Most life changing moments come without warning, and that rule also applied to Lisa’s sudden appearance in Helen’s life. Though it wasn’t accompanied with any crashing or wailing or fanfares one would expect to accompany any life altering point in time. In fact, only after a long time Helen would recognize that this, and not one of the many events that followed it, already was her moment of doom.

Not that the moment wasn’t remarkable in some way. Up to that specific moment, Helen Sander’s day had been one of routine. Waking up around nine, fetching some bagels for breakfast, doing the laundry and starting to prepare lunch. In the middle of the boring task of peeling potatoes, her eyes roamed to the backyard, over the two butterfly bushes that needed trimming, along the self-made small artificial brook she was so proud of, over the naked girl in the deck chair...

Her eyes went wide, and for a moment she felt a mixture of shock and indignation well up inside her chest. Just until she looked closer and realized that the deck chair was too far away from the window to still be on her ground. It made sense, she thought, there had been a lot of workers at the Miller’s house lately, a sign that the heirs had finally buried their hatchets and made the house inhabitable again.

The slim girl was lounging in the deck chair in a relaxed position, her head tilted back and her lips slightly parted, with nothing but her sunglasses to cover her glistening body, and Helen could see that there were no tan lines anywhere around the small, perky breasts. Two delightful red nipples, huge and stiff in comparison to the small fruits they adorned, glistened invitingly in the sunlight. Her hair was a dark brown, streaked with blonde highlights and cut so it fell just short of her shoulders. From what she could tell from the distance, it gave her a cute, if a little boyish, look. The lack of a dark spot between her slender and well-toned legs implied that she was shaved bare down there, and Helen could see in her mind a glistening drop of sweat, perching on the girl’s exposed plum, teasing and waiting to be softly wiped away by a lazy finger. One of her legs moved slightly, and her toes wiggled delicately, perhaps to chase off a fly...

"Ouch! Damn!" Potato and peeler clattered to the counter, the former hopping down to the floor and rolling all across the kitchen floor. Helen had to keep herself from kicking something and would have sworn some more, but she was busy sucking on her throbbing index finger. And while she stood there, waiting for the sharp pain in her finger to lessen, she noticed her own flushed reflection in the glass of the window and blushed, becoming aware that she had been ogling, even daydreaming about, the nude body of who could only be her new female neighbor. The thought made her dizzy, and she closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

She hurried to the bathroom and forced herself to focus on finding a band-aid. She was an almost forty year old woman - spinster, the voice of her best friend, Miranda, teased from the back of her mind - and straight as they come. And that girl had looked young enough to be her daughter. Not that she’d ever have one, a familiar and unwelcome thought reminded her.

She had not really had no time for dating as a teenager, too busy with studying and drawing and writing and a whole handful of other - solitary - hobbies, and had quickly become an outsider. Once she had started working, the first years had been much of the same, doing over-hours and trying to impress her bosses. Finally, when she reached thirty, she was secure enough in her job to loosen up a bit, and the never-ending wave of wedding invitations from work colleagues made her aware that her clock was ticking. So she joined her single co-workers on their weekends of flesh-hunting, how they used to call it between themselves, and had a number of rather unsatisfying relationships. Then tragedy and fortune had struck at the same time.

Her parents had been killed in a car crash while on holiday. While that had deeply shaken and uprooted her, it also left her with an eight digit sum of insurance money. Together with the house that was enough to never need to work again. And so, after grieving and wallowing in misery for a whole year, she had been filled with new energy and determination, deciding to cancel her job and focus on herself, determined to live life to the fullest and find herself someone to share it with. Now, after two years of staying at home, she had to admit that she had failed utterly. Without any co-workers to go on romps with, she spent the weekends alone, working in the garden, performing her household chores to perfection, and losing herself in cheesy romance novels in the evening.

