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A Neighbor's Gift

A Neighbor's Gift {Redman} {MF Rom}

(c) December 2000

Comments welcome at redman@seductive.com.

Other stories at ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Redman/

A Neighbor's Gift

by Redman

The Christmas season was slow at my company, so I took

off some time before the holidays. I have plenty of

vacation days left that won't roll over. Use `em or

lose `em.

Our long-time next door neighbor was dying of ovarian

cancer. Angela was just a couple of years older than

my wife and I. She was diagnosed about six months ago

and under chemotherapy she went from a lovely, vital

woman to a very sick shut-in almost overnight.

My wife had volunteered me to take her lunch on the

days I was off. Normally I don't like to be around

sick people, but Angela was special. We used to be

friends with her and her husband, Raymond. I never did

like him much, but Angela and I had flirted with

one another a lot, until it started to get serious.

Neither one of us had wanted to ruin the other's

marriage, so we cooled it off by mutual agreement.

Our marriage lasted. Angela's didn't.

But there was a part of me that would always love

Angela. She was an easy person to love. She was short,

vivacious and athletic. Angela was a social worker and

she was always perceptive about people and their

needs. She had small breasts and a very pretty bottom,

dark hair and a dark complexion. She looked good in

shorts and a halter. Once she modeled a thin negligee

for me. That was the day we came too close to

consummating our flirtation.

Now she had a nursing assistant who came over every

morning to check on her. There was also a cleaning

lady who came every other day. I called a little after

ten and asked her when she wanted lunch. She told me

to come by any time, so we agreed on eleven.

My wife had made some soup and a casserole. Since all

I had to do was heat it up, I decided to do that at

Angela's. I hoped it would give us something else to

talk about other than her illness. So at eleven I

brought the food over and rang her doorbell. Angela

called out to tell me to come in.

She was lying on the couch. Angela was wearing a satin

housecoat and had a quilt pulled up to knees. She

looked pale. She had lost weight, which was a real

problem since she had always been a slender woman. She

had had a hysterectomy four months ago, but the cancer

had already spread to her lymph nodes. The chemo

hadn't helped. Her prognosis was now only a month or

two. Maybe until the first of the year. Maybe not.

Angela was struggling to stay home as long as she

could. It was a struggle that everyone knew she

couldn't win.

After I had set down the food in the kitchen, I came

back to the living room where Angela was. She had

struggled to her feet and I met her two steps from the

couch and just hugged her and held her for a while. It

was the first chance I had had to be alone with her

since the diagnosis. She seemed so frail in my arms.

She tried to hold me tight, but she had no strength.

I kissed her on her thinning hair and held her for as

long as she wanted to be held.

"I'm tired now, T__," she said in a soft voice. "Can we

sit a while?"

"Sure, Angela, for as long as you want," I told her as

I helped her ease down onto the couch. "Are you hungry

yet? We have soup and casserole on the menu."

"No, I'm more lonely than hungry. Would you mind just

holding me some more?"

"No Angela, I wouldn't mind doing that at all. I have

all day if you need me. Just let me know if you need

anything."

She lay her head on my shoulder and I held her without

speaking for the longest while.

"Hope," she finally whispered.

I had been a little lost in the memories of our past

and feeling sad for her, so I missed the obvious

reference.

"Pardon?"

"I need hope, T__, but that's something you can't give

me. I've run out of hopes, false and real, at this

point. So instead, just let me hold you and dream that

we ended up together and happy somehow and that

everything is fine right now. Would you mind doing

that for me?"

As soon as I could speak without choking up I answered

her, "Sure Angela. I've been thinking 'what if' all day

myself."

"I never wanted to break up you and M__," Angela

pondered aloud, "but I've often thought about what it

would have been like if it had been you and I

together."

"I would have tried to be a good husband to you,

Angela. I probably would have unless some sexy

neighbor moved in next door."

"No, even then you would have only flirted with her.

You would have still been faithful to me. I know you."

She wanted dreams. Luckily I had a few to share. I had

been writing a series on domestic love about an older

married couple, erotic stories that I post on the

Internet. Maybe Angela wanted to hear a couple of

them.

