The New Neighbor Read online

  "Chicken."

  He watched as she dished up the chicken and vegetables. She was frowning, as if she were angry about something.

  "You're staring," she said. "What's wrong?"

  "You looked upset, is all."

  "Oh. Well, I'm just… don't you think it's strange, George?"

  "What?"

  "That woman – “

  "She has a name, you know."

  " – asking Robby over like that. Cooking dinner for him."

  "What's strange about that? She needed the help and she wanted to do something for him in return. That's all."

  Still frowning, she shook her head. "I don't know."

  "What, you think she's going to seduce him?"

  "I just… thought it was strange," she muttered. "That's all."

  George took his dinner in the living room and turned on the news. Through a two-inch opening in the curtains over the front window, he could see the lights in Lorelle Dupree's windows across the street. Two silhouettes moved back and forth inside.

  With a smirk, George wondered if maybe Karen was right. Robby wasn't a bad looking kid. He was no jock, but he wasn't a geek, either. For all George knew, maybe Lorelle Dupree was the Mrs. Robinson type, the kind of woman who liked to break in young men. He closed his eyes and imagined her with his son, both of them naked. He imagined the sounds Robby would make as Lorelle introduced him to things about which he'd only fantasized, and he wondered if Robby would be as overwhelmed as he had been the first time. As the image crystallized, became vivid, George's smile dissolved. He turned to the television again as Karen came into the room with her dinner and sat across from him on the sofa.

  She wore a simple blue shirt-dress, no stockings, barefoot, makeup washed off. Yet she looked no less attractive than she had that morning, freshly made up and dressed, on her way to work. She watched the television without looking at him and he watched her, trying to relax and get that feeling back, that feeling of… ease. He wanted to put down his plate and go to her, nuzzle her neck and curl up on the sofa with her. But he knew better.

  Monroe was coming.

  The cat crept out from under the end table, lifted his bulk onto the sofa and placed his front paws on her thigh to peek over the edge of her dinner plate. She smiled as Monroe touched his nose to each piece of food on the plate.

  George turned away from his wife as he winced disgustedly, then looked again to see Karen passing a hand over Monroe's orange fur as the cat curled up on her lap. George remembered when he and Karen used to eat dinner together, sitting close, touching one another, often exchanging smiles. He had been replaced by the cat. They used to lie on the floor together, too, curled up on pillows to watch television. Now she curled up with Monroe, and George didn't dare get too close to the cat for fear of being clawed. It was something he'd always tolerated, but over the years, it had become more and more difficult.

  As Monroe began to purr, George's eyes returned to the opening of the curtains, to the shadows moving in the windows across the street, and his brows slowly huddled together, rippling his forehead.

  If Karen was right and Lorelle Dupree was planning to seduce Robby, George had to admit that he was envious.

  No, he thought, as his dinner grew cold, not envious. Jealous.

  "Mind if I change the channel?" Karen asked.

  George turned away from the window slowly, frown diminishing, and sighed, giving her the best smile he could without looking at the cat. Before biting into his chicken, he said, "No, hon. Whatever you want."

  Chapter 4

  First Time

  As Sodom and Gomorrah sniffed around the furniture, inspecting their new surroundings, Lorelle stepped back against the wall, put her hands on her hips and carefully scanned the living room. "What do you think, Robby?"

  "Yeah," he said with a nod, "I think it's fine." They'd already moved the living room furniture around four times – not to mention arranging the dining room and bedroom furniture and assembling the large desk in the spare room after lugging it in from the garage – and Robby was tired. So was Lorelle, who was still pale and appeared weary.

  Lorelle moved to his side and put an arm around his shoulder. "So do I. Now I just need to put up some curtains and hang some plants and it'll be home."

  They'd been so busy the last ninety minutes that Robby had no time to feel self-conscious. Now he had to force himself not to squirm nervously under the gentle weight of her arm and the warm touch of her hand just below his right shoulder. A strand of her hair brushed his cheek and he caught a faint whiff of her dark, musky perfume.

