“What the fuck!” I cried, pulling on the handle. Shit. It must have locked when I slammed it shut. I almost laughed at the absurdity of standing naked in my back yard while my husband was across town fucking his whore. “Here I am world,” I wanted to shout. “Fuck me over some more”.
Now what? I knew the rest of the doors were locked. We had talked about a keyless entry for our garage but had never gotten around to it. There was a light on next door but I was naked as a jaybird. Well, almost. I slipped the silk robe on, pulling it tightly around me. It didn’t have a tie so I held it closed as I traversed the short sidewalk that connected our side yards. Feeling totally foolish and embarrassed, I shivered as I rang Ron’s back doorbell.
We don’t know our neighbor very well except to say hello on the driveway now and then. If it was a shock for him to find a wet, half naked woman on his doorstep, he didn’t show it.
“Hello, Mrs. Ascott,” Ron said politely as if I stopped by like this regularly.
“Hi Ron, call me Beth,” I said, wondering what he was thinking.
“Okay, Beth,” he smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“I locked myself out of my house,” I said as he held the door open for me and I saw him starring at my breasts. I didn’t have to look down to know what the night air had done to my nipples and I knew my wet skin would make the silk almost transparent.
I blushed even more when I realized that Ron was only wearing a pair of sweat pants that hung enticingly low on his hips. His black chest rippled with muscles that deepened the color of my already flush face.
“How… um… I mean…” Ron was stammering as I dripped water on his kitchen floor and pulled the robe tightly around me. He couldn’t keep his eyes off my breasts and I have to admit I found it reassuring after my husband’s self-esteem crushing lies earlier in the evening.
“I was swimming and somehow the sliding glass door got locked. I’m sorry to bother you but I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I could call a locksmith or something,” I blurted out all in one breath.
“Of course, come in,” he said, ushering me into the living room. “I’ll get you a towel,” he added. I watched him walk out of the room, almost voyeuristically observing his well-defined back muscles as he moved.
I have never fantasized about interracial sex but Ron’s naked torso was having an effect on me. Maybe it was because I was sitting there almost naked or because I was still reeling from my husband’s infidelity but I felt the familiar twinges of arousal between my naked thighs. Stop it! I admonished myself until I watched him walk back into the kitchen with a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants. At least I still had that effect on someone even if it wasn’t my husband.
Ron handed me the towel but I was at odds about how to dry off while keeping my robe pulled around me. He seemed to sense my discomfort and suggested I go upstairs to dry off. He didn’t try to hide his scrutiny of my near naked rear-end as I ascended the stairs.
“There are some t-shirts in the second drawer down,” he called after me. “Help yourself. I’ll go see about your door. Sliding glass doors don’t always latch all the way,” he added.