Neighbors. Everyone has them. Sometimes they get along
with them, sometimes they don’t. My wife and I are
fairly lucky. We live in a suburban neighborhood full of
tract houses. Front and back, our house contacts four
others; our two next-door neighbors and two that adjoin
our backyard.

We’ve never had any major problems with any of them but
our relationships with each vary. On the right rear we
don’t know the people. On the right, next door, we’re
cordial with them, never socializing or anything else.
On the left, next door, they are very good friends of
ours. We socialize with them frequently and they are
among our closest acquaintances. And then there are the
left rear people.

They’re different without a doubt and neither my wife
nor myself cares too much for them. Their names are
Maggie and Jonathan. Jonathan sells real estate for a
living. Maggie is mostly a housewife but she works part
time as a receptionist at some insurance company. They
have a son named Joseph who is the same age as my oldest
daughter; seven. Maggie and Joseph are born-again
Christians with all of the zeal that goes along with
that particular breed.

Now I have no problem with religion. I don’t believe in
organized religion myself; I think it’s so obviously a
form of mass behavioral control that it sometimes
surprises me that so many people fall for it, but I’ve
always been a firm believer in live and let live. I have
my own views on God and morality and for the most part I
like to think I’m a good person.

I rarely lie, I don’t steal or kill, and I do my best to
think of others than myself in my actions. I’m proud of
the fact that I do this voluntarily, without the threat
of eternal damnation if I don’t. I don’t know or profess
to know what happens after we die, figuring I’ll find
out eventually anyway. Maggie and Jonathan have both
professed to me that if I don’t believe in Jesus Christ
as the Savior that I will burn in hell after death for
this.

“Even though I’m a nice, moral person?” I ask them on
the many occasions that they’d discussed this with me.
“Even though I live my life pretty much according to the
Bible’s standards of saintly behavior? Even with all of
that, I’ll be cast into hell simply because I don’t
believe in J.C.?”

“Exactly.” They would reply, and then usually admonish
me for referring to The Lord as ‘J.C.”.

“I simply cannot accept that as the workings of a so-
called kind and rational God.” I would tell them. “It’s
completely without logic. By your own argument, Hitler,
if he believed in Christ, is up there in Paradise right
now while all of those six million Jews he killed, no
matter how moral they were, are burning in hell.”

“That’s correct.” They would say, pleased that they’d
made their point so nicely, completely unaware of the
madness of what they were saying.

That’s the problem with devout believers in the bible.
You simply can’t argue with them. It’s frustrating
beyond belief trying to argue a point with someone who
does not find it necessary to incorporate logic and
common sense into their arguments. Religion is one of
those subjects I do not like to debate. You will never
change anyone’s mind about it.

There are others of course. Gun control, abortion,
republican vs. democrat. I stay away from those subjects
whenever possible but when someone like Maggie or
Jonathan insists upon bringing them up, I have my
ammunition always ready (and interestingly enough,
Maggie and Joseph disagree with me on ALL of the
previous examples).

Now their born-again zeal is annoying but that is not
the main reason that I don’t care too much for them. The
main reason is their hypocrisy. I respect people who
believe in what they preach and practice it. One of my
co-workers is a Roman Catholic. Though that seems to me
to be one of the more bizarre manifestations of
religion, he follows it to the letter. He is moral to
the point of sainthood.

He follows every directive that the Pope hands down. He
does not practice any form of birth control and as a
result has fathered six children to this point. He does
not believe in public schools so his wife home- schools
all of his children. I’ve met these children and they
are intelligent, thoughtful kids that any parent would
be proud to have. He lives his life according to the
rules set down in the bible and he is one of the nicest,
most honest, decent people I’ve ever met in my entire
life. He does not impose his views upon others unless he
is asked to and he does not come across as if he and his
family are better than others because of their beliefs.

Maggie and Jonathan however, are not like this. They
preach to you one minute, telling you you’re a sinner,
inviting you to bible studies, and try to stab you in
the back the next. Jonathan has more than once tried to
get me involved in shady real estate deals. Maggie has
tried to bully my wife into hosting one of those
pampered chef parties, one of those deals where the
distributor, Maggie, is the one to make all of the money
while the host does all of the work and has her house
get trashed.

Both of them have lied and smooth-talked while trying to
convince us to join in these ventures. Maggie has tried
to sell us household items like curtains, throw rugs, or
furniture for outrageously inflated prices. When we’ve
been strapped for a babysitter on occasion and forced to
call on Maggie, she actually charged us for watching our
two girls, despite the fact that we’ve watched her kid
multiple times for longer periods for free.

The best example of their legacy is their child, Joseph.
He goes to school with my two daughters and often talks
to them through the fence when they’re playing outside.
Sometimes he comes over to our house to play (often
these are actually babysitting episodes, his mother will
sometimes ask if he can come over to play and then take
off to run some errands). He is the most spoiled brat
I’ve ever encountered in my life.

