Mature

Keywords: the, Across, Street,

Pages:
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I hate doing windows. No real man should do windows, unless it's their job. Spray, rub, rub, rub...

Let me tell you, I would rather clean toilets.

But I was cleaning the front windows of my ground floor apartment when I saw her. I was struck dumb, like always. Her name was Lynn, and she lived across the street in a cute little house.

I stepped back a little, into the shadows, to observe her for my own privacy, if not hers. Lynn was a short woman of middle years, with single strands of pure white peeking here and there from amongst her shining brunette waves. Her skin was creamy and devoid of a suntan. If I were close enough, I would see that her eyes were the color of very faded blue jeans. Her short, wiry frame had enough curve to be noticeable. Her breasts were small, but there. Her hips flared delicately in that feminine way.

She wasn't smiling, but I have seen her smile; it's a vision of beauty. No, she was scowling at the moment, but even her scowl couldn't mar the beauty of her face. I can't help but be attracted to her - women who allow themselves to age naturally without falling for the snake oil and fakery of cosmetic enhancements and surgeries so common in California...

Yes, women who avoid all that are so much more natural; they are in tune with themselves and contain an appeal that transcends fake tits. That appeal reaches deep into a psyche - my psyche - and touches areas of attraction, lust, and even love.

I could admit, as a man, that I felt all of it for the woman across the street. I found myself twisting my wedding ring with the thumb and pinky of my left hand. The vision of the woman named Lynn across the street filled my mind with thoughts that were altogether questionable.

Yes, I was married. The woman across the street was married, too.

I wondered what she was doing over there. Was she making dinner for her husband? Was she doing his laundry? Was she doing something so mundane and domestic that even she forgot how intimate such activity was?

I felt myself stir at the thought of her domestic, feminine manner. I had to experience it, bathe in it, relish it...

I dropped the wipe I was holding and snuck out the door of the apartment. Lynn was heading into the backyard of the house. I stood looking across the street as emotions flashed through me, but wild ones, conflicting ones that tugged one way and then the other. I had told my wife that I would clean the apartment, but the lightning bolt that was Lynn's natural beauty struck my heart in an insistent way.

I'm not sure what any neighbors might have seen on my face: determination, fear, wonderment.

I wanted to see more of Lynn. We were on first-name basis with each other, surely I could walk up and talk to her if I wanted. But I wanted to do so much more than that. I wanted to...

I crossed the street. I wanted more. I needed more.

I slid into the shrubbery next to the backyard fence and peeked over. Lynn was bending over the hose, attaching a spray nozzle to the end. Her small frame in such a position made me grip the top edge of the fence. Her jeans fit her curves so well that envisioning her naked was effortless. Her small hands and slightly bony fingers worked deftly until the task was completed. Even her hands fueled the fire that was within me. I wanted to feel those fingers on me.

I felt fear amidst the lust. What was I? Was I crazy? Unbalanced? Sick? What would my relatives think if I was discovered like this? Or even the neighbors?

I had watched Lynn many times. Each time brought strong emotions to my head and heart. She was so beautiful and natural that I had to have her. I found myself twisting my wedding ring again in that calculating manner.

No, I would think about that later.

Today was the day I crossed the line from watching to acting.

I watched her turn on the water and hose off the patio. Ah, I saw that she was hosing a small dog bomb into the grass. That nasty little poodle from next door had wandered into the backyard and crapped on the patio. The notorious neighborhood crap-machine. It crapped in everyone's yard but its own.

Lynn's scowl ignited a hotter fire in me. Even her scowl was beautiful. I wanted to kiss the scowl away. I wanted to kiss her lips until she smiled. Was that such a bad thing?

She finished and shut off the water. Heading into the house, she only closed the sliding screen door.

Perfect.

I waited a moment, and then made my move. I slipped into the backyard and up to the screen door. I shaded my eyes to look in; she was off to the left, in the laundry room. I slid open the screen door and snuck in. Closing the screen, I glanced around. My heart thudded with the effort at being quiet, and maybe fear for what I felt.

She was transferring wet laundry from the washer to the dryer. The act raised an emotional tidal wave in me. Here she was, performing what I considered an intimate task for herself and her husband with no one to see, no one to appreciate. Even her mundane chore was performed in a uniquely feminine way. Her moves were fluid, alluring, even sexy.

