One evening I was pottering around in my garage, thinking of sanding an old wooden door knob, but not actually doing it. My mind was elsewhere, and every few moments I looked out through the open door across into my neighbor’s yard, hoping she might be heading towards her pool for a late dip, which she sometimes did.

I’m talking about Suzanne. She was about 35, recently divorced with shared custody of a young girl. For four days every week she was a good mother, took the child to school, dressed modestly, and although attractive, would not turn many heads.

When she swam, she wore a one piece bathing suit with thick straps over her shoulders and a skirt attached around her hips. A granny bathing suit if there ever was one.

But when her ex had her kid on those other three days - stand back! She transformed with the help of make up, clothing and body language, into a full blooded vamp. V - V - V - VOOM!

Her swim suit on those days was a two piece next-to-nothing with the smallest triangles managing somehow to cover her nipples. It could best be described as an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow polka-dot bikini - if you remember the song. It was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen, her bulging bosom, wobbling dangerously, eager to escape at any moment!

And the bottom half? It was a thong. Need I say more? I’ve been a tit-man and a leg-man all my life, but Suzanne converted me to a bona fide ass-man. Hers was an architectural master piece.

I had been widowed at that time for a couple of years and I had practically given up on ever having sex again. But on those three days a week, my eyes were kept peeled and my balls tingled delightfully any time I caught a glimpse of her, dolled up for a date, or heading for her pool.

Growing dark that evening, it was getting too late for her evening swim, so I turned off the light and was just about to close the garage door and head inside, when I heard yelling coming from Suzanne’s place.

“Fuck you! Get outta here! Fuck off!”

It was Suzanne, screaming at someone. She obviously didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard her.

“Fuck off, you little prick! Fuck off.”

She badly needed a bigger vocabulary of swear words because she repeated the same thing, over and over, at the top of her voice. I moved out of the shadows to a spot where I knew she could see me. Trying not to get too involved, I signaled her, offering to come to her aid if she needed it.

She didn’t. The young man she was cussing out was already heading off to the street. I watched as he left. He was a good looking fellow, tall, muscular and broad shouldered with a fine head of black hair and a natty plaid jacket. He climbed into a very low-to-the-ground, sporty-looking car. It was bright yellow.

“Ah,” I thought to myself, “that must be the Lamborghini she told me about, and that must be the notorious Angelo.”

I’d heard about him and his ostentatious car because I sometimes helped her with odd jobs, and Suzanne would entertain me with her dating tales of woe while I worked. She probably thought of me as the father figure she never had.

I heard the car door slam, an expensive, solid sound. The engine roared to life, and with squealing tires off it went, rapidly changing gears as the throaty noise faded into the distance.

I turned to go back and close my garage door, but heard Suzanne quietly sobbing.

“You OK, Suzanne? I called out soothingly as I walked over to the spot where we sometimes chatted across our picket fence.

She didn’t answer me, but came over to where I was, reached across the fence, put her arms around me and laid her head on my shoulder. I could feel her whole body heaving with irregular, shallow breaths, and her tears dripped onto my neck and ran down my chest.

I didn’t mind. Looking down at her, I could see that her heavy make up had run, and her face was a mess. But there was nothing wrong with her cleavage! Three days a week she was something of an exhibitionist, always wearing very low-cut tops, and tonight was no exception. As usual she was braless and while her left tit was firmly squeezed up against my chest, her right one was jiggling freely and straining against the little pearl buttons on her silky red blouse.

“My heart, Mr. B,” she began, using the name that all my neighbors knew me by. “Can you feel my heart?”

“Oh, you poor thing, you,” I replied, trying to console her.

“No, can you feel my heart beating?”

“Not exactly, but I know how upset you are. What did he do to you, that horrible boy?”

She ignored my question. “Here, feel my heart.”

She reached out, took my left hand and placed it squarely on top of her right tit. It wasn’t her heart I felt now, it was mine, missing a beat - several beats, in fact. I could have died right there, right then, and been happy about it! Oh my god, I was actually fondling Suzanne’s tit, something I never imagined could happen even in my most optimistic dreams.

It crossed my mind to tell her that her heart was on the other side, but thought better of it. My hand felt pretty good where it was; I might never get the chance again. My fingers began gingerly exploring, pretending to look for a heart beat. All I felt was a hardening of her nipple against the palm of my hand. Suzanne’s breathing began to take on a different pattern.

