The Quiet Man

William was a quiet man. He always had been, at least as far as his neighbors could tell. He was a good neighbor, always ready with a wave and a smile. Always ready to lend a hand to a neighbor if needed. Crystal had been a regular recipient of his help ever since her divorce almost ten years ago. If the mower refused to start, a faucet suddenly decided to change its role to that of a shower head, a flat tire in the morning when she was always rushed to get the kids out the door and head to work. Yes, William had always been willing to help and never asked anything in return but a smile and a thank you.

Yes, William was the kind of neighbor everyone wanted. But much changed in such a short period of time. His ever effervescent wife Katy became ill and all too suddenly was gone. It only took a few short weeks for his ready smile to disappear and his strength to visibly fade. He was only fifty, a little less than twenty years older than Crystal, but now his body language was that of a man much older. She watched as he slowly faded into the home next door, coming out only to go to work or do some badly needed yard work. The many gardens of his yard, once replete with colorful flowers, were now mostly barren dirt patches, clumps of weeds growing in their usual disorderly fashion.

Seven months had passed since that black day in his life and Crystal was determined to pay back some of the friendship she had received from him over the years. He had never asked for anything back for his help, regardless of the time or the type of emergency. He had never been anything but a perfect gentleman, even when her spandex workout clothes were soaking wet from the spraying faucet she was trying desperately to stem. Even then, when it obvious to her that he had indeed noticed all of her curves and valleys, he stayed the perfect gentleman, trying hard not to stare. Part of her had wished that he had been less than gentlemanly, at least that time. Seeing that huge bulge in his soaking wet pants had made her think thoughts of him she hadn't before. Thoughts that certainly weren't appropriate to think about a married man.

But that was then. This was now. Now was her chance to try and repay some of the kindness he had shown her for these last years. Now was her chance to draw out that younger looking, energetic man still existing in that quickly aging shell. He was way too nice of a man to allow him to fade away this way. Even if she wasn't his type, she still hoped she could coax him back into the world again, giving him a chance to meet someone that could make that happy face shine again.

William sat in his favorite recliner, staring at the screen of his laptop. He had always loved to write, with several novels to his credit. Writing wasn't a living, that came from his work as an engineer. Writing was a love he had, as strong and passionate as the love he had held for his wife of twenty eight years. Of course that was before. Before she suddenly got ill, before the two weeks in the hospital, before he had to watch her slowly fade in front of his eyes, helpless to do anything, watching until her body was too weak to even breathe on her own. When the light went out in her eyes it also went out for so many parts of his life. His pastor admonished him to not live in the past. Accept that she had moved on to her place in heaven. Now it was time for him to move on as well. She wouldn't have wanted him to waste away, a tired lonely man. That isn't what she would have wanted. But he was finding it incredibly difficult to "move on". Everything seemed harder. Cooking meals alone, cleaning alone, living alone. It all seemed too hard some days. Today he chose to pull out his computer for the first time in many months and dust off the book he had been working on. Maybe today was the day to start writing again.

Of course, today wasn't the day. Today was definitely NOT the day to start writing again. He sat and stared at the computer screen, the cursor blinking silently, accusingly, at him. "Write. Go ahead and try!" it seemed to mock him. He sighed again as he sat in his workout shorts and t-shirt. Neither being worn for anything remotely like working out, but simply for comfort. It was how he used to sit and write. Of course writing often led to other things. His wife would walk by and kiss him or tease him by flashing her breasts. She loved to try and distract him from his writing, not because she was mean, but because she knew that when he wrote he was at his most passionate, and that translated into long gentle passionate love making. The kind she loved, not just because it made her feel good, but because it made her feel his love through her whole body. He smiled to himself at the thought of the last time they were together that way, an interlude in his writing that started when she walked up in front of him and took her shirt off on a Saturday afternoon, walking away without looking back, knowing he would be following close behind. He continued to smile at the thought of her pushing her sweat pants off and stepping out of them as she walked down the hall, finally tossing aside her bra so that all she had on when she stepped into the bedroom was a pair of tiny bikini panties.

