My Neighbor Ch. 1

Hi! My name is Melanie James. I'm thirty eight years old. My husband, Dr. Alvin James M.D., is fifty five, We have been married for eighteen years now. This my first marriage, his second. We live with our sixteen year old daughter, Samantha, in a comfortable two story colonial house on the edge of a small Ohio Town. From his first marriage, Alvin also has a twenty five year old daughter, Dotty, who is married to a local Realtor and lives nearby.

My husband earns a good living as the head of the pathology department at a local hospital. I am a full time housewife. Although I have one child, and I'm in my late thirties, I am still a very attractive woman. I watch my weight, try to eat right, and work out regularly at a local gym. I am tall with a good figure, and a damn sexy set of tits and legs, even if I do say so myself.

To all appearances Alvin and I are happily married. I suppose that is generally true although our sex life has been something of a failure. Our sex problems are more my fault than Alvin's. As you will learn from this story, my sexual needs are somewhat extreme. I am turned on only by a strong man with a big penis who demands that I submit to him in sexual servitude. Unfortunately, my dear sweet husband is neither temperamentally nor physically equipped to fill that role. Still, except for my somewhat unique sexual quirks, Alvin and I are otherwise compatible, and our marriage has been pleasant and loving even if not passionate.

Our home is the next to the last house at the end of a dead end street. Behind all the houses on our side of that street is a wall of giant trees and heavy brush that marks the boundary of a state nature park. My neighbor to the north is a two story ultra modern design built just last year at the very end of our cul de sac. From the street, the house very private. The front and side walls have only a few windows, and those are small and up high. On the back side, however, the walls both upstairs and downstairs are single sheets of glass from ceiling to floor. These huge picture windows frame the panorama of the park forest and a lovely back yard patio and heated swimming pool. Of course the opposite is also true, and the view from outside looking in is just as open.

On two sides, however, the my neighbor's patio is shielded from prying eyes by the wild woods of the state park. On my side an eight foot high hedge along the property line insures privacy at street level. I suppose the architect thought a tall hedge like that would be enough, but he apparently failed to consider that my home sits farther back on its lot than the house he was designing. As a result the windows of my sewing room on the north west corner of my second story not only look out across my neighbor's swimming pool and patio, they also peer almost directly into the second floor master bedroom. I can see and hear everything that goes on in the pool and patio. I can't hear conversation from inside the bedroom of course, but if the drapes are left open, I have a front row view of whatever goes on there.

The first people to live in this new home were sensitive about their privacy. They didn't use the pool much, and always wore bathing suits when they did. Curtains and drapes were pretty much always kept closed across the glass fishbowl of that rear wall. Staying buttoned up like that closed off the view of the back yard and park that the architect had in mind, but it did protect them from Peeping Toms. I think the architect would have done the same if he had lived there.

We now have an new neighbor living there, however, one Peter J. Carr. Mr. Carr is handsome man, forty to forty five years old with a full head of very dark hair just beginning to gray a little, a nicely trimmed mustache (also with just a touch of gray), and icy blue eyes. This fall he will begin his first full year as the football coach and history teacher at the local high school, where he is already at work with one class a day during summer school.

How he can afford such an expensive home on a teachers salary is a mystery. The rumor is that his wife died leaving him a fortune and now he coaches and teaches just for the fun of it. That may all be just gossip, but Mr. Carr is apparently unmarried and he does live like a man of means. All that is certain about him, however, is that at six foot two, athletically trim and hard muscled, he is devilishly attractive, charming, and (I am told) a marvelous dancer. He is certainly has the attention of every unmarried woman in town between eighteen and eighty (and more than a few of those who are married).

I too feel his charm whenever I talk to him, not to mention the germ of a dirty thought or two. I am unusually susceptible to strong dominating men because of the way I was raised and a traumatic sexual experience as a teen. I will tell you more about that as my story goes on, but for now it is sufficient to say that in the presence of a powerful self assured male like Mr. Carr I am strung as tight as a violin string. Tortured by my sexual demons, and always self conscious about my weakness, I try to stay far away from men like Mr. Carr who may tempt me to do something I might regret.