“Mr. B, could I tell you something?”

“Of course, Suzanne. What is it?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course, my dear. Who would I tell anyway?”

“I get very turned on when I have an argument with someone.”

“Is... ah... is that right?”

“Yes, I really wanted to fuck Angelo when I yelled at him.”

I was rather shocked at the way she was talking. We had never had this kind of conversation before. I tried to sound casual about it.

“But you told him to f--- off!”

“I know,” she admitted sadly.

“And you were standing outside the front door of your house....”

“I know! Not the best place to do it. And then he went and left before we could make up, stupid bastard! And Mr. B., can I tell you another secret?”

I nodded, finding it rather hard to talk with any kind of normality, not being used to conversing with young women while fondling their tits.

“Dirty words get me really you-know-what!”

From the tone of her voice, and the intimacy of her confessions, I thought I knew what she was getting at.

“You mean,” I swallowed and went on boldly, whispering in her ear, “your pussy gets wet when you hear those words?” I stressed the sexy words - words I never even thought of using in my everyday life.

She gasped. “Yesssss,” she hissed at me. “Check it out.”

She took my hand off her tit and moved it down to her thigh. No stockings; it was bare. She let go, leaving my hand there, and pulling my face down to hers, put her lips to my ear and enunciated each word very slowly and clearly:

“Check - it - out, Mr. - B. See - if - my - cunt - is - wet!”

Oh my god! What an invitation! My cock was pressing hard against the picket fence that stood between us, but she must have known what an effect she was having on me anyway. I began to feel my way up her thigh. Her little party skirt can only have hung six inches below her cute rounded ass, an ass that I had admired many times from a distance, specially when she got into her car some mornings to go for her yoga workout. Yoga pants! Don’t you love ’em!

I simply had to take a detour before I found out just how wet she was; I had to give her ass a squeeze. Slowly, slowly, I forced myself to go slowly, haltingly, not wanting the experience to be over too quickly.

We were both breathing deeply as my palm slid up the side of her thigh, higher and higher, not inch by inch, but deliberately, centimeter by centimeter, easing round behind her.

All too soon my first finger felt the overhang of her sweet tush.

My heart missed another beat when I discovered she was not wearing panties.

“What did you expect, Mr. B?” she asked brazenly. “I was all set for a night out.”

“I guess you were,” I managed to respond, concentrating on spreading my hand as widely as I could over her right cheek and giving it a loving squeeze. It was soft and firm at the same time. I could have spent a long time massaging it, exploring the hills and valleys, but a new hissed command came in my ear:

“My cunt, Mr. B. Tell me if my cunt is wet?”

Quickly I shifted my attention. My hand moved away from Suzanne’s exquisite ass, across her hip and the sharp curve into her narrow waist and then eased its way down her flat stomach. And then, another surprise - no familiar bush! It was the first time I had ever felt a completely bald mound. It must have been freshly shaved; there wasn’t a trace of stubble.

I headed further south.

“Yes, it is; it’s very wet,” I croaked through my constricted throat, my middle finger slipping in easily. Gently I began to stroke her the way I knew how from 33 years of marriage to my very sensual late wife.

“Mr. B! You know exactly what to do! Don’t stop! I bet you’re good in bed!”

“I used to be, Suzanne,” I sighed. “Now I mostly watch.”

“Oh, so you’re a voyeur!”

“Not by choice,” I was going to say, but before I could get the words out we were interrupted by the guttural sounds of a certain sports car we both knew as it pulled up to the curb.

“It’s Angelo! He’s back! Hide, Mr. B! He gets very jealous.”

I took her advice, ran the five steps to my dark garage, ducked in through the open door and hid behind an upturned ping-pong table. Savoring the smell on my finger was small compensation for the growing ache in my balls.

Parts of their conversation drifted into my hiding place as the two of them came closer. He spoke too quietly to hear, but Suzanne’s voice was filled with energy.

“I’m not mad at you.... You’re forgiven.... Come on Angelo, let’s fuck outside tonight.... No, no one will see us.... Angelo, don’t be silly, no one will see us, it’s far too dark already.... How can you say that’s a full moon? I’ll show you a real ‘full moon!’ Come over here...”

From the darkness of my garage I could see them approaching the same spot where Suzanne and I had been standing a minute before. There was just enough moonlight to see her maneuvering him exactly where she wanted him. I saw her kneel down on the grass, work with his belt, pull down his pants, grab his cock and pop it into her mouth - all in perfect profile.

