Lauren thought he was a thug. Initially she mistook him for one of the day laborers hired to help unload the mover's truck. It appalled her when she realized that he was actually her new neighbor in the adjoining half of her duplex.
She thought he was homely, brutish looking. His nose looked like it had been broken (as it had been at least three times that he could remember). There was an old scar high on one cheek under his left eye. His gray hair was short, virtually a buzz cut that emphasized his oval face. The lines in his face said 60 or more years must have passed since his benighted mother pushed out this "ape" as Lauren thought of him. His eyes were dark, watchful and unwavering under eyebrows bushy and black with flecks of gray. They were bushy brows that would have humbled the United Mine Workers fiery former leader, John L. Lewis. His lips were full, almost feminine; she thought them oddly out of place in that face. His arms seemed to Lauren to be too long for his body; rather simian she thought icily. He was big boned and those long arms were muscled and sinewy. Although clean shaven he had a Nixon-like heavy beard; raspy by 2 p.m., even if he shaved in the morning. His chest and torso looked like a heavy barrel set upon two tree stumps. While he was nearly six feet tall he looked shorter because of the thickness of his body. Hairy too, she thought, shuddering inside at the black and gray hair that could be seen within his partially unbuttoned shirt. He wore shorts so she could see that his legs were quite hairy. He had to be Jewish to be moving into this seniors community where everybody was; not by compulsion but by weight of numbers and preference in the larger area where so many Jewish people lived. She speculated he came from peasant stock somewhere in Poland or Lithuania or who knows; anywhere in the Pale of Settlement that had stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea.
Such a shvarts change, she thought. The previous owners, the Feldmans had been such wonderful, genteel neighbors; from respectable families, educated, witty, vivacious people with whom she and Mort had been close friends. She missed them greatly. They played duplicate bridge in the same club; took cruises together, Mort and Edgar golfed, and Alice and Lauren partnered in tennis and they all played mixed doubles. They dined out together; went to concerts and the theatre and casinos with the Feldmans. Edgar Feldman's company, gone now, had manufactured purses. Before his death, Lauren's late husband, Mort had operated a small chain of men's clothing stores and sold out to retire comfortably.
Edgar Feldman had been frisky sometimes and she had not begrudged him a feel of her breasts and bum, or inside her thighs when everyone had too much to drink and all were feeling raunchy. But he was easily controlled and it went no further. It turned out that Mort liked to feel up Alice too. She and Alice laughed together when they told each other about the other's spouse's shenanigans; they were sophisticated people, cultured and respectable. They never traded spouses in bed. Mort had been an attentive lover although her libido exceeded his and she could not cajole him into trying all the things she fantasized about. She had made up for the shortfall with sex toys and masturbation but never a lover. Now Mort and Edgar were in the ground and Rachel was lost somewhere, locked within the mists of Alzheimer's in a nursing home. Visiting her was sadly pointless. Save for solo masturbation, sex had gone out of Lauren's life as well long before she buried Mort some five years earlier. She had not met any gentlemen she judged to be of breeding and quality equal to her own.
Lauren's family, the Zweigs, had been German aristocrats for 200 years before barely escaping from Nazi Germany in 1938. They brought with them their infant daughter Sarah (Lauren's given name) on an unbelievably frightening flight through Eastern Europe to Greece and somehow to Morocco from whence, on a leaky hulk they miraculously reached New York. They paid their way with gold coins and diamonds that Lauren's mother carried in her body. Her mother and father never looked back and their little import/export business grew until they became at least as prosperous as the family had been with its land and factoring interests in Germany before Hitler and his henchmen had stolen it all and murdered most of her relatives.
Lauren was acutely aware of and proud of her aristocratic origins despite what Germany had done to her family and her people. Her view of her place in the world, culled from study and the snatches of overheard conversations of her parents, had been reinforced by a pampered youth and quality education in very exclusive and private schools for daughters of wealthy families; nominally non-sectarian the students were mostly Jewish.
It was a shame that Lauren's sex life had largely been buried with Mort. She was a handsome, buxom woman in her 67th year. She was proud of her full breasts but they did sag some, as to be expected now when unfettered; still the nipples were yet as sensitive as they had ever been. An open channel of delicious sensory passage from her nipples to her crotch seemed undiminished by the years. She could still bring herself to orgasm by assiduous nipple play without touching her pussy. Her prominent and matronly broad bum had not sagged yet and her well turned legs and thighs were still quite fetching; she considered them to be her best asset. She also thought and rightly so that her vulva was quite attractive, as compared to others she had seen, although, but for her gynecologist and one or two other women incidental to changing in a club or spa locker room, only Mort had seen hers incidental to penetrating her and kissing her nether lips on a few rare occasions when he had done so reluctantly and only after petulant and finally stern cajoling.
Comfortable lifestyle had thickened her waist and the two children she had given Mort had left her with a matronly pillow tummy. Old lechers at the community club ogled her in her bathing suit (she had a prominent mound) and tried to befriend her; not infrequently with unabashed "time is running out" candor. But she rejected them all and became known as the ice queen or even more coarsely as "that cold bitch."
She did not think of her face as beautiful. She felt her nose was too long and prominent and that her eyes were too closely set in her long face. Still she kept her hair strawberry blond; its original natural color as confirmed by her telltale pubic hair. In repose the inner lips of her labia peeked out between the plump pistolettes of her major labia. The entrance to her vagina lay beneath a prominent fleshy and tufted hillock. When stimulated her "jack in the pulpit" swelled and grew glistening and pulsing out from under its hood.
Now as she watched from her front window, not deigning to step out and greet him, the new neighbor turned deliberately and stared at her as though he knew she was watching. A small smile formed on his ugly face and he ducked as though peeking back at her and waved. Lauren quickly jerked away from the window and her face burned with embarrassment and anger. The first thing the asshole had done was catch her peeking and humorously chided her in an unspoken but offensive way. She made up her mind to ignore him. She damned sure was not going to be extending this mamzer any welcome, wagon or otherwise.
The baby grand piano surprised Lauren when it emerged from the moving van. His large hands with thick fingers could not be those of a pianist. Perhaps there had been a wife or daughter who played and he had never gotten rid of it. If there had been a wife and children they were not living with him in this place. He moved in alone. She certainly could not conceive of this oaf being cultured in any way. Why did they let people like this live in this exclusive community even if they happened to be Jewish?
He drove a Corvette. Lauren thought to herself; an aging Romeo as well. Hardly surprising. It was all of a piece wasn't it; that a troll like this should drive a "pussy magnet." She'd heard Mort and Edgar calling the sports car that coarse name. The sorry bastard probably needed all the help he could get in order to get shtuped. Maybe some pitiful fat old broad would be hard up enough to let him crawl on top of her.
The thought of allowing him to make love to her; to put his hands on her, to enter her most private and intimate place; well it disgusted her and it made her shudder. So it chagrined her greatly but privately when some days later she awoke in the night, hot, sweating and drooling from her slack pussy. She found herself roused from a lust soaked dream by a wracking orgasm. In the dream this Neanderthal new neighbor had somehow gained entry and came into her boudoir in all his hairy nakedness with his thick erection preceding him. Rather than being repulsed she eagerly licked it and sucked it. She freely allowed him to put his mouth on her tits and her vulva, his fingers up inside her and his tongue as well ; hands caressing everywhere, pinching and pulling and finally taking the brute's thick hot meat up inside her. Then she fucked and fucked him gloriously until she awoke in an orgasmic storm.
.... There is more of this story ...