The document presented here was found by someone who asked to remain anonymous. I never met him (or her). I received it just the way it is in my mail one morning. I suspect the sender was a woman because there was a handwritten note enclosed, asking me to publish the story, even incomplete.

The nature of the lack of an ending indicates the writer had more to say. It did leave the other shoe undropped. As it is, the story is compelling to read. If there are pages missing they don't detract from the ones I have.

I stood in the flickering glare of the flames and kept my garden hose aimed at the side of our house. The firemen had been working and I could feel that the level of heat had dropped considerably.

By the time the Fire Department declared the blaze extinguished, I'd long since turned off the hose and backed away to cool down. We'd find out later that the fire had started because of some old faulty aluminum wiring in the basement. But that night we just stood and watched.

My wife had grabbed her spare robe and draped it around Samantha's shoulders. She's our neighbor, who that night, had become homeless. Of course she had insurance, but for the time being she had lost everything. She's also my wife's best friend. We met her the first week she moved in next door.

I was planning down a warped door when she entered my field of vision. I was working in the garage and had the door open for the ventilation. I glanced up and reached to strip off my safety goggles to get a better look. She appeared to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties. I'm a terrible judge of people's ages, especially since I have gotten older. I was fifty three then.

Her dark brown hair was cut short and her eyes were a pale blue. Samantha smiled and I put the plane down and walked to where she stood just outside the wide doorway. "Hi," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Samantha DeCourt. I just moved in next door."

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood," I said, taking the offered hand. "Bill Moore. Come on in and meet my wife, Sandy." I turned toward the back of the garage and she followed me into the kitchen. Sandy was nowhere in sight, so I called out to her. "Honey? We have company!" I wanted to warn her, in case she was 'indecently clad'.

I didn't hear any answer, so I offered Samantha something to drink. A few minutes later she sat in one of the living room chairs while I went in search of Sandy. She was in our room at the end of the hall. She hadn't heard me because she had her eyes closed and a pair of earphones on (listening to her oldies mix CD).

She jumped when I tapped her shoulder. "What?" She always gets pissed off when I startle her. In that case, however, there had been no alternative.

"Our new neighbor is sitting in the living room. Her name's Samantha. Come meet her." Sandy is younger than I am. We would learn that she was closer to Samantha's age than mine, in fact. She could still be described as fairly slender, but in the last few years she's stopped worrying so much about her figure. I convinced her that a few extra pounds aren't the end of the world. In fact, I had told her, I'd prefer a little bit more meat on her bones. The best thing about her putting on a little more weight is the way her ass looks when she walks. Her cheeks have gotten rounded and they slide up and down against each other very prettily. After all the introductions were made, I excused myself and went back to my chore.

Anyway, since that day Sandy and Sam had been friends. They go most places together on weekends when they're both free. Sometimes they include me, if they're going to a movie or out to lunch. I go along once in a while — if the movie isn't a chick flick. Most times I stay out of their friendship because they seem to forget I'm there a lot.

Then, that spring night three years later, we stood together in shock as Sam's home burned to the ground. Well of course she stayed with us. Of course there were a few awkward moments when we first began living together. Normally when it was just Sandy and me in the house it wasn't unusual for me to lounge around naked. I find nudism sensual and natural. When Sam moved in, those days were over for a while. Instead I might wear shorts and a tee shirt.

For their part, the girls mostly wore robes when they got undressed for the evening if they weren't going straight to bed. But while Sam waited to hear from the insurance company and tended to all the details of the disaster, the weather was warming up. By the middle of May — two weeks after the fire — Sandy's thick terry cloth spare robe was too warm for Sam. So far she had only replaced the necessary items of clothing she'd lost, and a robe wasn't on top of the list. For that matter, Sandy started wearing her panties under a long nightshirt that fell about mid-thigh. After the first night Sam saw that, she went shopping and came out in a similar outfit, except that her nightshirt was a few inches shorter.

