the US Navy and ended up in the seals. Rena stayed home and kept the cobwebs our of her plumbing by doing half the guys in town, as I found out some time later later, after the divorce. While serving God, my country and Corporate America, I went to far off places and had exciting adventures and came home with a ruptured ear drum that washed me out of the service.
Oh yes, I also brought home a pile of cash that I found in a terrorist training camp we took out in Afghanistan. We, the guys in my team and I, found the money when we ransacked the place, divided it up and forgot to report it. We made our pick up point, lugged the money along with us, in addition to a bunch of other intel and buried it deep in our lockers.
When we returned to San Diego we banked some of the money and stashed the rest in different places. Big old Chip Henderson bought a bait shop in Texas and settled down to the quiet life. Clete Hampton, our verifiable hillbilly marksman opened a taxi service in his home town and Billy Joe Johnson started a string of dojos that taught free style martial arts, mainly Krav Lev, as opposed to the formal bowing and scraping Oriental styles. Me? I went home, did not tell Rena about the "nest egg" I brought home and got a job as a mechanic.
From the time we got married sex became an occasional thing between us. Right after the "I do," she told me, "I don't want to do it all the time, it's nasty." What is it with some women?
So I asked her, "What about all the times we did it before we were married? Don't they count for anything?"
"No," she said, "We weren't married then." From then on we had sex only once in a while. I still liked it and I did my best to please her. I can honestly say I am very considerate that way and I never once tried to get off until after she did. However it was not the most fulfilling part of my life. So I pretty much devoted myself to my work and when the man I worked for retired, I bought the garage from him and never told Rena a thing about it.
We were married for five years when one day out of the blue she said to me, "I been messing around on you with someone else."
"Yeah," I told her, "I know." I didn't know, not really. But there had been something different for the past year about her and I had a hunch she had been shopping around. Looking back on the whole sad affair, what I remember most was I plain didn't care. You know, it is so sad when two people vow to love and honor and all that stuff, and one starts cheating while the other one just doesn't care enough to give a damn. Whenever I look back on the day she told me I feel a sadness because how futile it all was. But there are many other people in the same boat, so I know I'm not all all that unique. I think that is a very sad state of affairs too. But then, after Julie and me got together, I became aware of a whole lot of things I had never even thought of before.
Anyway, my soon to be ex started bawling because I didn't give a good god damn she was putting out for someone else and we got a divorce. When we met in the lawyer's office, she said, "John you don't know how cheap makes me feel."
I answered her, "I bet it's about half as cheap as you really are." She took the hint and didn't try to talk to me any more.
Then I moved into my apartment and eventually met Julie. Rena got the house and I got the shaft, like always. She moved the great love of her life in with her and he beat the hell out of her and ran off with everything not nailed down. I didn't even care enough to feel anything at all when she told me the news. I just wrote her a check for a thousand dollars and told her not to come back ever again for anything. I never saw her after that and I don't really care, not even a little bit, if I ever do.
I moved into my new apartment and slept naked and farted in the living room and drank beer at eight in the morning on Saturdays and Sundays and sometimes ate cold pizza instead of a regular breakfast. In other words, I did what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. I brought a woman home from time to time, but no one was ever all very special. Then I started to go home with them so I didn't have to stay around after the sex was over. There never were any commitments implied or otherwise. Of course, they all mostly got the idea I was not husband material and never went out with me again after the first time or second time. Rarely was there a third time for some reason. I really didn't care all that much. I guess you could call it sexual apathy.
Over the next five years the women got to be fewer and fewer because, let's face it, unless she's a whore screwing for money, the average woman who meets you in a bar and takes you home with her for the evening and has sex with you is pretty pathetic. The guy who goes through this lonely and sad bar room mating ritual is not very much of a winner either. Besides, with all these new designer diseases cropping up all the time, getting laid was a risky and dangerous business. I pretty much lost interest in the true love of bar room romances and tended to my growing business.
As was inevitable, when I began to pay more attention to business and less to getting a little, the business began to grow fast. Then I hired a mechanic to take up the slack and a high school kid followed soon after to do lubes and clean the place out every evening after school. Business got so good I finally had to hire another mechanic.
Even though it was a sort of lonely existence, it was not what you would call a real bad life. I took care of my little business, banked the money as it came in and gave my three employees generous Christmas bonuses and birthday checks and made do with my life.
I led the ideal life of the happy bachelor and was not too satisfied with the way things were. First I felt guilty because I had so much and was not grateful. Then I'll be god dammed if I wouldn't turn around and feel guilty because I felt guilty. I also went home alone all the time. This was the way things were until they changed one Saturday morning while I was naked and alone as usual. I was in the middle of an old Bogart movie when I heard a knock on my front door. I padded barefoot over to the door and opened it a crack and asked in a not too friendly voice, "Yeah, what do you want?"
It turned out he was a bill collector. There is another guy in town with the same name as me. He is a dead beat and every now and then I get called on to pay his bills. It's a real pain in the butt. Any way, this character came pushing in and I grabbed him by the shirt and started to shove him out. He grabbed at me and we ended up in a tangle. I stumbled forward and all at once we were both outside on the landing that led to my apartment and the one next door. Naked, I landed flat on top of him and he screamed, "Nooo!" His eyes got big as he looked up at me.