Staring at her body in the mirror, she admitted, for the first time, defeat. Hot tears started to blur the reflection of her sleek, long blonde hair, her oval face and her well-formed chest, and she crumpled to the fluffy carpet in the middle of the bathroom, crying and wailing over the self-imposed unjustness that was her boring life.

It took her almost an hour until the tears finally ebbed, and she felt exhausted. She hauled herself into her bedroom and buried herself under the blanket, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

Helen’s night was filled with strange dreams. One moment, she was running through the woods, chasing something, someone - or was she being chased? The next moment she was lying on a blanket in her garden, blinking against the harsh sun, when suddenly she was there - only a few feet away stood that embodiment of youthful beauty. She tried to reach out with her hand, to touch the pretty girl, but her arm wouldn’t move, and she almost cried in frustration. Then she was running again, and trying to reach out again, and the images mixed and blurred in her mind.

She awoke with a gasp. She was disoriented. Soft light filled the room, but at the first moment she couldn’t make out if it was evening or morning. She freed herself from the blanket that her legs and arms had become entangled with and blinked her eyes a few times, then stretched them out and looked at the alarm clock. Seven in the morning, on a Sunday. That was much too early for her, but she felt awake and rested now, even if a little sweaty, so she got up and traipsed barefooted to the kitchen to start a coffee.

At first, she was unable to keep the day before out of her mind, but after doing some ironing and cleaning the fridge, her thoughts were finally revolving around more mundane aspects of her life. She should, she decided, walk over and greet the girl, after all, they had always gotten on well with the Millers, otherwise there would have long since been a fence or hedge between the two properties, and she wanted to keep that up with their successor. But she’d, of course, only walk over if the girl was wearing clothes.

She allowed herself a second breakfast - she had, after all, missed two meals the day before, a fact that her stomach reminded her of quite insistently, and when she was rinsing the platter in the sink, she couldn’t help herself and gazed out the window. There she was, again, naked, girlish, pretty. Skin slightly sweaty and glistening and the small, cherry-topped breasts so deliciously visible. It took her ages to get the platter and cutlery clean. The girl tucked up one leg and scratched her shin, and Helen’s breath hitched as she caught a glimpse of soft pink between her legs. Then the leg extended again, the girl’s fingers running over its length while doing so, and Helen wished it were her own fingers stroking the soft skin.

"No!" Helen chastised herself, but even as she did so, she found her crotch humping the counter. Her hands gripped the counter top almost painfully, until she could assemble the strength to take a step backwards and break the spell that had her entranced. Why was she thinking that kind of thoughts about the neighbor girl? Was she becoming some kind of dyke? Her thoughts were conflicted, guilty.

The guilt didn’t abate over the next days, because each time she looked out the windows in the mornings, the girl would be there, nude on her deck chair, and even the shortest glimpse of her skin would stir fresh batches of dirty thoughts in Helen’s mind. Who, try as she might, could not force herself to keep her eyes away from the windows. Breakfast, doing the dishes, cooking, watering the plants, everything she did brought her in front of the windows, and like by magic, her eyes were drawn to the forbidden fruit presenting itself so invitingly.

* * *

Finally, the deck chair was out again, though with the back to the window, and only a part of one foot dangling a bit to the side gave away that it was occupied. No time like the present, she told herself, quenching all embarrassing thoughts, still filled with the drive only a good night’s sleep could give, and ready to face her inner daemon. For a short moment she was unsure if she should dress in something else but the comfortable off-white tank top and the soft, if old fashioned, baby-blue velour short, her favorite gardening outfit, then decided against it.

She slowly approached the deck chair, thinking about how she should greet the girl, when she became aware that the young woman was speaking to someone, and froze. But then she realised that her new neighbor was talking on the phone, and before she could think rationally about her action, she was inching closer, until the melodic voice of the girl became loud enough to understand.

"No, no, it’s absolutely brilliant here, you should see the garden Jen, it’s huge!"

Obviously, the girl was just telling her friend about her new place of living.