Anyway, one morning I emerged from the bedroom and ran into Sam — almost literally -- just out of the shower, her hair damp and wrapped in a towel. She had a towel wrapped under her arms, too, and tucked into the overlap under one arm. I could smell the soap and shampoo aromas as we passed. One night, she came to our bedroom to talk to Sandy (who was reading in bed) about something when I was in the shower. I don't close the bathroom door when I shower so I nearly flashed Sam the full Monty when I got out (I wondered at the time why Sandy hadn't closed the door or at least warned me). Fortunately, Sam's voice was the first one I heard when I turned the water off so I gave the door a shove. It didn't close but it gave me room to get out of the shower.

I dried off and wrapped the towel around my waist. When I came out, I would have sworn Sam's eyes went to my groin for a second before she looked up. "Okay, I'll get out of here," she said, standing from where she'd been sitting on my side of the bed.

"Don't rush off on my account," I told her. "Just look the other way while I climb into bed."

"No, we were done anyway." Was there an edge in Sandy's voice? I wasn't sure. To Sam, she said, "Okay, we can go to the cleaners on the way to the garage sales tomorrow."

They hugged each other good night and Sam left. I spread the towel over the back of a chair and slipped under the sheets next to Sandy. I tried to snuggle up to her but she was stiff. "Okay," I said with a sigh. I took my hands off her and slid back. "What did I do now?"

"Oh, please! Are you having little fantasies about Sam?"

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?" Okay. Right here, let me admit that I HAD been having some 'little fantasies' about our roomie. I'll also go on record that sex between Sandy and I had started getting better after I did. It wasn't that I was pretending I was fucking Sam instead of Sandy. My favorite one was that all three of us were in bed together. So, if I did sometimes imagine I was fucking Sam, Sandy was sitting (or lying) there enjoying the show — or participating in some fashion.

"Well, you flashed us when you got out of the shower." She was sitting against the headboard with her arms crossed under her breasts. Body language told me I was in trouble, but I thought I could defuse the situation.

"When I heard her voice I shoved the door almost closed."

"Why didn't you just close it?"

"There was a towel — yours — on the floor and moving it would have exposed me anyway. You couldn't see me anyway."

Sandy held the pretense for a couple of seconds longer. Then she dissolved in peals of laughter. I stood there puzzled. Once she recovered enough, she explained. "Well, maybe you couldn't see us and we couldn't look straight at you, but..." She tipped her head and raised a brow. She wanted me to figure it out. My head turned to the bathroom doorway.

Then it hit me. "The mirror! The fucking mirror!" My face felt suddenly hot. I slid under the sheet. "Oh well, I'm sure I'm not the first naked man she's seen." In a way, I was glad it had happened. Then Sandy's next words made me really glad it had happened.

"Sam said to tell you, 'Nice ass.' I agreed with her of course." Sandy rolled against me, her hand slipping down to caress my dick as we kissed. "Actually, what I told her was, 'If you like his ass, just wait until he turns around.' But you had the towel in the way so she didn't get to see this." She squeezed my newly erect cock as she said the last. Our conversation seemed too good to be true. I suddenly began to think my fantasy might come true. But I knew I had to be circumspect about it.

"Oh really? Did you want her to see it?" My hands were finding their way around Sandy's curvy body and I was moving into a position that would give me access to the first things I wanted to lick: her tits and nipples.

"Well... you know... we talk. Since her divorce she's only been to bed with three guys." Sam had been divorced for a year then.

"There have been only three guys in... what is it, four years?"

Sandy laughed. "Four years, seven months, and sixteen days, according to her. The last guy was over a year ago."

"Wow! She must spend a fortune on batteries," I joked. Sandy giggled. After that we didn't talk because we got a little busy. About an hour later I spooned against her round butt, my gooey cock slipping into her sweaty ass crack, and I filled my hands with her tits. I kissed the back of her neck. "So, you didn't answer my question a while ago. Did you want her to see my dick?"

"Oh, you remembered that. I was hoping you had forgotten." She waited but when I didn't reply, she sighed. "Okay, well, like I said, we talk about everything. I've told her how you are in bed. I told her your cock was too big for me to get all the way into my mouth. So... yeah, I guess I did want to show you off, if the situation wasn't too crude. We were just a couple of voyeurs for a minute there. You weren't hard anyway."

I thought about that. "What do you mean, if the situation wasn't too crude?"

