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Hello Readers! I must say that this work of fiction is over 22,000 words long and that’s why I’ve decided to submit it to the Novels and Novellas category. If that’s your style, let’s go for it! If not, then no harm done. In addition to being quite lengthy, there are many other themes in this such as an older man/younger woman romance, infidelity, exhibitionism/voyeurism, masturbation, love, and, of course, . I will not say how it evolves or how it ends, but I will say that it is a where the pointofview switches from one character to another. Also please note that this takes place in 2019 unless otherwise noted. All names and situations are fictitious and products of the author’s warped brain. Thank you for reading!
Summary:
In the summer of 2019, 18yearold Candy Walker and 56yearold Pete O’Malley find love and romance in one another after Candy is healing from a breakup with her latest boyfriend and while Pete’s marriage is in shambles. They are nextdoorneighbors in a small Kansas town where even older teenagers, such as Candy, like to play outside and invent things such as a “No Boys Allowed Club.” Coincidentally, Candy is also best friends with Pete’s daughter, Julie, adding an extra layer to the forbidden nature of the . In a tale of innocence, love, lust, , and betrayal, there is an unlikely enemy that shows themselves in the and threatens to harm Pete and Candy’s happiness, unconventional though it may be. Can they survive the challenge?
Part One: The Little Pepper (Pete’s Narrative) (2023):
It sounds like an overused cliché, but I never thought I’d be unfaithful to my wife, Cheryl. This takes place in the year 2019 and by that time we had been married for nearly two decades. Back then, I was 56 years old, and my wife was just a few years younger. Among all the troubles in our marriage, she had given birth to our lovely daughter named Julie sixteen years before who was growing up into an adorable and intelligent young lady. But before I go into things any further, let me go into a bit of hi between Cheryl and I.
I first met Cheryl when she was in her late twenties, and she was so lovely. She was a lively, fiery redhead that had intrigued me from the getgo. She was always a bit eccentric, maybe even a bit odd, but it was these harmless little anomalies that caught me in her web of charms. It didn’t take us long to hop into bed together, and it was sensational. We both had extremely busy work schedules, but we always found time to screw each other like animals and fall back upon the pillows, breathless and grasping at each other for more.
But more than that, she’s always had a lovely soul, which makes this confession all the more difficult to tell. It makes it difficult to tell, but not impossible. Back in 2019, Cheryl was going through some sort of radical shift of mood due to her menopausal state and I had never quite seen her like that before. She would become hysterical at small things or things that she said I thought were small but were huge to her, and her emotional reaction was disproportionate to the event or person that landed in her crossfire. I just didn’t understand, she said, and I suppose she was right.
While I loved her deeply, I was getting extremely tired of the turmoil that she was throwing at my feet. It seemed I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. My one sole light was our daughter, Julie. She was blossoming into a beautiful young lady. I began to steer my attentions more towards my daughter and her life rather than devoting my energies to Cheryl.
Our small triangle of a family were good friends with our neighbors to the east, the Walkers. There was Jacqueline Walker and her young daughter named Candace Elizabeth Walker, simply known as “Candy.” This is where my misstep lied: Candy was not only our nextdoorneighbor, but she was Julie’s best friend.
At the time of this , Candy was just 18 years old, and she had developed from a skinny, knobbykneed kid to a voluptuous and beautiful young woman. The evolution of her body and personality seemed so subtle that it was almost like it didn’t happen at all, but with the state of my marriage which seemed perilous and the frank boredom I felt with Cheryl, my wandering eye landed upon the young Candy who, I found, tasted as good as her name implied.
Candy was the personification of a paradox: Childish and womanly, y and innocent, sweet but also brutally cruel. I learned of her cruelties through my daughter when they would occasionally get into arguments and my daughter would come to me in tears over something mean Candy had said or done to her. Soon, their difficulties would soon be scraped clean, and they would go on as before, but it was my turn to play Sigmund Freud for a brief hour before their reconciliation.
But back to the paradox that was Candy.