A good looking stud right next door, however, is pretty hard to avoid. In Mr. Carr's case this seemed especially true. Chance meetings when he needed to borrow a cup of sugar, a shovel, or whatever, seemed to come up with suspicious regularity.

I am on a razor's edge every time I must talk to him. To be such a weakling before a total stranger is simply ridiculous, but I can't help it. Its just the way I am. From the first day I could feel this man's deep cold blue eyes peering right into my soul. It shook me to think he was somehow reading all my horny thoughts, and the longer we talked, the more panicky and flustered I became. Most embarrassing of all, even as we stood there just talking I could feel myself growing damp between my legs. It was pretty awful. I could see Peter's nostrils flaring as if he was trying to catch my scent. I seems crazy, but I'm quite sure the man could smell me going into heat.

Much the same thing happened every time our paths crossed. He seemed to be innocuously, but persistently, testing my erotic response, searching for the slut in me. He would hold our handshake a little too long. He would brush up against me when there was really no reason to do so. If I was in shorts, he would find a way for his hand to rub up against my bare thigh..., all apparently by accident, and quite innocently you understand. Once he came up behind me and put his face and nose right into my hair. I could hear him sniffing deeply, obviously enjoying the sent he found there. There is nothing more erotic to a woman than for a marauding male to examine her close up with his nose. When he told me how sweet and female I smelled, my knees buckled, and it was all I could do to keep myself from gushing all over him.

One day he asked me directly if I could see into his bedroom from my upstairs windows. It wasn't necessary for him to ask that. He knew that I could. Why didn't he just shut his curtains and let things go at that? Then he told me, quite unnecessarily, that he sleeps in the nude, and often goes around his house that way. If all that wasn't enough, he grinned at me and told me not to look when he was swimming in his pool. He said that he almost always swam "bare butt".

Damn him anyway! Why did he have to tell me all that? Was he testing me to see if I was a voyeur ready to spy on him? Worse yet, was he inviting me to watch as he paraded his naked masculinity?

Anyway, on a hot day in July shortly after that little talk, I glanced out my sewing room window, and there he was, just as he said he would be, sunbathing in the nude by his swimming pool. Even as sensitive as I am to such things, I think I could have handled my emotions had what I saw been merely a forty five year old man without clothes. Mr. Carr was not, however, merely nude. Hardly! Peter J. Carr has the hard sculptured body of a classic Greek statue..., and oh yes, lest I forget to mention it..., he is also hung like a horse. A man built like that, with a bull's cock to match, is never merely undressed, no, he can only be naked..., sexually enticing, sensuously stimulatingly..., NAKED.

I recalled how Peter had dropped his hint that he often went around nude like this. "Damn him," I thought, "somehow he knows how vulnerable I am. He is down there showing me his prick on purpose."

It was my bad luck that my first boyfriend had a penis like that. I know from that bitter experience how a male so generously endowed between his legs can turn a proper but horny female into an absolute slut. I became so addicted to my young lover's woman killing penis that I was willing to do anything and everything he demanded just to have him keep on sticking me with the damn thing. I suspect that such may be case for almost any woman once she has experienced a cunt filled to overflowing with ten inches and more of throbbing male hard-on.

So, with my first look a Pete Carr's dick, I knew I was in trouble. Still I could not bring myself to leave my window. I just stood there gawking, unable to take my eyes off of him..., or more honestly said..., OFF OF IT. While I watched he took a quick dip in the pool. Finished with his swim, he threw a foot up on the pool deck and started to pull himself out of the water. Half way through, however, he paused, frozen there with one leg on the deck, and the other still dangling in the water. The muscles along his abdomen and thighs tightened with strain, and between those spread legs his long male member bobbed and swayed..., beckoning to me I thought.

Strange that he should hesitate like that. Was he posing..., showing off..., letting me admire his muscular body and his donkey dick? I suspect so but who could say for certain? What I do know is that I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. I could not resist sliding a hand under my dress and panties to stroke my clit with a finger tip.