My children are well behaved if I do say so myself. My
wife and I are strict but fair with them. If we tell our
kids not to do something, they damn sure don’t do it.
Joseph however, will listen to you explain the rules and
then break them two minutes later when your back is
turned. He is a manipulator, talking my kids constantly
into doing things they shouldn’t be doing (‘your daddy
won’t mind if you turn on the hose and squirt you
mommy’s flowers’).

Maggie and Jonathan do not discipline him at all.
They’ll threaten him with punishment for doing
something anti-social but they never follow through with
what they threaten. Joseph, I imagine, picked up on this
long ago.

Carla and I long ago decided to keep our contact with
this family to a minimum. For the most part we’re
successful. But then came the attack of the dreaded
stomach flu.

When you have kids that go to public school they pick up
all kinds of weird viruses and bring them home with
them. The stomach flu is perhaps the worst of this
variety. As fate would have it, it was during my shift
of childcare that it struck my two girls with a
vengeance.

My wife is a nine-to-fiver, Monday through Friday as an
accountant at the local television station. I am not a
nine-to-fiver. I work at the same television station in
the news department (at work is where we’d initially met
each other). I am nothing so glamorous as a reporter or
an anchorman. I’m a computer technician and an expert on
graphics. When you watch the news and see all of those
weather satellite pictures, captions beneath news clips,
maps, or cute little graphic pictures in the background,
you have someone like me to thank for them. I work the
weekend swing shift. My hours are Thursday through
Monday from 4:00 PM to 11:30, the hours that encompass
the afternoon and nightly news broadcasts.

On most of my days off I watch my two girls, getting
them up in the morning, feeding them their breakfasts
and sending them off to school. When they get home I
feed them a snack and prepare dinner for the family. On
that particular Tuesday morning my wife got ready for
work while I fried up eggs for the girls, Megan and
Ashley. They seemed a little slow that morning, a little
lethargic, picking at their food instead of wolfing it
like they usually did.

“Daddy.” Ashley, the younger child who was in
kindergarten told me. “My tummy doesn’t feel good.”

“Mine either.” Megan agreed.

Just as Carla, dressed in a smart business outfit was
preparing to kiss them goodbye, Megan hiccuped and then
vomited an incredible amount of stomach contents all
over her shirt and pants. Her face turned instantly
green as she struggled to rush to the bathroom and the
toilet. She spewed vomit out of her as she went.

As if on cue, Ashley, who was still sitting at the
table, did the same, blemishing her own favorite dress.
She headed for the other bathroom, leaving a similar
trail behind her.

I closed my eyes in resignation as Carla fought to
suppress a chuckle of amusement. “I don’t envy you
today.” She told me, grabbing her purse and car keys and
heading for the door after giving me a quick kiss. I
gave her a vaguely obscene curse as she left.

I’d been through this before and though it is not
pleasant, it’s simply one of those things you have to
put up with as a parent. The kids knew WHERE they were
supposed to vomit but the problem was that they had a
hard time reading the warning signs that their bodies
gave. The result was soiled clothes and carpets. So far
the sickness had been routine. I wouldn’t realize that a
major problem was developing in my household until later
that day. I comforted the kids and called them in sick
from school. I changed their clothes and threw the
soiled ones in the laundry pile, which was already quite
high from yesterday’s clothes.

They promptly barfed on their fresh clothes, adding them
to the laundry pile. They had diarrhea as well, soiling
several pairs of underwear. They threw up on their
favorite stuffed animals, causing them to be added to
the laundry pile. They went to bed to lie down and they
vomited and/or defecated on their linen, not just the
bottom sheet mind you, they managed to stain every piece
of bedding in one way or another. I replaced the linen
and had the same thing happen again.

Again, this was all routine unpleasantness until I
decided to start washing some of the huge pile of
laundry. The first load went through the wash cycle
without any problem and I transferred it to the dryer.
It was when I went to pull this load out of the
dryer an hour later that I realized that fate was
shitting on me. The laundry was still soaking wet and
cold. Some experimentation finally showed me that the
heating element in the dryer had picked this particular,
inconvenient time to go out on me. There was no way to
dry the clothes.

A call to my friendly appliance repairman revealed that
I could not get the thing fixed for two days. In the
meantime I had at least four loads of laundry to do,
some of which was vital to the progression of the
household. I considered stringing a clothesline out in
the backyard but a quick glance at the weather told me
that this was impossible. A typical Seattle early spring
day was in progress. Grey clouds filled the sky and
misty moisture, not quite heavy enough to qualify as
rain was drifting down from them. Clothes hung outside
would do nothing but get wetter.

I needed to borrow someone’s dryer in a bad way. I
called our next door neighbors, Tim and Lisa, but only
got an answering machine. I called our across-the-street
neighbors, another couple we were friendly with and got
another answering machine. I called Carla’s mother who
lived a few miles away, receiving nothing but perpetual
rings. Finally, out of desperation, I called Maggie, who
I was reasonably certain would be home, though I figured
she would want to charge me for the use of her dryer.