He started shoving at me and yelling "No! No! No!" as he tried to get away from my naked body and me. I finally shoved myself off him and drew back my fist. I intended hit him in the face as hard as I could. The guy was so scared he was hysterical. He looked once more at my face, down at my naked goodies and shoved and rolled away from me. Then he took off running back down the stairs as fast as he could. He got the idea I was very pissed off. Then just as I tried to go back inside my front door slammed shut. The damned thing closed with a bang as a gust of wind blew through the apartment.
I stood naked and alone, locked out of my own apartment with no way to open the door short of breaking it down. All at once I began to get more than a little nervous. If some cop came by and saw me, I knew I would get a free ride down town to explain why I was naked out there. Worse yet, if some kids walked by, I would be up to my eyeballs in serious trouble as I tried to explain why I was showing "Little John" to those kids. Considering all the politically correct craziness going on, there is no telling what would happen. So I did the only thing I could think of. I knocked on the door of my new next-door neighbor Julie Roberts, what else?
"Yes?" she called through the door as I knocked.
"Uh hey," I stammered, trying to find the correct words. "I am standing naked in front of your door. I'm locked out of my apartment and I need to come in to your apartment so I can go out on your balcony. Then I can then step over onto my balcony and get into my apartment and go watch TV." I don't claim to be the guy with the smoothest tongue in the world.
"This I gotta see," she giggled and I heard her door lock snap and the door opened wide. "My yes. You are my next-door neighbor; I recognize the mole on your left testicle. And you certainly were telling the truth, because you are definitely naked. Come right in."
"I don't have a mole on my left ... oh." I was very slow on the uptake right then. It took a moment for me to catch on she was kidding me. "Thank you. I do appreciate this." I started to head for her balcony door so I could get into my place. I did my best to act cool
"Would you care for a cup of coffee?"
I stopped and really looked at her for the first time since I saw the movers bring her stuff in and set her up. She was a very fine looking woman who seemed to be at about the far end of thirty something and was put together pretty damned good. Her brown hair was tied back in an old fashioned ponytail. It hung down to the middle of her back and looked pretty good. Also, the pert, impish smile on her face was something else. I had the strongest urge to reach out and kiss that smile. She had on an old sweatshirt with the arms cut off and faded jeans. She was bare footed. Like I said, she was put together pretty well. On her those old clothes looked like a million dollars.
"What did you say?" I couldn't have heard her correctly. I turned and faced her.
She gave my equipment a long stare, then turned her gaze to my face and said, "I asked you if you wanted a cup of coffee or something." She waited a couple of seconds and asked, "Well?"
I stood naked in her living room and answered, "Yes, ma'am, a cup of coffee would be fine." There was a dreamlike sense of unreality about the whole situation. She gestured toward a chair and I sat on the leading edge with all of my personals hanging down in front of me. This was way too odd to be happening to me, but it was. Smiling, she left the room and returned in a short moment with two cups of coffee. Have you ever been awake and in a mental state of mind where you felt like you were just sort of floating through things? You know, there is a sense of daydreaming about everything happening and you are there but not really a part of anything, just a casual observer? It was how I felt right then. Oh yes, detached they call it. I was detached as hell right about then.
She came back in and handed me a cup of coffee and said, "You look like a man who prefers it black, right?"
I don't know why I answered her like I did, "No ma'am, I'm not the least bit prejudiced."
"I meant the coffee," she told me in a dry voice. She cocked one eyebrow and I felt three inches high.
I could feel the warmth spread all over my body as I blushed from my toes to my nose and I watched her watch me blush all over. "Look, I have never been in quite this kind of predicament before. I mean..." My voice kind of trailed off and she laughed at me. Damn, but she had a great smile and her laugh went right through me.
She looked at the way everything was hanging down in front of me as I sat on the edge of the chair and smiled. "I have to confess something, John; I have wanted to meet you since I saw you watch me move in. I thought you looked like a solid man then and I now see right how I was very correct in my assessment." Her grin got bigger as she stared directly at me. "You are almost exactly as I imagined you, muscular, well endowed. I thought you would be circumcised, but you're not." There was a devilish glint in her eyes and I knew she was laughing at me. She was not making fun of me or belittling me so much as having fun with the situation.
I thought, Jesus H. Christ. Women aren't supposed to talk this way. What in hell was it with her? I have to admit all of her staring at me like she made me a little excited. I could feel "Little John" just about ready to rise up to look all around him "Do you talk to men like this all the time?" I asked her.
She laughed and showed her nervousness as she answered, "Actually, you are the first man I have ever talked to like this. As a rule I am a bit of a prude. You know, a stuck in the mud type when it comes to such things. I really don't know what came over me except I have wanted to meet you since I first moved in and just never could work up the nerve to introduce myself. You always seem so stern and distant, just so unavailable. Then when you came to my door naked, I just couldn't help myself. You just looked so great to me as you stood there outside my door, I couldn't not act this way. Do you understand what I mean?"
