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The girls next door
CHAPTER ONE
The tennis partner’s kiss
My wife and I had been together for nine years and were happily married.
Or so I thought.
From the moment we first met, we were soul mates and our love for each other was not diminished by our failure to have children. It wasn’t that we desperately tried; we took no precautions; if a baby resulted, that was a bonus. We were happy either way and never bothered to explore the medical reason why we had a problem.
Our failure to conceive was not for lack of trying, particularly in the early years, when our lovemaking was spontaneous, frequent and wonderful. We stopped using any form of birth control after the first year, but no babies resulted. If nature decided we were to procreate, that would be something we would gratefully receive; otherwise, we were perfectly happy on our own. The irony was that my wife was a paediatrician working exclusively with small children and babies.
Although we still enjoyed sex, it had recently become less of a dominant factor in our relationship. I found this rather frustrating and missed the natural and often impromptu nature of our lovemaking. However, we still enjoyed each other’s company and were, to any observer, a happy couple!
We lived in what is considered a posh part of town. We both had good jobs, and an old friend left me a significant legacy some years ago. Money was never a problem.
Our next-door neighbours, Jean and Peter, were about ten years older than us, but despite the age difference, we got on well and enjoyed each other’s company. They were both doctors and Jean had become a well-known expert on gynaecology, while Peter was what he privately called a “bone fixer”. He was, in fact, a consultant orthopaedic surgeon and worked in the same hospital as my wife. Their daughter Emma was a beautiful girl who had inherited her mother’s good looks and intelligence.
Looking at photos from that time, we were all relaxed and happy in each other’s company. However, our relationship changed a few years ago. Until then, we were just good friends, nothing more.
Jean was my tennis partner. We were a good team and consistently won cups and trophies. My wife and Peter didn’t play, so it seemed natural for us to go to the annual tennis club dinner and dance together; we had done this several times before. We usually took a taxi, but I decided to drive that year.
What happened remains vividly etched in my memory. Even though it was four years ago, I recall every detail because it was an event you don’t forget and had such significance in the years that followed.
Jean was in her early forties, in excellent shape and fit, with an athletic body and long, slim legs that propelled her at speed around the tennis court. Her lovely legs were something that I could not help noticing, along with most of the other men in the club, especially when she was wearing short summer tennis dresses. But my interest was just a male thing and never went beyond admiration.
The dinner/dance was a noisy and fun evening. Jean turned a few heads with her dress, a Veronica Beard original that must have cost a lot of money. She looked sensational, and it was short enough to display those stunning legs to their best advantage. She had knocked back quite a few glasses of Prosecco, more than she usually drank and was happily tipsy, but because I was driving, I remained sober. She had become progressively more flirtatious as the evening progressed, but I thought this was just a result of too much booze and found it amusing but just a little out of character and slightly embarrassing. Her dancing was wild and unconstrained, generating a few raised eyebrows amongst the other members. She was a lady set on enjoying the evening.
When it was time to go home, she staggered towards the car and I could not help noticing that when she sat down, she hitched her dress over her knees and stretched out her legs in a very provocative manner. I kept my eyes firmly on the road.
She was still flirtatious, and I was perplexed by her behaviour; I had hoped that once she got into the car, she would sober up, at least a little, or even fall asleep. I had never seen her act like this before, and when she asked me to pull the car over into a lay-by sheltered from the main road, I thought she might feel sick.
As soon as we stopped, it was clear that she was neither ill nor sleepy, and it became apparent what she had in mind as she became very amorous, leaning towards me in a very immodest and suggestive way, putting a hand on my leg and asking me if I thought she had a sexy body.
Her behaviour bothered me, and I had no idea how to deal with it without being rude, but at the same time, I was intrigued by how events were developing. Alarm bells should have been ringing, but they remained muted. The situation quickly escalated when inegöl escort she leaned across and kissed me on the lips, softly at first and then with growing intensity. Not a tennis partner kiss; it was far too hot and sensual. Tennis partners tend not to kiss each other on the lips like this, even if they are married!