She picked up the phone on the second ring and greeted
me politely. I explained my problem to her and, to my
delight, she offered to come over and take my wet
laundry for no charge whatsoever. She showed up at the
door a few minutes later.

I had heard from Tim and Lisa that Maggie was pregnant
but it was surprising to see her anyway. Maggie is an
attractive woman with a well-proportioned body and
large, firm breasts. She has dark blonde hair, always
styled smartly, and is fond of short skirts that show
off her attractive legs. She was wearing one of these
skirts despite the weather and her stomach bulged out
considerably with her mid-term pregnancy. Her breasts
had also grown considerably too. I remembered hearing
from Lisa once that Maggie had been “a little wild”
before she’d found salvation with Jonathan and The Lord.
Looking at her pretty legs I wondered just how wild
she’d been.

I thanked her gratefully as I showed her into the house.
She wobbled her stomach behind me, looking at the pile
of soiled laundry that sat before the washing machine.

“You’re sure you don’t mind doing this for me?” I asked
her as I handed over a basket full of wet darks.

“Not at all.” She smiled. “Is it the stomach flu? I
heard that it’s going around the school. Do you need any
more help?”

I was about to tell her that I didn’t when Megan
wandered in to see who the visitor was. She was about to
speak but her face turned green again and fresh vomit
sprayed out of her mouth, splattering her pajamas and
the carpet at her feet before she rushed off to the
bathroom.

I lowered my head once more, resigned to my fate, before
looking at Maggie. “I don’t suppose.” I asked, “That you
have any carpet cleaner? I used the last of mine about
three vomits ago.”

“Sure.” She smiled, eyeing the stain that Megan had
left. “I’ll bring some right over.”

By the time she returned I had things stable once again.
The worst of the stain was removed, the two girls were
in their beds with their third set of linen of the day,
sleeping soundly, their faces feverish and moist. I took
the opportunity to crack open a bottle of beer and sip
it while watching the History Channel on television.

I invited Maggie in and she demonstrated her carpet
cleaner for me and then offered to sell me a year’s
supply of it from the distributor she was associated
with. I told her that Carla handled all of those sorts
of decisions and that she would have to talk to her
about that. Unfair to Carla maybe, but then she didn’t
have to deal with the stomach flu and the broken dryer
at the same time.

“Didn’t you just love the way it cleaned the carpet
though?” Maggie asked me.

“Be sure to tell her how great of a job it does.”

“I will.” I promised absently, although I hadn’t noticed
any difference in cleaning ability from standard carpet
cleaners. I waved to the couch. “Would you like to sit
down?”

“Sure.” She smiled, waddling over to the couch and
planting herself there.

I offered her something to drink and, although I didn’t
have any caffeine-free diet cola on hand, she settled
for some herbal tea that Carla kept around. I served her
and that sat down in my chair across from her, sipping
at my beer, which went down my throat like the finest
wine.

“It’s really strange.” Maggie told me, eyeing my
beer. “I haven’t drank alcohol since I found The Lord,
but since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve been craving the
taste of it. The same thing happened with Joseph.” She
shrugged. “I guess God is testing me.”

I nodded, though I figured it was probably just one of
those bizarre cravings that pregnant women had. Carla
used to crave honeydew melons and Cornish game hens when
she was pregnant. She once ate three honeydews at a
sitting and then threw it all up twenty minutes later.
The alcohol thing interested me though.

“You used to drink?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Oh yes, back in high school and college,
before I was saved, I used to drink some.” Her eyes
glazed a little with nostalgia. “I never really liked
it that much, you understand, but I drank a little.”

I could see in her eyes and hear in the tone of her
voice that she was lying. I got the impression that she
used to drink a lot and liked it immensely. I decided to
pursue this line of questioning and see where it led.
“Did you ever smoke pot?” I asked next.

“Oh no.” She said, much too quickly. “I never touched
THAT at all.”

“What were you like?” I enquired. “Before you found The
Lord?”

“I was a little bit of a wretch.” She said, taking her
words directly from ‘Amazing Grace’. “I used to, you
know, have a lot of boyfriends and such. I used to go to
parties all of the time where everyone got drunk. But
when I found the Lord, He showed me the errors of my
ways.”

So she used to have a good time, I figured, but now she
was repressing it. It was a pity she was pregnant. Had
she not been, I would have offered to roll a joint from
the supply of green bud I kept in the top shelf of the
pantry and smoke it with her, just to test her
resistance to temptation. Oh well, maybe some other time
when she was not pregnant.

“You ever miss those days?” I asked her next.

“Never.” She said, with conviction that was much too
firm. “In the Lord I’ve found the strength to live a
moral and decent life.”

“I see.” I said.

A minute later she was offering to make us a set of
curtains for our dining room window. She could probably
do it, she figured, for less than two hundred dollars.
Again I belayed that decision to Carla, taking a
perverse delight in doing so. I knew of course that
Carla was perfectly capable of making new curtains with
her own sewing machine for less than forty bucks worth
of material.