He almost growled as his reminiscing was interrupted by the doorbell. He set his computer aside and walked to the door, a little surprised at the hardness in his shorts, especially given how little time has passed since... "Hello?" he asked as he pulled the front door open, standing behind it to partly block his hardened cock and partly to keep his barely dressed body from freezing in the cold November wind swirling in the door.

"Hi William," Crystal said pleasantly, standing on the other side of the door, bundled up in a long heavy coat, scarf, mittens and high leather boots. She stood expectantly, holding an aluminum foil covered tray in her hands.

"Hi," he answered quietly. It had been months since he'd even said hello to her in the yard, so seeing her on the other side of his door was even more of a surprise.

"Can I come in?" she asked tentatively.

"Uh. Sure," he answered, pulling the door open farther for her to step in, which she did.

"So the boys and I made some cookies and we thought you might enjoy some," she said as he closed the door behind her.

"Oh?"

"Uh huh. I was pretty sure that you said chocolate chip were your favs!" she said brightly, turning to face him, her eyes traveling down to the very noticeable tent in the front of his workout shorts. She worked to stifle a smile as she stood there, suddenly feeling very warm in all sorts of places.

"Um. Yeah, they are. Thanks," he said quietly as she pushed the tray toward him. He reached out and took it from him awkwardly.

"Why don't you take those to the kitchen before you drop 'em," she said with a smile. "The boys would be disappointed if the floor got them instead of you."

"Sure," he said, stepping past her and walking across the living room toward the kitchen. He looked behind himself and saw her following, but withheld comment, not wanting to be rude.

"Boy. It's pretty warm in here," she said, pulling her coat off as she walked. He looked over his shoulder to see her in a tight fitting dress, the black skirt only extending to the middle of her thighs and the red top hugging her large round breasts, exposing a significant sea of creamy white cleavage between them.

"Yeah. It seems I enjoy the warmth more than the cold in my old age," William answered her as he stepped into the kitchen, trying not to look back at her.

"Oh. Well, looks like you've been a few days without a dishwasher. Why don't I help with those?" she said pleasantly as she stepped into the kitchen and saw the dishes in the sink from the last three days.

"I've been a bit lazy," he mumbled as she stepped past him and strode purposefully toward the sink, her high heel boots clomping across the hardwood floor. "You shouldn't. I mean, it might ruin your dress," he said quickly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

She turned to look at him, his previous thoughts having left his body open to the thoughts suddenly pushing his mind to examine her body. He knew he shouldn't, but his body didn't really give him much of a choice. His eyes moved up and down her well curved form, barely hearing her reply before she turned back to the sink and began running water. He stood on the other side of the island, trying to will his suddenly rock hard cock down as he watched her ass end wiggle back and forth as she washed the dishes and set them in the drainer. She was talking away about something that barely registered, until she turned again to face him, both hands covered in white foamy suds.

"So, what do you think? We'd love to have you come over," she asked with a grin.

"Ummmm," William responded, trying to act as if he were thinking, when in fact he had no idea what she had just asked.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" she asked with a sweet smile. "My own fault I guess, wearing something this tight," she added, wiggling her butt playfully before turning back to the sink. As she worked she wiggled more intentionally, working on a large pot that was in the sink.

"Um. No. Not your fault at all. I was just lost in thought," he finally managed to croak out.

"Pleasant thoughts I hope. Well anyway. Dinner Thursday. Two o'clock?" she asked without looking back again. "We'd really love to pay you back a little for all the nice things you've done for the boys and me over the years."

"Um," he mumbled as she turned to look at him again. "Thanksgiving?"

"Sure. Why not?" she said cheerfully. "Come on. You have to say yes!" she said stepping away from the counter with her hands still covered in soap. She stepped around the island and did her best not to stare at how far out his shorts had tented, so far in fact that the elastic waistband had started to gap away from his surprisingly firm stomach. "You've done so much for us these last years, let me help pay some of that back."

"I guess. I mean the kids are going to be at their other families this year. I have an invite to Jennifer's but I was going to turn it down. Just not really into celebrating," he said quietly, trying not to look down at the creamy valley of white breast that was so well framed by the deep cut neck of the red top. Even without looking he felt like his cock was threatening to bust out of his pants.

