Chapter 1

Bob Wagoner smiled to himself when he saw twenty-five-year-old Lonny Green stepping out from the rear of her house. Things had seemed stale for the last few weeks. Summer was in full course and it exacerbated the damage he’d suffered when an I beam fell and crushed his leg on the job. They were building the Wexler Company skyscraper in Philadelphia, and Bob worked the high steel. Ironically, he was on the ground when it fell on him and caused nerve damage that couldn’t be repaired. So, in the settlement, he was given an obscene amount of money and told to retire.

He had a high school diploma but remembered nothing he had ever been taught in those classes, with the possible exception of a little physics. Working the high steel was all he knew. He felt mostly useless except for the times he helped someone in the neighborhood with some repair they needed done. He never charged for his work. He’d take a meal, but that was it. He also made it a rule not to go back to some of his old habits, involving the attempted seduction of (almost all) women he met, married or not.

Bob just stayed in the old house he’d grown up in. He chose to stay because the neighborhood was populated by people who were snoops at heart, but minded their own business in practice. He read a lot and watched Nova and the like, which educated him far beyond what he was even aware of. That even affected his speech patterns, now and then, depending on who he was talking to and the situation he was in.

Then, one day, the shapely mother of two moved in and his days brightened. Today Bob was pleased to see that the tie-dyed bikini his neighbor wore didn’t leave much to the imagination. Idly, he wondered how the hell they tie-dyed a bikini, but then Lonny’s big, round breasts bobbed in the small top as she came barefoot down the steps. Her lush, healthy white skin appeared well oiled with sun-cream and her wheat-colored hair was tied back with a scrunchie. A pair of aviator mirrored sunglasses were perched on her forehead and she carried a towel in one hand and her phone in the other. A cord with earbuds informed him she was going to listen to music while she tanned.

“Good,” he sighed to himself, followed by, “That is one fine piece of white pussy.”

He said it softly, even though he knew she was too far away to hear him. She wasn’t too far away to see, though, and that was what counted. He was forty and he had a lot of life left in him, bum leg or not. And there was nothing wrong with his dick. He still got as hard as a rock. Women didn’t look at him and think “Now there’s a guy who might be able to rock my boat.” He limped and lived in an old house in the wrong part of town. He didn’t drive a flashy car or wear the latest fashions and there were plenty of younger, healthier men around who had a job and were seen to be making good money. And, oh yeah, he was black, that almost blue-black that made a lot of women shudder; even “black” women. So while he could admire a young woman just fine, none of them admired him back. They all judged his book by its cover. It was ironic that the exact same attributes, when he was younger, got him more pussy than he had time to take care of.

Lonny had needed his help a few times, and had been appreciative of it. She had two little girls and he knew she was having a tough time finding a job. He also knew that the reason she needed a job was because her husband had died. Bob didn’t know how he had died, but he did know that the man had been in debt up to his ears, and had no life insurance, so her life was full of bill collectors and other blood-sucking types.

He was realistic in his fantasies. Gone were the days when women saw him as a bad boy and were thrilled to fly too close to his sexual flame. He knew Lonny also shuddered if the concepts of “Bob Wagoner” and “sex” ever came up in the same thought. She didn’t seem to have a sex life, though, which was a crying shame. If ever there was a woman who was built for fucking, it was Lonny Green. She was worth looking at in any case, but he admired a woman who took care of herself and looked that good after having two kids.

It had been fifteen years since his accident and since a woman had graced his bed. By now he didn’t expect any woman to get excited over him and since she was in an unhappy place he had done everything he could to help out. You helped your neighbor, if needed. It was how he had been raised.

“Hi, Mr. Wagoner,” she called out, and he waved back. He would have liked it more if she hadn’t seen him, but the chain link fence that went twenty feet along their property line made that impossible. For some odd reason, where the chain link stopped a rickety board fence went on to the alley.

From Lonny’s perspective she’d have been happier if he wasn’t there, too. He had this uncanny ability to know when she was going to come out in her bikini. He always leered and either didn’t want to disguise his lust, or just didn’t have the capability to be that socially adept. He seemed like a nice man but the way he looked at her sometimes made her skin crawl. He looked so sad, limping around on a leg that obviously pained him. And he was so black! There had been African Americans where she grew up but she only knew one. There was another cheerleader named Tasha who was black. They had worked together, but Tasha hung out with the kids who looked like her when they weren’t doing things as a squad. Lonny did likewise and drew the attention of popular white boys. It had been a popular white boy, in fact, who had gotten her pregnant before she graduated from high school.

