Here I am – fifty-five years of age and living a comfortable, but rather dull life. Married thirty years ago to a nice girl: Caroline – now a woman of forty-eight. She was an attractive woman in her twenties and thirties – a plain face, but lovely dark hair and long shapely legs. We weren’t able to have children, though we tried. Unfortunately, after tests, we discovered that my sperm was infertile. Luckily, Caroline didn’t show any resentment and we managed to come to terms with a childless marriage.

I took early retirement but still do a bit of consultancy work – mainly from home. Caroline still works as a legal secretary, seven miles away in the nearest large town. If I’m honest, we have both become a bit set in our ways. Neither of us are sharp dressers and we could both do with losing some weight. Our joint love life has dwindled to an enjoyable but infrequent coupling – one or twice per month, occasionally spiced up with a bit of (reluctant) spanking.

I say ‘joint’ of course, because, like many men of my vintage, I am a prolific consumer of internet porn. Some days, I will spend hours, wanking away – edging, until I find something fresh. You might say that I have ‘catholic’ tastes in pornography, though I often return to the theme of spanking and have to admit that my wife’s bottom compares favorably with many of the best known on-line spankees. (If only she would indulge my tastes more enthusiastically – boy, would life be different!) Of course, I have explored many other avenues of the on-line sex-world and have a finely honed list of fetish preferences, which will no doubt be revealed during this tale.

We are fortunate to live in a charming village and own a largish house in a small 1980s development on the periphery. Luckily, this allows me to use one of the bedrooms as my ‘office/study’. There are four other dwellings on our estate – all occupied until now by older couples. Sadly, our next door neighbour, Mrs Carr, a widow in her eighties, died nine months ago. The property was sold by her son and we were naturally curious to see who would move in.

Builders and decorators arrived and appeared to be making some sweeping (and much-needed) changes to the interior. As far as we could tell, the new owner did not make an appearance. Nevertheless, my wife managed to engage the tradesmen in some ‘subtle’ detective work and discovered that our neighbor was to be an apparently ‘single’ businesswoman in her early thirties.

It was my wife who first met the new neighbour, whilst backing her car out of the garage one morning. Caroline phoned me from work with the ‘news’ that we would now be living next door to a lovely young woman (Jennifer) who she would surely get on with.

Now my antennas were activated. What would she look like? If I’m honest - would she be wanking material? It would be a further three days before I found out. Luckily, I can partially see next door’s driveway from the window of my study. So, when I heard our neighbour pull up in her Mercedes, naturally, I could not resist a first peek. Standing back from the window, I watched as she carefully swung her legs out of the driver’s door and leant in to gather her things. Yes! She was ‘lovely’ alright. Conservative business clothes and trousers, but obviously a nice figure. As she turned to close the car door, she seemed to glance upwards towards my room. Had she noticed a small movement of the curtains? I ducked down, somewhat shamefaced, hoping I had been mistaken.

I managed to steal several more glimpses of Jennifer as she came and went. She mainly wore trousers or jeans, but sometimes exposed a shapely ankle, dressed in nylon, and always with high heels. Life was becoming more interesting!

Later that month, Caroline mentioned that she’d been next door for coffee with Jennifer. She raved about the décor – “She’s got such good taste, Peter. I wish we could afford some of her ideas!”

I tried not to appear too interested, but listened attentively to a room by room description.

“Anyway, she was saying that it’s the small jobs that are difficult – she doesn’t do DIY at all and tradesmen seem reluctant to come out for anything less than a day's work,” said my wife. “I hope you don’t mind darling, but knowing how handy you are, I suggested that you might be able to help out with a couple of things – is that okay?”

I feigned reluctance, but seizing this opportunity to see Jennifer ‘up close’ I agreed.

Sure enough, a few days later, Caroline asked me to pop next door. She’d had coffee with Jennifer again and some grouting needed attention in the en-suite bathroom. “Would you mind very much sweetheart, it's really bugging her?” said my wife.

An hour later I was ringing the bell next door, equipped with tiling tools and a pot of grout.

Jennifer opened the door and motioned me inside. We stood in the hall and shook hands. “This is so sweet of you, Peter. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

I realized it was the first time I’d seen her in a skirt but tried to resist looking down. After exchanging pleasantries, she led the way upstairs; my eyes level with a nicely rounded bottom in a snugly fitting red pencil skirt. She showed me the grouting issue, then excused herself, asking me to step back into the bedroom while she ‘popped to the loo’.

The toilet flushed and she emerged with an encouraging smile. “Okay Peter – I’ll leave you to it – I’ll be down stars with a cup of tea for you when you’re finished.”

A last peek at her shapely calves as she turned and left me. I re-entered the en-suite, determined to do my best for this charming young woman. Then it hit me. She’d just been sitting on that wooden toilet seat. I reached out and felt the still warm mahogany. I blush to admit it, but to my shame, I kissed the toilet seat, knowing that her naked, womanly bottom had, only minutes earlier been in contact. Disgusted with myself, I shook my head and began the task in hand.

There was a much bigger area of grouting to refurbish than I expected and it took almost two hours to complete. However, I was happy with the result, tidied up and turned to leave. Then I saw them. A pair of the most exquisite, wispy chiffon panties, lying carelessly discarded, on the floor, behind the door. I had to be careful, but could not resist the temptation. Reaching down, I raised this intimate garment to my lips. Oh my god, it was perfumed. I rubbed the front of my pants and ran the delicate panties over my face. So little time! I was ecstatic, but regained control and carefully replaced the skimpy material, before composing myself, quickly taking in as much of her bedroom as I could and descended the stairs.

She was busy reading a business report as I entered her living room. She thanked me effusively and dashed off to make our tea. How wonderful it was to spend just fifteen minutes in the company of such a vivacious, sexy young woman - but all good things come to an end, and I shuffled towards the door.

She reached across to open it before saying, “Peter, you are such a sweet man. Thank you so much,” and leaning towards me, gave a peck on my cheek. “Oh, that is nice aftershave, Peter – bye now.” Luckily, the door was swiftly closed and my blush was not hopefully, observed. Of course, the scent she had smelled was from her panties. Surely she could not possibly have made the connection. Could she?