  "There's just one thing missing," she said, nodding toward the big wooden crate in the middle of the floor and said, "I'll be right back," then hurried out of the room.

  They had been working around it all evening and Lorelle had refused to tell Robby what was inside, insisting it was to be a surprise. The crate was six feet long and stood about five feet high and when he tried to slide it out of his way while moving the sofa earlier, he realized it was very heavy.

  Robby flopped onto the sofa with a sigh and watched the flames blazing in the fireplace. The dogs curled up at his feet and he idly scratched Sodom's head, enjoying the aroma of steaks and garlic bread from the kitchen. A few minutes later, the dogs pricked up their ears, then stood as Lorelle returned with a hammer. Using the clawed end, she pried away one side of the crate and a gout of thickly-packed shredded newspaper and fine wood shavings whispered to the floor like guts, revealing a coal-black hand with tensely clawed fingers, so smooth that it reflected the glow of the fire.

  The dogs wagged their tails enthusiastically as they watched Lorelle disassemble the rest of the crate.

  "What is that?" Robby asked, standing.

  "You'll see." She pulled out more paper and Robby helped her remove and stack the sides of the crate.

  His mouth fell open as he stared at the black onyx sculpture that grew out of the pile of shredded paper, feeling a little embarrassed at the tingle of excitement that passed through him. He walked halfway around the sculpture, then walked back and turned to Lorelle.

  "Did you do this?" he asked. It came out, unintentionally, as a whisper.

  Her mouth curled into a half-smile and she nodded. "Do you like it?"

  Robby looked at the sculpture again and nodded slowly. "I… yeah, it's… well, it's… "

  "It's the only thing I've ever done that I couldn't bear to sell."

  Sitting stiffly, as if at attention, the dogs watched the sculpture as if expecting it to do something. Gomorrah swept his tongue over his black lips.

  Robby walked all the way around it this time. Shaking his head slightly, marveling at the sculpture's detail and trying not to blush. He failed, and was relieved when Lorelle clicked off the overhead light, leaving only the glow of the fire and the soft light coming in from the dining room.

  "I think it looks better like this," she said quietly. "Don't you?"

  He could only nod. In the shadows, Robby half expected the two onyx figures to move, to breathe. He looked from one to the other, staring at them silently for a long time.

  "You can touch it if you want. Robby. That's what I made it for." Her voice was soft as a feather.

  But he didn't. Not yet. He just looked at it. Watched it.

  It was a man and woman, both naked, lying atop a twelve-inch-tall rectangular base, and although they were not quite life-size, they appeared so real, so alive, that it did not matter.

  The man had the kind of body for which any man – including Robby – would sell his soul. It carried not an ounce of fat, but was not built with pumped up muscles like a professional body builder's. It reminded Robby of an illustration of the ideal male musculature in his nutrition and health textbook because it was impeccably proportioned, as if the man had not been born as an infant but newly created as an adult, sculpted out of flesh and bone. The woman gave the exact same impression but she was more interesting.

  Robby was accustomed to being attra
cted to slim women with large firm breasts that perked upward, small tight asses and slender legs that tapered down to narrow delicate ankles. Movies, television and magazines like the ones stacked in his closet had populated his fantasies with women who perfectly met those standards. The woman in Lorelle's sculpture did not, but it didn't matter. In fact, she was somehow more alluring than any of the beautiful naked women he’d seen on the internet.

  Her breasts were heavy but nicely rounded; they did not sag but were pendulous and were so real that he would not have been surprised if they had shifted slightly. Her ass was thrust carelessly upward and was not tight and muscular; it seemed to be made of two smoothly rounded three-quarter moons separated by a shallow crevice that curved downward between her kneeling legs to a fleshy mound with a fine coating of hair. And she had wings.

