The Neighbor Next Door

But it turns out that “Mary” was seventeen, for fuck’s sake. Just one month short of being legal. But I should have known better. After all, innocent young things have always been my weakness, like catnip for a hungry tiger. But what happened is what happened, and I guess I should count myself lucky. With no priors, I only got three months, and my attorney told me that was the best I could expect.

Still. Fuck. I did three months in the slammer for enjoying the body of a seventeen year-old girl. And I paid the price, for sure. I might have gotten away with it if her parents hadn’t come home unexpectedly. Because what were her parents going to do when they came back early from their ski trip only to find a burly tattooed man twice their daughter’s age fucking her on their mahogany dining table? As far as they were concerned, she was a virgin, and I was a filthy rapist, no matter how she’d cried and screamed at them it had been her idea.

But it hadn’t mattered: by enjoying an under-age girl, I’d broken the law. Luckily, along with my clean record, the sweet little thing’s truthful testimony, I got a reduced sentence.

And frankly, jail wasn’t so bad, not for a big guy like me. I kept my head down, worked out, and served my time. It had gone quick, actually. But I couldn’t go back home afterwards. My reputation was tainted because a conviction is a conviction, and people believe what they want to believe. And apparently, the people in my hometown, with a few exceptions, wanted to believe I was a rapist. My hardware business suffered heavily, and by the time I was out, the business was gone. I had nothing but bullshit to return to, plus a load of whispers and bad memories.

So this sleepy town was the perfect way to start over. With what money I had left, I bought a small house for myself and I’ve been working as a gardener in this hamlet. In my free time, I savor my independence, vowing never to be behind bars again.

And so far, it’s been good. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but no one bothers me. Except for that witch next door: that woman is so tan that she looks like a shriveled-up orange, with red, claw-like nails, and bleached blonde hair. I’m sure Vivian thinks she’s irresistible, but she’s absolutely not my type. And yet she keeps coming onto me. Winking suggestively when she’s unloading groceries, or knocking on my door late at night in her flimsy bathrobe, asking to borrow the proverbial cup of sugar. Bullshit. It’s clear she doesn’t eat, much less cook.

But the problem isn’t Vivian, it’s her daughter. Oh sure, Vivian’s closer to my age, but I can’t bring myself from noticing her daughter’s pale skin. And I love the big, brown eyes that dart innocently over to my property every time she’s near it, like a frightened deer that wants to graze on a dangerous meadow. Her full body is soft and delicious, her huge, soft tits swaying under her summer dress, her big thighs hiding her young pussy from my gaze. A pussy that I’m sure has never been touched by a man before. Her innocence suggests she’s probably not the type to lie back at night, pleasuring herself. I doubt she’d even know where to start, whereas I could think of a thing or two I could do to her to please her, easy.

But I’ve forced myself to put Janie out of my mind. She’s so pure, so innocent, so untouched. A dirty ex-con like me shouldn’t even look at a beauty like her, much less touch her. I’d ruin the woman from my vibes alone. She’s better off not knowing me, and so I ignore her. I act like she doesn’t exist, like she’s just some random neighborhood kid. Why should I care?

But it’s because I’m starting to get lonely. I hate to admit it. But the thought of having a beautiful girl to make love to each night is irresistible. Someone juicy and young to lay down and fall asleep next to. Someone gorgeous to look after and live for, and who would take care of me in return. Especially if that girl was a young, curvy, innocent little virgin like Janie next door. I’d treat her so well. I’d show her how it’s done. I’d make sure she never wanted for anything, whether that was a good hard fuck, cuddles and affection, or anything else her heart could desire.

But I’m not worthy of such a pure creature. She’s just a teenager, and why would she want a hardened ex-prisoner like me? She’s probably too busy fawning over boyband stars and the high school jock, some dude who tosses footballs every Friday night. No, I need to hunt elsewhere, and so I’ve signed up to this stupid ass dating app, ChatWorld. As an ex-con, what other options do I have? I don’t know anyone in this town, which was the whole point of moving here in the first place. And as a gardener, it’s not like I’m going get to know a lot of people. This app is the safest way to meet someone and maybe fool around a little. It’s just for fun and games. Nothing’s gonna come of it.