She helped me throughout that miserable day, bringing my
fresh, folded laundry to me and taking the wet loads
back to her house. Together we finished all of the loads
that had accumulated. In between loads she would sit and
talk with me, drinking my wife’s herbal tea (I was
tempted to offer to sell her a supply of it for an
inflated cost, but restrained myself) while I drank
soda, water, or beer.

She discussed frequently her favorite subject of
conversation when talking to me, the personalities of
the newscasters I dealt with at work. She particularly
delighted in finding out that they were arrogant
assholes, which most of them are. She tried to sell me
things about ten times. She tried to invite me to bible
studies or their church about twenty. But also, she
seemed to be flirting with me in a friendly way,
chatting in a way that she probably hadn’t done since
she’d found The Lord. I admired her looks and her body
while we talked, entranced by her legs. They were really
very pretty, shapely and well muscled, the edema of
pregnancy only shaping them more alluringly. Pregnant
women had always turned me on.

When it was time for her to go pick up Joseph from
school and start making dinner for her family, she bade
me farewell, reminding me to talk to Carla about the
curtains and the carpet cleaner and all of the other
things she tried to pawn off. I assured her I would. She
then offered to help me with the laundry the next day if
I required it. I gladly accepted for more than one
reason.

Carla came home on schedule and helped me the rest of
the night. She sympathized with me about having to put
up, not only with stomach flu and a broken dryer, but
Maggie as well. When we got the girls put down we shared
a bottle of wine and then went to bed, stripping down
and engaging in a typical session of marriage sex. As I
thrust into my wife I found myself imagining that it was
Maggie beneath me, her swollen stomach pressing into
mine. I enjoyed the orgasm that this produced very much.

The good thing about the stomach flu is that it burns
itself out very quickly. The girls stained one more set
of bedding and two sets of pajamas but in the morning
they were back to themselves, wolfing their breakfasts
down and chattering happily to each other about how many
times they’d puked the day before. I deemed them well
enough to go to school and, once Carla left for work,
drove them there and dropped them off. I ran into Maggie
there as she dropped Joseph off.

“So they’re better huh?” She asked, smiling.

“Much.” I told her.

“Do you still need my help with laundry?”

“Please.” I said. “It’s not as much as yesterday but I
still have quite a pile.”

“What time should I come over?”

“Gimmee an hour to clean up and get the first load done.
Sound good?”

“It’s a date.” She grinned, heading for her car,
hands supporting her stomach.

She came over to pick up the first wet load precisely on
time. She looked very pretty I noticed, dressed in a
pair of loose-fitting denim overalls that bulged outward
at the abdomen, and a white sweater. Her hair was pulled
back in its usual ponytail. I felt a strong tug of
sexual attraction for her as I stood aside to allow her
entry into my home.

She carried off my load of laundry and, although there
was no reason for her to do so, she came back five
minutes later to sit with me. I made her some tea as I
emptied the dishwasher and then poured myself a cup of
coffee and joined her in the living room.

As we chatted she became slightly flirty again (in
between trying to sell me things or save my soul that
is) and I realized that she was starved for
conversation. Bringing up the image of Jonathan in my
mind, I didn’t find this very surprising.

At one point I brought up her son. “So how is Joseph
going to react to having a new baby in the house?” I
asked her. “It’ll be quite a change for him.”

“Oh he’s as excited as the Jonathan and I.” She answered
automatically. “He already loves the baby.”

I nodded though I had my doubts. Joseph was a spoiled
brat already and he’d had his parents to himself for
seven years. I didn’t think he was going to be too keen
when he suddenly found his parent’s attention taken
almost completely by a squalling infant. I commented on
how much time they’d chosen between their two children.

“We’ve wanted to have another one for a long time.” She
said. “I guess God finally decided to bless us again
after all this time.” She paused, and then said
something completely out of character. “Or maybe
Jonathan just finally picked the right time to get his
dickens up.”

While I translated the archaic statement in my mind I
saw her blushing at what she’d said. She was talking
about sex. Maggie! I certainly wasn’t going to let this
door shut once it had been opened.

“Really?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Carla and I
found that if we passed each other in the hall at the
right time she was pregnant. I guess it just takes a
little longer with some people. Did you have to do the
temperature thing and ovulation prediction and all
that?”

“No.” She said. “We just let God’s will take care of
it.” She soured. “Of course God could’ve put Jonathan in
the mood a little more often and it might have saved a
year or two.”

Again she blushed, as if unable to believe that she’d
said that.

“So Jonathan’s not in the mood that often huh?”

Her face was now as red as a stop sign. “I really
shouldn’t be talking about it.” She said. “It’s not
proper.”

I shrugged, but continued to prod. “That’s okay.” I
said. “But we’re friends and neighbors. I understand
what it’s like. Carla’s not always in the mood when I
am, but that’s just men for you. I’m in the mood a lot.”