"Good!" she said, leaning toward him suddenly and wrapping her arms around him, soapy hands and all. She hugged him tightly, pressing his biceps between her breasts for a few moments before stepping back and walking back over to the sink, a broad smile on her face. She continued to wash the dishes, placing them in the drainer by the sink, almost surprised when he stepped next to her, towel in hand, and began drying the dishes and putting them away in the pantry. She looked down and could see that he had adjusted what she knew had to be a quite large cock in his shorts, making it less evident, but no less spectacular to her mind's eye. She really shouldn't be thinking the way she was, but damn, it was a nice looking cock, considering she couldn't see much except the bulge, and she hadn't had any cock in her hands, mouth or pussy in...well way too long! She stood, washing the rest of the dishes, careful to allow some of the water to splash on her top, knowing that the lack of a bra under the thin red material would quickly stand out.

"The boys will be thrilled!" she said with a smile, turning toward him slightly, her breasts swaying in the red shirt, the damp material clinging tightly to the front of both D cup breasts. "They really hate it when we have to have thanksgiving dinner alone."

"Yeah?" he asked, looking down and noticing that the wet material of her top clung tightly to her breasts, clearly outlining large puckered areola on the front of each breast, along with obviously hard nipples in the center of each.

"UH huh," she said brightly. "They miss having a man around."

"Well, I'm sure a good looking woman like you has lots of guys panting after her," he said brusquely, suddenly chastising himself for having lustful thoughts about his neighbor.

"Oh trust me, there are plenty of those. But most of them are only after what's under the skirt. Once they realize I have two pre-teen boys, they run faster than a jackrabbit with his cotton tail on fire!" she said with a giggle.

"Well, their loss," he said, reaching for another plate and starting to dry it.

"You think so?" she asked, unconsciously pushing her chest out at him a bit, the warmth between her legs growing significantly more than she would have thought possible.

"Yeah. Your boys are really good boys, and their mother is darn good looking," he said with a chuckle, drawing a larger smile from her.

"I'm glad you think so," she said sweetly, turning back to the sink. She dipped her hands into the water, felt around and pulled out the last dish. With a little grin to herself, she rinsed the bowl and held it out for him to take, making sure to tilt it as he took it from her hand, dumping the small amount of water out onto her breasts. It didn't take long, the small amount of water flowing down her breasts and saturating the red top of her dress. She grinned to herself, knowing the effect it would have, confident her nipples were showing even more. "Oops!" she squeaked, pretending it was an accident.

"Oh damn!" he said quickly, embarrassed that he had accidently dumped water down her front. He almost dropped the bowl setting it on the counter and reached out with the towel pressing it against her firm round tits, and then just as quickly pulling it back. "Oh damn. Sorry!" he muttered, turning bright red at the realization of what he had just done.

"It's fine," she answered, trying and failing to completely suppress her smile as she reached for his hands and took the towel from him. She was tempted at that moment to pull his hands along with the towel, but the look on his face was all the warning she needed that he just wasn't ready for anything like that. She pressed the towel to her chest, trying to soak the water from her shirt, surprised at where her own mind had suddenly gone. She'd come over to return some friendship, not seduce him, though the thought was extremely attractive to her at the moment.

"I really should get another towel," he mumbled, quickly walking from the kitchen so fast he was almost running.

She giggled to herself as she dried the front of her dress with the towel. She was still dabbing at the front of her dress, the wet material clinging to every bump and curve of her areola and nipples, when he walked back into the kitchen with a large bath towel.

"I'm so sorry!" he said again, holding the towel out for her, unable to not stare at her boobs in the thin red material.

"It's fine," she said, taking the towel. "Maybe I should get out of this dress?"

