"Let's have a staring contest," you suggest out of the blue.

"What are you, six?" I shoot back.

"No," you say, squeezing your lips into a cute little pout. "Come on, I'm bored."

'Bored' doesn't even begin to describe the situation. It's Sunday afternoon and raining. Your husband has been deployed with the military for the past month. My wife's gone out of town for work this weekend. Neither of us has much to do.

We've been across-the-street neighbors for just about a year, and we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well as couples. You and your husband are young, good looking, decent, friendly folks, and I like to think that you feel the same way towards us. I've spent time hanging out with your husband when you and my wife have your occasional girl's nights. However, I think this is the first time that you and I have ever been alone together in a one-on-one situation for any period of time.

Catching you at the mail box, I invited you over. There's no point in the two of us sitting alone in two empty houses, I'd said. You agreed and came over, dressed in a loose yellow t-shirt and a pair of comfy looking little navy blue gym shorts with white trim. You brought a bottle of wine with you. It's gone now, and we've opened a second that I've had lying around for some time. I’m thankful to you for the occasion to finally drink it. My wife isn’t a big drinker, and I hate to drink alone. 

We’ve just spent half an hour scanning Netflix, but there's nothing interesting there that we haven't already seen – at least nothing I want to admit to you that I’m interested in, but I note a few sexy titles that I might check out on my own later after you’ve gone. In the meantime, we're just hanging out, sitting on my sofa, chatting about nothing in particular, and listening to the sound of the rain against the windows.

"Fine," I say, agreeing to the staring game. "First to blink loses."

We turn in our seats to face each other. You shake your fingers out. I shrug my shoulders and let them fall. You roll your head around, loosening up your neck. I scrunch up my face a couple of times and let it relax.

"Ready?" you ask.

I nod.

"Okay. Three... two... one... go."

We stare. 

It occurs to me that your eyes are really quite beautiful. They're a stunning shade of blue, like sunlit Mediterranean pools. I feel like I could float in them all day. I know it's only been about twenty seconds, but I’m becoming acutely aware of the energy I'm expending to keep my eyes open. I can see the concentration in your face and know you’re struggling as well with the weight of your eyelids. It’s almost as if you're telepathically willing me to blink.

"Your Jedi mind-tricks won't work on me," I warn you.

You chuckle but maintain eye contact. Your face moves closer to mine. Now, my entire field of vision is filled with you. For a brief second, I have the crazy impulse to lean in and kiss you, but I remember my wife and your husband. I tell myself I'm just being foolish, getting carried away with the moment. There’s nothing really there between us, and no reason to make trouble for everyone because of some stupid passing whim. But your eyes... there's this look in them... something mischievous…

"OHMYGODWHAT'STHAT?!!!" you suddenly scream, pointing across the room.

I turn my head in the direction of your arm, looking for danger. The next thing I know, you're laughing hysterically, and I realize I've just lost the contest.

"That's not fair," I say.

"I won, you lost," you say, gloating. You put your thumb and finger against your forehead in the shape of an L. "You're a loo-ooo-ooo-ser."

"You totally cheated," I protest.

"Says who?"

"Says me."

You get up from the couch and do a little victory dance sticking your butt out and wiggling it at me. You give the soft dark blue fabric stretched across your ass a playful smack while making kissy faces at me over your shoulder. It’s annoying, but also very cute.

"I still think you cheated."

"Show me where it's written," you defend as if there's an official rule book on staring contests sitting right there on my coffee table.

There isn't. I sigh with exasperation.

"Okay, if you're going to be a big cry-baby about it, then let's go again," you tease.

"Since you cheat, let's make it best of five," I suggest.

"I don't cheat."

"You do."

"Fine, best of five,” you agree. “No holds barred."

"No holds barred," I repeat. “First to three wins.”

"You're going down, pal," you say. I’ve never seen this competitive side of you before, but I’m enjoying the playful banter.