Here’s a perfect example of how she was both childish and womanly: One summer morning she would be playing baseball in the street with my daughter and a group of random girls and, later, the same day, she would be sunbathing nude in her mother’s fencedin backyard. Or so I heard. And so I would soon find out. You see what I mean by a body of contradictions? Well, Candy was it.
Candy was also a bit of an aimless, freespirit, willing to go in whatever direction the wind took her, but it was the type of aimlessness that made you want to nudge her in the right direction instead of judging her for it. A gentle nudge, that is. She never did anything by force. She was a student at the local community college studying medical transcription, and, to help pay for the fee and put a few dollars in her pocket, she had a steady job at our town’s fiveanddime store. All of us were quite comfortable in our little dot here in Kansas.
That summer, Candy’s beauty reached an unbelievably attractive zenith. I had never seen her look quite so radiant. She had a wonderful head of blonde hair, wavy and thick, that landed to the middle of her back, and green eyes that peeked out from the shadows of her golden tresses. Her smile was infectious with two vibrant, solid white rows of teeth that sparkled when she smiled. She wore a modest amount of makeup: A smidge of black mascara and a sheen of pink lip gloss that highlighted her full, natural lips. One beauty habit she indulged in occasionally that summer was glitter. She seemed to take to body glitter and it made her glint and glimmer as if a thousand diamonds were decorating her suntanned skin.
She was of modest height, about 5’2″, and her curvaceous, buxom little figure could quite possibly have been 362236. Her breasts were full maybe a C or D cup and many times before she and I became intimate, I imagined my large, rough hands caressing them while we kissed. Her legs were slender and smooth without blemish and her ass had just the right amount of perk to make it look grabbable and touchable. All in all, she was a petite, lovely girl and it wasn’t long before the attentions I should’ve been showing my wife were focused on her.
When she was playing outside with her girlfriends, I noticed, Candy usually wore snug, tight little denim shorts and a crop top that exposed her tummy, but in times besides that, she normally wore a pretty summer dress or a snug miniskirt and shortsleeved sweater that accentuated her curves to almost cosmic swerves. She had definitely become a looker.
Because of her beautiful, youthful face and her stunning figure, not to mention the way she conducted herself around the opposite , in small circles of our neighborhood particularly among the men she was often referred to as “Cocktease Candy” or “The Little Pepper” for her supposed flames of hotness when she hit the sheets. In times of normalcy (if there ever is such a thing), I called her simply “Candy” or “Kid,” but in the affectionate hours I usually referred to her as “Baby” or her favorite (and mine) “Little One.” I rarely became irritated with her, but when I did, I would wag my finger at her and sternly warn her in a deep, ominous voice, “Candace Elizabeth Walker” and her misbehaviors would straighten like a line.
To put it frankly and succinctly, I was an average, ually deprived, redblooded American male who felt stuck in a marriage with a woman who he loved but didn’t necessarily like in those days. I knew that, most of the time, she wasn’t feeling well and that I should’ve been more empathetic, but, against my better instincts, I resented her for discontinuing our life the way it once had been; I missed my wife, and I wanted her back.
There was an incident next door an incident I will soon speak of that caused me to glance upon Candy with a completely different eye, an eye of lust and adolescent angst and romantic passion. But until then I had taken to reading my wife’s romance novels that she left out and about among our home, and I would pay particular attention to the parts she had underlined the steamiest and naughtiest, no doubt and I would play with myself as I read those words.
But after a while, the ual climaxes that erupted from me seemed hollow and empty without a partner with whom to experience them with. I missed being with a woman. I missed having a girl. Occasionally my wife and I would have , but those hours were short lived and not very passionate; she made me feel like a charity case when she put out for me in those days. She didn’t enjoy our lovemaking anymore, and, quite frankly, I didn’t too much either. I missed the soft, supple ripples of a young woman’s skin, the tightness of a body writhing beneath me begging for more cock, more pleasure. Not a woman who simply lifted her nightgown out of obligation. I wanted a woman who wanted it.