“Sometimes I wish Jonathan would think like most men.”
She said. “He a saintly man and I’ll be at his side come
the rapture, but he always feels guilty about…. You
know, making love.”

“What’s to feel guilty about?” I enquired. “You’re
married. You’re supposed to make love. Often and well.”

“No, we, that is Jonathan feels that making love is a
necessary evil reserved for procreation only.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Oh no.” She said. “And I agree of course.” She sounded
very unconvincing about this last statement.

“So since you found out you were pregnant, you haven’t
had sex?”

“No!” She seemed shocked. “You and Carla didn’t… you
know, when she was pregnant did you?”

“Not much the first trimester.” I said honestly. “She
was sick all the time. But during the second and third
trimesters, when those hormones kicked in.” I grinned
lasciviously. “We were like rabbits. Once a day at
least. Hell, I had to turn it down a lot just because I
was so tired. Pregnancy is great.”

She was someone taken aback by the bluntness of my
words, but I could see a twinkle in her eyes at the same
time. “You actually did it when she was showing?”

“You know it.” I answered. “I think pregnant women are
sexy. When does a woman look more feminine after all? We
did it all the way up to less than a week before
delivery, both times.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” She asked, wide-eyed. “Aside
from the morality issue that is?”

I wasn’t going to argue morality with her but I answered
her other question. “Not at all. Her doctor said to go
for broke until the cervix started to dilate just before
delivery. Even then there’s other ways to make love.”

“Other ways?” She asked, incredulous at our paganhood,
but fascinated too, I could tell.

“You know? Oral sex. We both love to do that.”

“You two do THAT?” She asked.

“Sure.” I said. “Don’t you and Jonathan? It’s part of
making love.”

“No!” She said firmly. “It’s a perversion. I don’t think
we should talk about this anymore.”

I shrugged again. “To each their own I guess. It’s hard
to believe you never go down on each other though. Not
even once?”

“No!”

I smiled, relishing how shocked and self-righteous she
was, also noting that she was still in my house and not
storming out the door in disgust. “Well didn’t you do
that when you used to party? Before you found The Lord?”

She hesitated. “Well… a few times. But I never liked
it.”

“Which one?” I asked. “Going down or being gone down
upon?”

“I did them both. And I didn’t like either one.” She
said strongly. “Now let’s change the subject or I’m
going to leave.”

“Okay.” I said, folding. For the moment.

It was Maggie that next brought up the subject of sex.

I knew I had her hooked then. She had just carried over
a folded set of laundry, taken another load to her
dryer, and once again had come back to my house without
any real reason to do so. After I’d put away the last of
what she’d brought, we sat down to another cup of tea.

“So how often do you and Carla, you know, do that that
we were talking about?” She asked timidly, a fresh flush
on her face.

“You mean go down on each other?” I asked, pulling no
punches.

She nodded quietly, her eyes sparkling again, betraying
her.

“Quite a bit.” I said. “We really do like to do that.
She doesn’t do it to me as often as I do it to her. She
maybe sucks me once a month or so but I eat her damn
near every time we have sex. I’ve gotten quite good at
it, if I do say so myself.”

“Every time?” She asked, mouth agape.

“Well, I don’t do it when she’s on her period of course.
I do have SOME limits to what I’ll do.”

“You have sex with her when she’s on her period?” She
seemed genuinely disgusted by that one.

“Why not?” I asked. “You just put down a towel and take
a shower afterword. When you’re horny you’re horny,
right? But as for eating, Carla’s got me and she knows
it. I LOVE to do it to her. I can eat her for an hour at
a time, until my tongue cramps. I just wish she’d go
down on me a little more.”

“Disgusting.” She opined, but her face and eyes said
differently.

Until that moment I hadn’t given much thought to where
this discussion was leading. I was just trying to shock
our righteous neighbor a little, all in good fun. But I
could now see that, despite her words, I was arousing
her. Her nipples were clearly hard, showing even through
the thick material of her overalls. She fidgeted in her
seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She stroked her
neck and her cheek as she listened, running her
manicured nails over her flushed skin.

Her blue eyes were shining at me. Her tongue reached out
and licked her lips quite often. And I was getting
aroused too, imagining the beautiful, pregnant body
beneath those clothes. Imagining the wet pussy that had
to be between those legs. Could I seduce her? It seemed
a good possibility. Did I want to, really? I’d never
cheated on my wife before and I’m quite certain that
she’d never cheated on me. Doing so would be an awful
betrayal of her.

I’d never been tempted like this before and the allure
of bagging Maggie overrode my marital concerns. Part of
me cried out to put a stop to this before it went too
far. But a bigger part of me said to go forward and see
where this led.

“Now come on,” I told her, my voice conveying
confidentiality. “I’ve lived with a pregnant woman
before and I know what pregnancy does at your stage.
You’ve got to be horny as hell with all of those
hormones in you and your husband never fulfilling your
womanly needs. Can you tell me with a straight face that
you don’t want a little wang in you?”