"Just one, Summers or Sanders or such, she’s about forty."

That was her, alright, and Helen felt a small twinge that she hadn’t guessed her younger.

"No, I haven’t talked to her yet, I’ve only been here, what, a week.

But she looks to be a MILF."

Helen’s eyes went wide, and a strange feeling gripped her stomach and mixed with the guilt about her shameless eavesdropping. She was well aware of the meaning of the word MILF, and it was, undoubtedly, derogatory. Still, it also was a form of compliment, to be found pretty. Even if it was by a girl who probably used the term without any deeper thoughts.

"No, she’s crawling around in her garden all day, with just a tank top and some tiny shorts. I’m sure you could see a camel toe up close. And she has a nice rack, too."

Helen’s breath hitched. A nice rack? A camel toe? That was not at all innocent, the girl was talking about her like the guys back at school used to comment on girls, or like a - a lesbian would! Something in her brain told her to turn around and leave, but she stayed rooted to the spot, gripped by a strange fascination.

"No, I’ve tried to, you remember the binoculars from the sailing trip? I can see into her kitchen, living room and bedroom, but so far I haven’t seen her without."

That was - Helen couldn’t believe what she was hearing - so outrageous. Was that little vixen really perving into her house with binoculars? She examined the one-sided snippet of conversation in her mind, but there was only one conclusion. Oh god!

"No, no husband or boyfriend so far. I wonder how she’s getting her jollies..."

Helen had to bite her hand to stifle the gasp that wanted to escape her throat.

"Oh gawd, you’re awful, Jen. I don’t know if she grows cucumbers, but she’s sure got a nice pair of melons!"

God, that was so humiliating. The two were discussing her like a piece of meat!

"Of course I’ll keep you up to date.... yes, I’ll be watching her tonight.... you horny little bitch, all that talk has me quite bothered now... listen, I’ll have to go inside and do something to scratch my itch, I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time."

Helen was feeling light-headed. She couldn’t believe the audacity of her new neighbor, whose name she still didn’t know. Then panic set in. The girl was about to head inside and was sure to catch her! For an instant, Helen pondered acting as if she had just arrived, but the mortification about the things she had just heard was still too fresh to face her. As quickly and soundlessly as she could she made her way back toward her house, almost stumbling over the garden house lying in her path, and throwing furtive glances over her shoulder.

Finally, out of breath, she made it inside the living room and quickly ducked around the corner, leaned her back to the wall and sighed. Her mind was reeling and her emotions a big jumbled mess. She clasped her hand hard between her legs and gasped in surprise as she realised what she was doing, realised that her pussy felt hot and throbbed with need. Quickly, she pulled it away, and gasped again as she saw the moist spot on her front.

What was going on with her? She felt like the floor had been pulled away under her feet, and then images assaulted her, of the neighbor girl, naked, in her darkened room, binoculars before her flushed face, and of herself, in the brightly lit living room, her legs spread wide, a cucumber grasped in her hand and pointed at her slick entry..."

"No," she wailed, "no, no, no, no! What’s happening to me?" Her legs gave way, and her back slid down along the wall until her backside touched the floor. She rocked back and forth, fighting the urge to give in to the depraved sensations and push her hand between her legs again.

* * *

The next few hours had been torturous for Helen. Whatever she tried to do, her mind would deviate from the task and return to those forbidden images. She ended up stubbing her toes a number of times and even managed to trip over the living room table, bruising her shin and smashing her favorite cup.

Yet, over time, the jumble of emotions turned into outrage, and later, after a long shower and a whole bar of chocolate - and without her really noticing the absurdity of her line of thought - into a strange, detached feeling of rebellion.

After dinner, which she had luckily managed without further accidents, her mind capitulated and ceased all struggles, handing over control to her body. So she found herself on the couch in the living room, without really knowing how she got there, clothed only in an almost see-through nightie that had been lying unused in her wardrobe for ages, and defiantly gripping a small cucumber.