Even with everything I just explained and laid out, I never thought I would betray the wedding vow “in sickness and in health.” But I did. The following takes place in the summer of 2019. I did it willingly and almost thoughtlessly. And at the risk of sounding callous, I would do it all again in a heartbeat if I had the chance. Here’s how I betrayed my wife and fell in love with the girl next door, not to mention my daughter’s best friend…
Part Two: The Accidental Voyeur (Pete’s Narrative):
It was a Saturday morning in early June. My wife was upstairs asleep, and Julie had stayed the night across town at a girlfriend’s house for a slumber party. I was downstairs in the living room watching a morning program and doing a crossword puzzle, drinking a cup of coffee and eating a donut. During the weekdays I had to get up fairly early for my job at the factory, but this was a blissful, splendid morning, one of sunshine and warmth. Still, even among the good vibes, I suspected something was amiss, as I heard what sounded like a group of boys snickering and arguing. Most of the windows in the house were open, as the early June weather was more akin to a spring day than a sweltering, summer one.
I put down my breakfast and walked into the kitchen, leaned over the sink, and looked out the open window. The Walker’s house was situated right across the driveway that separated our property, and I noticed a group of men boys, actually jockeying and jostling around a specific part of the wooden fence the Walker’s had built around their backyard. The boys had their backs to me and some of them had the waist of their jeans slung around their pale, lily asses as they pushed and shoved one another. I shook my head in disgust and went out to see what the matter was.
“Hey!” I called out. “What the hell is going on here?”
The group of teenagers there must’ve been four or five of them struggled to pull up their jeans and started to run away, some of them tripping on their pants as they did so. Again, I shook my head. The wooden fence, I noticed, had a small, circular hole in it and they had been spying on one of the Walkers; Candy, I assumed. Peeping toms! The mystery had been solved: They were looking for a girl to jackoff to.
But as I walked back to the house my curiosity was piqued. Should I? I really had no right to invade my neighbors’ privacy like this. And they probably didn’t even know the unintentional peephole had been there when the fence had been erected. But, like most starved males, my hormones went straight to my cock; I pivoted, and then again and again, and finally decided to make my way back to the hole in the fence. I stooped a bit, closing one eye, and then peeked through the shaggy, splintered hole that would soon open my world to a iness that was far away but not forgotten to me.
In the backyard of the Walker’s home lied Candy, sunbathing nude, stretching out on a yellowandwhite plastic striped lawn chair. She had her headphones on and was leafing through a glossy magazine if I read correctly, I think it was either Seventeen or Allure. But I wasn’t focused too much on her reading material. I was focused on her. I was peeping at her from the side and her right leg was bent at an angle. In all her luscious nakedness, I could feel my cock twitching inside my jeans.
Her skin was wearing a thin layer of sweat from the morning sun; a sheen, really, and she was wearing sunglasses to protect her eyes. It seems she had been unaware of the peeping toms (including yours truly). Her legs were beautiful: they looked so soft, almost as if they would ripple if a man were to touch them. Her hips flared out to feminine swerves and in between her thighs was a small patch of blonde hair crafted into the shape of a small and perfect ‘v’. Her body was absent, today, of body glitter, but one thing I had not noticed before was that inside of her belly button she wore a dangling, crystalline piece of jewelry which played off the rays of the sun. My cock was growing with every inch of her I took in. My mouth began to dry like cotton, and I licked my lips. My eyes were feasting on the beautiful, nude girl who hadn’t a clue she was being preyed upon by my eye.
Her tummy was taut and stretched and I could see just a hint of angle and bone of her ribcage. Further up were her beautiful, full breasts that I had occasionally but not often thought about. They were so big on her otherwise petite frame, and they rose and fell with her gentle breathing. Her ripe, teenage tits, as fresh and delicious as fruit, made me moisten my lips even more; they glistened in the sun. They were topped by pink, sweet nipples that seemed to be begging for touch. For tongue.
Cluelessly, she rocked her head back and forth to the music only she could hear. Her soft blonde hair tickled the most sensitive swoop of her neck. She was almost unearthly in all her nakedness. She was sugar to my eye, and she caused me to drip in arousal, a drip I had so desperately wanted my wife to cause but could not.