“No,” She admitted. “I do get urges, strong ones in
fact. But God…”

“God is the one that gave you those urges, right? Why
suppress them? You oughtta demand that Jonathan give you
a good hosing. And if you went down on him I bet he’d be
much more inclined to give it up.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “He thinks it’s wrong.
He’d never allow me to…”

“Sure he would.” I scoffed. “You may know how he thinks
about God and the bible, but he’s a man like I am and I
know that he would not be able to resist if you opened
his pants and slurped him down. Sexual instinct is
stronger than religion.”

“That’s a blasphemy,” she told me weakly.

“Call it what you want.” I told her. “But ninety percent
of the planet is religious and we have almost six
billion people and a horrid over-population problem.
It’s hard to believe that only ten percent of us are
doing all the screwing. Trust me, you take him in your
mouth and you’ll get some dick. He won’t be able to
control himself. He won’t try to stop you once you start
the action. Were you any good at it when you used to do
it?”

“I don’t know.” She said, confused. “I never had any
complaints.”

“I don’t imagine you did.” I answered. “I’ll tell you
what, why don’t you try it on me first. I’ll evaluate
your technique, let you know if you’re doing it right.
Give you tips.”

I watched her face carefully as I said this, knowing
that I’d just crossed over a big line. If she took major
offense I could claim that I was joking around, that I’d
never intended her to take me seriously. Her face
registered shock but not disgust.

“That would be adultery.” She said softly. “That’s
against the Ten Commandments.”

“Not really.” I theorized for her, using my best used
car salesman voice. “Adultery would technically be
intercourse. Oral sex doesn’t really fit that category.
It would be just an instructional thing to help you with
your husband, to change his misguided views on
sexuality. There’s no commitment or anything behind it.
It would be kind of like… marriage counseling I
guess.”

I saw a battle taking place behind her eyes. The devil
and the angel were struggling over how she should react
to my words. It went on for nearly thirty seconds or so.
The devil won.

“I suppose.” She said finally, her voice soft. “That I
could use a little practice before I tried it on
Jonathan.”

“That a girl.” I said, feeling mixed emotions of my own.
“Come over here and show me how you do it.” I opened my
legs and rubbed my crotch.

She hesitated for the briefest second and then stood up
and walked over to me. She stood before me, licking her
lips nervously, her nipples still showing through the
denim of her clothes. “What do I do first?”

“Well.” I said, leaning back on the couch. “Pretend I’m
Jonathan. He’s sitting on the couch like I am, doing
whatever he does, and you want to seduce me. The best
thing to do is sit next to me, undo my pants, take out
my cock, and start sucking. By the time he realizes
what’s happening, he’ll be too enraptured to try and
stop you.”

“Okay.” She breathed.

She sat down next to me on the couch. Her hands were
trembling as she opened the button on my fly and
unzipped me, baring my blue underwear and my bulging
cock beneath them. Moving quickly she pulled my
underwear downward as far as they could go without my
lifting my hips. My cock sprang into the air. She
grasped it in her cool hand and lowered her mouth to it,
sucking its entire length down her throat in one smooth
motion.

“Ahhhh.” I couldn’t help but emit as I felt her swallow
me. Her mouth was very wet, her tongue teasing, her hand
jacking. I knew instantly that she would need no
instruction from me. She had obviously sucked more than
a few cocks in her “wild days” before the Lord and
hadn’t forgotten much.

Once she’d taken the first step she was insatiable. She
pulled my hips upward, never losing contact with my
cock, and pushed my pants and underwear down my legs. I
kicked off my shoes and soon I was naked from the waist
down. She bobbed up and down on me, sucking and teasing
my dick while applying just the right amount of pressure
with her hand. She played with my balls, making pleasant
grunting noises with her vocal cords. I let my head fall
back on my shoulders, enjoying the sensation of my
neighbor sucking me. She was good. Much better at this
than Carla in fact.

I ran my hands through her dark blonde hair as she blew
me. It was soft and silky. I felt her large breasts
pressing against my leg. I moved a hand beneath the back
of her overalls, trailing down her back to the top of
her panties, slipping my fingers beneath them and
feeling the beginning of the crack of her ass. Her flesh
was soft and warm, very feminine. She made no protest
but picked up the pace of her sucking.

She deep throated me, taking me all the way into her
mouth, her lips meeting my pubic hair. She paused and
then pulled up before diving back down again. She did
this over and over, her hand fondling my balls, her
rhythm picking up in speed. My hips started to rise up
and down on the couch as wet slurping sounds emanated
from my groin.

I felt myself starting to come. Not just a simple orgasm
but the granddaddy of orgasms. It started somewhere in
my lower back and soon spread throughout my entire groin
and abdomen. I began panting. I groaned out what was
about to happen to Maggie and she grunted her approval
while sucking harder and faster.

“Ahhhh!” I moaned, shooting the first load down her
throat. Her mouth worked furiously, sucking every drop
out of my spasming dick.