"Alright, I'll count us down this time. Ready?"

"I was born ready," you say.

"You're such a goof." I smile at you. You smile back. "Okay... Three... TwoOneGo!" I rush the count hoping to catch you off guard. It doesn't work. We lock eyes. Seconds pass.

"WATCHOUT!" I shout suddenly.

Your gaze remains steady.

"Ha!" you laugh at me. "You think you can use my own strategy against me?"

"It was worth a try," I admit.

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to try harder than that."

"Yeah? You want to make this interesting?"

"Sure."

"The loser gets dinner for the winner," I propose.

"You're on," you eagerly agree.

"Shit just got real," I say with mock sincerity.

You giggle, nearly losing eye contact, but you manage to recover. Spotting a potential weakness, I start making faces at you. It's juvenile, but effective. I can see you're trying hard not to laugh. I sense that I’ve got you. Here comes my finishing move: I hook my fingers into the corners of my mouth and pull my lips wide. Then I stick out my tongue and make a sound like 'nnnuuunnggggeeeennnuuungggg' at you. It's so stupid that you can’t help but totally crack up with laughter.

"That's not fair," you complain. "You made me laugh."

"No holds barred, remember?" I defend. "I win."

"Whatever. Fine,” you concede, eager to get to the next round so you can regain the lead. “We're tied: One-one."

"Best of five," I remind you.

"Ready?" You don't even wait for me to respond. "One-two-three-go."

After only a couple of seconds of eye contact, you suddenly reach down and pull your shirt up, exposing a pair of amazing breasts. They're neither too large nor small, but they look perfect on your frame. In the middle of each is a delicious looking dark pink nipple. I’d noticed earlier that you’d neglected to put on a bra when you came over. I’ve been trying my best not to stare at them, let alone say anything, but now that they’re out in the open like this, I can’t pull my eyes away.

"Wow." I'm in complete shock. There are no other words coming to mind.

"Two to one," you call out proudly, still holding your shirt above your chest as you do your little victory dance. Clearly, you're enjoying the attention. Or maybe it’s my unsettled reaction that thrills you. I don’t even know where to look.

"But- That's- I mean... You can't do that!" I protest.

"No holds barred, remember?" You say in mocking imitation of what I told you earlier. You finally allow the material to drop back over your beautiful breasts, but that can’t erase the image of them from my mind.

"But I'm married," I object.

"So?"

"You're married, too."

"So?" you ask again.

"So... So..." I repeat, spinning the tires of my mind looking for traction on a coherent thought.

"Come on, what's the big deal?" you ask. "They're just tits. I'm sure you've seen tits before. Your wife has a pretty big pair."

That's true, she does. Something about the way you're looking at me makes me feel like I'm acting like a stupid teenager, and I should just grow up. So, I've seen your boobs. Really, what's the harm? We're both adults here, I tell myself. Still, there's a nagging doubt.

"Well, I don't think either of them would like it if they knew that you flashed me," I say futilely.

"They're not here," you refute my argument. "So, there's no reason for them to know. Stop making excuses. One more loss, and you owe me dinner."

"Alright," I say, deciding to let my objections drop. Dinner is on the line, and I’m determined to win. As it turns out, you’re not the only one with a secret competitive streak.

"Three, two, one, go!" you count us in.

Once again, I'm swimming in the lovely blue of your eyes. In them, I can see that mischievous look of confidence. You think you've got me, but I steel myself to stay unwavering in my eye-contact. I don't care if a whole chorus-line of bare-breasted women comes dancing through my living room. I. Will. Not. Lose.

"If I'm honest, I've actually kinda wanted to see them for a while," I say, hoping to distract your attention, and throw you off your guard.

"Really?" you ask, sounding surprised. I'm not sure if you're being sincere or just kidding me. "Since when?"

"Since you and your husband first moved in," I admit.

You giggle. "That long, huh?"