And then I thought of Cheryl and backed away from the fence instantly. I had to get a hold of myself. I smoothed back my darkandgraying hair and straightened myself out. So many things could’ve gone wrong if Cheryl had caught me this way. But the reality was was that I had a raging erection, one I tried to deny, and I jogged back in the house quickly, trying to shake the naughty, bad girl image I had seen and attempt to get on with my day.
The rest of the morning went agonizingly slow. I tried so hard to clear my head, to loosen the thoughts of Candy that were stuck there. But to no avail. She was a wet dream that had come to life. Now I was becoming as horny and hormonally charged as those boys. I was confused and upset with myself why couldn’t I react this way to my wife? Why couldn’t my wife respond to me the way I imagined that Candy would? Why was I even combining thoughts of Cheryl and Candy? Why was I comparing the two? I didn’t have answers to any of these questions. But I did have a solution. I marched up to the second floor to my wife’s bedroom (we slept in separate rooms) and begged her to let me fuck her. My erection would not cease.
It was shortly after lunch, and I had not seen Cheryl all day. She lied on her back in her bed, watching an old blackandwhite western on TV. Her nightgown was an offwhite color, baggy and dowdy, some might even say unattractive, despite all its frills. I kneeled at the side of her bed, resting my elbows on the mattress and held her hands in between mine, looking into her eyes. She continued to watch the television. I gently tilted her soft, aged face towards mine and whispered to her that I needed her, begged her to let me slide inside of her. Possibly mistaking this for charm or perhaps pitying me as she sometimes did she callously grinned at me, knowing I was in need, and allowed me to crawl into bed with her.
She lifted up her nightgown, under which she was not wearing panties or a bra, and I rode her breathlessly like I had not in a long time. I was desperate for a ual release, to cum inside her pussy, to try and revive her into the woman I once knew her as. But it was no use. Not on my part or hers. I looked down into her oncelovely face as I screwed her and could imagine the young, teenage Candy that lived only feet from us. God, how I would’ve loved to feel her adolescence bouncing and jiggling under my fever thrusts.
I came like a machine, like a madman. After it was over, my wife simply readjusted her legs, pulled down her nightgown once more and went back to watching her program.
Our relationship had coldly returned to what it had been thirty minutes before, and I left her room and went into my own to pay some bills. Later that evening Julie, Cheryl, and I all had dinner together. We joked and laughed, but one thing was for certain between Cheryl and I: The thrill was gone between the two of us and, unfortunately, what we had experienced that afternoon fell into the old, mundane routine of our usual, tense state.
Part Three: No Boys Allowed (Pete’s Narrative):
The following weekend, unfortunately, was not as exciting as the one I just described. I sat by myself at the dining room table, eating a grilled cheese sandwich and drinking a beer. Cheryl and I had got into an argument shortly before, and she had gone downstairs to the basement where I had converted it in to another living room. It’s where she liked to go when she wanted to get away from me.
Despite my efforts to remain tranquil and “normal,” my body was racing ever since I saw Candy sunbathing in the nude the weekend prior. She, quickly, had become the new object of my desire. Previously, that space had been reserved for models and actresses and young lady singers, but Candy was very much in their league when it came to her looks. I thought about her often. I imagined her coming to the factory where I worked and my showing her off to my buddies there, showing her what I did for a living, and finally, the two of us sneaking into a supply closet to make out like horny teenagers. She made me feel alive; the old pump still worked, it just needed a bit of feminine charm to arouse it.
As I sat there that afternoon, eating lunch, Julie tore into the house, the screen door banging behind her. She was sixteen but acted every bit the 12yearold every time she entered a room. She wrapped her skinny little arms around my shoulders and plopped down on the seat across from me, breathless and winded.
“I thought you might be back for food,” I joked. “I left you a couple of sandwiches by the stove.”
“Oh, good! Thanks, Dad.” She went into the kitchen and returned with the two sandwiches and a can of soda.
“How are things?” I asked, taking a swig of beer.
Her hair was tousled and there were smudges of dirt upon her face. She laughed. “We had a great time playing baseball. I almost almost caught a pop fly,” she said, measuring the distance between her forefinger and her thumb. She chatted endlessly as I ate. I have to admit my attention drifted in and out, but my hearing zoomed in when I heard her mention Candy. The two had been playing together outside.
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