Boy Next Door

Chapter Two-3

Retrieving the fully charged video camera from where I’ve stashed it, I slip downstairs and out the back door. Even though I’m confident that no one can see me, my heart pounds as I sneak across the yard, onto the Garvey’s property and over to that immense old willow. Up the ladder I go and into the tree house. There I pause, astounded and offended all over again even though I knew what I was likely to find. I just never guessed the extent of it.

The walls are papered with astronomy posters – oh, very clever, young man. And grouped around a folding canvas camp chair must be at least a couple thousand dollars’ worth of optical equipment.

Set up on a tripod and pointing directly out at my bedroom window is exactly the kind of expensive, high powered binoculars I expected. Next to this however is another tripod with a top-of-the-line telescope – also pointed not up at the heavens but directly at my window. Fitted to the eyepiece of this is a digital video camera far larger and more elaborate than my own. That sneaky little s**t! Not only has he been spying on my most intimate moments, but he’s been recording them too! And still that’s not the extent of it. There are other futuristic fittings and devices laying around that I at last recognize as night-vision technology. He’s even been peeping at and recording me in the dark, when I thought it was safe!

A stiff old bath towel is crumpled on the floor, and a nasty odor that must be jizz lingers along with that of m*******a. I knew Brian was a seedy little jerk-off, but apparently he’s a pot smoker too. Yep – there’s a water-pipe sitting on the little table along with an ashtray and lighter.

Apparently neither Hope or Jacob (nor anyone else for that matter) has been out here in years. Still, this evidence of criminality is all to the good. First, it indicates that Brian takes the dictates of our religion no more seriously than I do, which bodes well for my intentions. Second, this is more evidence of sin I can hold over his head this weekend and beyond. At that thought I shake off my stasis and begin adding to my documentation of his crimes.

I raise the camera and pan slowly around the tree house, getting everything on record. Then I get close-ups of all the optical equipment, followed by the view from behind it, documenting how it all points straight at my bedroom window. At last I record the water-pipe and come-stained towel, lingering on this last and zooming right in on its messiness. Then I look around for a good place to hide the camera.

One corner is piled high with dusty stuff that has a long-unused look. There are piles of magazines, old astronomy publications on top and copies of Playboy, Penthouse and other porno rags ill-concealed beneath. There are a couple of smaller, scratched and dented old telescopes, a baseball glove, b-b guns and other childhood detritus. Finally, perched atop a stack of miscellaneous rick-rack is a splintered old birdhouse: perfect. Setting the camera on ‘record’ again, I slip this inside it, careful not to disturb the dust and dirt. With the lens pointing out the hole in front and commanding a splendid view of the chair, telescope and binoculars, it is so well concealed you would have to lean right in close and peer through the hole to see it.

Excellent: after tonight I should have irrefutable proof of Brian spying on me, jerking off while he does it and maybe even using illegal drugs. Then it will be payback time, and oh boy, the fun I’m going to have with him!

Brian

There I was, looking forward to church: an opportunity to see Mrs. Andrews in a dress, perhaps. Who knows, maybe she’d even start doing something with her hair and wearing makeup to go with her secret shaving and other recent attempts at emerging from the religious repression or inexplicable inferiority complex she’s always suffered from. My heart rather sank when I noticed Mr. Andrews sitting alone. After the service however he unknowingly thrilled me more than I might ever have expected.

Down in the church basement they serve free coffee and donuts and allow an opportunity for parishioners to mingle, to socialize with each other and the clergy on an informal basis. My parents almost always hang around for this, requiring me to do so as well, though frankly I would just as soon skip it. One hour a week of smarmy platitudes and preachy moralizing is more than enough for me. Still an appearance of pious conformity is necessary in a town of this size, even if a bit tiresome, so I never complain. It’s an opportunity to interact socially with the object of my desire after all – at least usually. Unfortunately Jim Andrews was still alone when he joined the little conversation group we were in.

“Hello Hope, Jacob, Brian. Lovely day the Lord’s given us, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is!” gushed my mother. “Just gorgeous, praise Jesus! But where is Claire this morning, Jim?”

“She’s not feeling too well, I’m afraid. Bit of a summer bug coming on maybe.”

“Oh that’s awful! I hope it’s nothing serious. Do give her our best, won’t you?”

“I will, thanks.”

Ah, so maybe this explained why she climbed straight into bed the last few nights. Damn, I couldn’t wait to see her playing with herself all shaved bare down there! Suddenly I was jolted uncomfortably out of these thoughts when her doofus of a husband turned to me.

“How are you this summer, Brian?”

“Fine, sir, thank you.”

“Looking forward to football this fall?”

“You bet I am!”

“Good, so is this whole town I think. We’re counting on you to lead us to the title.”

“Oh hey, it’s not just me!” I modestly protested. “Any tailback is only as good as his offensive line. Without those guys I’d be nobody.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Andrews winked. “But I still expect you’d break your share of big plays. You hear from any colleges yet? Anybody notable come recruiting?”

