Ray Garton: The New Neighbor

Jen played tic-tac-toe with herself on a scrap of paper and George's head began to nod. Karen poked her elbow in his ribs and his head popped up; after a while, though, it began, ever so slightly at first, to nod again.

The pastor said, "Evil never looks like evil. It looks innocent and harmless… attractive… even alluring. And sometimes… sometimes … it looks like the face we see when we look in the mirror.”

The Arrival

Robby Pritchard was masturbating when he first saw her. He was supposed to be doing his homework, and had intended to do it when he came to his room earlier. But his mind took no time at all to wander from his English literature textbook to thoughts of his English lit teacher, Miss Weiss.

Miss Weiss was young; this was her first teaching job. In fact, she was the youngest teacher Robby had ever had and he found this distracting. Not simply because she was young, but because she was beautiful. Tall, with dark-brown hair, long legs and tits that were… well, she put Debbie Petievich to shame and Debbie Petievich – captain of the cheerleaders, chairman of the entertainment committee and the most sought after date at Enterprise High School – was no slouch. Maybe it was because Miss Weiss was older and in a position of authority that made her so much more desirable; maybe it was because Debbie Petievich, aside from her "sexualism and gorgeosity" as Dylan Gary put is, was such a bitch. Whatever the reason, Robby knew he was not alone; Miss Weiss had eclipsed Debbie Petievich in the minds of a lot of the guys at Enterprise.

On the evening of the new neighbor's arrival, Miss Weiss had also eclipsed English lit homework in Robby's mind. After his initial attempt to concentrate on his homework failed, he gave in and closed the book on his desk. The more he thought about her – fantasized, really, because he'd never actually seen her in the nude – the more aroused he became and the more difficult it was to remain focused on his work.

He turned his chair to face the computer monitor on his L-shaped desk and went to porn site he’d book marked. The screen filled with thumbnails of naked women engaged in sex with men, other women, or themselves, in couples, threesomes and groups. He chose a video, and as it opened, he got up and locked his bedroom door, then removed his shoes and jeans.

He knew his mom was loading the dinner dishes into the washer and Dad was helping Jen with her homework, so no one would bother him for a while. He started slowly as he watched the video – a beautiful young brunette masturbating with a vibrating dildo. It was a self-shot amateur video; the woman was on her sofa, the camera apparently resting on the coffee table. She smiled at him as she moved the dildo with her left hand and fingered her clit with her right.

A car door slammed and there was a mild clatter outside, but it could have been across town as far as he was concerned. He stroked himself a little faster as he watched the brunette – no more than nineteen, probably making the video for a boyfriend.

Outside, the sounds continued and Robby's curiosity stirred in a distracted sort of way as his hand moved faster.

A few long minutes passed unnoticed.

There were only the girl on the screen, the sensation of his hand -

– and the noise outside.

After a while, something crashed.

Robby did not stop, but he turned from the monitor to the shaded window. To satisfy his curiosity so he could continue uninterrupted, he rolled his chair over to the window, pulled the shade aside and looked out into the night.

There were lights on in the house across the street. It had been empty and for sale for nearly six months, since the Huitts had moved to the east coast, but now there was a car in the drive with a U-Haul trailer behind it and a few boxes on the ground. The trailer's doors had just been slammed – he realized that was the crash he'd heard – and a woman stood by the trailer now, slapping her hands together to brush them off. Then she bent forward slightly to dust off her thighs.

Robby's hand continued to stroke and he knew he was close. He was about to drop the shade and go back to the monitor because he wanted to see the girl in the video squirm and wince as she reached orgasm, but -

– the woman across the street stood and turned, one hand on her hip, the other brushing aside a long strand of hair and -

– she looked at him.

Through the darkness of the clear, cold night, from across the street, she looked into his window and directly into his eyes.

Embarrassed and ashamed, Robby flinched, already trembling and grasping on the very edge of his orgasm. He jerked the vinyl shade back into place with his free hand, but his movement was too sudden, too strong, and the shade slipped from his hand and shot upward, rolling up above the window and -

– she was still watching him, staring, not absently, but with interest, as if perhaps she were watching some suspicious goings on at the house across the street, like a break-in or a domestic squabble in the yard, and -

– Robby wanted to duck below the window, feeling certain she could tell what he was doing even though he knew better, but he couldn't take his eyes from her, even as his hand moved faster and faster and his chest heaved and a small moan rose up in his throat. He couldn't take his eyes from her pale face, from her eyes, because it seemed odd that he could see them so clearly from that distance, and -

– in the glow of the streetlight, he saw her eyes narrow and crinkle slightly as her interest turned to amusement, and she smirked, then her narrow face opened in a smile directed at him and -

– that was when Robby came.

"That's right ," George Pritchard said encouragingly to his sixteen-year-old daughter, looking at the math problem she'd worked out in her notebook. "I think you've got it, Jen."

She bit her lower lip, frowning at the numbers. "It's hard," she muttered.

"I know, but you're catching on. It's going to get easier, I promise."

"Then I'll graduate and never use this information again, right?" she asked with a smirk.

"Something like that," he said as he stood from the dining room table and went into the kitchen, where the dishwasher was rumbling and harrumphing and his wife Karen was seated at the small desk in the corner licking envelopes. "What're you doing, hon?"

"Getting the bills ready to send tomorrow," she said.

He got a beer from the refrigerator, popped the can open and took a drink, leaning against the counter and watching his wife.

She looked tired as she addressed another envelope, sealed it, and put it on the stack, then started on another. Her shoulders sagged and her blonde hair was mussed; her movements were mechanical and her mind seemed to be on other things.

Karen was his second wife. His first – Robby's mother – had been run down by a drunk driver while crossing the street fifteen years ago and he'd vowed then never to remarry. It had been a wonderful marriage in every way. Of course, it had only lasted four years and might very well have soured with time, but those four years with Laura had been happy ones, with never a fight or a harsh word exchanged, with an openness that George had never experienced before, and a sex life that did not fade a fraction during their marriage but instead grew more exciting and creative. He talked about his first marriage little, if at all, because he found that no one believed that a marriage, even one so brief, could be so good.

But after three years of raising Robby on his own and having no social life whatsoever, outside of his work as general manager of a local FM radio station, George began to grow lonely. He hadn't slept well since Laura's death. For a while, it was because he missed having her beside him in bed, but as time passed, it was simply because he was alone in bed. Then, when Robby had to have his tonsils removed, George met Karen.