Initially, I was confused and somewhat shocked, mainly when I realised she was not as drunk as she seemed and was undoubtedly in control of the situation. However, the Prosecco had unlocked a demon inside her that had to be confronted or enjoyed. I decided to go down the ‘enjoy’ route.
The intensity of this seduction, for that’s what it was, grew by the minute and provoked a predictable male reaction in my lower regions. When a lovely lady whispers in your ear that she has fancied you for a long time and wants you to screw her, it takes a stronger-willed man than me to ignore the proposition.
My arousal must have been obvious, for she expertly unzipped my trousers, exposing my erect penis to her gentle touch and then, to my utter surprise, took it into her mouth. Any thoughts of confronting her behaviour were abandoned, together with what remained of my common sense, as I leaned across and started to caress her breasts.
I lost all sense of decency and marital fidelity as I stroked her legs and moved higher between her thighs. She was wearing expensive sheer tights and silky underwear. I could feel her warmth through the material, and she responded in a rhythmic motion as I gently soothed my hand over that most intimate area. She enthusiastically encouraged my actions and put her hand on mine to hold it firmly in place.
My mind was spinning in turmoil at the immensity of what we were doing. This was the loaded moment. There was no going back now. I had crossed my point of no return; it was evident that this would end in only one way. When I was young, I did my damnedest to seduce girls into my car for sex, most of the time with no success. Now, I was older, if not wiser, and I was the one being seduced.
It was hot in the car and about to get much hotter!
We needed more room for our lovemaking and scrambled into the back, pushing the front seats fully forward as I locked the doors. I had not done anything like this since I was a teenager and was trembling with excitement and anticipation. Was I going to screw with my friend, tennis partner and next-door neighbour? The initial reservations I felt had disappeared, overwhelmed by wild sexual desire for her body. She had ignited a fire in me that would only burn more intensely.
All this feverish action had happened within five minutes of us stopping. I had gone from Puritan to libertine in one easy lesson. We were like two animals in heat; our lust for each other was furious and could only be satisfied in one way. Like two randy youngsters, we hurriedly undressed from the waist down. Jean pulled her dress up around her hips as she wriggled out of her tights. I experienced a thrill of excitement I had not known for many years as I pulled down her panties, revealing the beauty of her nakedness as she parted her legs in a way that was both erotic and inviting.
I had removed my trousers, boxers and tie, throwing them somewhere to the front of the car in a reckless gesture. My hands were shaking with excitement.
I may have left my socks on. I think I did. This was madness!
I unzipped the back of her dress at her request, which slipped off her shoulders, exposing a lacy bra she asked me to unhook. Some of my old skills had not deserted me, and it fell away, exposing her breasts. They were superb, not large, but firm and I could see from her erect nipples just how aroused she was. As I kissed and sucked them, I moved my hand between her thighs, gently touching her clitoris; she shuddered as I put one, then two, fingers into her vagina, which was warm, juicy and inviting.
At university, I was very fortunate to have had a three-year affair with my landlady, who taught me the art and technique of sex, something I have never forgotten. My gentle finger movement inside Jean must have hit the G-spot, for she raised her hips towards me, moaning as she reached a climax.
I was kneeling between her thighs. We were in a state of mutual and intense arousal. I have an average-sized penis, but I felt at this moment that it was enormous as it jutted proudly in front of me, a guide leading the way to the summit.
A tiny bead of pre-cum formed at the end, and it occurred to me that I did not have any condoms in the car. Jean must have sensed my concern, for she leaned forward and brushed it off with a finger, saying, “We are not going to make any babies tonight”.
Without any further foreplay, we embarked on our adulterous path. She pushed herself forward to the edge of the seat and opened her legs wide. My penis easily located the entrance to her vagina without help from either of us, and I entered her.
The innovia escort infusion of our juices formed a perfect lubrication, and a soft, warm silky moisture enveloped the trespass of my cock as it glided deeper into this new and unexplored territory.