“Not really, sir. We’re not much on the radar of the big schools out here.”

“Too bad. Well keep at it – I really think you could be great someday. At least you could earn a scholarship; help out with those ungodly college bills.”

“That would be nice, no doubt.”

Mr. Andrews took a sip of coffee, leading me to hope the pleasantries were done with. But then he totally made my day.

“Well, in case you don’t get that scholarship, do you want to earn some money this weekend? I’m going out of town, and Claire needs some help clearing our attic out. She asked me to see if you were available this Saturday at around noon.”

“Sure, Mr. Andrews, no problem.”

“Thanks. You’re a good kid. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with a summer Saturday than get all sweaty moving furniture around.”

“Not really, sir. And I like to help out. You and Mrs. Andrews have always been good to me. You kept me in spending money when I was younger, and pushing that mower of yours around is the next best thing to a blocking sled.”

“It is kind of heavy. That’s why I don’t do it.” The clueless doofus grinned at me, never imagining that I’ve seen a lot more of his naked wife than he has, and that doing his yard work was what first exposed her incredible breasts to me. With that he turned to talk to my dad, and I was left to keep a straight face despite my suddenly racing pulse.

I was going to have Mrs. Andrews all to myself this time! Not only that, but I’d be inside the house and working with her personally, rather than just taking the occasional direction or accepting considerate refreshment. Maybe I could subtly encourage her to come out of her shell more. And maybe I won’t even need to.

Having spent the day considering off-handed remarks and other unobtrusive ways to nudge the object of my obsession toward increasing her desirability, I’m suddenly ecstatic to find her continuing to do so on her own. Back in the tree house by eleven-thirty and gazing through the binoculars again, I shake my fists and raise a silent cheer when she dims the lights and gets out her candles and vibrator for the second time in less than a week. But then she delves in her dresser again and totally blows my mind.

One by one Mrs. Andrews takes out three new sets of matching bras and panties. She lays these out on the bed next to each other and seems to be gloating over them. Then she begins slowly removing her clothes.

Once she’s beautifully naked, Mrs. Andrews begins picking up her new underwear one item at a time, holding each out at arms’ length to admire it. Normally she wears only dull white cotton: heavy duty bras and dowdy panties that cover her from thighs to belly. These new sets are clearly silk however, one in a bright shiny white, one peach and the last in a pastel blue. And rather than being stodgy and matronly, strictly utilitarian, this new underwear is skimpy and sexy enough to be called lingerie.

Turning to the window, Mrs. Andrews drapes each item over her chest or groin, building an unbearable suspense while she imagines how each will look on her. As she examines herself she seems to be smiling into my eyes with a slyly seductive look that is so unlike her my c**k bobs up and down with the intensity of its throbbing. Finally, she begins trying them on.

Bending over to step into the panties makes her breasts elongate and sway so delectably that I moan audibly. Pulling them up over her shaved groin, Mrs. Andrews tugs at the thin strips of elastic cradling her hips – such a wondrous change from the underpants I’m used to! These drawers are little more than triangles of translucent fabric connected by those strips, and oh how they accent the curves of her hips and butt, and the delta of her hairless crotch! When she stretches her arms back to hook up the bra her chest is thrust forward, those extraordinary n*****s standing breathtakingly out against the thin fabric. The bra too is little more than skimpy triangles connected by strips, and when the glorious Mrs. Andrews puts her hands on her hips to pose before the big window and evaluate her appeal I can’t help but fondle myself and speak to her as though she could actually hear me.

“Oh, my gorgeous Goddess, look at you! I swear, I would worship at your feet for all eternity if I could touch those incredible breasts just once! Who needs Jesus with such a Supreme Being right next door? Send me to hell forever for it, but I could never stop watching you!”

Slowly I begin stroking myself, knowing it’s going to be an agony of delay before I can join my irresistible temptress in a simultaneous orgasm. The only question is will she model each new set of underwear for me, or save the others for succeeding nights?

My luck is in. After trying out any number of truly maddening poses, Mrs. Andrews turns a last slow three-sixty, allowing us both to feast on her perfection from every angle. Clearly liking what she sees, she smiles seductively again and begins to dance, putting off donning her other new underwear for a future occasion.

What follows is an even more incredible masturbatory extravaganza than the previous unprecedented show. When I finally get to writhe and spurt along with her silent screams I can’t help but cry out uncontrollably myself. Something tells me I’m going to spend the rest of this week in a distracted daze, indulging in all kinds of ridiculous fantasies about Saturday. Damn I can’t wait to actually be alone with her, inside her house with her i***t husband at least a hundred miles away!

Claire

My alarm goes off at three a.m.

Though I fell asleep less than two hours ago and have the volume on the lowest setting, I immediately snap awake. All sleepiness banished by the excitement of the upcoming commando mission, I slip out of bed and pull on jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt. Extremely careful to make no betraying noise, I creep out of my bedroom, down the stairs and out the sliding glass doors onto our own patio.