"Well, say if we she and I sitting in the kitchen and you came in. If I called you over and had you drop your drawers to show her your cock, that would be crude." I snorted at that.

"Well, that sounds like something you'd do all right." I hesitated, careful what I said. "Actually, it's getting warm enough to go naked around the house again. That's one way you could 'show me off' to her." I was treading on shaky ground, but Sandy did seem to be open to... something. I just had to find out what was on her mind.

"Hmm... Well, it is our house. But I doubt she'd be comfortable with that. I don't think I'd want your cock dangling around like a worm in front of a hungry fish. And, believe me, Sam's a hungry fish."

"After not getting laid for over a year, I'd guess she is." I spent a few minutes nuzzling Sandy's neck while she made appreciative noises. Then I stopped fencing. "Look, honey, what do you really want? I know you well enough to see that there's something buzzing in your head." She was lying on her back by then and I had my head propped on my hand. Her expression went through a few changes as I looked down at her. The only light came from the bathroom. It was dim, but there was enough light to show me her cheeks had colored.

"Oh, fuck it!" Sandy said in a frustrated voice. She sat up again and moved a little farther from me. She crossed her arms again, only this time she was naked. The move raised her tits so that her nipples were 'looking' right at me. I almost laughed, but I knew better. She looked away and stayed silent through three long breaths. I was just about to prod her again when she started talking.

"I hate this. I've hated it from the start, but I was too embarrassed to tell you. Sam told me I should have, but I thought I knew better. But it's been eating at me since the start." She stopped. I knew this was something big but she'd told me nothing about what 'this' was. I opened my mouth but she beat me to it.

"First, what I said earlier? About you having fantasies about Sam? Just so you know, I'd be surprised if you haven't been thinking about what it might be like to fuck her. You're a healthy male and she's an attractive female." That took a load off my mind. It's always been my opinion that fantasies are healthy and normal. It's just acting on them that sometimes brings the trouble.

"So, go ahead," I urged. That isn't all that's on your mind. That was only logical." She turned her head to me and it looked like she was about to cry.

"I've been unfaithful to you, Ben," she said. I felt like somebody had grabbed my heart and was squeezing it tighter and tighter.

It felt like I was filled with crushed ice suddenly. I actually shivered. I sat up then and squared away toward Sandy.

"Tell me," was all I said. My voice was hoarse because my throat had closed up some.

"It isn't quite true that Sam hasn't been laid in over a year. All I said was that it had been that long since she'd been with a man." Sandy looked into my eyes. I felt a shiver up my back. Surely she wasn't about to admit... then she went on. "It happened the first time ['the first time', my mind screamed] about a week after the fire. Sam and I had just come from shopping — she had to buy all new clothes, remember — and I'd picked up a few things too. We'd had a great afternoon and I think it was the first time she had laughed since losing everything.

"We'd had a couple of drinks with lunch so we were feeling pretty loose. We just brought everything in here and started trying things on." She paused again, but went on after a breath. "Sam bought a bikini. She stripped down right there at the foot of the bed and started putting the top on. I thought it funny that she didn't put the bottoms on first, but that wasn't what caught my attention." She coughed then and kept coughing. She waved her hand as she jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom to get a drink.

A minute later she was back. "Okay, so there she is bottomless in our bedroom," I said. My cock was enjoying the story so far because I was letting my Hope balloon rise. So far there had been no mention of another man.

"Yeah. As I said, her choice of order to put her suit on wasn't what caught my eye. It was her completely hairless crotch." She looked at me and waited. I know my eyes widened but I tried to control my visible reactions. It was a significant subject because I'd always wanted Sandy to shave her pussy. She had always refused. I made a gesture Sandy is familiar with. I used my head and hands to say, 'Go on.' I was practically drooling. My cock was trapped beneath my thigh, which was a good thing at the time, even though it was kind of uncomfortable. I didn't want her to know I was so turned on.

"That was something that had never come up in conversation between Sam and me," she said. "But with it right there in front of me, how could I not comment? I asked her how long she had been hairless. She said she'd started shaving when she was on the swim team in college. Did you know that the whole swim team shaved their entire bodies? Even the guys!"

