The year was 1989.
Clank-clank.
At the sound of an aluminum ladder being positioned against the side of the next-door house, Maria practically leaped from her seat in the breakfast nook of her sun-splashed kitchen and sprinted for her bedroom window. Her heart was racing. Oh, yes, he’s going on the roof again!
Skittering through the back hall, Maria kicked off her stupid marabou bedroom slippers, then stopped, turned, and remembered to pick up a pair of small binoculars off the bookshelf. Her bathrobe flew open as she rounded the corner to her bedroom and raised the binoculars to her eyes.
“Yes, baby, do it,” she said. “Come to Mommy.”
The sweet seventeen-year-old boy next door, Allen, was going up to the roof of his home. On the summer mornings before his senior year, he would wait for his parents to leave for work and then slink out the back door of the house in his pajamas. Allen would then pick up a ladder lying in the tall grass and lay it against the side of the house. That sound was like a dinner bell for Maria, and it got her wet like Pavlov's pussy.
After setting the ladder, Allen would go inside and then quickly return, wearing only tennis shoes and a pair of Ray-Bans. He would already be getting hard. And that's exactly what was happening, again. He carried a shower basket that appeared to have his Banana Boat suntan oil, some zinc oxide for his nose and cheeks, and the house's cordless phone — one of those big plastic things with the telescoping antenna. He also had a large blanket thrown over his shoulder, and a pillow under his arm along with a porn magazine, usually a copy of Cheri, or High Society, or Playboy’s Book of Lingerie that he had shoplifted from the convenience store up the street.
Maria's heart was pounding with anticipation. She could see everything. Maybe Allen wanted her to see everything? That thought thrilled her. But no matter how he lay on the roof, she had a perfect view of Allen's morning horny-guy ritual from her bedroom window. Allen took the squirt bottle of Banana Boat suntan oil and drizzled it all over his cock, which was now fully erect and pointing straight into the California sky. Through her binoculars, she could see the page numbers and the picture captions on his porn magazine, that's how close she was. Maria frantically focused the binoculars for a close-up view of Allen's gorgeous, pulsating, oiled-up dick as he began stroking.
“Oh, do it, honey,” Maria moaned as she watched him spread out the blanket and lie down. “Oh yes, do it for me, baby.”
Maria’s pussy was practically gushing wet, she was so excited. The insides of her thighs were literally shiny with pussy wetness. It had been six months since the divorce was finalized and she had the house all to herself; her toned, tanned, SoCal cougar body cried out for release every morning. She slipped her left hand down to her pussy as she tried to hold the binoculars steady and watch Allen perform his own ritual of self-pleasure.
Allen kept going. He had no quick trigger and had that pure, young-cub stamina that Maria craved. He was reading Penthouse. Not for the articles, either! His cock looked so delicious, Maria thought. My God, she thought, how is this boy not having sex every day with every girl he sees? She would fuck his goddamn brains out on the dining room table in front of his family at his graduation dinner, that’s how delicious he was, and that’s how badly she had craved sex after divorcing her cheating bastard husband last year.