"I remember the day I first met you,” I say. “You had your hair pulled back in a ponytail, and you were wearing that nice little dress. You know, the light blue one. It kinda shows off your figure. You know the one I’m talking about?"

You nod slightly, while holding my gaze. "Yeah. You've got a good memory," you say.

"I remember thinking, like, 'Damn, that girl is fine,'” I admit. “But we're both married and all, so I just kinda put the thought to the back of my mind."

"You thought I was fine?" you ask. I can’t tell if your being coy or sincere.

"Mhm. And sometimes, I'd think about you in that dress and wonder what you looked like out of it." I pause, thinking I might have said too much. I begin to back-peddle. “I mean, it’s nothing too serious. Just a passing curiosity that comes sometimes, you know?”

"Well, now you don’t have to be so curious anymore," you say with a devilish grin.

"From what I've seen, your husband's a pretty lucky guy," I say with a warm smile.

"Yeah..." you say as if you want to disagree with me, but don't quite trust what you'll say.

I keep my eyes fixed intensely on yours. You look as if you're plotting some scheme to get me to blink first. I need to act quickly before you think of something. Without my eyes leaving your face, I lean in closer to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask cautiously. However, I notice that you’ve leaned slightly towards me, too, as if magnetic forces were at work. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d take it as a signal to go in for a kiss. But these aren’t ordinary circumstances, I remind myself. This is a staring contest!

I smile mischievously back at you. Slowly, I extend my hand beneath your line of sight. Your blue eyes stay firmly fixed on mine, determined to win. You suspect something is up, but aren’t sure what. You’re looking into me, searching, trying to discover my plan. Wasting no more time, I reach up and cup your left breast through your shirt.

You give a little startled shriek at the sudden feeling of my hand full of your flesh, and can’t help but break eye contact. Your breast is beautifully soft and slightly overflows my palm in a way that’s plentiful without being overabundant. It's quite different from my wife's big heavy tit. Not that I'd complain about hers - they're great - but yours are certainly a new feeling for me. It's a feeling I don't mind savoring for a minute longer.

"Two-all," I announce, giving your breast a light playful squeeze.

"Ahh, I see how it is," you say accusingly. "I can't show you my tits, but it's perfectly fine for you to touch one of them." I notice that you haven't pulled away. "That's really playing dirty," you say, finding a new appreciation for the lengths I’ll go to for the win. Competitiveness recognizes competitiveness.

"Two-all," I repeat smugly. "We're tied."

I flick my fingers over your hardening nipple with a pretend absent-mindedness as I remove my hand from your chest. I hear you draw in a sharp breath, excited by my cheekiness. "To be honest, I have to admit that I've actually wanted to do more than just see them."

"Really?" you ask. “And how are they?”

"Nice," I say. And then on reflection, "Really nice. Amazing."

"It's good to hear that." A little sadness seems to creep in behind your smile. The tone in your voice suggests that maybe this is more than just a game for you. "I don't hear it enough. Sometimes... I just need to be reminded."

"Jesus, I swear if I was your husband, I'd never let you forget what a great pair of tits you have,” I say. “Honestly, you’re a gorgeous woman."

"No, he likes them too," you disagree. "I mean, it's great when he's around. We’re great… It's just that he goes away for such a long time when he’s deployed... It's just hard, you know?..."

You trail off and look forlorn. I put my arms around you and give you a big hug. We stay like that for a moment, enjoying the feeling of closeness. As you press your breasts against my chest, I can’t help picturing them again.

"Okay, this is it!" I say, breaking our embrace after a minute, trying to shift the mood back to safe fun. If we stay like this much longer you’re going to notice the excitement building in my pants.

"Yeah," you agree. "Sudden death."

"This time I'll be ready for your sneaky tricks," I say.

"And me for yours," you return.

"Winner of this match gets dinner," I remind you. "By any means necessary"

"You better look out," you warn.

