I had to admit this, even to myself, but I am her dirty little secret. There I said it, “I am a dirty little secret!” I think I should be ashamed, and maybe I am — at least when I am not looking at her dozing on my bed.

She is Constance and she lives right across the street from me. She lives there with her two daughters and her husband of something just shy of twenty years. This wasn’t something I planned. It just sort of happened. I know, I know, how cliché of me, having an affair with a married soccer-mom type knowing full well she was never going to leave her husband for me, not when she treats me like her kid sister unless she’s slipping around to my backdoor for a little afternoon nookie.

My name is Clarey and we have been doing this for going on five years. I can’t even tell her I love her, all I can do is fuck her as often as we get together. Our initial meeting was simple, I had just moved in and she and her daughters showed up to introduce themselves while I was moving empty boxes to the street for the recycler to pick them up in the morning. She brought over some food, which was very welcome, but I had thought she was disappointed when I told her I was single and had no kids. Her daughters were thirteen and fourteen then and I think at least one of them was hoping I had a teenage boy for her to meet, the other was pretty indifferent to me.

Connie and I stood talking after her kids headed back across the street and she invited me to a little party that weekend, supposedly a simple little gathering. I was mostly looking forward to it, a good way to meet the locals, but I was more than a little hesitant. As a lesbian, I was often less than welcome in many neighborhoods and while I don’t advertise, I also don’t really hide it. Which pretty much sums up the party. Half the guys tried to hit on me, ranging from some older divorced/widowers to a few brave teenagers and even some of the guys I knew were married. I’m not sure any of the married women caught on, but a few of them did give me the stink-eye later. One, Connie of course, thought it was kinda funny because the wife of that particular couple fooled around more than her husband did!

“So, had your fill?”

“I’ve hardly eaten anything.”

She grinned, “Not food, getting so much male attention. I think Timmy, the blond teenager, is going to be beating off to your face tonight.”

“That’s pretty damn gross, you know that?”

“I know, just be glad it’s not summer and you were in a bathing suit. You are gorgeous and since most of the guys have no conscience where their dicks are concerned, you might be causing a host of wet dreams.”

“You realize you are wrecking my own sleep now — Ewwww!”

“Why, I would love to have attention like that when I was your age, even the teenagers.”

I leaned in close, “That would be fine if I was into guys.”

She paused and didn’t jump away like I was some sort of devil-worshipper. That was a reaction I have heard from some religious nut-jobs on occasion. “You’re a lesbian?”

“Signed, sealed, and delivered! I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone. Some people get pretty weird.”

She thought for a second, “Okay, no problem. I guess I can see that.”

I was happy she was going to keep it on the down-low, but I also knew it would get out sooner or later, especially if I don’t date anyone they can see or when a girlfriend might spend the night — hopefully, something that will occur with some degree of frequency. The next couple of months were actually pretty good. I got comfortable with most of the neighbors, Connie and I hit it off pretty well, as friends. I was so glad she wasn’t one of the ones that freak out at the idea of a lesbian daring to live amongst ‘normal’ people. One evening, Connie showed up with a bottle of wine. Her kids were away at some school sporting thing, I had no idea where her husband was. It really was no big deal, we put on a chick-flick and enjoyed the wine. Then Connie started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You called this a ‘chick-flick.’ One of my friends once told me the difference between a chick-flick and other movies is that there’s talking in it.” We laughed together, maybe a little harder than we might have if we hadn’t been near the bottom of the bottle of wine. We were on the couch and she actually fell off onto the floor laughing.

Still giggling, I tried to help her back up, but she pulled me down. We ended up rolling around on the carpet still laughing. We ended up face to face and — well, if this had been some sort of chick-flick, like a romantic comedy, we would have kissed. But, since this is real life, we looked at each other and started laughing all over again. Then she started tickling me, which is a particular weakness. So I retaliated.

After several minutes we were both out of breath and I found myself looking down her top at her bra-less breasts. I looked away quickly, but she caught my head.

“You can look if you want.”

“Connie,...”

She put a finger to my lips, then shucked her top in one motion, surprising the hell out of me. “I know you look, and I’ve always appreciated it. Well, I guess what I appreciated was knowing you thought I was attractive without any of the silly male reactions, you know the leering and the drooling. I can certainly go a whole year without that moron Frank making a pass at me!”

I had to laugh at that because we had several similar conversations about men, in particular their reaction as pretty women. The complete lack of subtlety, especially in the younger men and older ones. Frank was a neighbor with a gorgeous wife, but he was a dog when he drinks and was always embarrassing Donna, his wife. Remember the Disney movie “Up!”? The reaction of the canine characters to “Squirrel!” Yea, that’s what seems to happen to guys when a pretty girl gets into view. The funny part is they think they are being subtle, but after a few times of being in the middle of a conversation with a guy and his eyes go over your shoulder to focus elsewhere even if his mouth keeps going.

Connie is a beautiful woman, eight years my senior. I have seen her in her bathing suit, and while she might not opt for bikinis nowadays, I think she would look pretty damn good in one. I, on the other hand, have never even owned one. In fact, the first time she invited me over to hit her pool, I had to go and buy a swimsuit. My long, lean body was not built for a bikini, but the high-thigh cut with the multi-slit chest panel looked pretty good on me. I was so tempted to ask her to let me apply the suntan oil, but I didn’t. Like any hormonal guy, you can imagine what I thought about later that night.