Chapter 1: The Goddess Next Door Opens Up

Life was boring.

Mel quickly went through his mental checklist of what life was supposed to include, supposed to be for and about, and again he came to the same conclusion: life was boring. Do what you have to do, like pay bills and clean bird shit off the windshield and make dinner and do the laundry and yes, life was boring.

Even his name was boring. What on earth had ever gotten his mother to name him Mel? True, there was Mel Gibson, but that only emphasized how very normal and boring Mel himself was. He had married, but then divorced. He had been in the army, but then left when he realized he was only there to escape the boredom of civilian life. He bought a ‘55 Chevy coupe, but really didn’t have the skills or money to fix it up properly. There it sat in his garage, big and useless, kind of like his life.

So Mel worked, ate, slept, and occasionally enjoyed his life, like when he won a hundred bucks up at the casino, or when the steak he cooked really was a prime piece of meat. But again, those were the odd unusual things that only made him realize how normal, how boring, his daily routine was. That is until the one one-off event occurred and slapped him in the face and instead of shrugging and passing it by he grabbed it, literally, right on the ass.

What would a good Samaritan have done? Turn her in to the police or help a struggling neighbor out? Let’s say all of Mel’s selfish and sexual desires were pushed to the side. Really, what would have been the truly best and most admirable thing to do?

It was staring him in the face: a broken headlight, a slightly dented fender (all plastic, they made such junk nowadays) and paint scrapes down toward the front passenger wheel well. Something happened, obviously nothing good, but it was a neighbor’s car. A cheap old sub-compact at that, and certainly no business of his, so Mel just walked on down his own driveway to get the mail, checked out the rest of the boring neighborhood he lived in, and then on back into the house.

Just as he was sitting down to see what the mass junk mailers were trying to sell him, it struck Mel. The stop sign. The one over three blocks, near the mega food store, just off of one of the side roads that permeated the neighborhood. It was down and ready for replacement, and while most road signs were crushed and mangled and went to the scrapyard in silence, this one had made the news. A pretty boring news day when a hit and run made the news with the victim being no more than a stop sign. But the newscaster, sounding just as bored as Mel, had mentioned that the probable color of the reckless vehicle was blue, just like his neighbor’s car.

Mel ran it all through his mind again and went back out to do a double check on the car. It was while he was standing there, imagining how the car must have made a bad turn, a sudden jerk of the wheel, a glancing blow to the sign post, that Tracy walks out from the back gate of her own house. He heard the gate, the steps, her breathing for a couple of seconds as she stood behind him before he heard her say, “Yeah, and what are you looking at?”

A lot of attitude for a teen, a grown child not yet ready for the adulthood her full count of years now bestowed upon her. Mel just sighed, turned to the side and said, “Hi to you too Tracy. Looks like you were in an accident. Hope nobody was hurt.”

Tracy tried to pass it off, shrugging and saying nothing, but also not moving, just standing, waiting for the verdict, the sentence, whatever the piper might throw her way. Mel shook his head again and looked over and slightly down at Tracy. She was a beautiful young woman who probably already had enough troubles in her short span as a legal adult. Mel was well aware that she was probably numbed enough by life to expect no good tidings from this new addition. He had known her for only the last half dozen years, ever since he and his wife, now his ex, had bought this fixer-upper in a promising part of town. Tracy had been a little wild, a fun if bratty girl, then a terrible teen, and now a woman who was finding out just how miserable grown-ups had it. Long black hair down to her ass, beautiful curves both above and below, and a lovely face to behold as the light of the setting sun caught her cheekbones just right. She was beautiful even as she frowned, staring down at her broken car and contemplating what this new problem was going to cost her.

“You should just go to the police, you know.” chimed in Mel. “They’ll believe anything you tell them. Just say you missed the turn, just an accident.”

Tracy threw him a wry smile, an attempt at showing strength and humor as she shrugged and replied, “Yeah, but they won’t like finding out how this car just happens to have a fake registration sticker on the back, and needs a smog, and who knows what else. Shit. This is my only ride, my only way to work, and I can’t call in sick forever. Boy am I screwed.”

