Chapter 1: The New Neighbor

When I first saw that big yellow moving van backing into the driveway, I was angry, I'll admit it. Up till three months before, and from the day I was born, my best friend Kevin had lived next door to us. Then his father got some great new promotion at work. Next thing I knew they were moving to Florida, right in the middle of the school year. When you're 13, and you lose your best friend, it's kind of like losing an arm or a leg. Especially when summer vacation rolls around, and your best friend was the one who had the pool. So the last thing I wanted to see on that sunny Sunday in June was somebody new moving into Kevin's house. It just felt wrong somehow.

"Sammy, get away from that window." This was my mom, in the kitchen making lunch. "Somebody might see you."

"So what," I said. "It's not against the law to look out a window."

She didn't have an argument for this. "Do you see anybody yet?" Apparently, she was just as curious as I was.

"No, only the moving men. No, wait --" As the moving men began to unload the truck, an expensive dark blue car pulled up to the curb -- a BMW or some such thing, but certainly not the usual four-door sedan or fancy SUV that passed for a "nice car" in our middle class suburban neighborhood. "There's somebody else."

The car door opened, and as the driver walked around and into the front yard, my jaw nearly dropped. Wow, I thought, if Kevin had to move, what a replacement! I couldn't see much from 50 feet away, but I could see enough. She was tall, about 5'10" and slim, with a wild head of firey red hair that shot off in large curls in every direction and fell halfway down her back. The skin on her arms was somewhat pale, and the sun practically gleamed off it. Her legs, which just kept on going and going, were wrapped in a tight pair of jeans that swelled healthily at the hips, and were capped off by what looked to be a pair of red heels. But it was the top part of her body that truly got my attention -- that would get the attention of any guy, much less a teenager still going through puberty. She wore a form-fitting sleeveless white tanktop... and what a form to fit. I didn't know a whole lot about bra sizes at the time, but her tits looked to be somewhere between the size of grapefruits and canteloupes -- certainly bigger than anything I'd seen to date, at least on such a slim body. As she walked, her long legs ate up the distance to the house quickly, and her tits seemed to jiggle playfully with each step.

"Well," my mom said behind me, jarring me out of some lurid thoughts. "I wonder where the rest of the family is." There was a somewhat hostile tone to my mother's voice that I wouldn't understand till years later. Clearly, for the very same reasons that I was drooling over this woman, my mother was threatened by her. After all, what right did such an Amazon goddess have moving into a neighborhood filled with average looking housewives? Not that I didn't think some of the mothers on my block were cute. Some were. And some even had okay bodies. But certainly none of them held a candle to this lady. And my mom knew it. "Get away from the window now, Sammy. Lunch is almost ready."

Reluctantly, I did as I was told. For the rest of the afternoon, though, I kept peeking out the window, hoping for another glance, but as far as I could tell, the woman kept inside. Probably telling the moving men where to put things. And for the rest of the afternoon, my mother kept looking for another car to arrive with the rest of the family... but none showed. When my father arrived home again that evening after a day of golf, Mom asked him if he knew anything about the new neighbor. He said he'd heard rumors from the Andersons down the street that it was a single divorced woman from New York City -- an artist or photographer or something -- with a daughter. He wasn't sure about the age of either the mother or the daughter. "Why?" he asked. "Did you see them?"

"Just the mother," I said. "Unless she was the daughter. She didn't look that old. But she was driving."

"I see," my father said. "Well, I'm sure we'll know more before long."

From the kitchen sink, my mother made kind of a grunting noise.

"What was that, Honey?" my dad asked.

"Nothing. She just seemed kind of... flamboyant. But I guess that figures, if she's from New York City and divorced. Not sure why she'd want to move to a little neighborhood like this, though." It was no secret to me or to anybody else that my mother had a kind of love-hate relationship going with her own home turf. In this instance, I wasn't sure if she was being protective of it -- wanting the busty redhead to leave -- or if she was voicing some kind of genuine concern that anybody who wasn't boring could never possibly fit in here.

Meanwhile, my dad, who was a psychologist, just nodded his head. "Well, I'm sure she has her reasons." With him, all opinions were valid, and nobody was ever wrong as long as they were speaking their mind. It got kind of annoying after a while, truth to tell. Sometimes, I just wanted him to tell me when I was being stupid. I could see him visibly thinking for a few seconds, then he turned to me. "Hey Sammy, I have a great idea. While your mother and I are at work tomorrow, if you're not doing anything else, maybe you could go knock on the door and say hi to our new neighbor."

I just about choked on the cupcake I was eating. "Me? Why me?"