I don’t know what was going through Jean’s mind. I had expected her to want me to be tender, caring and gentle in our lovemaking, but she seemed to be possessed of single-mindedness as she urged me to ‘go faster and deeper.’ For the next five minutes, we fucked wildly, using our bodies to provide each other with acute sexual gratification. Nothing else mattered. This was not gentle, affectionate lovemaking. Our animal instincts had taken over.
I have no idea what it’s like to experience a female orgasm. My incomplete knowledge suggested it was a progressive build-up, more cerebral to start than for males, but with a shattering physical climax. It was a slow burn rather than a frantic race to the finish line. Whatever our relative speed, I think we were reaching the tape together, but I was so overwhelmed surfing my waves of pleasure, that I could not be sure.
My motions became quicker until I felt the familiar, rich, deep impulse extending along the length of my penis that I knew would propel me towards ejaculation. There was nothing cerebral about this. It was centred firmly on my cock, proving to be the best sex I had experienced in a very long time, all the better for being unexpected. I asked Jean if it was okay to finish inside her. At least some vestige of common sense remained among the kaleidoscope of raptures I was experiencing. She nodded approval, and with her hands around the back of my thighs, she pulled me more tightly towards her.
I think there is an instinct in all males to thrust just before they ejaculate; I assume to get their sperm as close as possible to the entrance of the cervix. I followed the route nature had evolved for procreation, embedded in her as far as I could. The intensity of my orgasm, when it came soon afterwards, seemed unbearable as I experienced that familiar and shattering moment of total release.
I had not had sex with my wife for over a month, so I was not surprised at the volume of my ejaculation. Jean could obviously feel it and the warmth of my flow seemed to drive her to a powerful conclusion. I had been supporting my weight on my arms up to this point, but as my torrent expanded inside, she pulled me down towards her, where our lips met and our tongues encircled each other as if to mirror the sexual union that was taking place. This was the first time during our coupling that she had shown affection for me. We had reached our peak, and gradually, our activity subsided. It was a warm night, and the car windows were closed. She asked me to stay inside her as long as I could, and we remained joined together until my cock, now limp, slipped out naturally.
Affection now replaced lust as we lay together across the back seat. I have no idea how long we stayed like this, two spent but blissful lovers who had shared all their bodies had to offer. I stroked her hair and face; she caressed the back of my neck. Her skin was radiant, shining with a post-coital lustre. An aura of calmness and a sense of euphoria overwhelmed us.
Our imperceptible body movements against each other maintained a soft, gentle rhythm as we lay close in an embrace, moisturised by the perspiration and essences we had produced. I had never experienced anything as erotic as this before. It was enough to keep me semi-hard until I could feel the beginning of another deep surge of arousal as my penis responded. I was surprised that I still had the ability for a second pop quite so soon after the first. This was something I had not done since my days as a student.
Jean was certainly up for another round; she wanted to be on top this time, and we rolled over until she mounted me with an ease that suggested she had done this before as she centred my penis towards her opening. Like our first time, this was not gentle lovemaking. She was in charge. Her forceful motion as she rode me impaled my penis deep inside her. My previous ejaculation provided even more lubrication as she drove up and down rapidly and urgently.
Her language was coarse, and I was shocked as I had never heard any female talk like this, especially in the throes of sex. My abiding image is of her as she frolicked on top of me. Her breasts bounced in rhythm with her hips; the expensive dress pulled up around her waist, her hair now wild and forming a curtain for her face, and her breasts covered in a film of perspiration as she moved towards a peak of sexual fulfilment known only to females. The intensity in her face was as if she was using me to fulfil some act of retribution.
She was making enough noise to wake the neighbours. Only there weren’t any. As she climaxed, her eyes rolled upwards and she seemed to enter a brief period where she lost ipsala escort consciousness. The French have an apt phrase: ‘le petit mort.’ In our more prosaic language, ‘a small death’. It perfectly describes the tumultuous peak of orgasm that takes some fortunate females into euphoric territory unknown to males.