"I'll be looking... straight at you... cooking me dinner." I know it's a lame come-back. You smile anyway. I love seeing it. 

"We'll see," you say doubtfully.

We each take a long sip of wine.

"Okay, ready?"

"Yes. Let's do this." I psych myself up for the final round.

"Three... two... one... go!"

This is it! The staring contest to end all staring contests. Anything goes. The connection between our eyes is so strong it's almost a physical link between us. We maneuver our heads around like two boxers sizing each other up, attempting to throw each other's gaze off balance. We move closer together. I can feel your breath in my face, warm and scented with Merlot. I desperately want to kiss you, but if I do, I'll break eye contact and lose.

Instead, I stand up from the sofa. You hold my gaze, looking up at me from my waist. As I stare down into your eyes, I imagine this is what you look like to your husband when you give him a blowjob. Oh shit! I feel myself starting to get hard again. Seeing your breasts earlier has filled my head with sexy thoughts I just can’t get rid of. Can you notice my excitement out of the corner of your eye? I'm not sure.

After a few seconds, you slowly stand up as well, so we’re back on the same level. An intense half-minute of silence passes between us. Somewhere beneath the cool calm blue of your eyes, I can detect a hint of restrained desire.  

"You know," you say, breaking the silence. "I've thought about you, too."

"Really?" This is surprising. Until now, you’d never given any indication that the lustful glances might go both ways.

"Remember last summer,” you say. “We had that barbecue, and we were all hanging out by the pool in the back yard?"

"Yeah." I remember that you looked smoking hot in your little red bikini, and I had to work extra-hard not to stare at you in front of your husband, not to mention my wife.

"You went for a swim,” you recall. “And when you came out, your trunks were kind of clinging in a way that was...um… revealing."

"I didn't even notice," I say.

"Well, I did," you say in a near-whisper, only an inch from my face. "And can I tell you something else?"

"What?" I whisper back.

I feel your hand brush firmly against the front of my pants. I fight the urge to look, knowing this could all be a clever ploy to win by exploiting my now-too-obvious vulnerability. I focus all my energy into keeping eye-contact with you.

"I was impressed," you finish in a sexy voice.

You begin to rub my jeans, feeling the outline of my hardening cock beneath your fingers. It’s getting very hard to maintain my concentration. To even the playing field, I return my hand to your breast, caressing it through your shirt, and drawing delicate rings around your stiffening nipple. You let go of a soft little moan. I look into your eyes and see the desire there growing, wordlessly begging me to go further. Boldly, my hand slips beneath your yellow t-shirt.

I feel as if this is crossing some kind of new boundary - as if everything over the clothes was fine, but underneath is forbidden. I don't care. It excites me to let my bare skin meet yours. You feel me getting even harder in my jeans. I gently pinch and pull your nipple. You respond with a sharp inhalation and let it out in a long pleasurable sigh.

Not to be outdone, I feel you pulling and working at my belt buckle. This seems to be a difficult process without looking, only feeling your way. Nevertheless, your labors have not gone unnoticed by my excited cock which is now twitching involuntarily with anticipation.

I double my efforts to achieve victory, bringing my other hand up inside your shirt, squeezing both breasts now. You gasp, but keep your gaze fixated. Your breathing is getting heavier. Your face is starting to flush with excitement.

There's a firm tug at my waist and then a loosening sensation. You've undone my belt, which I now feel hanging limply to either side of my hips. Next, your nimble fingers fiddle with the button of my jeans, pausing now and again to slide along the length of my hardening cock. It strains against my pants, begging to be freed. If you were to look down, you'd see it clearly pressing outward from my pants - but you can't look or you’ll lose.

My hands travel down the sides of your torso, and circle around back to your ass. The shorts you wore today show it off really nicely. I grab it with both hands and give a hard squeeze as I think of your little victory dance earlier. You can't prevent a little surprised yelp from escaping your throat. I smile at you because I know I almost had you there.