As I sat there masturbating at he sight of all that masculine meat hanging between a pair of strong male legs, my memory went spinning back to the time when I was being regularly used and abused by a cock just like that. I couldn't let that happen again, but what was I to do? This devil with a big prick must have known that sooner or later I would see him..., and IT. Damn him, he was showing off for my benefit, playing with my head.., and I.., God help me..., I have such little strength to stand up to the temptation of a really big dick.

I blame my parents for the way I am. They belonged to a Christian evangelical sect that held to a very narrow definition of morality. As I was growing up my father was particularly strict with me about any thing he thought might be 'sinful'..., and to him, that was just about everything a young girl might do. I could have been a popular girl in high school if it hadn't been for my father. I was pretty enough, blond, blue eyed, with long shapely legs, and a set of perfect breasts. I always wore a bra because my father insisted, but I really didn't need one despite my 36 C cup size.

I could tell by the way boys looked at me that I attracted them, but my father never allowed me to date or to have any social life at all. Not only was I prohibited from attending school dances and parties, I couldn't be a cheerleader, or even go to the football or basketball games like the other kids. I went to church on Wednesday nights and Sunday morning and evening, but that was about it, and I must not fool around with any boys while there or on the way home.

My father talked about sin all the time, and he when spoke of the Devil, it was as if he knew him personally. I never told dad, but I would have gladly fucked his evil old Lucifer if only I could just have a boyfriend of my own. As things turned out, that's pretty much what happened too, because the prick that took my cherry was surely attached to Satan himself.

I graduated from high school at sixteen, and my father shipped me off to an expensive women's college buried in a backwater of the bible belt south. The school was run by our church so daddy thought my virginity would be safe there. He was wrong. Less than fifteen miles away was a large State University just full of horny boys.

The rules of our school were as near to those of a convent as non-Catholics can get, but no amount of rules, deans and house mothers, are a match for the raging hormones of teenage girls. My dorm roommate was a senior. She and her upperclassmen friends had long since learned how to sneak past the curfews and bed checks and into the arms of the guys from State College.., and I suspect into their beds too, although all my friends were real discrete on that subject.

At first I was too shy and repressed to make a break for freedom, but I was watching and trying to learn from my more worldly new friends. Most of them had parents with religious convictions much like mine. They knew how frustrated I was, and they were more than willing to help a poor repressed and confused freshman. Halfway through that first year, my roommate set me up with a blind date with Eddie 'Country' Farmer a well known football player from State College.

Eddie was every teenage girl's dream. An All-American, his name was in the newspaper all the time. A senior almost six years older than I was, he was as handsome as a movie star, and very popular..., at least he was with a little clique of hangers on that followed him around telling him what a great guy he was. They all said Eddie was sure to be a 'first round pick in the NFL draft', whatever that meant. He belonged to the very best Greek letter social fraternity. He always had plenty of cash in his pocket. Where it came from I never knew. Eddie's money, and the flashy sports car he drove, were things that no one wanted to talk about for some reason.

Eddie was all the things my father had warned me about. He had no moral convictions, and he was completely indifferent to any distinction between right and wrong. He was conceited, selfish, and often insulting to the people around him, and his social manners were crude to nonexistent. He seldom went to class or studied, and he sneered at those who did. He was a user and abuser of everyone around him, particularly the girls he dated. There was long list of those. I knew that even when I went out with him that first time. What I didn't know was how he had fucked every one of them, and then cruelly dumped them with nothing but a load of guilt, and an occasional bastard baby.

Most of his "ex's" were pretty bitter about the way he treated them (not that every one of them wouldn't have gone back to him if he had so much as crooked his finger). I didn't know any of that in the beginning of course, and by the time I found I was already hooked, just one more of his co-ed sluts (slut, that was his generic term for us all). Like all the rest, I was no more than a cunt for Eddie to screw, and like all the all the girls before me, he dumped me fast when he found new pussy to pleasure his penis.

Eddie had other faults besides being a sexual predator. First on that list, he drank too much. Worse, when he was drunk, Eddie got mean. As strong as he was physically, there weren't many who would cross him, or who could control him, when he was drinking.