Mel’s heart softened, ready to help, willing to ignore the demands and up-tight rules of society and extend a hand to a neighbor who seemed to have even worse luck then him. “Tell you what,” chimed in Mel. “You do me a favor, I’ll do you one. Forget the cops. I know for sure the local scrap yard has some version of the headlight you’ve busted out. And maybe it wouldn’t be so tough to pull out a few of those bumps, paint over some of those bruises. Yeah, we could get you going in a couple of days. But the registration is on you. Deal?”

Mel was nodding to himself, thinking through all the steps he’d have to go through to do what he had just talked out when Tracy broke into his thoughts with a hard and fast slider: “OK deal, I guess. But what favor? What do I have to do in return?”

Mel had to shake his head and go through what he had said, realizing that in his mind the favor would be for her to take care of registration. But no, here she’s thinking he want’s something in return, just for him. Money? No, not his style. Clean his kitchen? Maybe. But then his mind focused on the one thing that mattered, the one greatest desire that made Mel lean slightly over toward Tracy and take a slight whiff of her perfume. He knew. He condemned himself for it, knew he was asking for trouble, but life was so boring. Maybe for just a few minutes of word play he could have a little fun, dance around a beautiful young woman with a demand and a laugh, finally pulling back with an apology but knowing some fun, having something to talk about with his friends.

“Sure, there is one thing.” Mel was going to ask her to come over at midnight and stay until six, a long night of sex and debauchery, but his mind somehow softened at the sheer stupidity of the request, his cowardice changing his words and meaning in a millisecond to say, “You know I have a bunch of friends over every couple of weeks. Maybe cards, a game, or sometimes just beer and barbeque. We’re on for this Saturday. I’ll take care of you and say nothing (pause) if you act as our waitress and go to girl.”

Mel condemned himself, not for making such a demand, but for making such a wimpy nothing of a demand. Even then, Tracy’s mouth dropped, then tried to stutter a few words before finally backing up a step and saying, “Wait a second. You want me to serve you and your friends, like serve food and beer and shit, like naked and everything? And what, put out too?”

She was still sputtering, face red, hands up in a defensive posture when Mel threw up his own hands and assured her that she didn’t have to do anything more for the room of men other than serve food. “No, not like that, just be our serving girl. You know, the beautiful waitress, but not naked.” And somehow Mel found the courage to add “just topless. Not naked, just show us your most magnificent breasts for even part of the game, like during halftime, and we’ll all be more than happy. We might all die from heart attacks but, hey, that’s on us.”

Mel was astounded at the words that came from his mouth, of how he had said them while sounding calm and assured and oh so strong and in control. For her part Tracy put her jaw back together, pulled her arms up to her chest in some attempt to hide what had just been brought out into the open. She then looked around, as though someone might be listening and in a loud whisper said, “Really? You just want to check out my rack? I’m not sure whether I should hit you or be flattered Mel. Neither I guess. Men are men.”

She stopped, looked up at Mel waiting for a reply and he finally got the message, realizing that a lady never says yes out loud. Simply assuming that Tracy would bend to the devil’s bargain Mel said, “OK then, about 6 this Saturday.” In another failed attempt at humor he added “Just don’t tell your father.”

“Haven’t seen my father in two months,” replied Tracy. “Fine, then your mother.” “Her I see, sometimes, and I don’t think she’d care.” and with that Tracy turned and headed for the back gate but then stopped, dug into her jeans and tossed Mel a set of keys. “Here you go. Fixed by Saturday, right?”

Mel said nothing as he watched the gate close on Tracy’s beautiful ass. He wondered about the many broken families that lined the street around him and thought back to when he had first moved in, first met Tracy and her family. Only six years and in that time so much had changed. He had grown to be a home owning, divorced, working class 30 year old, a sure definition of nothing in this society. But Tracy had grown more, had grown far older in those six years, from a kid into a beautiful young woman upon whom life seemed to enjoy crushing all the joy out of.