You finally get the button to my jeans unfastened. Your hand darts inside, finding no further barriers. Now you know that I don’t often wear underwear, especially not at home. Your fingers run through my trimmed bush. Your thumb and forefinger circle around the base of my penis, as your other fingers gently cup my balls.

"Mmm, look what I've found," you say teasingly.

"You can look. I know you want to," I respond. "But my eyes are staying right here."

You pull my cock out of my pants into the cool, open air and begin to explore its ridges and contours with your fingers like a blind person reading brail. You examine the tip, brush your painted fingernails lightly up and down its length, taking in every square millimeter of it through your sense of touch. I love the way you’re tantalizing me.

You feel my fingers slipping beneath the elastic of your sweatpants and skimming the waistband of your panties. They meet in the center and press against you, dipping into the small gap formed between the fabric and your navel. As they slip further inside, they encounter only smooth skin radiating your hot desire.

"Shaved?" I ask admiringly. My wife has always believed that the bare look was reserved just for porn stars, not ordinary people.

"Mhm," you nod. Your eyes are full of devious intent. "You should really see it."

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You giggle at how easily I’ve seen through your little ruse. Trying a different tactic, your hand wraps fully around my cock and you begin to stroke it. Shit, that feels good. It’s taking every ounce of will power not to look down at what you’re doing.

"Do you like that?" you ask.

I moan appreciatively in response.

I tug at the sides of your shorts. They’re actually more form-fitting than I’d initially thought. It's like they're molded on to your body. They don't so much slide as peel off you. I pull them at least halfway down your thighs. It’s as far as I can bend without losing eye contact. It's far enough, at least, that I can trace the contours of the small soft mound at the meeting of your legs. As I slide my hand between them, what I encounter there is hot and slippery wet.

"I think you've been enjoying yourself far more than you let on," I say with a sly smile.

"Maybe I have," you admit coyly. "But I'm not the only one."

I'm so hard in your hand, my cock is throbbing. You feel my hot breath coming in rapid bursts on your cheek, as you continue to pump me. My eyes never deviate from yours. I begin to rub my thumb against your clit in small circles. Your breathing gets faster and harder. You feel me spread your lips with my fingers. Your pace on my cock quickens. Sensing my plan, you try to maneuver your hips away from my hand but my fingers follow.

"No, you can't get away that easy," I say.

We stand in the middle of my living room, mutually masturbating each other while staring deep into each other's eyes. Neither of us is willing to blink first. Neither willing to allow the other to retreat. I hear your sighs turn to moans, deepening and getting louder. I groan and grunt with the effort of holding back my own climax.

You feel your arousal escalating. I maintain the pressure on your clit. Then I slip one finger inside you. You're so fucking wet and hot. A second finger follows the first. You feel them pressing against the walls of your pussy. They probe inside you for that sensitive spot and find it.  My fingers inside you make a beckoning gesture (fuck!), and my thumb continues to rub against your clit (FUCK!).

You pump my cock even faster. You're crying out loudly now. There's desperation in your eyes. You want to win, but you need to cum so badly. You feel yourself go past the point of no return. Your grip on my cock is super-intense, almost to the point of being painful. A split second later, your eyes squeeze shut, as wave after wave of ecstasy washes through you. Your entire body convulses.

Your body goes limp. I wrap my arms around you and lay you back onto my sofa. You catch your breath. Your chest is heaving. Your legs are still trembling and tingling, tangled up with your pants halfway down your legs. The sight of you, looking slightly dishevelled in your post-orgasmic glow does nothing to diminish my own excitement.

"That looked intense," I say, sitting next to you.

"It was," you agree.

"Looks like dinner's on you tonight," I say.

"Okay, fine you win," you say. You’ve recovered enough of your breath to stand again on your own two feet. You take hold of my still-hard cock and lead me towards the bedroom, adding, "But dinner can wait until we’re finished with our dessert."