This was enough to accelerate me to my second climax of the evening. I arched my back upwards as far as I could, driving ever deeper inside as, once again, the waves of my pleasure splashed against the sides of her deepest and innermost parts.
We came together this time; there could be no doubt about that, and as her orgasm subsided, the tumult in her face was replaced by sublime peace and contentment. She had become the Jean I knew once more. However, there was no more lingering inside her this time as she quickly dismounted. It was almost as if she had finished with me and had achieved her purpose.
I was very aware of the semen slowly flowing out of her vagina like white lava forming a creamy pool on the car seat. I hesitate to refer to it as my semen. Was it any longer mine? Jean had taken possession by accepting it into her vagina. What remained inside would become part of her until it would eventually be absorbed into her body. In reality, most males ejaculate only about a large spoonful containing hundreds of millions of sperm. Even as these thoughts flashed through my mind, the strongest of them would have been fighting their way into her cervix, their sole purpose to fertilise any waiting eggs. I wondered how much of my seed would remain inside her and for how long, and I hoped she had taken proper birth control precautions. She was a gynaecologist, so I assumed she knew what she was doing.
We lay side by side, nestling into each other on the back seat, our bodies still damp with the moisture that follows unprotected sex in hot, enclosed spaces. Hardly speaking, we were overwhelmed by what we had done. The reality was that we had committed adultery, which was not something to be proud of. Already, waves of guilt were lapping at the shores of my senses, but practicalities took over as I opened the windows to get some fresh air into the car as we did our best to remove the evidence of our lovemaking. I glanced at my watch. It had been just over an hour since I had parked in the lay-by. The aroma of our union was everywhere. The scent of the car was a cocktail of perfume, sweat, semen and that wonderful female musky aroma that follows unprotected lovemaking. It was a case of wet wipes to the rescue as we did our best to remove the evidence of our deceit from the car and our bodies.
Jean had started the evening a well-dressed, elegant lady. Her Veronica Beard dress was new and, I suspect, had cost a fortune. It now bore the ravages of our sexual encounter, and she worked hard to remove the semen stains. She looked like a debauched hooker, her hair a mess, her breasts glistening with sweat, sperm still dribbling from her vagina, semi-naked but looking sensual and attractive despite it all.
On the other hand, I resembled a deflated customer with a limp wet cock, wanting to go home and wondering where on earth his trousers and underpants were. Neither of us spoke as we retrieved our underwear and dressed. Jean’s expensive pantyhose were torn, so she decided it was best not to wear them, as she stuffed them in her handbag.
We had been unfaithful to our partners not once but twice in the last hour, and it had been a blissful and wildly erotic experience. Now, feelings of shame began to intrude. Jean was adamant that this had to be a one-off, even though, like me, she had experienced the best sex for a long time. I reluctantly agreed. We were not just a good team on the tennis court, but she was right. However, we did deny ourselves oceans of future sexual pleasure together.
On the journey home, I kept the windows open. Her perfume still enveloped me, and my fingers smelled strongly of her pungent internal scent.
Then, a most curious thing happened.
She asked me to make another stop just before we got home ‘to tidy up.’ I thought it was to check in the mirror that her hair was neat again. However, she needed one final clean-up to eradicate the evidence of the last hour. Considering we had just shared our most intimate parts, she was extraordinarily coy and almost embarrassed as she took the last of my wet wipes and removed the remaining evidence. She turned away from me as much as she could in the front seat so that what she did remained private, primly tugging her dress down to achieve a degree of modesty.
When we arrived home, she leaned across, squeezed my hand and gave me a warm, friendly tennis partner type of kiss.
I will never forget her parting words to me.
“That was the best service game you have ever played. Thank you, David.”
Despite our efforts to clean up and look respectable, it would have been instantly apparent to any observer what we had been up to. Fortunately, my wife was away; I could use our bathroom to shower and hoped Jean had managed to creep in undetected. I had offered her the use of our downstairs shower before she went home, but she decided it would be all right to sneak indoors as she was.
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