He couldn’t count the number of times he had been over to fix something in or on their house, or help with the car, or in better times even exchange cookies with at Christmas. Good neighbors, but he still hardly knew them, hardly knew her. He knew she had some kind of Asian background, seemed devoted to her mother, and always smiled when she saw him. Tracy considered the Black Eyed Peas old and slow while he looked back to the 80s as the golden age of music. She wore jeans with more holes than fabric while he tended to press and hang his Levis in an almost religious fashion. And he loved cars, especially old cars, straight from the 1950s, but Tracy didn’t even consider cars worth keeping, her fantasy being to have a condo in the city and walk everywhere she needed to go. As Mel headed inside to fix another instant dinner he realized that he knew a lot about Tracy, had kept a running tab on all the things she did and wanted out of life, and if given a chance there wasn’t a single thing he would change about her.

Mel didn’t need the keys for anything other than getting into the car and opening the hood. No way he’d be driving this little box of plastic around until it was registered and yet another unremarkable car on the road. The headlight really wasn’t hard to find. A half-hour walk through an auto yard followed by another half-hour’s worth of work and he had pulled an undamaged part from a twin of Tracy’s car. A working and cheap replacement nobody had any questions about. The same yard was willing to rent him a set of car repair tools to help in easing the worst of the dents, and the guy even looked up the proper paint for Tracy’s year and model. The internet was a wonderful thing.

Two days later Mel was able to stand back and admire a car almost worth driving. Up to Tracy to do the registration, and he still hadn’t received the paint yet, but with a few household chemicals and the part and tools from the auto yard, the four wheeled import looked wonderfully neutral and beyond suspicion. Perfect. Mel hadn’t seen Tracy those past two days, and when he knocked on her door only her mother answered. She looked tired. Mel was sure she wasn’t much more than ten years older than his 30, but she looked to be in her late 40s. “Life sure takes it out of you,” he thought, agreeing with himself that he needed to enjoy what small tidbits of joy he could find in the everyday.

He apologized to the mother for disturbing her but chose not to leave the keys with her. He still didn’t trust Tracy to get the car registered properly. He also didn’t expect her to show on Saturday, not as requested anyway, and wrote off his work as being a good deed done. Another thing he didn’t expect was for Tracy to come banging on his door Friday night, effusively thanking Mel for working on her car and saving her ass, promising to get the car registered with her next paycheck and then asking what time she had to show up on Saturday. “What? You’re really going to do that?” Mel turned red, even as his cock hardened and tried popping out of his pants, but he turned eagle scout and said, “Listen, Tracy, you know I’m no creep. No way I’d hold this over your head.”

He didn’t say no to the possibility of a front-row seat to a view of her breasts, riding up so firm and high, and Mel’s hard-on leaped up another inch when Tracy waved his good intentions to the side and put a hand on his arm. “You delivered so no way I’ll back out. I only hope I don’t disappoint,” this last line being delivered as Tracy turned away, throwing her head back with a smile and glint in her eyes that made Mel’s brain short circuit. He quickly recovered and watched Tracy walk away into the darkness, never once over the period of those few seconds looking above her waist.

Nick showed up early. Nick, the smooth guy with a cool name, though he too was divorced, childless, and left with a life so empty that he wound up at Mel’s house with nothing better to do on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Mel wasn’t going to say anything to the guys about any of this, about Tracy or the car or anything, not wanting to get anybody’s hopes up, or cocks excited, until Tracy really came through. But here was Nick, a six pack in hand and with time to watch the pre-game show with Mel. Nick showed off a card trick, they played a hand of poker, then sat back to listen and talk without all the bullshit you had to go through with people you had to pretend were your friends.

Half an hour in and with Mel into his second long-neck, Mel just happened to mention the favor he provided for a neighbor though with no word about just why the car was in need of repair. Mel also hadn’t planned on mentioning that Tracy promised to show up topless. Simply having a single woman around handing out beer while listening to a bunch of men lose themselves over a touchdown was more than any of them could dream about.

He and Nick were divorced and with few prospects for the future, the odd date never quite panning out for either of them. Bill was married but to a woman who had better things to do than treat him as anything other than a partner in a business relationship, sex being relegated to the area titled “birthday presents.” And Jon (as in Bon Jovi) had wife, kids, house, and all the things any sane man would need to escape from at least once a week. Sometimes they met at Nick’s, sometimes here at Mel’s, but always with the understanding that religion and politics and of course family squabbles would be left outside on the curb. In Mel’s mind, a bunch of losers, but a bunch of like-minded losers doing the best they could as they entered into old age, that is, their thirties. Life is cruel.