I slowly stepped up to her. The sound of the dryer starting its cycle echoed in the small room as I reached out to her. She turned as I slipped up to her front and grabbed her around the waist.

Lynn's eyes flew open wide and she gasped loudly on her inhale, preparing to scream.

I tried a smile.

"Mitch! You scared me!" She gasped out in fear and simultaneous relief. She noted my arm around her waist, immediately. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," was all I could get out before I descended on her and covered her mouth with mine.

"Mmmph!"

Lynn struggled briefly and I could feel her heart racing. She put her hands against my chest, but my tongue was in her mouth, and my arms around her back crushing her to me. The feel of her body was fantastic.

"Mmphmm," she mumbled through the kiss.

Very slowly, she began to relax. As she did, her tongue reached out to tentatively stroke mine.

I knew it wouldn't take much!

I slowed my kiss and savored the feel of her tongue against mine. I could smell her make-up and the light hint of her perfume. She had put them on for her husband, surely, and I was going to enjoy them. I felt her arms come up and lightly lay around my neck and shoulders. Her kiss became more insistent. My penis grew at an alarming rate, and I ground my hips forward into hers.

"Mmm," she responded.

Her hips pushed back at me once, then twice, and then just as hard as I was pushing into her. The feel of her body melting into mine brought me all the way to hardness. I stopped kissing her mouth and moved down to the side of her neck. I could feel her pulse trembling through my lips as they brushed her skin. I moved up to her ear and drew in the feminine aroma of her delicate feature.

Lynn trembled against me and hummed.

I knew she was mine, then.

"What are you doing?!" She gasped at me, breathless.

I led her wordlessly to the bedroom. She had two small piles of folded clothes on the bed. I kissed her again, in front of her marriage bed, and held her tightly. Now that I had her in my arms, I didn't want to let her go. Ever. I reached my hands up as we kissed and ran my fingers up into her hair. I cupped her head, tenderly, and kissed her beautiful face. With her lips on mine, and our tongues making love to each other, I didn't want to ever end this kiss. I didn't care what the consequences were. I didn't care if I was considered insane or a danger to society. My feelings for this married woman were that strong.

We reached a silent, mutual agreement to strip out of our clothes.

My eyes were held to her as she revealed her curves. Her skin was creamy and silky, calling to me in all the ways that are secret and forbidden to speak of in public. My head swam with the urgency of wrapping my arms around this naked beauty.

We locked once more in a kiss as we pressed naked bodies together. My erection nestled in between her thighs, and she moved against it. It felt so wonderful there.

I lowered her gently to the bed and laid alongside her. I reached my hand down and stroked her small pubic mound. She was a shaver, even at her age. She was forty, and looked exquisite.

No, not like a teenager. No, no, no. Teenagers aren't "exquisite." Teens don't know how to wash, generally, and look more like little boys than fully grown, sensually mature women. Teens don't have the fullness of a mature breast. Teen tits are not ripe. Teens don't have the tiny, expressive wrinkles around the corners of their eyes. Teen eyes are like cartoons - no definition. Teens don't have the wonderful laugh lines of experience and joy. No, teen faces lack character.

Whereas a teen might be a work of art to some, to me teens are monochrome, simplistic paintings of a singular, geometric shape. But Lynn, at her age, was a panorama of detail and subtlety that was a true masterpiece.

I nuzzled her neck and ran my fingers down to her moist warmth, in that forbidden area between her legs. Her own wedding ring sat on her finger, mute to what I was doing. It represented the barrier to men of the world doing to her what I was doing.

My finger dipped into her folds and found wetness. She shifted her legs open as I rubbed lightly up and down over her clit and into her opening. All the while I kissed her mouth, her neck, her chest above her breasts. Her skin was smooth and luxurious. I kissed the bones underneath the skin - the bones that were her clavicle. She moaned against me and fumbled for my erection. I shifted so she could get at it. Her hand on me was cool and tender. Her fingers massaged my penis with a light touch. It was fantastic.

My finger stroked her and made love to her. I wanted to memorize every detail. I never wanted to forget this. My tongue on her nipple sent her spiraling out of control - much like I felt by what was happening. Her breathing became gasps, again, like from the kissing, only more urgent. Her body squirmed next to me as she fought to get more.

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Keywords: the, Across, Street,