  The man lay on his back and his erect penis, long and fat and smooth, curved upward slightly. Muscular body tense with ecstasy, his left hand clutched the woman's shoulder while his right clawed at the air. His shoulder-length hair was pooled around his head and his face was twisted into a mask of agonized pleasure – eyes tightly shut, lips torn back over clenched teeth, cords of muscle pulled taut beneath the skin of his neck. The woman straddled his legs and leaned forward, hard nipples almost touching his thighs, her fist wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, left arm stretched taut, nails clawing his right nipple. The bat-like wings that sprang from her back just below her shoulders resembled an angel's, but instead of feathers, they were covered with scales, and each fold came to a needle-sharp point. They seemed about to spread open to prepare for flight. Her head was turned slightly to one side and delicate, perfectly curved strands of her hair – which reached all the way to her waist – fell down around her face. Her eyes were narrow and swept upward on the outsides, giving her face a reptilian look, and her open mouth was turned up gently at the corners, almost – but not quite – smiling as the tip of her ever-so-slightly curled tongue touched the bottom-side of the man's cock just beneath the bulbous head, which she pressed to her upper teeth as her eyes looked up at the man's tormented face.

  "Go ahead," Lorelle whispered, stroking one of the scaled wings with her fingertips, "touch it."

  Robby lifted his hand slowly until it was less than an inch from the woman's flowing hair, then -

  – a harsh buzzer sounded somewhere in the house and Robby's hand dropped as he spun around.

  Lorelle touched his shoulder and said, "It's just the timer. Dinner's ready.” She went to the kitchen.

  Robby turned to follow her and see if he could help, but he couldn't take his eyes from the sculpture. It was quite clear what the man and woman were doing, but there seemed to be no joy in it. They seemed to be struggling rather than making love.

  He glanced down at the dogs. They were no longer looking at the sculpture; they were watching him.

  "You do like it, don't you?" Lorelle asked a few minutes later, carrying their dinner in on a short tray which she set on the floor before the fire. She'd changed from her jeans into a long black cotton skirt that whispered around her legs as she went to his side. "You don't think it's… too much?"

  "Too much?"

  "You know, offensive? It's not exactly something most people would put in their living room, is it?"

  "Well, I doubt you'd ever find one in our living room, but… no, I don't think it's offensive."

  “Is your family conservative? Religious, maybe?"

  "Well, we go to a non-denominational church, but no, we're not what you'd call religious. In fact, neither is our church. It’s very liberal. So’s our pastor. A lot of love and forgiveness, very little fire and brimstone.”

  "You're frowning."

  He realized he had been frowning as he stared at the sculpture and he tried to relax. "Sorry."

  "Does it bother you?"

  "No. No, I'm just wondering… why does she have wings?"

  "Have you ever heard of Lilith?"

  He shook his head.

  Lorelle stroked one of the wings proudly as she walked around the sculpture. "Lilith was Adam's first mate, according to Hebrew legend."

  "Adam? As in Adam and Eve?"

  She nodded. "After creating Adam from dust, God made Lilith from mud. But Lilith and Adam – “ With a soft chuckle, Lorelle lightly caressed her creation as she circled it slowly, " – they didn't get along very well. They had a few… differences of opinion. For one thing – “ Lowering herself to one knee, Lorelle looked around the woman's face and up at Robby, " – Lilith considered herself Adam's equal." She put her hand on the man's smooth black chest and passed her fingertips along the ridge of the pectorals. "She wanted to do things – “

  – down the flat, rippled abdomen -

  " – that Adam didn't want to do."

  – over the carefully detailed pubic hair -

  "You might say – “

  – running one fingernail up the length of the cock as she said with a lifted brow, "- she wanted to be on top."

  Robby heard himself swallow dryly as he followed the path of her fingernail up and down the cock. He felt his own cock warm and stiffen.

  "When Adam tried to force her into subordination," Lorelle continued, "Lilith fought him at first, then flew away, leaving him alone in Eden. Then Adam complained to God." She stood and came around the sculpture again, still moving slowly, speaking softly, until she was at Robby's side, wearing an amused smile. "God tried to persuade Lilith to come back, but she refused. So, God returned to Eden and created Eve." She leaned on one wing. "That was the inspiration for this sculpture. It's Lilith and Adam in their final struggle, just before she flew away. At least, this is how I imagined it."