But then there was Tracy. Even with a big game Mel wouldn’t do much more than throw out chips and a bottle of ranch dressing, but with the promise of the goddess from next door, his brain had gone into overdrive and he had bought a snack tray and prepared a full-on seven layer bean and avocado and sour cream and salsa dip with two types of chips. Damn, a real party, and Nick did wonder out loud just what the fuck kind of game Mel thought they would all be watching.

“What, Jerry Rice going to show up or something?” Nick joked. That’s when Mel let go with a hint about his neighbor returning a favor. He wasn’t going to include any information about Tracy giving them full view of her naked breasts. Really, men don’t need that kind of promise only to be let down at the last minute. Then in an attempt to goose Nick and gain an extra point in status he threw it out. No big deal, just a hot next door neighbor chick dropping by to serve chips and beer. And she’ll be topless. How often does that happen?

Nick was skeptical, looking sideways at Mel and asking a dozen “You’re shitting me, right?” kind of questions. But then Nick caught on that Mel was on the level and started asking a bunch of other questions, like “Is her boyfriend going to be joining us?” and “This is the really hot looking young lady next door, not her mom, right?” and “How much did you pay her? Seriously, what do you have on her?” Mel just repeated his story without mention of the stop sign, then telling Nick to be on good behavior. Nick nodded, kept silent for a minute, then announced that he had forgotten something, that he’d be back in half an hour, well before the game started, and he disappeared. Not that unusual, so Mel finished off his beer and sat back to enjoy the pregame bullshit, hoping for a tidbit of data he could throw out to the others while the teams were battling it out.

Just a few minutes after Nick had left there was a knock and the opening of the front door and someone walking down the hallway toward the back rec room where the flatscreen was hanging. Mel turned in his chair expecting to see Bill or Jon but was struck dumb by the sight of Tracy walking over to him. She wasn’t topless but was close to it, a colorful wrap around her lower torso and only the suggestion of a supportive top holding her breasts up and out, covering only enough flesh to conceal the very prominent nipples pushing through the fabric.

Without thinking Mel gasped out a “My god you’re gorgeous” and began to reach for the twin peaks of joy that beckoned to him, stopping with a start when Tracy laughed and stepped back, saying “No touching, right? I’ll drop the top after all of your friends arrive. Nobody’ll have a heart attack or anything, right? Do you have any wine?”

Mel got ahold of himself, told Tracy that she did look gorgeous, that he’d enforce a no-touch rule, and that if any of the guys had a heart attack then it was his loss and not Mel’s problem. All this was bantered forth as he opened a bottle of some white wine he’d kept in the back of his mini fridge for the past year, happy to find someone willing to take it off his hands. After pouring Tracy a tall glass, Mel was able to sit back and relax and talk with Tracy, about work, her mother, a music festival she’d gone to the month before, and even some personal stuff like the lack of a boyfriend. “Too much trouble” she joked, but Mel wondered if it was that the men in her life were themselves trouble. He stopped himself from asking if the car accident didn’t involve a guy, nodding instead as she talked about work, Tracy seemingly oblivious to how beautiful she was, of the effect she had on this one lonely man sitting beside her.

Tracy was gorgeous. The colorful cloth wrap hid her bottom half, but her top was equal to everything paintings and drawings imagined the most beautiful of mermaids to be. Long black hair that glistened and waved with every movement of her head, a gleam in her eyes as she laughed at something a co-worker had done, her delicate hands trying to weave a story of how she had tried to flip that morning’s pancake only for it to wind up on the floor. Her skin also stood out, only slightly tanned in the most obvious places, but deep down where the sun didn’t shine so easily she was white, a glistening luminous white with the hint of pink roses.

Yes, Mel was also white, as Caucasian as one could get, but his tan tended toward burned red and where the sun didn’t shine there was only the white of the belly of a dead fish while Tracy’s skin had the hue of alabaster from the finest stone quarries of Italy. And of course to top off the beauty that was Tracy were the mounds of flesh that rose out from her chest, alluring and distracting and everything Mel would sell his soul for.