"Oh. I don't think that's a good idea," he said quickly. "I mean, you shouldn't...Oh damn," he mumbled as she reached behind her back and pulled the zipper of the dress down. She shrugged her shoulders, wiggling the red material of the short sleeves down her arms, the large expanse of creamy white cleavage growing with each wiggle as the top of the dress worked its way farther down her chest and arms. The top of her dress slipped down far enough for her to free one arm from the short sleeve, quickly crossing it across her now exposed right breast. She wiggled her other arm, letting the dress fall down that arm as well, falling as far as the towel held in her hand, the material hanging loosely around her waist. With one arm across her bare breasts and the other holding the towel she seemed at a loss for what to do. With a quick look at William, she dropped her arm, completely exposing both breasts as she switched hands with the towel. The smile never left her face as she unfolded the towel and draped it across her chest, wrapping the material around her body.

The towel extended from just above her nipples down to just above the hem of the black skirt. She watched his eyes as, judging his reaction as she let go of the towel and reached to the hem of the skirt, slowly pulling it downward, inching the black and red dress down her body until it slipped down her legs by its own weight. She stepped from it, squatting down to pick up the pile of material, her knees pointed in his direction as she did. She tossed the wet dress on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs, looking up at him, sure he could see up under the towel if he looked. She just wasn't sure he'd looked. But then again...

William felt a bit embarrassed as she bared her chest to him while she spent what felt like minutes, unfolding the towel and wrapping it around her body. He could feel his hardon fighting to tent out the material of his shorts and push its way out toward her sexy body. He shook his head to try and clear the thoughts of lust from his mind as she wiggled her hips and tugged the dress hem, pulling the black and red dress down from under the towel. Part of him hoped the towel would come off as well, revealing her naked body, but it didn't. She squatted down, glancing up at him briefly as she picked up her dress, a splash of red showing between her legs in the few brief moments he could see under the towel.

She stood back up, the dress in her hand. "I suppose I should go," she said quietly, almost shyly.

"Um. Yeah, probably," William answered, at that moment wishing she would do anything but.

She walked to where she laid her coat and slipped it on, wrapping the scarf around her neck. She zipped the coat up the front and then turned to face him. "My boys will wonder why I'm getting home in a towel," she said with a girlish giggle.

"You don't have to," he blurted out, immediately regretting his hasty remark. It was his sudden lust talking. His body demanding from him things he had no intention of allowing it.

With a crooked little grin, she reached up under the bottom of the coat and tugged on the bottom of the towel, pulling it down and out of her coat. "I suppose I don't at that." She giggled again handing him the towel and leaving herself naked under the coat except for her panties.

William didn't reply as she turned and walked to the front door and opened it, letting the cold in again. "See you Thursday then!" she said brightly before disappearing into the cold and closing the door behind herself. He tossed the towel onto the back of the chair that had held her coat. He looked down at his shorts, the front tented out and his engorged head trying its best to poke up from the waistband of the shorts. He sat down in his chair and pulled the front of his shorts down, exposing his fully hard nine inch shaft. He closed his eyes, his mind recalling the roundness of her completely bare breasts, the pink of her puckered round areola and shape of her protruding nipples. It only took a few strokes before his body spasmed and ropes of sticky white cum lanced up into the air, falling back down onto his hand and groin. He groaned softly to himself at the thought of her hand on his cock, stroking each new surge of cum out to splatter on her full round soft tits.

After several minutes he released his now soft cock and pushed himself up from the chair. It only took a few minutes to change into fresh shorts and wash himself up. He sat back down at the computer, looked once again at the flashing cursor and began typing, words flowing unexpectedly easy, so easy that his fingers had trouble keeping up with his racing mind.

To say the week went slowly was an understatement, and it was a short week at that. Only three work days, each of which seemed to drag on inexplicably long. His evenings flew by surprisingly quickly, at least the part after he completed his daily chores. His workout, washing dishes, one load of laundry, fifteen minutes of house cleaning, dinner and then sitting down in front of the TV with his computer. The words of his novel seemed to flow from him, his mind placing him deep in the story he was writing. He didn't even feel like he was writing, he was just thinking the story he was living in his mind. When he wrote he never really knew where the story was going, what it was going to end up like. He just started with a kernel of an idea and then let his mind build the story day by day. For reasons he really wasn't sure of, his mind had woven a new character into the science fiction tale, a young woman. Each night as he sat and wrote he could see her role in the story grow, and with it her attachment to the main male character.