Goddamn. This woman was something else. "Yeah, I guess," I said in a voice that said I didn't really understand anything at all. Then I corrected myself and asked, "But why me? I am getting ready to turn forty-five and nobody ever accused me of being anybody's heartthrob. Why me?"
She looked at me very serious and said, "Well you see, my friend and I own a little specialty women's store, 'Madeline's Ménage A Trois.' You might have passed by?" I nodded. "Well, any way, the only men we get in there are usually lecherous old sugar daddies with their teen age trophies or kinky guys who are shopping for their boy friends. When a regular man comes in to buy something, it's a surprise for his wife or girlfriend.
"At the spa where I do my aerobics and work out it's more of the same. Most of the unattached males there are either interested in a guy named Bruce or Wendell or else in love with the mirror. I'll be damned if I am so desperate as to go out with a man who feels he's doing me a favor just to be seen in public with me." She looked serious.
She paused a beat then she continued, "I have watched you as you came in and out of your apartment. You always walk like you know exactly whom you are and what you are, like you have your own life under complete control. Oh, it's hard to put into words but you are just so masculine. You know what I mean? You don't try to swagger or be a real he-man. You seem to be satisfied to be you and nobody else."
"Jesus, Lady, No one ever said anything like this to me before. I mean, hell. You got me embarrassed and confused." She did, too. No man knows how to react to a woman who is being all the way up front with him. It just isn't done that way, I thought to myself.
Then my hand shook a little and I spilled hot coffee on my dick and jumped up and yelled. With every bit of willpower I could muster I carefully sat the cup down and stood almost at attention and trembled.
"Oh sweet Jesus!" I all but yelled and started to dance up and down. That damned coffee was hot.
She grabbed my hand and led me into the bathroom. Once there she grabbed a tube of some kind of lotion and was real gentle as she took my dick in her other hand and started to apply the stuff to the sore area. It was cool and soothing and eased the pain right away. She kept gently rubbing it and I got a hard on. "Oh my." she said in a little voice. Right then she stopped rubbing, but held on to it. Damn, the cool skin of her hand felt good as she touched it. She looked up into my eyes with a little-girl-lost look on her face and in a tiny voice said, "Oh my." again.
I couldn't help myself. There was no stop left in me anywhere. I pulled her hand loose from my cock and grabbed her up in my arms and gave her a long, soft, slow and searching kiss. Our tongues met and wrestled with each other as I drew her tighter in my arms. My scalded pecker rubbed against her sweat pants and the pain finally got through the dark haze in front of my eyes and the roaring in my ears eased off.
"Jesus, Lady." was all I could say. I drew back and looked at her and she looked at me and we both knew beyond any shadow of doubt who we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with. We were also aware the other knew it too. I guess some times, on very rare occasions, it happens like it did with us. Right out of the blue everything came together. Here we were, two people who found each other and right away knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they were meant for each other and no one else. There is no long courtship needed. From the very first they know they are meant to spend the rest of their lives together. I can't explain it and if you don't know what I mean, I pity you because it is the greatest feeling in the world.
"Yes," she answered me, even though I hadn't said anything, "I know. Is it real?"
"Honey, if it ain't, if this is all some dream, I never want to wake up again." That was the most flowery statement I had ever made in my life. I left poetry to the dead poets.
She snuggled up close to me and rested her head on my chest. The pain had made my hard on go away, so we just stood there, her with her head on my chest and me with my arms around her. This was an example of love at almost first sight. I had heard about it and never believed what I heard. It was ridiculous, the whole idea that two people can look into each others eyes and know right then and there this was it ... well, it was too far fetched. I never felt so weird in my life and just plain good at the same time. My chest began to expand and all my chest muscles felt like they were swelling up.
I led her into the living room and sat down on her couch and pulled her down on my lap. We kissed again, this time with less passion and more meaning. I wanted her in the worst way. I wanted to make love to her for hours on end. But the funny thing about it all was how I wanted to really make love to her and not just a quickie some people call "making love" that has nothing to do with love whatsoever. You know, the kind where it's over so fast the bed hardly gets mussed up. Suddenly in a flash of pure intuition, I all at once knew what all those dead poets were talking about. I never knew a person could come anywhere close to feeling like this, never before in my life, not about anyone, ever.
Look, I don't really know how to say what I'm trying to say here with any accuracy. Before this, words were what I said to get people to do what I wanted or to buy something or relay a measurement. I never had a "gift for gab" some of these bullshit artists seem to be born with. But then, right then I felt like I had a great poem inside me. I didn't know the words to use to either say it or write it down.
Even today, I sometimes look at her and still get this sweet pressure in my chest as I try to think of the words to say to tell her what I am feeling. I tell her this and she says, "It's okay, John. I see the words on your face when you look at me like you are right now. I hear the words in my heart and I love you too."
Well, anyway, we were there, my naked arms around her and all, when we heard a big "Crash!" next door at my apartment.
"Quick," I told her, "give me a bath towel or something." She ran to get one