The Neighbor Next Door

Suddenly, I’m interrupted.

“JANIE!” Vivian shrieks from downstairs, giving me a near heart attack.

“What?” I call back, annoyed at having been sucked out of my reverie about Trent.

“Your cookies are burning!” she calls back.

And rolling my eyes, I press “submit” before closing my laptop and rushing downstairs. Because it’s not like anything’s going to happen. I didn’t even upload my picture, and guys are visual. They need to see the goods before buying. So with a sigh, I rush downstairs, figuring that that’s the end of ChatWorld … at least for now.

3

Janie

I just about manage to save my cookies from their charred fate.

“It’s not like you to burn stuff, Janie,” manages Vivian through pursed lips as she applies lipstick, staring in her pocket mirror. “What were you doing up there?”

I dig the spatula under each cookie, piling them into a large, colorful cookie jar.

“I was browsing through men on a dating website,” is my sarcastic reply, even if it’s the truth.

“Don’t be salty with me, young lady,” Vivian raises her eyebrow while scrutinizing her perfectly done make-up. “What were you really doing?”

I sigh. What’s the point of all this? Instead, I go with the unobjectionable answer.

“Homework,” is my mumble.

My mom perks up.

“Well, Chris will be here soon,” replies Vivian. Of course, sometimes I feel like what I say doesn’t matter at all because she’s not listening.

“Chris? Why?” I ask, astonished. Chris is Vivian’s third husband. Or ex-husband, I should say. They got divorced a few months ago and I hadn’t seen him since. Not that I minded, since he was a lech of the worst sort.

“None of your business!” says Vivian with a smirk. “Some of us have love lives, you know.” I bite my lip because my mom’s love life is out of control. She’s only in her thirties, and yet she’s been married and divorced three times. There has to be some sort of Olympic record for this, right?

But I just keep my composure.

“Never mind,” I mumble. “I’ll be upstairs doing homework,” I say before turning on my heel, taking the cookie jar upstairs with me.

“Don’t eat all of those, Janie!” Vivian calls warningly after me. “We have to keep ourselves attractive for the opposite sex!”

But snacking on my own baked goods while I read my romance novels is my favorite thing to do on a Friday night. I’m vaguely aware of how sad my peers would find this if they knew. But those straight A’s don’t get themselves: I study really hard all week, and mostly during the weekends as well. Friday nights are my own – where I get to put on my fairy lights, indulge in something new I’ve baked, curl up on my bed with my book, and shut out the world.

Of course I often get excited, reading those romance novels. There are loads of steamy sex scenes and they often leave me all hot and bothered, my heart fluttering, my panties wet, not knowing how to rid myself of the building pressure between my legs. I’ve heard of masturbation, of course, but I’ve never really figured out how it worked or what I’m meant to do. I can’t discuss these things with Vivian, and I don’t have any sisters or close friends to ask. And I’m too terrified someone might find my search history if I try to look it up online! So I’ve gotten used to letting the feeling pass. It does, eventually, even if I’m aching and horny still.

As I enjoy cookie after cookie, guilt-free and wrapped in the warm little fairy-lit world I’ve created behind my locked door, I become immersed in the new romance novel of the series I’m addicted to. But when it comes to the sex scene, I’m imagining the hero as Trent from next door. It’s his strong arms that lift the heroine from her horse. It’s his raging hard-on I see when she strokes his bulge. It’s his breath I feel on my neck as he lays the heroine down in the straw.

I feel my pussy contract with lust and I moan at the frustration that’s building between my legs. Feeling restless, I get up and start pacing about my room, trying to dispel the pent-up sexual energy. Suddenly, my gaze is caught by something glinting outside my window. It’s late by now, so the darkness stops me from seeing properly. But the movement is coming from Trent’s garden. I hastily turn off my lights so I can see better while staying in the shadows myself.

My breath catches in my throat as I realize it’s Trent himself, taking a midnight dip in his pool. I squint, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness and as my pupils grow large under the full moon. The silver light of night glints off the water as Trent finishes a lap and suddenly rolls over onto his back, allowing his muscular, tattooed body to float effortlessly on the surface, his arms and legs outstretched, black hair floating around his perfect face. He’s so hot!