"Well, whoever they are, you're going to be living next door to them at least until you graduate high school. You should probably know who they are, shouldn't you? Besides, maybe you could make a summer job out of it. Didn't Kevin's parents used to pay you two to clean that pool every week?"

"Yeah, but... I don't know..." My voice trailed off.

"Sammy, I've told you before not to mumble. And I thought we had a discussion about not being too shy to meet new people. Didn't we?" Boy, did we. That was an hour of my life I would never get back again. It seemed that to my father, the worst sin on earth was being shy. And unfortunately for me, I was one of the shyest people I knew -- a condition probably not helped much by the fact that I was the shortest kid in my class, and that I actually enjoyed school. Yet another reason why losing Kevin from my life was kind of hard on me that year.

"I know," I said.

"All right then, it's settled. Your mother and I will be expecting a full progress report when we get home tomorrow." Jeez, I thought. Even during summer vacation, I had homework to do. "And remember. Just say hi. Maybe ask a few questions if it seems appropriate. But don't get in the way. I'm sure they have plenty to do getting themselves moved in, so you don't want to take all day about it."

"I know."

"Okay then."

I finished my cupcake, then went up to my room, mumbling the whole way.

The next day, after my parents left for work, I dragged my feet most of the morning. As much as there was a part of me that was intrigued at the prospect of seeing that woman up close, most of me was already feeling embarassed in advance at the idea of knocking on a stranger's door just to say hello. I mean, did people really DO that except on old fifties TV shows? Sometimes, I really thought my father was a big flake. I puttered around, played some games on my computer, watched half of a movie, and actually started cleaning my room at one point -- something I never do -- until finally, around 11 in the morning, I just decided to bite the bullet and get it over with.

I examined myself in the mirror. I was wearing a pair of baggy all-purpose swim trunks and a Phillies t-shirt. Good enough, I thought. I wasn't really old enough yet to care much how I looked., and after all, these people weren't royalty or anything. I threw on a pair of sneakers, took a deep breath, and left the house. The day was a hot one for Pennsylvania -- at least 85, and a little humid. Days like this, I didn't usually leave the air conditioned house unless I had to. In the old days, I'd be swimming with Kevin... but those days were gone. I crossed both our front yard and the neighbor's front yard in less than thirty seconds, and immediately welcomed the shade of the porch.

At first, I just stood there staring at the door. My heart was racing. This was stupid. Why did I have to do this? I quickly glanced over my shoulder, to see if anybody was outside of their house, watching me look like such an idiot just standing there. Nobody. Finally, after another a deep breath, I thumbed the doorbell. I could hear it faintly through the door, a familiar sound. Ding-dong. And I waited.

But nobody answered. I glanced over my shoulder again, this time at the curbside, where the fancy blue car was definitely parked. Somebody should be home. I hit the doorbell again, this time holding it down longer. Diiinnng-dong.

But still no answer. Maybe they were still sleeping? Dammit, now what should I do? If I kept ringing, and they were home sleeping, and I woke them up, they would be pissed off at me. But if I walked away, and I still woke them up, and they saw me walking away, they'd think I was playing a prank, and still get pissed. I was really hating this.

Suddenly, just about at the point when my brain was going to explode, the door opened. It was the red-haired woman I'd seen the day before, dressed in small blue robe, her hair soaking wet, with a cellphone pressed against her ear, clearly in the middle of a heated conversation with somebody. From up close, I could see her face now, and guessed that she was in her mid-thirties. She gave me a quick apologetic smile, flashing bright green eyes at me, and mouthed the word "sorry", then waved me into the house. I made a gesture away from the door, as if to say, "It's okay, I can come back later." But she frowned, shook her head, and waved me in again, stepping away from the door a bit so that I could get past her. Reluctantly, afraid to seem rude, I did what she wanted me to and stepped inside.

The woman closed the door behind me, then while still talking on the phone -- something about getting a satellite dish installed -- she directed me into the living room. It was a jungle of boxes and misplaced furniture. She sized things up quickly, then pushed some boxes aside and made room for me to sit on the couch. She gave me another apologetic smile as I sat down, then went right on yelling at whoever it was on the other end that wasn't doing their job. From what I could gather, hearing only one side of the conversation, the dish people had called to tell her that they were backlogged, and wouldn't be able to install her dish for another week.

But to be honest, I was so distracted just watching her that I wasn't paying all that much attention to what she said. After finding me a seat, she'd begun pacing back and forth in front of the sliding glass doors of the living room whiel she spoke. As I mentioned before, she was dressed in a small blue robe, kind of shiny, like satin or silk... and when I say small, I mean small. It only went about halfway down her thighs, and for as long as her legs were, that left a LOT of leg showing. It curved lovingly over the swell of her large breasts, and I could clearly see the outline of her nipples showing through the thin material. She was barefoot, and judging from that and the wet hair, I guessed she had just been coming out of the shower when she answered the phone.