"Actually, I think I read that somewhere. It supposedly cuts down on resistance. I think they just like it." The main reason I wanted Sandy to shave was because I'd experienced hairless sex when I was younger. I talked a girlfriend into shaving in exchange of a promise that I'd shave too. We agreed that we felt about as kinky as we'd ever felt and then we jumped into bed. After a half hour of rubbing our tender razor rashes together we quit. But we stayed shaved for a while. After our skin got used to the lack of hair, the tenderness and rash went away. Hairless sex is incredible.

"I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She noticed, naturally, and she came around the bed so I could get a better view. I couldn't help but think about the way I looked when I was young. It's exactly the way she looked — like she was ten years old, except her labia are pretty large." She stopped long enough that I had to ask her to go on.

"Well, shit. What do you think happened next? What did I say at the start?" Her voice had risen. I thought (hoped?) I knew what happened next, but I wanted to hear her say it.

"You said you'd been unfaithful. But you haven't mentioned another man."

"Yeah, and, 'Well, duh!' Use your fucking head, Ben!" I couldn't stop the smile from forming on my lips. My somewhat conservative wife was confessing to having a lesbian affair! Not only that, but it seemed like she might be willing to draw me into it with her!

"So you're telling me that you were unfaithful to me... with Sam?" She just nodded. Then she did cry, wetly apologizing between sniffles. Her shoulders slumped and she sobbed. I grabbed a handful of tissues and hurried to take her into a loving embrace. She dabbed at her eyes and honked her nose into the tissues — producing a sound not unlike a Canada goose — which made us both laugh and lessened the tension.

"Honey," I began, "I don't think... I mean I don't feel that... whatever you did with Sam could be considered 'being unfaithful'. That's my opinion, anyway. I don't mind when you masturbate." She blushed. She's always embarrassed if I know she's masturbating because she's very loud when she climaxes. "As far as I'm concerned, you having sex with Sam is a form of masturbation. I guess it's programmed into men that the only real threat should be another penis — if even that should be threatening."

I waited until she had absorbed what I said and collected herself. One last honk and she tossed the soggy tissues into the wastebasket. "I'd like to hear the rest, though," I said hopefully. Her reddened eyes crinkled into a smile and her hand captured my erection. She chuckled at how hard she'd made it.

"I know. It's every man's favorite fantasy, two women together. But you guys don't feel the same way about the idea of two guys together."

"You're right about that." I grabbed her wrist and added, "But go on. Don't jerk me off — at least not yet." She released me and sat up, crossing her legs. My eyes went to her open crotch and I saw how shiny and wet she was. As she talked, relating the entire initial incident to me, she warmed up to the subject. Once she knew I wasn't upset, she wanted to share it all with me. I got the impression that she was proud of what she and Sam had been up to. The only problem for her had been the fear of my reaction to her lesbian adventures.

"Well, she could see my fascination. 'You can touch it if you want, ' she said in a kind of quiet voice. I looked up at her (I'd collapsed on the bed when she stripped) and into her eyes. I saw... well, we've been really close for a few years. I'm embarrassed to say it, but to be honest I have to say that I saw love there. Maybe it was just desire — a need for warm human contact. I can't tell you how much I wanted to touch her, either." Again she was embarrassed. Her cheeks glowed in the dim light again.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, and... ?" She laughed and pulled me down on the bed, arranging herself next to me. I felt her breath on my neck as she continued. Our hands started traveling over each other again.

"Okay, so I reached my hand out and touched it. God, Ben, it was so smooth and soft! It felt like silk -- very warm silk. I sort of slid my hand around for a second. Then I noticed something else. I could smell her. I was wearing pants — the green ones I bought — so I knew it wasn't me. My hand on Sam's pussy mound was exciting her! That excited me. I know, I know, I've always told you I wasn't 'that way', but I found out that day that I am — at least sometimes." She was quick to assure me that she still enjoyed the hell out of our sex; it was just that Sam seemed to satisfy something different inside her. It was her opinion that it was something that women share that men don't know how to reach.

"When her scent hit my nose it was like I was empowered. I felt like I was in control. This is so embarrassing, telling you."

"You can't stop there, Sandy." I took her hand and she readily let me place it on my cock. "Jerk me off while you tell me."