Chapter 1: She Drives Me Crazy

Her name wasn't Mrs. Robinson, and her husband wasn't away at war. But she was my neighbor, she was hot and what we did changed my life forever. I wouldn't condone doing what she did today, but for me at fifteen -- I was fine with it.

We were new to the neighborhood. We'd moved from Charlotte, North Carolina to suburban Cleveland as soon as school was out. Dad had closed on the place earlier in the year, and sold our house to someone moving down south for the weather. They weren't so lucky when Hugo ran through Charlotte, and left them without power or water for weeks. We even got rain up in Cleveland.

But that was in September, after my most amazing summer, the Summer of 89.

The trip from Charlotte had been long. I rode with Dad in a huge panel van which pulled his Ford Escort. Mom and Amy followed us in the station wagon. We'd stopped just after crossing into Ohio and spent the night. We woke up early and pulled out with first light. It was almost lunch time when we pulled into our home in Euclid, Ohio.

As the truck pulled up into our driveway I saw her. She was leaning over gardening, and wearing the tightest pair of short shorts I think I'd ever seen in my fifteen years. Her legs were long and tanned and her ass round and nearly exploding out of her shorts. I could see every detail and things were getting very uncomfortable and potentially embarrassing in my pants. That's when she turned around.

Somehow, either by artifice or good fortune, she turned so that her blouse hung open and I could see right down it. Her breasts hung down full and milk-white and pendulous. Not that I knew any of those words then. I just saw ass and legs, and an eye full of titties, and I was hard and I'm sure my mouth was agape. She saw me, smiled, and I felt my cheeks burn. She waved at us, and I tore my eyes away.

Dad tapped me on the back of my head. "Close your mouth," he said. "She's good to look at but don't stare."

"Okay, Dad," I said. "Sorry."

"It's normal," he said. "Just be a gentleman. And remember that I told you Ohio would be cool."

I laughed, and we went outside. The woman had gone up to the car my Mom and Amy were in, and was talking to them as they got out. They walked our way and I tried to not stare, but her tits were just so nice. I think she noticed my hard on too, which didn't help much. Mom came up and introduced us. "Janet, this is my husband Sam, and our son Brian. Boys, this is Mrs. Cooke."

"Hi, ma'am," I said.

"Hello, Janet," Dad said, holding out his hand. "Good day for gardening?" he asked.

"Just doing some weeding," Janet said. "Welcome to the neighborhood. We wondered when you were moving in."

"Brian," Mom said. "You should offer Mrs. Cooke some help. He's started a yard business for the summer. I'm afraid our move lost him all his customers."

Janet laughed. "Well, my husband does most of that. But perhaps you can come over and we can talk about your rates?"

Her eyes looked me up and down and lingered for a moment on my erection. I blushed before answering her. "S-sure," I said.

"For now, though," Dad said. "We really need to get some things unpacked. Get the beds set up and the kitchenware out of the car."

"Of course," she said, waved at all of us. "Again, welcome to the neighborhood." She went back to her weeding and I tried to ignore her.

Moving is the worst, really. It's so much work and it all has to be done right then. I still hate it, although I hire people to do the heavy lifting now. We emptied out the car, and Mom and Amy took off to get us all some lunch. While we waited on them, we got Dad's car off the trailer and opened up the truck.

About then, they got back with lunch, and we took a short break as we ate. Then Dad and I were back to unloading the truck while Mom and Amy unpacked the kitchen and worked inside. I might have begrudged Amy the hard job, but she was only twelve then, and I was happy to show off my muscles to Mrs. Cooke. Testosterone really gets the manly jobs done. I didn't even notice when she stopped weeding, or that she'd even left. Fifteen and testosterone is also the recipe for stupid.

It was about four when Dad and I had the truck unloaded. My arms were like spaghetti and my legs ached as we moved. We still hadn't gotten the beds put together, but they were stacked in our various rooms. Dad wanted to get to that, but I was going to beg him to do it tomorrow.

I was thinking about how to approach him, as we closed up the truck. He was going to take it back, and mom was going to follow in her car. That's when Mrs. Cooke pulled into the driveway and waved at us. She went around to the back of her car, and opened up the trunk. I watched as she leaned over and pulled a bag of groceries out.

"Go help her, Brian," Dad said.

"I don't think I can carry anything else," I said.

"It's just a few more things, and be neighborly," he said. I could tell I was getting nowhere. "When you're done, go help your sister order pizza, and we'll eat when your Mom and I get back."

"Yes, sir," I said. I walked over to Mrs. Cooke, and said, "Let me help you with that."

"Thanks," she said.

I grabbed up the rest of the groceries, and lifted them up. She shut the trunk of her car, and let me to the side door of her house. She opened it up. "We rarely lock our door," she said. "It's a good neighborhood." She stepped on inside, and motioned for me to go inside.

The door opened up into her kitchen, which was bright, and decorated in a homey way, with apples and country decorations. I set the groceries down on the counter. "There you go, ma'am," I said.

Chapter 2 »