Summer Rental

Rhode Island...when the travel agent suggested it as a cheap getaway, it took a moment to place, a geographical fact that had been misplaced like a name at a cocktail party. Soon enough, she would see for herself if it lived up to the brochure. The flight from Montreal had been as nice as it could be, not unlike a cat crammed in a kennel, but the magic of entering in one world and reemerging into another was usually worth the airlines De Sade like hospitality.

A stewardess with the sincerity of an insurance salesman wished her a "great day!" as she left the plane, the heat from the runway was "oven like" smelling of aviation fuel and tar, and the noise of jabbering passengers didn't help the first impression. She strolled through the terminal taking in the art, and the way some extremely bored engineer had created a cloud hanging in perpetuity across the ceiling of the lobby. Avis had its booth nearby, where the perky attendant handed her the keys to a convertible Mustang, a nice addition to the trips package, and she strolled out to her first real peek of Rhode Island.

Following directions from the travel agent she left the urban sprawl surrounding the airport, like every other airport in America, and soon found herself driving down a winding two-lane blacktop. Tall pines lining the road on either side, and as she neared the ocean the smell of the pines mixed with the fresh salty scent of the beach. A long ribbon of asphalt led to the end of a peninsula as the sun set straight ahead, a beautiful orange ball settling slowly into the waves.

Top down driving had its appeal in the ideal weather of this day, her hair wind tossed. She had packed so little for this trip, a first, just her beach attire and a new swimsuit that no one would likely get to see. But this trip was for her. The Mustangs headlights played on the weathered door of her rental cottage as she arrived, the sound of the surf somewhere behind the house. An ocean breeze felt cool against her sunburnt cheek as she fumbled with the keys. Lock scraping the old door opened and she stepped into her home for the next week.

Stale air, smelling of being closed for a long winter combined with the heat of the day, was quickly blown away as she opened the windows. Collapsing on the four-post bed she lay down in her T-shirt and undies, letting the breeze blow over her. Eyes closed she could hear the waves on the beach and the sound of a musician practicing a bass line over and over. Perhaps it was her relaxed frame of mind, or the infectious groove, but rather than being annoying, it sent her to sleep. Her eyes flicked open to the sun slanting across the room, dust particles dancing on the pale yellow light. Lying there she could hear gulls screeching as they scavenged the surf for breakfast. From somewhere the smell of coffee wafted to her on the breeze was lifting the gauzy curtains.

Rolling out of bed she knelt at the open window and saw her view of the ocean from over her neighbor's yard. Funny, just thinking neighbor made her think of Gomer Pyle, and it was this silly association, that made her neurons fire in silly synaptic bliss, that she had as she noticed a man jog into the yard below. He was tall, and had a chocolate lab trailing behind. He leaned against the weathered fence that separated the yards, stretching his long tanned legs, the hound just collapsing at his feet. His T-shirt plastered to his chest and shoulders with sweat as his breath returned to normal.

The stranger took a hose and filled a nearby dish with cool water, Mr. Dog lapping away as it spilled into his dish. She watched quietly, not a bit self-conscious, enjoying the part of voyeur. Closing his blue eyes he lifted the hose over his head and soaked his short hair, rubbing the water over his sun reddened neck, letting it trickle down over his legs. She watched as he pulled the wet shirt over his head, her hands absently brushing her breasts through the thin cotton of her own T.

He hung the shirt on the fence and lay back on lounge directly beneath her window, kicking off his sneakers, he squeezed some lotion from a tube and rubbed it over his legs, arms, and chest, the lotion making his skin glisten in the sun. Her fingers dropped to her thighs, stroking lightly as her eyes moved over the scene below. Warmth spreading to her cheeks, as a breeze lifted the curtains. His eyes opened, and he got back up startling her a bit, but he only went back to the hose, running the water over himself again to cool off.

This time his shorts were soaked, and to her amazement he tugged them past his hips and let them fall to the grass. Hanging them on the fence to dry alongside the shirt he walked back to the lounge, nude. She noticed his lack of tan lines, that and her own arousal. The stranger next door then took the lotion again and slowly began rubbing it over his body, his hands lingering between his thighs, fingers encircling his shaft. Oil shining on his tanned skin he began slowly stroking himself, his shaft becoming erect, swollen. She let her fingers move over her body as well, tugging the panties aside, feeling her wetness.

Outside he continued, eyes closed taking time to caress his balls as he stroked. It wasn't seeing a man naked, for she had a taste for imaginative porn, but it was the way he moved...uncaring, unaware that he was being watched, amusing himself with no inhibitions at all. It didn't even seem perverse; rather it seemed sensual and erotic. And it aroused her immensely. She leaned back against the bed; her imagination taking over as her body began to give in, only to be startled by the phone.

"Who could that possibly be?" she thought out loud annoyed at the interruption, "No one even knows I am here." Grabbing the phone, the huskiness of her voice surprised her "Hello?" she blurted, accented in French.

"I like your voice," came the reply, deep and masculine.

"I know you're watching. Come across the yard." Click. The phone went dead.

Her heart was racing, but without thinking she went out the side door, and crossed the yard. Past the drying clothes she walked as if in a dream. He stood there in the yard, nude, his blue eyes meeting hers. "Lie down for me" was all he said as he gestured to the lounge. She knew, and without hesitating she lay back. He handed her the lotion and stepped back, looking, she could feel his eyes taking her in. She closed her eyes to his stare, and slipped of the T-shirt, rubbing the oil over her breasts, wonderfully turned on by the idea of being watched. Her fingers slipped lower as she stroked aside her thin panties, moist already.

Without opening her eyes she inserted a finger slowly, biting her lip to stifle a moan. Knowing that he was pleasing himself, she moved faster. Soon her hips raised off the lounge, and the moan escaped her lips, her orgasm surprising her in its intensity. Breathing raggedly she felt the first splat, warm. Then another, landing on her thighs. Opening her eyes she saw him, his shaft pulsing as his cum landed on her. His orgasm right behind hers. Leaning forward he took her hand in his, fingers entwined they rubbed the slickness over her.

Smiling, his eyes fixed on her, he said, "Welcome to the neighborhood!"