  Leaning so close that Robby could feel her breath, she whispered theatrically, "What will the neighbors think?"

  Robby stared at the sculpture, unable to look at her, thankful for the darkness that he hoped hid his erection. Lorelle startled him by taking his hand.

  "Go on, touch it," she said. "I like people to touch my work. That's why I enjoy making jewelry."

  She put his hand on Lilith's smooth round hip. As soon as Lorelle let go of his hand, Robby immediately moved it up toward the wing, but -

  – he caught the back of his hand on one of the thorn-like points and jerked it to his chest as the cut began to bleed.

  "Oh, Robby!" Lorelle moved close and took his hand. "I'm sorry. Hurt bad?"

  He shrugged. Actually, it did hurt, but that was okay; he'd needed the pain to divert his attention.

  Lorelle knelt beside the tray before the fire and tugged him down with her. "Sorry, I don't have any Band-Aids," she said, dabbing the cut with a cotton napkin.

  "That's okay."

  She held his hand close to her eyes. "It doesn't look too bad. Probably hurts, though."

  Once again, Lorelle caught Robby off guard – she lowered her head, placed her mouth over the cut and licked it with the tip of her tongue.

  Robby sucked in a trembling breath and started to pull away, but her grip on his wrist tightened slightly and he froze, watching her until she lifted her head and whispered, "Does that feel better?"

  He held his breath as several panicky thoughts shot through his mind:

  I should go home, I should -

  – stay here and see how far this goes, see what happens, what if -

  – Dad comes over to see if we need help or Mom decides to do some dumb neighborly thing like bringing some cookies to the new neighbor, because they 're just across the street, what if -

  – she really wants to do it?

  Lorelle touched her lips to his hand again, but he pulled away, stood clumsily and said, in a cracked voice, "I should pruh-probably go, um, go home."

  "But what about our dinner? It's getting cold." She remained on her knees in front of him, calm, her dark eyes showing a hint of disappointment.

  "I-yum, I'm really not hungry." He tried to remember where he'd put his jacket.

  "If you're not hungry – “
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  "And I should put something on this cuh-cut."

  "Well, I can't let you just leave. Not after all the work you've done."

  She raised an arm and Robby thought she wanted him to help her to her feet, so he offered a hand, but -

  – she curled a finger over the top of his jeans and flipped her thumb over the button, unfastening it.

  Robby stammered, "I-I-I – “

  His zipper hissed as she pulled it down.

  "I don't think you want to go, Robby."

  She tugged on his jeans and undershorts until his erection sprang free and he closed his eyes a moment, concentrating on not falling, because his knees were weakening, trembling.

  "Not really," she whispered, squeezing his erection and licking the head, never taking her eyes from his. "Do you?" She slipped her tongue into the moist slit at the tip of his cock and sucked hard, but only for a moment. "Do you?"

  His only response was to kneel slowly in front of her. She never let go of him and, once Robby was on his knees, she began to stroke his cock. Her hand made moist smacking sounds as he became more and more wet.

  "This is what you were doing last night," she whispered in his ear. "When I first saw you in the window. You were stroking yourself. Weren't you?"

  He could only nod, pressing his face into her hair, inhaling deeply.

  Lorelle dragged her nails gently over his scrotum, then cupped his testicles in her palm as she drew him into her mouth, sucking hard. She squeezed his balls a little harder.

  Robby moaned as she pulled his jeans down his legs, tore off his shoes and clawed at his socks until his feet were bare, all the while jerking his cock with her other hand, pounding his groin with her fist. His hands clutched at her blindly until he felt her breasts beneath the sweatshirt, heavy and firm, felt the lump of her hard nipple pressed against the material, but -

  – his hand suddenly weakened and fell to the floor as his heart began to beat impossibly hard and dangerously fast and his chest heaved with out-of-control gasps because he was seconds from coming. He didn't want to, not yet, but it was rumbling through his gut, unstoppable, and -