She knew how men looked at her. She was damaged goods, but they’d happily fuck her. At least Mr. Wagoner – “Call me Bob” – didn’t make obscene comments to her. More than one man had said, basically, “Lonny, girl, you just need a stiff dick and I’ll honor you with mine if you’ll get down off that high horse you seem to be perched on.” She didn’t think she was perched on a high horse. She just thought of herself as having standards. She’d made what turned out to be a basically unhappy decision about a man before and she didn’t want to do that again. She knew that, statistically, many abused women always chose another abuser after they got out of a bad relationship. She was afraid if she looked for another man, she might choose another one like Rick.

She had a vibrator, which served her needs. And, with her daughters Emma and Beth at school, this was the only time of day she had to herself. If she couldn’t avoid giving the poor man a thrill, then so be it.

The man she was thinking about grinned at her, dropping his horny eyes to her chest and discreetly sliding his hand into his pocket. Even from across the yard, Lonny couldn’t fail to notice a disturbingly large bulge pushing through his cotton pants. She knew what kind of thrill she’d be giving him. He always did the same thing and he wasn’t very good at disguising it. Just like she tried to tan every day, he hid behind that fence and jacked off while peeking at her every day.

The first time she’d realized what he was doing she was outraged. She almost stalked over to the fence and confronted him. But he wasn’t making it obvious. He was trying to hide while he did it. And if she wasn’t wearing her bikini he acted perfectly normal. He had helped her a dozen times when something broke or she didn’t know how to do some task that was required, such as putting together the cheap dresser she kept the girls’ clothes in. He wasn’t dangerous, and he wasn’t hurting anybody by jacking off on the other side of the fence, so she tried to ignore him.

“Hi Lonny. Gonna catch some more sun?”

“If the clouds stay away,” she called back. Though she didn’t find him in any way attractive Lonny was always friendly towards Bob. She reasoned it couldn’t do any harm and with money problems mounting up it could save her some money if she didn’t have to hire someone to fix her washer or whatever. The loss of her husband Rick, not to mention all the gambling bills he had run up along the way, had left her high and dry. Hardly a day went by without a debt collector knocking on her door. The house itself was practically falling down, which was why the rent was so cheap. As one of three white families on the whole block Lonny was thankful that her place was just outside the nearby drug fueled ghetto. She needed all the help she could get and, despite his disability, the man was great at fixing things around the house.

She knew he had gotten a lot of money in a settlement over his injury and she wondered why he chose to stay in this neighborhood. To Lonny, he always looked ill and the part of her that was a nurse paid more attention to him than she otherwise might have. After all, she never saw any family visit him and when he croaked there was always a chance he’d leave her something in his will. She knew that was a stupid fantasy, but if he got to have a fantasy in which he fucked her, then she felt justified in fantasizing about him leaving her a pile of money when he died.

“Don’t look like there’s any clouds around right now,” he commented. “Well, you go ahead. Don’t mind me. I’m just going to pull some weeds.”

She knew what he was going to pull and it wouldn’t be anything green and growing in the ground.

Bob leaned on his cane and turned around. Damn she was hot. The sight of sexy, white pussy had stirred something deep in his loins. He could feel his heart pounding, blood racing, and 8” of prime, grade-A dark meat swelling up in his pants. It had been ten years since he’d had those eight inches in a woman. Women didn’t want to fuck a cripple. Didn’t matter. His hand served him just fine, especially when a hot white woman showed herself in that bikini.

With a grin he went behind the wood part of the fence and peered through the gap between two boards. He caught Lonny putting out her towel, bending right over and giving him a great view of her tits and hourglass figure. Even after having her two kids she looked like a virgin. A hot virgin. A virgin who wanted somebody to pop her cherry. Unzipping quietly he slid his dick into his hand and started stroking. As big as he was, it sometimes took him a while to get really hard. After a minute or so he’d stiffened up completely, exposing the bulbous head of his uncut cock as he started sliding his hand in earnest.

Lonny flicked her sunglasses into place over her eyes, put the earbuds in, pulled up a radio station on her phone, and then rested back on her elbows. She was a trained nurse but she’d been laid off from her job due to budget cuts and the only hospital nearby was a private clinic with no openings. As she pondered her options the earbuds didn’t mask the soft noises the man behind the fence was making as he beat his dick. He hid while he did it, and no doubt thought he was being clever, but he apparently didn’t know how noisy he was. He obviously had no shame. But many men would have looked over the fence, staring at her while they jerked and being obvious about it. Part of it disgusted her but, crippled or not, he was a man, and she knew what was in most men’s minds when they looked at her, especially in her bikini. He was normal, however unappetizing that was to most women.

She tried to put him out of her mind. Wagoner’s lust was the least of her problems. Closing her eyes she pushed her earbuds in a little firmer and dreamed of happier times.

