I finished my shower ignoring my erection and it was soon gone. I dressed in cargo shorts and a knit, three button golf shirt and sandals. I drove into town to the local restaurant that had the best omelets ever and had breakfast. The waitress commented, as always, about the fact that I was alone. I glanced at the embroidered name on her apron and motioned toward the seat in the booth across from me and said, “Donna, please join me.” She giggled and said, “I’d love to but I’m working.”
Donna was a very attractive woman with no ring on her left hand. There was a trace of a compression on that finger though. There was no tan line. I guessed that she was in her mid thirties and probably divorced but not recently. I had contemplated asking her out but it had been a long time since I had asked anyone out on a date; not since Anna in my third year of college, seventeen years ago. I could never get the words out even though she was giving every obvious signal that she would gladly accept. I ate alone in silence. Donna stopped by my table once to see if I wanted anything else. I didn’t. I paid the bill and left a generous tip. She waved and yelled the obligatory, “Have a nice day,” as the door swung closed behind me. I looked back through the front window and waved back.
As I turned onto the dirt road leading to my house, I noticed the neighbor to my right was tying balloons to the mailboxes. One of them was a silver Mylar helium balloon with a message in a script font reading, “Happy 18th Birthday Divi”. The neighbor’s name is Priya. She is forty-two but looks twenty-five. She is of Indian descent with long black hair, large dark eyes, inviting mouth, dark skin and a smoking hot body. I’ve met her husband, Naveen, once but he’s never around. He’s considerably older than Priya. He has an import/export business that apparently requires that he spend most of his time in India.
Priya is a huge flirt as she spends most of the summer in very revealing bikinis. She always leaves me blushing and giggles as she walks away with an exaggerated swing of her hips. She always looks back to see if I’m looking. I’m always looking.
Priya’s daughter is Divya. Her father calls her by her full name but Priya has always called her Divi except when she’s angry with her. From the balloons, I astutely deduce that Divi is eighteen today. As I drove down the road more balloons were pulling on their strings at every intersection. I guessed that they were having a birthday party and the balloons were meant to guide the attendees through the maze of dirt roads and cart paths.
Divi is a carbon copy of her mother. They look like sisters. She has blossomed into a stunningly beautiful girl. Her large dark eyes, with exceptionally white sclera are captivating. She delights in watching her mother torment me with her flirting and in recent years she has gotten pretty good at it herself. My flirting skills have improved too and I occasionally get to walk off leaving both of them blushing.
I suddenly felt old. Divya was ten years old when she moved here. Their house was just a seasonal camp when they arrived. They have completely remodeled it and it is a gorgeous, year-around home now. Even before they bought the camp there was a single row of tall arborvitae providing a wall of green all the way to their roofline between their house and mine. I can’t see in any window but I can see their yard by the water from my deck. In keeping with my voyeurism I take every opportunity to spy on Priya in her bikini from my chair on my deck. I’m certain that she knows.