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There he was out there, hot in the heat, while I hid half-dressed in the air-conditioned darkness of my kitchen. I cupped a breast, flicked at a nipple with my thumb, and daydreamed about how his cock might feel between my legs. A slow cold flow from the hose that Ryan held high above his head splashed down onto his face, his chest, his neck, his shoulders (oh God those shoulders), and down his back across his Speedo-painted butt. If that didn’t give him goosebumps, it gave me enough for the two of us. How could anyone be out there washing their car in this heat and humidity, I wondered, slapping a sponge across its body, so soapy, sudsy, slick and slippery, making something dirty into something…dirtier…. Then reality called from only fifteen steps away: “Hey Babe! You in the kitchen? Wanna fetch me a beer?” “No” would have been my typical answer, but something needed to be done to finish my daydream – you know, finish my daydream – so I brought him a cold one, straddled him in his chair, and ground my pretty panties onto his crotch. “Whatcha watchin’?” “The game.” He seemed to be annoyed but that wouldn’t last. I popped open the can and took a few gulps. “Here’s your beer.” “Thanks. Could you move? I can’t see.” “Uh, huh,” I said, nibbling his neck and ear. “Thanks. You still in your T-shirt and panties? Babe, you know I love the look but shouldn’t you be dressed by now?” Shouldn’t you be getting your own fucking beer by now? “You’re right. Whatever shall I wear,” I teased while slowly stripping away my shirt. I like my tits, and I thought Bobby liked them too. “Dammit, Lisa! You made me miss the play!” He promised me we’d go to the Olive Garden after the game was over. I smacked him with my shirt and yelled, “Fuck the Olive Garden,” at him, which gives you an idea about how mad I was and ran off back to the kitchen window. Ryan was still out there with his car. I got to thinking that maybe I should be a good neighbor and maybe brave the heat and maybe offer him a nice cold beer, maybe two, and maybe hang out to keep him company. Maybe, maybe, maybe…. My old tiny black two-piece that I dug out from the back of my dresser drawer seemed a little snug; the bottoms left more of my ass exposed than I remembered, which was fine, and I didn’t bother to fish it out of my crack more than once.  Topping everything off with a giant wide-brimmed straw hat and oversized sunglasses made me seriously look like one of those rich ladies you find at fancy beach resorts. Not wanting to start things off too obvious or eager, I covered myself up with one of Bobby’s jerseys. Once I was outside, it only took me a few struts to get my hips swaying and swinging at full steam. Ryan seemed puzzled as I approached carrying two little pails of ice, beer, and tequila. “Want some help, neighbor?” “No Ümraniye Escort thanks, I’m good.” “Want a beer?” “Sure.” “Tequila?” “Not right now.” “Me?” “I still don’t date married women.” I popped open a can, took a sip, and handed it to him. “Don’t let my ring bother you.” “Okay, then, I don’t date older women.” “That was uncalled for,” I pouted. “How old do you think I am?” Ryan soaked his sponge and turned his back toward me as he resumed soaping up his car. Being dismissed sucked, but God, that butt! His muscles rippled and his glutes flexed as he stretched across the roof. I wanted to slap that ass, bite it, rub against and reach around it for the prize on the other side. “For the record, I’m thirty-one,” I lied. “You’re thirty-five.” He splashed his sponge back in the pail without turning around. “Don’t post shit that you don’t want people to know.” “Busted.” I’m actually thirty-six but whatever. The shade of the huge maple tree that straddled our yards did almost nothing to lessen the effects of the heat. Perspiration glistened on my skin and sweat beaded across his back. I swiped away some of his sweat before steadying myself on his hip (I swear, just his hip) and lifted a long-neck beer out of the ice. “Open it for me?” I made a show of fluttering my lashes when he looked. His head shook, but a smile escaped as he twisted off the cap. “And how old are you?” I ventured. “Twenty-five? Twenty-six?” We stood there, nose to nose: “I’m twenty-two.” Twenty-fucking-two. “Really?” Ryan slowly nodded and told me to hand him the hose. I gave him my sexiest look, lifted the hose high above my head, and splashed the cold stream all over me, making my jersey cling tightly against my overheated body. “C’mon, Lisa, will you just let me wash my car?” “Humph!” I let the hose fall, stomped away, stomped back for my buckets, and stomped away again. “Hey!” I shouted over my shoulder and, refusing to give up, tossed him another can. Back in the house, I lobbed another beer into Bobby’s lap. He didn’t notice that his wife was soaking wet, but he didn’t notice earlier either, so fuck him. I told him I was going to wash the car when he asked what I was up to. “In this heat? Uh, you don’t need a hand with that, do you?” Yes. “No thanks.” I ditched my drenched jersey in the corner of the bathroom, grabbed my keys and some sunscreen, and drove the car around back. I slammed the car door hard to make sure Ryan knew that his helpful neighbor had returned, even though driving a car through the yard probably made that pretty clear anyway. His car looked a lot newer than ours, but whatever. Ryan acted like he hadn’t noticed me, which was impossible, and pretended to be surprised when I tapped him on the shoulder, offering up a beer. He declined, pointing at the Ümraniye Escort Bayan unopened one next to him on the ground, but he did accept a swig of my chilled tequila. I planted