‘Maybe he’ll have a heart attack while he jerks off,’ she thought. She smiled to herself and then almost immediately frowned. He had always been nice to her and he’d done a ton of things to fix up her place, things the landlord should have done, but refused to. It was unkind of her to wish ill on the man’s health. He was only acting like a man.

While she didn’t know it, there was nothing wrong with Bob’s heart. In fact, the only disability he had was the leg. He still worked out and he was in good shape for a forty-year-old man. It was the way he dressed that made him look sickly. His disheveled appearance fooled the observer into thinking he wasn’t up to his A game.

Faster he rubbed. White pussy, tight and wet. Mmm. He bet she was a good fucking ride. Those big, wobbly titties would feel good under him, cushioning his weight. The days when he could plant his knees and make a woman scream were gone. One nurse had taken pity on him just before they let him out of the hospital and he had ridden her tits, which let him move in her four or five inches. She had reacted like all the other women did when she got his big, black bone in her. She had melted and wanted more. But she was married and he knew the only reason she had taken pity on him was that she’d given him sponge baths, during which he’d gotten hard and she had been unable to resist feeling something that large inside her for the first time.

With a gasp he lurched forward, the first jet of pearly fluid belching with force onto the fence and followed by two more that squirted onto the ground between his knees. He hadn’t emptied his balls for more than a week. It was a big load for sure, stringy and thick. Sighing, he looked once more at the hot mom, lying there in the sun, and tucked himself away.

Lonny needed a reason to let her hair down. Her week had been terrible. First Beth had been sick, then her car wouldn’t start so she could go to what would have been her first actual job interview since Rick had died and she had to move out of the house they had lived in. The only place she could find to live that she thought she could afford was in a dump on the rough side of town, but she had no choice. The layoff had been sudden, with no warning. Because of Rick’s gambling debts, she couldn’t just wait to be called back. She’d have to find some new way to keep afloat.

She got an appointment to interview with a department store as a sales clerk, but when the car broke down, she’d had to take public transportation and had gotten there late. They had said the position had already been filled.

She’d stopped opening what she believed to be bills and because of that she’d found a less than polite letter from her landlord nailed to her front door. “Come up with $400 or your out.”

He didn’t know proper English (or couldn’t spell), but he was exceptionally good at collecting the rent. What could she do? When one of her old friends had invited her out on a hen-night she’d been delighted. Sure, she couldn’t afford it but she had to do something other than stare at four paint-chipped walls and listen to her daughters being thankfully ignorant of the fact that they were four hundred dollars away from homelessness. Lonny also knew that something deep inside her needed a man, but it was still so soon after Rick. He’d been a bastard but she had loved him anyway. She didn’t plan to meet a man that night. Still, it would do her good to mix with new people and kick up her heels a little.

Sheila was getting married the following week and since seven o’clock a party of twelve women had been moving bar-to-bar. Thankfully Lonny’s married friend was picking up the tab for her too. Lonny wore her hair down on her shoulders. She was packed into a red, low-cut dress that floated several inches above the knee. She wore her only pair of high heels with it. They were black but black went with everything. Already she regretted wearing the heels but she hadn’t known they’d do this much walking.

Several of the women in the group were a little worse for wear, but they were all having a good time. Everywhere they went they used the age old herd mentality of ‘there is safety in numbers’. Men offered to buy them drinks in exchange for a dance. They scattered to dance, but then they’d all gather together again, making it impossible for the men to divide and conquer.

Another tray of shots arrived. She knew her daughters were safe with Mrs. Hibbard, who lived down the street and had promised to take good care of them for the night. Was she a bad mother for leaving them? A cry went up, and she saw one of the women in their party dancing on top of a table.

The next morning her friend’s husband dropped Lonny off at her drab house. The spare room at her friend’s apartment had been comfortable but her head was aching from all the booze. She remembered little, aside from multiple trays of shots and a dance with a man whose mobile number now resided in her handbag. He’d been wearing a wedding ring. Lonny sighed, sadly. Stumbling on the broken cement walk she tried to get her keys from her bag and dropped them on the ground. She bent over, straight-legged, to pick them up.

“Mrs. Green!” Lonny’s heart sank as the oily, all too familiar voice of her landlord came from behind her. Gary French was a middle fifties, slim man with polished features and greying hair. He had a tendency to wear a suit in almost all weather and always smelled strongly of cheap cologne. She turned, too tired for an argument, and realized the older man had been eyeing her ass as she picked up her keys.

“Mr. French,” she sighed. She knew what was coming. Last month she’d only been able to give him half the rent. Her last warning on paying the rest had been more than ten days ago. The man folded his arms. He had obviously been waiting in his car for her to arrive. His beady stare lingered on her deep cleavage. Lonny knew French was married but she didn’t imagine that stopped him from womanizing.

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