As she paced, her feet stomped a bit on the carpeted floor, and she kept running one or the other of her hands back through her hair, shaking at it, as if to get it dry. Each time she did, that and the pacing made her large tits jiggle -- up and down, side to side -- and I thought I would die from the sight. What's more, from all the moving around, her robe -- which didn't seem to be cinched all that tightly to begin with -- gradually started to slip open. At first, I thought it was just my eyes playing tricks, but no, it was definitely happening. When she'd first answered the door, there had been only the smallest "V" of skin showing below her neck. But as I watched, that "V" grew larger and larger, and the sash at her waist dipped lower and lower. I could see the freckles on her pale skin, just above her chest bone. Before long, depending on how she was moving at the moment, the two overlapping layers of the robe were barely overlapping at all, and the gap grew, until at one point, as she lowered her arm, for the barest instant I could see the entire side of her swelling left breast.

It was right around this point that I suddenly noticed I had a raging hard-on. Shit. While her back was turned, I made a quick adjustment. Thankfully, my erections at that time -- as always -- have tended to point straight up rather than straight out, which although as an adult has made certain sexual positions tricky for me, has at least always made erections relatively easy to hide when clothed. Just to make sure I wouldn't be found out, though, I bent forward, with my knees on my elbows, as if I were a baseball player sitting in the dugout, waiting for my turn at bat. And just in time too. When I lifted my head, I saw that she was looking directly at me. Piercing me with those green eyes.

"Just one more minute," she said. "They have me on hold now. I'm really sorry to keep you waiting." Her voice was almost as tremendous as the rest of her. Slightly deep, very seductive, with a subtle southern twang. I started to say it was okay, but her attention switched to the person on the other line again. "Yes. Tomorrow at one? That's fine. I'll be expecting them. Thank you." And with a final beep, the call was over.

She stood motionless for a moment, inhaled deeply, her breasts jutting out and pushing against the robe more than ever, then let it all out in one big burst. "God!" she said. "I hate dealing with people like that." She placed the cellphone on top of a tall pile of boxes, then turned to me again and smiled. "I am reeeally sorry, darlin'. I no sooner got out of the shower than the phone rang, then the doorbell... it serves me right for sleeping in when there's so much to do." As she crossed the room and stood in front of me, offering her hand to shake, it was as if I was watching her in slow motion. Apparently, the deep breath she had taken at the end of the phone call did more than vent her frustrations. The sash of her robe was now officially holding almost nothing together from the waist up. A huge valley of cleavage stared out at me from between the folds of the blue material, and although a voice inside my head told me not to look, I couldn't resist. I let my eyes take in the sight for a second, then two, then lifted them up to her face where they should be.

But it was too late. She'd caught the glance, and looked down at herself.

"Oh... yikes," she said, and lowered her hand before I could shake it, then pulled the robe closed and tightened the sash. My face turned an instant boiling shade of red, and I thought for sure that I was in deep trouble. "This damn thing," she said. "It's not one I normally wear. The material's all slippery and the sash never holds. It was all I could find at the top of a box when the doorbell rang." Again, she raised her hand in my direction, smiling. I noticed that her long, well-manicured nails were painted a bright red.

Wow. That was it? She was blaming it all on the robe? Well, I certainly wasn't going to argue with her. "It's okay," I said, standing, hoping my bulge didn't show, and shook her hand. Her grip was firm, and her nails brushed gently against my palm as she pulled it away. "Nice to meet you," I told her, my voice a bit weak.

She laughed. "Likewise," she said. "But I'm not really sure we've met yet."

I was confused at first, no doubt because most of the blood that used to be in my brain was now in my groin. "Oh," I said. "Right. My name is Sam. Sammy. I live next door."

"Ohhh. The welcome wagon. Well, Sammy, my name is Bethany. Nice to meet you. Why don't you have a seat again, and let me go upstairs and put something less comfortable on."

"That's okay," I said. "I can just go. You're busy."

"No, no. Sit. You're my first guest, and here I've been a lousy host so far." She started toward the stairs. "I'll just be five minutes. There's a few sodas in the fridge. Help yourself if you're thirsty."

"Okay." Of course, I knew where the kitchen was, having been in the house a million times before. And as I grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, I could hear her heavy footsteps above me, and could easily picture the rooms she was walking in and out of. Bathroom. Hallway. Bedroom. Hallway again. Bathroom again. At some point, I knew she must have taken the robe off, if she was changing into something else. Which meant she was naked.