Mel was lost in his musings about the likelihood of Tracy running off to Vegas with him when there came another knock and another set of footsteps coming down the hall, then followed by yet a second pair of shoes pounding their way into the house.

“Would it trouble you guys so much to take your shoes off?” yelled out Mel, recognizing the rude and loud entrance of the other two members of his small group.

“Lighten up Mel” began one of the men, then silence, Mel looking over to see both Bill and Jon standing still, openmouthed, and silent, viewing the vision that was Tracy, embarrassing themselves and forcing Mel to step in and break the spell. “Jon, Bill, lighten up yourself. This is my neighbor Tracy.” Tracy gave a chuckle, obviously quite aware of what effect she had on the two men, standing and extending a small hand and saying, “Hi, I’m Tracy. I’ll be your hostess tonight. Can I get either of you two gentlemen a beer?”

After Bill and Jon regained full use of their tongues and brought their brains back on line with a shake of the head, Bill stepped forward and actually shook Tracy’s hand, introducing himself while looking back and forth between Mel and Tracy. Mel saved the two men from a total meltdown by explaining that Tracy was a neighbor, another football fan who had dropped by for the game and to help with snacks. Mel didn’t bother with the details. If anything came of it then fine, but for now simply having a beautiful young woman in the same room was enough to cause the little group to vote this day as better than Christmas overlapping with the Super Bowl.

Jon simply waved and said “hi,” walking on to his favored spot near the television, but his white face and sheen of perspiration belied his easy going manner. He was straight and pure vanilla, married with kids, and essentially had already lived out his life and chosen his burial plot, his life but wasted space. Mel wondered if the same could be said for him, a quick glance at the joy that was Tracy reminding him of what promises life held for those with the balls to act.

Mel was again in the middle of a mental fantasy of whisking Tracy off to the coast for a romantic getaway when Nick walked in, a small bag under his arm, a new shirt on his back, and sporting a newly shaved face. “What a wolf,” thought Mel, though he himself had done pretty much the same thing in preparation for Tracy’s visit.

Nick stepped into the room and directly addressed Tracy, throwing out her name as though she were a good friend, a quick line of how beautiful she looked. He then turned away, as though such beauty were a normal part of his daily life, walking to the refrigerator and putting a tray of ice cubes in the freezer while pulling out a bottle of tequila and some limes. Mel knew the reason for the tequila and seethed with condemnation and unspoken thanks. If wine won’t do it, tequila will, but just how it would all play out remained as big an unknown as the game that was just starting. The ice cubes were something else, Mel having plenty of ice in storage and a cooler dedicated to keeping their beer and glasses frosty in the hottest of weather. He wondered, knew Nick had something up his sleeve, but let it pass.

Nick played it cool at first, asking Tracy if she really liked football, if she were in college, discussing his own misspent youth at school and then in a big box store job like hers, hardly glancing down at her poorly covered chest, connecting without seeming too needy or creepy. Tracy acted the perfect hostess, taking a couple of requests for yet another cold one and promising to come back with the warm and ready dip and chips.

Mel was there for the unveiling. Tracy stepped into the kitchen to remove her top, the skimpy support system being untied and withdrawn. Her beautiful pair of manly desires paid no attention to the demands of gravity, holding up, proud and defiant as only youth and god’s own blessings can. Mel had to swallow again, close his jaw and smile as Tracy threw out a quick giggle, a fast jiggle of her chest, a smile given just to him as she seemed to dare him to reach out for a feel. There was no doubt they were all hers. She was too young and too poor to afford a fake job, and they didn’t look like the fake missile tits you see in the movies, the perfect mountains of silicone that stick straight out and don’t move unless shoved with both hands. No, Tracy’s were perfect and god’s own creation, dropping just so slightly before rising up, the areolas and nipples pointing out, beckoning.