A part of her screamed at her perversion, but another part believed that somehow she might purge herself of the wicked daemons that had taken over her mind and body. Adjusting her body so her legs pointed towards the panorama window, she slowly eased them apart, wider and wider, until her pussy lips followed the movement and bared her rosy flower. Was the girl watching just now? She couldn’t know, but her heart hammered like mad in her chest, and finally she could stretch her legs no wider. What a lewd display she must give, she thought, and felt a small spasm run through her exposed pussy. In that moment, she lost all inhibitions.

She closed her eyes and let herself be overwhelmed by all those wicked fabrications of her imagination that her mind had been working on all day, pictures of the girl, naked, a look of excited wonder on her face, one hand rubbing frantically over her clit while the other grasped the binoculars.

Helen’s left hand, still trembling, spread her pussy lips even further, and her right hand positioned the end of the cucumber right over her entrance. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if, after years of having nothing bigger than her own finger inside, such a big thing would even fit into her pussy. But then she felt her juices already seeping outside and, without another thought, pushed the cucumber inside.

The walls of her pussy clenched instantly around the intruder, and the wickedness and fullness of the penetration drew a long moan from her throat and made her arch her back. Giving herself a few seconds to adjust to its width, she slowly pushed it deeper, her fingers trembling, until a good two third were buried inside her. Then she began to move it in and out, only half an inch at first, but then another image appeared out of nowhere.

What if it weren’t her own hands guiding the cucumber, but the girl’s? Waves of heat shot through her pussy, and the new thought drove her even quicker towards the brink. Reflexively she ran her middle finger through her folds to pick up some moisture, the positioned it over her clit and rubbed up and down, while the other hand pumped the cucumber faster and faster, and her stomach rippled and her nipples started to ache. Frantically she hammered the substitute phallus into her opening, so hard it even hurt, but somehow her body transformed those signal into fresh arousal, and after taking a few seconds to find her breath, she repeated the action.

Her skin tingled, and she felt as if she were floating, while waves of lust washed all through her body, her imagination telling her that foreign fingers were pumping the cucumber and spreading her pussy lips, and then she accidentally scraped her fingernail across her clit. The short moment of pain was enough, and without warning, like a coil wound to its maximum, her body stiffened, and a guttural cry of pleasure forced its way out of her throat. Her orgasm was a big one, her biggest one ever, and it wasn’t just a single moment, but like in a tsunami, another wave followed, and another.

She screamed, and moaned, rolled herself into a fetal position and rode out the aftershocks that were still strong enough to make her whole body jerk.

It was almost ten minutes later that Helen’s body had finally relaxed and she had managed to get her breath back. Her skin still tingled pleasantly, and she became aware of her musky odor filling the air. After a few tries, she managed to raise herself to her knees and looked down to see the tip of the cucumber sticking out of her opening. Her pussy tingled slightly, but she was too exhausted to get seriously aroused. Her first attempts to pull out the intruder failed, as it had become quite slippery from her juices, so she dug her nails into it and pulled it out with a squelching sound.

Traipsing into the kitchen, she dropped it into the sink. She didn’t know what to think. Now, after the act, she felt revolted, but thrilled at the same time. And, as evidence of her strange state of mind, she needed a fag. She hadn’t smoked since high school, and then she’d only tried it a few times to try to fit in with the ‘cool crowd’, but she always had a packet in the drawer for Miranda, and now she pulled it out, together with a lighter.

She stepped out into the garden, lighting the cigarette and coughing immediately. After a few draws her throat got accustomed to it, and she inhaled the smoke deeply and let herself get blissfully lightheaded. "Shit," she wondered aloud, "what’s going on with me? This has to stop right now!" But even as the words left her lips, with puffs of smoke twirling through the air and dancing away in the dim light, she felt the childish urge to cross her fingers behind her back.