My hard-on had flagged a bit in the past few minutes, but at this thought, it leapt up again. Standing in the kitchen, where I knew I'd hear her coming long before she got there, I put my soda down, reached into my shorts, and slowly touched myself. It felt good, but I wished there were a bottle of hand lotion nearby. If there was, I knew I probably could have cum in thirty seconds or less, and been almost soft by the time she got downstairs. As it was, all I think I succeeded in doing was teasing myself even more.

Twenty minutes later, sitting on the couch again, I realized that I could have easily run over to my house, jerked off in my room, and still been back in time. Many years later, I would learn from dealing with various girlfriends that "five minutes" to a woman getting changed is half an hour to the rest of the world. During ten minutes of that time, I heard the hair dryer, and judging from the length of her hair, thought I might be sitting there all day. Not long afterwards, though, her footsteps grew much louder, as if she'd put shoes on, and I could hear her on the stairs.

Then she appeared. The extra time spent, I decided, had been well worth it.

She emerged around the corner into the living room like a force of nature. Her hair, while not completely dry, had much more body to it now, much closer to what it had looked like the day before. She'd also found time to put on a bit of dark eye liner, as well as some bright red lipstick that perfectly matched the color of her nails. Her top... well, it was almost unfair to even call it that -- it was a pink stretchy tube top that started just below her armpits and stopped a few inches above her belly button. Basically, it was the minimum amount of material required to cover her enormous breasts. And she'd clearly been doing her situps or crunches or something, because what a tight little belly! I could have looked at that pink top all day, but didn't want to press my luck, so my eyes continued downward to a pair of relatively modest jeans shorts, which hugged her wide (but not too wide) hips nicely, and extended almost to her knees, where the cuffs had been rolled. These shorts looked very casual, like something worn for gardening, but the three-inch pink heels she wore -- which I only saw after trailing my eyes down her long, long, shapely legs -- looked a different kind of casual altogether. Certainly NOT gardening footwear. Maybe "sipping margueritas on a yacht" footwear. They must have pushed her height to over six feet, over a foot taller than me. But I wasn't complaining.

"Ta-daaa!" she said, smiling and stretching her arms in a wide flourish. "Is this better?" Obviously, she was the theatrical type. Eager to play along, I did the first thing that came to mind. I started clapping. She laughed, then took a bow, and started blowing kisses. "Thank you. Thank you. You're much too kind. Really."

Still giggling, she crossed the room, and seemed to be trying to figure out where to sit. There was a chair, but it currently had some stereo components stacked on it. In the end, the only real workable solution was to push some more boxes aside and sit next to me on the couch, although the fit was a bit tight. When she sat down, her leg was pushed right against mine, and all I could think was that she was now dangerously close to realizing that I had a boner. "Um," I said, thinking fast. "I could put some of those boxes on the floor if you want. Make more space."

"Oh, don't bother," she said. "We're getting to know each other, right?" With this, she patted my knee, and must have seen the instant blush it brought to my face. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "You have to excuse me. I'm kind of a touchy feely person. It's just the way I was raised. My parents were very affectionate." This close now, I could smell her very strong and very sweet perfume.

"It's okay," I said, wishing I could lean forward on my knees again to hide my lap, but knowing it wouldn't make any sense if she was sitting next to me."

"You looked uncomfortable." Her expression was one of concern.

"No, it's just... my dad says I can be too shy sometimes. He's a psychologist."

"Ohhh, I see. Well. You just let me know if I'm invading your 'personal space'." She smiled, to show that it was meant to be funny. Having a father who was a shrink, I got the joke.

"It's okay," I said. "Really."

"Good." She patted my knee again, letting it linger a few seconds this time before pulling it away. "So tell me, Sammy. What would you normally be doing if you weren't here playing welcome wagon?" Immediately, the words "jerking off" jumped into my head, but I didn't speak them. It was true, though. So far this summer, my primary pasttime when my parents were off at work had been masturbating. I'd recently figured out the password that my father had put in place to keep me away from porn on the Web, and I'd been having a grand old time seeking out photos of women with big tits, and jerking off over and over, sometimes three or four times a day. I assumed I would eventually get bored of it, but so far, not yet. Certainly, though, I couldn't tell my neighbor Bethany that.

"I, um... stuff. Play on my computer. Read books."

"Do you know a lot about computers?" she asked.

"I guess so. I hooked up ours at home."

"Really? You're just the person I need then. Do you think you could help me with mine?"