Mel swallowed again and gave off a moan when Tracy then untied her wrap, the colorful cloth that had done such a good job of dressing up but hiding her lower half. As the cloth came down and was thrown upon a kitchen stool to join her top, Mel was able to see that Tracy’s bottom portion had less cloth than the top. Tracy turned and bent to grab two beers from the cooler, sticking her ass out toward Mel with a quick shake, waving both barely clad cheeks right at him. Before he could react Tracy rose up, gave Mel a quick smile and walked back to the unsuspecting threesome watching the beginnings of the game.

In those few seconds Mel had seen that the front portion of her crotch was covered, the blue and yellow V of cloth just enough to remind a man what lay below. The rear portion was far less functional, the thin strip of cloth barely more than what a G-string would cover of her rear cheeks. Mel noted that Tracy’s ass was large, not so much fat as firm, with buttocks that stuck out, tight and outstanding. Yes, the best word to use in describing both tits and ass would have to be outstanding. Just as Mel started to imagine those how those lower cheeks might feel within his hands, Tracy stepped in front of the television and gave the other men their beers. The game continued but the banter stopped, all three men, even the cool and collected Nick, freezing in mid-move and mid-sentence as they caught sight of the shimmering goddess entering their field of vision.

Nick was the first to catch himself, shaking his head and giving Tracy a smile, nodding up with his chin, looking only in Tracy’s eyes and saying “Magnificent Tracy. Thank you.” And of course Bill and Jon found themselves having to gasp for air, an “uh” and “shit” and finally a “yeah, thanks” as a follow-up to Nick’s own gracious words. Mel shook his head in the background, wondering if they’d ever be able to make it through the first quarter.

Tracy chose not to sit on the couch with Bill or Jon, instead pulling up a bar stool back by the breakfast bar and hiking up her ass to sit on the padded cushion. It seemed a safe perch, away from the guys, but with one knee going one way and another knee going another. Breaking all the rules of feminine decorum, she gave Mel an easy view of the thick rounded mounds that formed between her thighs, of the deep valley of pleasure that lay within, something no bikini bottom would ever be able to completely hide.

At one point Nick got up to go to the kitchen. In passing Tracy he just happened to ask if he could fill her up, a phrase that caused their eyes to connect and smiles to go sideways into a smirk. “Sure, if you’re headed that way, I’d love to have you fill me up.” That even made Mel smile and his cock to grow just a little bit further down his pants leg.

Nick took his time, adding some ice to Tracy’s glass, filling it with just a bit more wine from the still largely full bottle, and returned the glass to her with another couple of comments and questions. Her wrap, it looked like it was from the Pacific. Had she ever been to Hawaii? Nick had loved his time when stationed there. He wondered if she had any Japanese or Hawaiian blood in her, noted that he wasn’t sure of his own lineage beyond his grandfather (mostly English). Nick was cool, just hanging out, and as a major play was made on the football field, he excused himself and went back to his chair. Smooth. So smooth.

A minute on Mel watched Tracy taste her wine, smile, throw a glance Nick’s way, then take a slightly larger sip. OK, something was up, and Mel immediately suspected the ice. So over to the fridge for a check of one of Nick’s homemade cubes and it was all clear. Clear vodka that is. Frozen, probably diluted but still potent, perfect for adding a blush to that white wine of Tracy’s. But she seemed to know, seemed to enjoy the game Nick was playing, and Mel wasn’t one to get in the way of the story. The first quarter lasted a lot longer than the advertised 15 minutes but still went by pretty quickly. Tracy did her duty, getting up to serve the guys with every field goal or touchdown, always ready to help, always there at the edge of their vision, and for all the action in the game, she was still foremost in all of their minds.

Mel knew Nick was up to something, had something more under his sleeve, and it came out in the second quarter. Nick had gotten up, again replenished Tracy’s glass with wine and ice, but then brought out his tequila. Limes and salt and tequila, each member of the crew having to do one shot, and of course Tracy was happy to participate. This time Nick wasn’t quite so subtle, his eyes among all the others, focused on Tracy’s outstanding tits as she threw back the shot. By the time she had licked and bit and thrown out a loud “wow that’s good stuff” Nick had regained his composure and offered her another. A wise woman, Tracy turned it down, yet then downing her stronger than ever glass of wine as a second chaser.