The good neighbor 4 - Fucking and touching her pussy

  Vincent lowered his head to hers and breathed in.  He

caught a strange fragrance caught in her hair, which puzzled him.

Then he knew - she had been baking.  He was in the ‘twilight

zone’ for sure.  Then her hands were on his face, drawing him

down, bringing his mouth to hers, her tongue darting out to

taste his lips before they joined with hers.

     Then they were together, exploring each other with

fierce abandon, before breaking apart breathlessly, to rid

themselves of their remaining clothes.

     Vincent looked down at Janet’s naked body and shook his

head in wonderment.  “You are truly beautiful,” he told her,

knowing that she had to hear this, hear the words, though

his expression surely conveyed that to her.

     She was beautiful and she was ready.  His fingers

discovered this as they sought out her moist center.  Those

long, slim fingers found his hardness and traced his outline

before grasping him, pulling him to her, drawing him between

her legs . . .

     She hesitated and his eyes sought hers.  The eyes mirrored

the action.  Something was wrong.  Then the hesitation was

replaced with resigned determination and Vincent laughed out

loud.  He knew.

     “I’ll be right back,” he told her.  The relief and gratitude

in her eyes as he returned, unrolling the condom over his

hardness, told him he had been right.  He also carried with

him his silk robe.  He didn’t want her - or him - to get carpet

burn.

     Now the hesitation vanished.  She pulled him forward

and positioned him at her entrance.  Her heels at his buttocks

urged him onwards and he obeyed.  Together they gasped out their

pleasure.

     His excitement burned like a hot coal through his mind

as he slicked in and out of her, breathing tender endearments

into her ear as he did so.  Then he could no longer concentrate

and his body went rigid as he drove into her hard, once, twice,

again, and again.

     His senses returned and he took his weight off of her

and carefully pulled out, ensuring that the condom came with

him.  Then he began kissing her breasts and touching her sex,

stroking and caressing, playing her body like a musical

instrument, bringing to her the pleasure which she had brought

to him, glorying in his ability to please her.

     Janet’s breath came in gasps, then she, too, went rigid,

raising her hips from the floor before relaxing with a long

sigh.  Vincent continued to caress her as she slowly came down.

Her eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

     Her smile faded.  She looked about wildly, grabbed his

watch from the floor and gasped.  “Is that the time?  I have to

go.”

     With a bemused look on his face, Vincent watched Janet

dress and replace her barrette.  He found it hard to believe that

just moments ago she had been moaning, rocking her hips and

urging him on to greater and greater speed as he made love

to her.  Now she was all business again - in that strange way

of hers.

     His bemused look turned to one of consternation as Janet

walked over to the table, removed the dish-towel and picked

up his gun.  She pointed it in his general direction, though

not directly at him.

     “Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked him.

     “Yes, very much” he answered cautiously, wondering what

would come next.

     Janet studied the revolver for a moment, then fumbled it

open.  She ejected the single bullet and returned the gun to

the table.  Vincent let out a small sigh of relief.

     “Yet you are willing to forego the possibilities, willing

to use this,” she held up the bullet, “because of this?”  She

picked up the envelope, then dropped it on the floor, a look of

disdain on her face.  “It doesn’t make sense to me.” 

     Vincent stared at her in shocked disbelief.  How could

she know?

     “Well, I guess it’s your choice.”  She tossed the bullet

to him and he caught it by reflex, his eyes never leaving hers.

His face was stone.  She looked at him, her confidence fading,

a fear coming to her eyes.

     “Do me a favour?” she asked.  He said nothing and her

hands began to shake.  “If you see me - you don’t know me.”

He sat, silent.  “Please?”  He didn’t move.  Then she was

gone, fairly flying out of his apartment.

     Curious, he moved to his window, putting on his robe

as he went.  Sure enough, Janet exited the building and

crossed to the apartment block opposite his.  He nodded.  It

was the only thing that made sense. 

     He saw her breath, condensed in the cold air, as she turned

and glanced back once, and then she was gone.  He looked to

the sky.  It had clouded over and it the darkness loomed.  He

moved back from the window and waited.  Sure enough, a light

came on in the apartment directly across from his.  He sat in

his chair and watched, not moving.

     She appeared and, suddenly, two children, still clothed

for the out-of-doors, came running to her.  She picked one up

and spun him around, giving him a hug and a kiss.  The second

child got the same treatment.

     Vincent waited, still, quiet and unmoving.  After a

long time passed, a man appeared, crossed over to where

she worked in her kitchen and gave her a perfunctory kiss.

     Vincent shook his head.  The man didn’t know what he had.

He lowered his gaze to the table, to the bullet, ugly and

stark against the wood.  How could he ever have thought it

beautiful?  It was hard and cold.  He remembered her breasts,

soft and warm.  It was they which were beautiful.  His nose

wrinkled in disgust at the cold metallic smell of the gun oil.

He remembered the smell of the baking in her hair, the smell

of her excitement, and sighed.  He pictured, in his mind, her

face, animated, filled with joy.  He remembered beauty.

     Eyes are the windows to the soul, it is said, and her

eyes were wary, frightened.  She walked, with her husband,

towards their apartment and he walked away from it.  He envied

the man, seeing how she almost melted into him, her arm around

his waist.  They would pass within centimeters of each other.

Would he stop, would he talk to her, would he *tell*?  Vincent

read all that in her eyes in the fraction of a second they met

before his gaze continued on past, to the sign on the corner. 

He didn’t know her, wouldn’t recognize her.  His face betrayed

nothing.

     It was the neighbourly thing to do, the least he could do.