a soft peck on his lips, which he didn’t return, then apologized for hitting him with the brim of my ginormous hat. I set the ice buckets halfway between our cars and proceeded to ‘wash’ mine with a stealthily stolen pail of his soapy water. “Tell me again why we’re out in this heat washing our cars and not snuggling in an air-conditioned bedroom?” “They’re dirty.” Dirty, dirty, dirty. Washing cars has always been more of a spectator sport. Even back in high school when we’d have car-washing fundraisers, I was the one in the wet t-shirt holding up the sign, and not the one actually doing the work – smart, right? This wasn’t any different, so I hopped onto my hood to watch (OK, ogle) the one doing the work, but damned if it wasn’t hot as hell on there from being out in the sun. Ryan laughed, which pissed me off but at least it proved that he was watching me too. I cried, “Ow, ow, ow” all the way over to him. “Kiss it better?” He puckered up like he might actually do it, but rudely hit me with a cold shot from the hose. “Hey! I said kiss it better!” He quit laughing and wrapped his arms under my stomach, doubling me over and lifting me a few inches above the ground for a short peck on one cheek. “Better?” “Sure,” I sighed. Figuring that this was my big chance, I slipped my hands under the backside of his Speedo. “Hey!” He backed away, scowling.  “Sorry, not sorry,” I giggled and chased him a bit playing grab-ass and grab-whatever-else I could, thinking we were having fun. But then he hollered at me something like, “Enough!” and, “why the hell do you have to be like that,” and stormed off into his house. All stunned and confused and not knowing what else to do, I plodded over to my car and dully slapped a soapy sponge across it, wondering whether I was more stupid or foolish. With every flirt, every peek, every finger that I poked beneath my panties, it never once occurred to me that he’d say ‘no.’ It was definitely too hot for me to stay outside feeling sorry for myself when I could be just as miserable in the cool indoors, so I picked up my buckets to go home. But then Ryan came back out, in swim trunks instead of Speedos, carrying a cooler filled with more ice and beers. He shook my little buckets into it, twisted open two bottles, and handed me one. It was my turn to be puzzled, but I didn’t say anything except, “Thanks.” I sat cross-legged on the ground at his feet, outwardly indifferent yet inwardly delighted and relieved. “Nice trunks. Can’t leave ’em dry, right?” Ryan barely flinched as I used his hose to re-wet his mid-section. He sat down next to me Escort Ümraniye in the cold, wet grass and took a couple of swigs of his beer. “Why do you do that stuff?” “I dunno. It’s hot. I was just cooling you down again.” Also, I wanted to see what his junk looked like under his wet shorts. “No, I mean all of this.” I didn’t really understand his question, I guess, and told him I was just messing around is all. “I like you, Lisa,” he told me, “I really do.” Damned if it didn’t feel like he was breaking up with me. If he was going to say we could be friends I would have either started bawling or throwing things or both. I took a good swig of tequila to brace myself. He took the bottle from me. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.” My heart raced when I thought we were finally going to get naked but it sank when instead he retrieved shot glasses, a saltshaker, and a lime from a pouch on the cooler. “Let’s get rid of that shit tequila of yours – get mine out of the cooler.” I huffed at him but did what I was told. “You ever do tequila shots the right way?” He handed me the shot glasses and had me pour, while he cut some wedges from the lime. I was too embarrassed to answer but thankfully he didn’t give me much time anyway. “That’s okay,” he said, “it’s like this.” He held the lime wedge, licked his hand between the thumb and finger, then sprinkled some salt there. “Ready?” He licked off the salt, downed the shot, then bit into the lime. “Your turn.” I had seen that in movies but never done it myself. “Like this?” I cupped his hand in both of mine and gave it a slow, sensual lick, tasting the bit of salt he left behind, or maybe it was his sweat. I sprinkled on some more and took my sweet time again licking away the salty patch, then threw back the tequila (which tasted a whole lot better than mine) and flicked my tongue against his palm before biting the lime away from his grip. “Not exactly what I showed you, but there’s no arguing with success.” More pleased with his compliment than I should have been, I moved my face close to his but waited to see if he’d lean toward me. Our lips met for a tender, almost chaste, kiss. I opened my mouth, just a little, and barely touched his lip with the tip of my tongue. He opened up and we dove into each other, kissing like sixteen-year-olds on the living room sofa. He broke the kiss with me wanting a lot more. “I’m glad we did that,” I eventually said. “I like how you kiss.” My fantasies had not included kissing, for some dumb reason. He stood up looking like he was going to do something, and even though his cock was inches from my face, and was no longer resting peacefully against his leg, I fought the urge, this time, to molest it. “I need more sunscreen,” he said. “Do you want some more sunscreen?” Climbing to my knees (and brushing the grass from my cold, mostly bare ass), I retrieved my tube of no-name lotion from the ice. He looked like he didn’t trust me, and I admit I hadn’t given him any reason to. I tossed my hat away like a Frisbee because, as high-class as it made me look, it was getting in the way. 

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