And did I mention that Eddie had a ten inch cock? No? How could I have forgotten to tell you about that. Despite his football ability and big man on campus reputation, Eddie Farmer's real asset was his big cock. He was famous for it. At the time, I really didn't understand why. The length of a boy's penis was simply not something I gave any thought to one way or the other. Why would I? I had never even seen one in the flesh, and I certainly didn't intend to let this Eddie Farmer fuck me with his, not on that first date or ever, football star or not.

I just wanted a boy to pay me some attention, or at least that's what I thought in the beginning. I didn't yet comprehend what 'being horny' was all about, or how vulnerable a girl can be to a man like Eddie. Poor dumb little me, but green as I was, how could I have known? Anyway, like everyone else, I was in awe of the great 'Country' Farmer, and I was so eager to actually have a date with him that I was blind to my danger.

As I sat in my sewing room watching Peter Carr dry his dick and balls, I reminisced about the first time I saw Eddie Farmer's cock. It was on that first blind date. We went to the movies first, then we stopped by at his frat house where Eddie had a couple of beers with his buddies while I watched TV by myself.

I understood even then that I shouldn't expect the great Eddie Farmer to spend the whole evening entertaining me. My turn with him would come later. Sure enough, after about an hour Eddie took me off to a little private side parlor where we could be alone. I hadn't any personal experience with fraternity house side parlors, but I had heard the girls in the dorm gossip about what was coming next, and I was down right eager to get on with it. I had yearned for some boy to kiss me for years, and now I was going to be making out with one of the really big men on campus.

All of which brings me back to Eddy's cock. We necked and French kissed for a while. Despite my feeble efforts to defend my virtue, Eddie managed to get a good feel of my breasts, squeezing first one and then the other from outside my blouse. It all felt good to me, and I probably didn't resist him the way I should have. Before I knew it my blouse was open, my bra was down, and Eddie was playing with my bare nipples. I really liked that!! Still, I was able to stop him from running his hands between my legs. I knew instinctively (I think every woman does) that if he ever put a finger in my pussy, my virginity was lost. My father was still too much with me to chance that.

My resistance frustrated Eddie, and I could see I was making him angry. Finally he told me that he couldn't be bothered with a "prick teaser" and that if I wanted him to date me again I had to do something about "the ache in his nuts". I asked him what he wanted me to do, and with that he unzipped his fly and pulled out this huge penis. Of course I had nothing to compare him with, and at the time I didn't realize how exceptionally big that thing was.

Eddie said he wanted me to "jack him off", and since I had denied him my vagina, I thought I ought to do something that would please him. His sex felt silky smooth in my fingers as I pumped it up and down the way Eddie showed me. Amazingly his penis became even bigger as it began to harden, and by the time he was fully erect, my fingers hardly reached around him. I had been pumping up and down on this big pole of male flesh for only a very few minutes when he suddenly grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed my head down into his crotch. My face was suddenly within an inch of the first penis I had ever even seen in my whole life.

He yanked my hair hard then, and demanded that I suck him. "Damn you, you little prick teasing bitch, suck me off!"

I wasn't sure I ought to do that, but I knew this was something that boys expected of their steady girls. I wanted to be Eddie's 'steady' more than I ever wanted anything in my life..., and so..., I opened my mouth as wide as I could and closed my lips over the big purple bulbous head he was holding under my nose. I had heard girls in the dorm talk about 'going down.' They all seemed so familiar with a 'blow job' that I suspected most of them sucked their dates from time to time, if not regularly, although I never heard a single one admit it directly. I certainly didn't want Eddie to know how green I was, and if other girls could do this for him, then I could too.

What I didn't know much about were the details of just what to do, and he was so big I could hardly get him in my mouth. Nature carried me along, tho. I could get my lips over the head so I sucked hard on that and curled my tongue around the very tip end of his prick. Eddie must have liked what I was doing because he was soon gasping for air. I heard him whisper "Oh Yes, Baby, Yessss!", and with that he forced my head down, sending that big thing deep into my throat.