When she was done she raised her head out of my crotch,
licking her lips as she did so. I could tell, even
through the post-orgasmic bliss that was enfolding me,
that she was turned on in a big way. She stared in my
eyes.

“How was that?” She asked breathlessly.

“I think you got that down,” I breathed. “You’ve done
that before, haven’t you?”

“A time or two,” she said sweetly. “Do you think
Jonathan will like it?”

I nodded. “I think SO.” I looked at her, taking in her
body and her swollen abdomen. I wanted more. “You know,”
I said, “I feel I should repay you somehow.”

“Oh?” She asked, smiling.

“Yes,” I said. “How about I do the same for you? It’s
only fair.”

“You mean…”

“I’ll eat your pussy for you.” I said. “It wouldn’t be
adultery anymore than what you just did for me.”

“No.” She said, already reaching for the strap on her
overalls. “I guess it wouldn’t.”

She kicked off her shoes and stood up before me. With a
nervous, though lustful expression, she unsnapped her
straps and let the overalls fall to the floor, leaving
her only in a pair of white panties and her sweater. Her
legs made my dick start to stiffen once again. They were
beautiful, firm and smooth and nicely tanned, well
shaped from her exercises. She stepped out of her
clothes and sat on the couch again, leaning back into
the arm of it.

I leaned forward, sliding my hands up the outside of her
thighs, feeling their silky smoothness. I gazed between
them, seeing a large wet stain on the crotch of her
panties that outlined her vaginal lips. I caught the
scent of her arousal with my nose, wafting upwards from
her wetness. I continued my hands upward, running them
beneath her sweater, pulling it up over her swollen
stomach, which I caressed.

It was tight and smooth, covered with goose flesh. I
cupped her bra-clad breasts for a moment, giving them a
squeeze and then pulled her forward, towards me, lifting
her sweater at the same instant. She raised her arms up
to allow me to remove it. I tossed it aside, looking at
her restrained breasts. I reached behind her for her bra
clasp.

“I thought you were just going to eat me.” She said,
making no move to stop me.

“This is part of the eating experience,” I said, undoing
the clasp. Her bra fell off of her, allowing her tits to
bounce free. They were very large, the size of
cantaloupes, and firm with impending lactation
development. They were capped with huge nipples that
stood proudly erect. I ran the backs of my hands over
them gently, feeling the nipples brush against my flesh,
seeing them jump and twitch with the contact.

I pulled my own shirt over my head and tossed it aside.

“Why’d you do that?” Maggie asked, near panting now.

“I want you to feel my chest against your tits,” I told
her. “It’s part of the eating experience.”

“Oh.” She breathed as I leaned forward and kissed her.

She put her arms around me and returned my embrace, her
hands gliding over my back while our tongues began
sliding together on a film of saliva. I rubbed our bare
chests back and forth, feeling our nipples glide against
one another. Her swollen abdomen pushed into mine. I ran
my hands over her tits again and down her sides, feeling
the thin flesh of her flanks. She was a fabulous kisser,
making all the right moves in a kind of desperate duel.
Did her husband ever get kissed like this? I thought
not.

I broke our kiss and began working my way down her neck,
licking and sucking, taking my time. I kissed her
shoulders and the tops of her breasts, placing little
sucks on the pale flesh north of her nipples. Finally I
took a nipple into my mouth and began to suckle it like
a baby. I remembered from Carla’s pregnancies that
female nipples are very sensitive during this time
period and, if you do it right, you can damn near make
them come just by sucking on them. She ran her fingers
through my hair as I stroked her legs, moving from one
nipple to the other until her hips were actually moving
up and down.

I let the back of my hand trail across the crotch of her
panties for an instant, feeling wetness seeping through
and her crotch lift upward to increase the pressure. I
began moving down on her, leaving her tits behind and
kissing my way across her lower chest and to the bulge
of her pregnant stomach. I slid my index finger under
the crotch of her panties as I did this, feeling kinky
hair and wet, swollen flesh.

I paused at her navel, kissing it and sticking my tongue
into it teasingly. She squealed in delight. I let the
knuckle of my index finger rest between her wet pussy
lips, moving in small circles. The moisture increased
and her hips kept trying to push me in deeper. I
continued over the peak of her stomach and started down
the other side, towards her crotch. I tugged at her
panties with my finger, pulling them downward.

She put her legs together and lifted her hips, allowing
them safe passage off of her body.

When her panties were on the floor I open her legs wide
and placed them on my shoulders. Her pussy was before me
now, its lips open, the clit hard and wet. She had a
thin covering of dark brown pubic hair that was matted
and wet with her secretions. Her smell was powerful,
arousing, filling my nose and making me long to bury my
face into its source.

