Monica’s long, nimble fingers had her blouse half unbuttoned by the time she first strode past the cracked-open bedroom door. “Thank you for fixing that running toilet, Sweetie,” she called out into the hallway. 

“I only jiggled the handle for you, Mrs. Jackson.” Darren watched his neighbor, mindful to turn away should he get caught, as she again walked past the door, this time in only her bra and jeans. He loosened his tie a little and adjusted his crotch. 

“Call me Monica, Sweetie. A college freshman calling me ‘missus’ makes me feel old. How was your first semester?” 

Darren gulped when Monica briefly paused topless, captivated by her bouncing breasts as she hopped, attempting to get her jeans down past her hips. “Okay, I guess,” he said when she moved back out of view. He rambled on about school, hoping for another flash of flesh. 

He got one, a hurried one, as she stumbled naked, flicking her panties backward from around her ankle with a pretty foot. “I’m so glad you’re coming with me to the concert. Mr. Jackson said he’ll give his boss a piece of his mind for sending him out of town at the last minute, and so close to the holidays.” 

My pleasure, he thought to himself. “’S’okay,” he said aloud. Darren was more than willing to use their conversation as an excuse to stick around. “The choir is the best in the city.” 

“Your mother told me you joined the college chorus. Good for you. You have a beautiful voice.” Monica appeared again, a little further away from the doorway, and bent at the waist, still nude except for a lacy pair of black thigh-highs. “What a profound bass you are, especially for such a young man.” 

Darren stood spellbound as she straightened her stockings’ seams from her ankles up, slowly. As beautiful as her round bottom was, as wondrous as her shadowed bald pussy was, he reacted the most when her long, thick hair cascaded over her head, veiling her face and unveiling the nape of her neck. He ducked aside when he thought she might have spied him from between her legs. 

“Are you still there, Sweetie?” 

“Y-yeah. Thanks. Thanks for the compliment.” 

“Any girls?” 

Darren dared to peek around the corner and saw her in delicate black cheeky panties, holding up and comparing two dresses. He hid again with his back to the wall, afraid that he was about to cum in his good pants, and afraid that he wasn’t. He thought about making a rapid, strategic retreat into the bathroom. “Sure. Sopranos, altos…” 

“No, Sweetie,” she said with a polite laugh. “Girls. Coeds. How’s your love life?” 

“’S’okay.” He shifted to steal another glimpse and choked back a yelp— Monica’s bare back was right in front of him. “N-nobody special.” 

“Zip me up?” Darren held his breath to hold his hand steady and fought to keep from touching her smooth skin. She thanked him and glided back into the room. “Do you think this dress is too much?” She spun once and picked up a couple pairs of shoes. 

“Oh, what would you know? No offense, Sweetie. What would any man know? I like these shoes, but they might make me taller than you. Are you man enough to accompany a taller woman?” Monica leered at him from head to toe, from chest to knees, and lingered at the bulge in his pants. 

I suppose you are, she thought, and counted out one-two-three-four-five tissues from the box on her nightstand. She flashed the wad in front of his face before stuffing them down his pants. A single squeeze was all that was needed to prime his pump, and she held fast as he dumped his nuts. 

She took delight in every lurching pulse of his shaft against her palm. 

He took pleasure in every lurching pulse of his shaft against her palm. 

Not wanting to make him feel self-conscious, Monica looked skyward as Darren finished groaning his load into the tissues. She wrung the last of his seed from his cock and retrieved the soaked tissues. “Straighten your shirt, Sweetie,” she said and flushed the tissues away. 

Darren helped Monica with her wrap, not knowing what to say or do about what she had done. Monica adjusted his tie and tossed a set of keys at him, not caring to say anything about what she did.  “Let’s take Mr. Jackson’s car. You drive.”