My Neighbor's Husband

I smile, nodding my head.

“Congrats!”

Jane grins right back.

“How about you?” she asks. “How are you Margot? Are you still seeing that guy … what was his name? Tucker or something?”

I wrinkle my nose.

“His name is Booker,” I say.

“Oh right!” exclaims Jane. “Like Booker T. Washington.”

“Like Booker T. Washington,” I agree, “except Booker T. Washington was a man of honor, an activist, and an educator. Meanwhile, the Booker I dated was a lazy asshole who lives with his parents still, and tried to get me to pay for dates. It was crazy. I stopped dating him two weeks ago.”

Jane is flummoxed and unsure what to say.

“Oh I’m sorry,” she mumbles. But then her face brightens. “Well, onwards and upwards! Oh my gosh, there’s that really handsome new neighbor who just moved in. What’s his name again?”

I look over and immediately, my eyes see the towering figure of Dane Jones. Wow, he looks especially yummy right now in a blue polo shirt and shorts. Tattoos circle his forearms, which only make me want him more.

“Um, I think his name is Dane,” I stammer, pretending like I don’t remember. “Or at least that’s what I heard.”

“Dane, schmane,” Jane says in a lively voice, still eating up our new neighbor with his eyes. “By the way, did you hear that he and his wife got a divorce? Yep, I saw her silver Beamer pull out of the driveway a few days ago with a U-Haul in back, and it doesn’t seem like she’s coming back. I think they’re done.”

This time, I gape at her.

“Are you serious? But they just moved here!”

Jane shrugs.

“What does that have to do with anything? Maybe she just needed a place to stay until the divorce was finalized. Now that things are done and they’ve signed on the dotted line, I guess she’s gone. Never met her. She could be nice, for all I know, or a total bitch.”

Again, I’m at a loss for words. I just spied on Dane making love to his wife last week! How can they be divorced now?

But I guess you can never really understand someone else’s marriage because even though I know what I saw, I suppose it doesn’t represent the true state of affairs. Maybe that was a last, good-bye fuck? Hell, I have no idea.

Suddenly, I stand up ramrod straight because Dane is approaching us with long, loping strides. He’s got a plate of food in one hand and a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Oh my god, he’s coming over,” hisses Jane. “Pretend like you know nothing. Hi Dane!” she calls. “How are you?”

The gorgeous man stops in front of us, casting me in his enormous shadow. Oh my god, he’s even better looking up close, with his chiseled features, perfectly sculpted lips, and tan, taut physique. My eyes slip down on their own, and sure enough, that huge snake is there, bulging under the fabric. Suddenly, my eye catches on something right at his knee, and I gasp. There’s a dark something there, and suddenly, I realize what it is. It’s his tip. He’s so long that his glans is literally hanging down below the hem of his shorts … and I like what I see.

4

Dane

I know what my curvy neighbor is looking at. It’s totally obvious given the shocked look in her eyes, not to mention the flushed cheeks and heaving bosom.

After all, I knew what I was doing when I got dressed for this party. Usually, I wear boxer briefs. They’re cotton, tight but not too tight, and most importantly, they keep me contained. Regular boxer shorts will never do because frankly, I’m just too big and long down there. I’d be swinging around like a madman if I restricted myself to boxers.

But today, I knew that the gorgeous Margot would be at the block party, so I decided to go with boxers. Why not? I know how to manage myself. If I stand a certain way, I’m able to keep myself completely hidden. But if I stand a different way, then the tip will show right below the hem of my shorts. And right now, the tip’s showing and making my gorgeous neighbor gasp.

“Um, hi,” she says, barely able to meet my eyes. “I’m Margot.”

“I know,” I say smoothly, holding my hand out for a shake. “Mrs. Caldwell’s told me about you. I’m Dane Jones.”

“Mrs. Caldwell?” she stammers, referring to our local neighborhood gossip. “But I barely even talk to her!”

I wink.

“Mrs. Caldwell gave me the lowdown on everybody who lives in our hood,” I say. “Don’t worry, she didn’t say anything bad though. In fact, she sung the praises of most people who live here.”

At that moment, the redhead standing beside Margot decides to butt in.

“Hi, I’m Jane Leacham,” she says, sticking her hand out. “I’m married to Henry, and we live just down the street from you with our four year old daughter. You’ve probably seen me calling to her. Her name is Jilly.”