My cock started to stiffen up at the same rate as Angelo’s and I quickly unzipped to get some relief. But the zip only went half way down and jammed, and in frustration I let out a small groan. Angelo nervously glanced over towards my hiding spot. Fortunately he was too busy to pay much attention, the lucky bastard! He was getting a blow job, while I had my cock trapped in my pants!

When I peeked out at the couple again, Suzanne was up off her knees. She turned around and lifted her mini skirt over her waist, bent forward and aimed her ‘full moon’ towards my garage. I understood now that she was doing all this for my benefit, for me - the voyeur she thought I was. What a kind, sweet girl she was, in spite of all the dirty talk! She backed towards Angelo, giving him orders.

“Is my cunt wet enough, Angelo? Come on, feel it!”

Angelo did as ordered, and this time I could hear what he said.

“Oh my God! How can you get this wet so fast?”

“Shut up and fuck me, you little prick!”

Angelo followed orders well, and I soon saw a steady rhythm working out between them, she pushing back even more strongly than he pushed forward. With every stroke the moonlight glinted on his slick, shiny cock. It gave me some sense of pleasure to see that his was quite a bit smaller than mine; no wonder she kept calling him a “little prick”! And it was more than likely why he drove a penis-compensation car like he did.

The gentle sound of the slapping of his balls against her ass was music to my ears, but it didn’t help my balls which were suffering as I desperately undid my pants and pushed them down.

Before I could get any rhythm of my own going, Angelo suddenly grunted, pulled out and came all over Suzanne’s ass. In the silence that followed I had to stop my activity. I started to lose my balance in the dark and put out a hand to steady myself. Oh no! - I accidentally brushed against a shelf behind me and dislodged a ping-pong ball that bounced loudly on the concrete floor, faster and faster until it finally quit.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Angelo, looking right towards me.

“Must be Mr. B.,” she replied, shocking me that she would betray me like that. Luckily she went on, “That’s the name of my neighbor’s cat. There are rats in his garage,” she explained.

“I gotta go,” he whispered.

“But what about me? I didn’t cum yet,” Suzanne whined.

“I gotta go,” he said again, louder. “This place spooks me.”

He hurried away towards his fancy car, with Suzanne trying to keep up, and getting more and more upset as they went.

“Asshole!” she spat at him. “You little brain fart, skuz bag, pencil dick!”

I had been wrong; she knew plenty of swear words. ‘Brain fart’? That was a new one on me. “I must remember that,” I told myself.

I waited until I heard his penis-on-wheels roar off down the street, then I felt my way along my garage wall, found the light switch, flicked it on and was just about to start stroking my poor cock once again, when I heard Suzanne running towards me. She was on my side of the fence. I quickly tidied up.

“Mr. B.,” she panted, “can you help me? I’m so close to cumming. Do you have a vibrator?”

“What? In my garage?”

“Yeah, well I thought you might. You’ve got those Playboy centerfolds on the wall, I thought this is where you had sex.”

“But men don’t use vibrators that much, it’s mostly women.”

“But you use electric tools, don’t you. Don’t they vibrate?”

Oh my god! She was right! My little hand held sander! It vibrated like hell. I picked it up and gave it to her. She grabbed it with one hand, lifted her skirt with the other and put it straight onto her little bald mound, and before I could stop her she turned it on.

“Yikes! Fuck, that hurts!” she yelled at me.

“Hey, go easy,” I told her. “You don’t put sandpaper on bare skin, of course that’s gonna rip you to shreds.”

“Here, you do it,” she ordered.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed one of my work gloves and put it on, lifted her little skirt, and cupping her pussy with my palm, placed the sander on the back of my hand. The vibrations went right through to the other side and must have ended up on her clit because in less than ten seconds flat her face contorted and her whole body shook in ecstasy.

“Thanks, Mr. B.,” she called out to me as she ran out of my garage. “I owe you one! Promise!”

“You fuckin’ tootin’ do,” I growled to myself as I watched her ass jiggle away into the darkness. “Come back here,” I should have told her, “you little asshole, you! Have you never heard of blue balls? I’ll show you blue balls, you cock teaser, you fuckwit, you!”

I wasn’t good at swearing or using dirty words, but I knew I would have to practice if I wanted to cash in her I.O.U.

No good deed goes unpunished. My balls ached, but she owed me one! It was gonna be worth it!