I brought my head down and let my tongue slide between
her vaginal lips. She groaned pleasurably as I finally
made contact with her. I licked up and down, tasting her
juices, relishing them. I plunged in and out. I licked
up and down, taking her lips into my mouth and sucking
them. I circled her clit, brushing aside her hair with
my tongue. I probed inside of her wetness with my
fingers, feeling her sheath contract around them as I
moved them in and out. While I pumped her with my
fingers I began sucking gently on her clit. It was a
large one, as large as a small nipple, and she reacted
strongly to my attention to it.

“Yessss!” She cried, moving her hips to the rhythm, her
baby-smooth thighs pressed against my cheeks. I wanted
to see her face as I ate her but was prevented from
doing this by her swollen belly.

I started sucking more intently on her clit as I sensed
her approaching orgasm. Her hips began to move faster,
with less control. Her pussy began to clench my fingers
harder. I gave her my piece de resistance, something
that always served to push Carla over the edge. I slid
my wet fingers out of her pussy and moved them south,
against the puckered bud of her asshole. I pushed
forward with my slippery index, sliding it past the
second knuckle into her tight ass.

“Ohhhh!” She screamed in surprise and alarm. “What are
you… OH GOD!”

I began to thrust the finger in and out of her ass while
I sucked frantically on her clit. Her crotch began to
smash against my face and she screamed even louder as
orgasm overtook her. It was a big one and she nearly
choked me out by clamping her legs around my neck. Her
ass clenched tight around my finger, making it go numb.
Finally her moans and thrusts slowed and stopped, but I
wasn’t done, not by a long shot.

I continued to lick and suck at her pussy while finger
fucking her ass. I brought her to two more orgasms, each
more powerful than the last before I lifted my wet face
from her crotch. I stared into her face as I stood up.
Her forehead was covered with sweat and she was panting
like a dog. Her eyes were wild and filled with desire.

My dick was standing out before me once more. She locked
her eyes on it, licking her lips again. Her legs were
still spread widely, her swollen pussy lips red and
inviting and dripping with saliva and secretions.

“Fuck me.” She commanded, running her feet up and down
the outside of my legs. “Put it in me and fuck me. Now!”

“That would be adultery.” I told her teasingly.

“I don’t care!” She barked. “I need it! Now fuck me!”

I stepped forward, kneeling between her legs and taking
them into my hands. I placed her calves on my shoulders
and pushed forward with my crotch, planting the head of
my dick against her slimy lips. I thrust forward,
sliding inside of her. Her hips pushed forward to
meet me halfway. I found myself encased in a strange
vagina for the first time in forever. She was tight and
wet, her muscles squeezing as I began to move in and
out.

“Yesss!” She cried. “Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard!”

I ran my hands up and down her legs as I pounded in and
out of her. She reached forward and grabbed my waist,
pulling me atop her. Her stomach pushed almost painfully
into mine and her legs came around my back, making her
tighter. Her mouth sought out mine and our tongues came
together, swirling madly in and out of each other’s
mouth. Her hands squeezed my ass cheeks, pulling me
harder into her with each thrust.

We kissed each other’s mouths, our necks, our shoulders,
our arms as we fucked on the couch like pagans. I sped
up, slowed down, thrust hard, thrust soft. She groaned
her way through first one orgasm and then another before
I felt the familiar tickle running down my spine.

“I’m gonna come.” I said breathlessly, my pelvis picking
up the pace.

“Yes! Come in me! Shoot it in me. Oh God!”

I slammed in harder and felt orgasm spread through my
body as I blasted the inside of her with a large load. I
felt her coming at the same time and managed to keep up
my thrusts until she was finished with her last. Finally
we collapsed atop each other, kissing and sucking each
other’s lips, my hands still stroking her legs.

After laying there for nearly ten minutes I pulled
myself out of and off of her, leaving her lying on my
couch with sperm and juices running freely out of her
pussy, staining the cushion she was atop. We looked at
each other sheepishly for a moment and then she stood
up. The better part of my seed poured out of her as she
did this, running down her legs and dripping on the
carpet. A common problem with screwing pregnant women I
remembered, since their cervix is closed tight to
protect the baby.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, seeing the stains she left. “Can I
use your bathroom to, you know, clean myself up?”

“Of course.” I said, waving her towards it. She picked
up her clothes and headed that way.

While she was gone I pondered what I had just done. I
felt an intense wave of guilt for cheating on my wife
now that the testosterone in my body had been relieved.
I’d let lust get the better of me. What if Carla
found out what I’d done? Mechanically I put my clothes
back on.

When Maggie emerged from the bathroom she was smiling.
“I want to thank you.”

She said brightly. “For showing me what to do about
Jonathan.”

“Sure.” I said, “But…”

“That was a great demonstration of how he’ll react if I
just do a little, you know, oral sex. Very realistic
demonstration.”

“What?”

She came over and kissed me on the lips, poking a little
at me with her tongue. “I’ll go get your laundry now. I
do have a short memory however. I might need another
demonstration later.” She winked, heading for the door.

I watched her go numbly, my desire for her all but gone.
While I was feeling guilt and shame for what had just
happened, she wanted to continue to screw me. What in
the hell was I going to do about that?