With delicate steps, I move to the oak, double door and softly drag one side open. I take her by the arm pulling her in quickly because Butch has started to bark. Holding the crook of her elbow, I help her cross the threshold and Mrs. Wright’s soft, blond curls are tousled and mussed—it adds to her beauty.

Five light taps on the dinning room window in rapid succession is the sign I listen for every Thursday shortly after midnight. The kids are tucked away quietly in their beds—and her husband is unaware that she has crept next door for a secret sexcapade.

“Hi,” she whispers and looks up at me with a gentle expression. She smelled like lilac and spring time, which undoubtedly will be left on the sheets.

“Hey Baby.” I secure the door, back her up against it and make a trail of moist kisses from her lips down to the crevice between her breasts.

“What time will your wife be home?” Head tilted back for my easy access.

“She’s off at three… so we better not waste any time tonight,” I say between kisses. We were getting a late start this time so I was anxious to get started.

“That’s fine because Mr. Wright was restless all evening. So, I need to be getting back anyway before his nurse notices I’m gone.”
She moans when I lightly bite a nipple through her blouse.

“Then, let’s get this party started.”

Every Thursday for the past few weeks, Mrs. Wright and I tread down the back hallway, careful to not wake the kids. Once, we were a little too loud and was interrupted by small eyes peering through a cracked door. We do our best to keep that from happening again and earnestly hope that they don’t say anything to their mother.

Once my wife walks out the back door heading for work, and I hear the garage door close I bathe our children, dress them for bed and read their favorite book, The Cheese Chase: An African American Folktale to them. After that, we engage in a quick pillow fight. I want to be sure to wear them out so they will sleep soundly and not interrupt Daddy’s playtime. I need them to be deep in REM sleep by the time I signal Mrs. Wright by turning out the back porch light, letting her know I’m ready for her.

My wife and I moved to the neighborhood a month ago but the Wrights have been longtime residents to the community—or so I understand. We’d never been formally introduced to them. We only knew they were the Wright’s because of the large plate that’s ingrained with their name on their iron gate in the front of their home. And we only knew them as Mr. and Mrs. because of another neighbor, old Miss Edna asking if we’d had the chance to meet them. Miss Edna, living in the house on the other side of the Wrights, also threw in additional details.

Mr. Wright had been in a gruesome boating accident some time back, which left him incapacitated as well as unable to perform his husbandly duties. According to Miss Edna, he slipped and fell off of the side of his sailboat breaking his neck and back. The only things Mr. Wright can move, she says, are his eyelids. Unable to speak, he can’t even tell her how beautiful she is, let alone that he still loves her so, Mrs. Wright, for the past several years has gone without any love and attention: lonely and unfulfilled.

I find the tiny tattoo of Tinkerbell just below her navel and slowly, and seductively kiss the trail of fairy dust that leads to the apex between her legs. This is where I always start once we are behind the safety of the closed double-doors of my wife’s bedroom. Mrs. Wright never wears any underwear when visiting me; afraid something may get left behind. So, I lift her skirt and with the assured invitation, tease the folds of her center until I feel her love juices begin to trickle down.

I lick my fingers. “You’re delicious,” I tell her.

She takes them and licks them too. “I am,” she agrees. We find each other’s mouths and passionately kiss as our bodies press together.

When we began this, there was no kissing and not much foreplay—just straight fucking. But, now we actually look into each other’s eyes and connect. We never expected or wanted to catch feelings but we have found a genuine affection for each other that has swept us both away.

This whole thing began when my wife walked in on me stroking myself while watching Mrs. Wright sunbathe. Her caramel-colored skin browning in the August sun had me so hard I could hardly think straight. She had turned over twice as I watched her thonged backside glistening in the steady stream of sunrays. I reached inside my pants and grabbed myself when she removed her bikini top and exposed a luscious pair. That was when I was interrupted and things between my wife and I have never been the same.

My wife—what can I say? She’s working the graveyard shift at the hospital tonight, again leaving me unattended. She is an attractive woman, but with diminishing sex appeal. With that tight-ass bun on the back of her head and wire-framed bifocals tipping at the bridge of her nose, not even the pope would fault me for creeping. She’d never do the nasty things Mrs. Wright does to me. It’s okay that she’s not more like Mrs. Wright, now that I get to have Mrs. Wright, and now that I no longer have to watch her through the kitchen windows surrounding the sinks.

“Did you remember to lock the door this time?” she asks me through panted breaths.

“It’s locked.” I barely mumble.

We move to the four-poster bed and collapse on top of the feather mattress. I help relieve her of her blouse and skirt while cherishing every angle of her lovely body. I cherish the womanly span of her back as it inclines into the curve of her round bottom and the long, tender legs that will soon be draped over my shoulders.

“Where do I start?”

“Anywhere you like.” Her words are drenched in desire.

I reach out and cup one breast and tease the darkened bud at the tip. Soft purrs escape her mouth so I move to the other one. I then lean over her and began sucking a nipple as she squirms underneath me.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asks.


“Suck a nipple like that.” She was breathless.

“Like what?” I look up, still lightly holding it between my teeth.

“Like an expert. Were you breast fed as a baby?”

I laugh, “Hell, I don’t know.” I continue my work. “I’m glad you like it.”

Nothing like some encouraging words to make a man work harder to please his lover. I continue to work each one over until they are pouting, swollen and begging for mercy. I plant kisses all over the front of her body and flip her over. Licking and sucking, I leave love marks all over her back. Then I move lower and separate each cheek and run my tongue down the center teasing the opening there and watch as her whole body shudders. Nothing brings me more pleasure than seeing her respond to my touch, shiver to my caress, or moan to my every thrust. Slowly I turn her back over on her back and make my way between her legs kissing my way up her inner thighs. I lick and kiss her there until her body surrenders and an orgasm has her in its grip. Her world spins as her body tenses and stretches and she struggles to collect her breath.

I watch as tension leaves her body and crooked smile creeps upon her lips. Mrs. Wright raises her hand toward me so I join her in the bed and immediately she straddles me taking control. She pins my arms down on the bed and with a sly grin begin drilling me with questions.