"Would you like me to tell you what we'd be like after

we'd been married a long time, Angela?"

"Yes, that's just what I want. Tell me a story about

what it would be like living with you."

"Well, I'd come home in the afternoon and you'd be

cooking red beans and rice on the stove. It's just you

and me in the house and I can smell your cooking from

the doorway. I can smell you, too. Our whole house

smells like you and it makes me so glad to finally be

at home with my wife."

"That's nice," Angela whispered in a faint, wispy

voice. "I don't want to ever work again. I'm tired of

working, T__. And no kids, either, darling. I want to

spend all of my time with you. Is that all right with

you, dear?"

"That's fine with me, dear. I'd like to have a

beautiful wife like you waiting for me to come home

every day. I'd rush home every day if that were that

case."

"I'd give you anything you wanted," Angela said

excitedly and then she started to cough. I held her

tightly until the spasms stopped. She moaned and when

she did her lungs sounded wet, her breathing halting

and irregular.

"I'm okay now. Go ahead and tell the story. I'll just

listen for a while," Angela said weakly.

"Sure, honey. I came home to find you cooking at the

stove. When I see you in the kitchen, you're wearing

nothing but an apron and a smile, just the way I like

you."

Angela smiled and snuggled against my chest. She

shivered a little so I covered her up with the

blanket, pulling it over me too in order to cover her

up completely.

"I try to sneak up behind you, but you hear me, like

you always do. Even so, I'm close enough that I get to

hold you from behind and press myself into that soft,

beautiful bottom of yours."

"Just remember I'm a lot shorter," Angela chuckled and

then coughed just a little.

"Hey, you can tell the next one. Now just listen." I

squeezed her shoulders and I felt her smile against my

chest. "I kiss the nape of your neck and I hold you

very tight and tell you how glad I am to come home to

a naked woman. You smell fresh and clean and I can

smell our special perfume on you. It's the perfume I

gave you for our anniversary. Do you remember it?"

"Yes," she whispered softly. "You call it, 'the fuck-me

perfume.'"

She giggled just a bit when she saw that she had

startled me. I'd never heard Angela use such

expressive language. I guess so near the end, we say

what we feel. It let me know how far she wanted me to

take this story. I had been wondering about that.

"Yes, that's the one, darling. The 'fuck-me perfume.'

You wear it because you know it excites me. There's

some in your hair and behind your ear. I'm interested

in finding out where else you might have put some."

Angela liked that. She unbuttoned one of the buttons

on my shirt and slipped her hand inside to touch my

chest lightly. Even though she was sick and weak, just

that simple contact excited me.

"I run my hands under the apron and cup both of your

breasts as you stir the red beans. You begin to tell

me about your day, but it's hard for you to

concentrate with my hands on you like that."

"Are they too small? My breasts?" Angela asked meekly.

"Do you wish my breasts were bigger?"

"Never, dear. You know how much I love to hold them

and kiss them. I'd stay here all day at the stove just

hugging you and holding your breasts if that's what

you wanted."

"No," she said softly. "I want more."

"I thought you did," I said just as softly. "When I

reached down with one hand, you were as warm as I had

ever felt you." Angela's hand caressed me softly. She

moaned against my chest. "When I pressed a finger

between your lips, you were very wet, my dear."

Again she moaned. Only this time I could tell it was

just to encourage me to tell more.

"That's one of the things I've always loved about you,

Angela. Ever since we were married, you're always

ready for me when I need you. Other men fuss about

their wives. They say they have headaches. It always

seems to me that you're ready all the time. Every time

I touch you, you're wet and ready."

Angela sighed against me contentedly. For just a

moment I wondered what I was doing telling erotic

stories to a dying woman. But then again, she seemed

happier than any time since I had walked in the door.

And she seemed a little stronger, too.

"As you stir the red beans, I stir my fingers in you.

One hand is stirring your breast, rubbing the nipple,

cupping your warm breast and holding it firmly. The

other hand is stirring the lips of your vagina,

pressing slightly into your furrow, tasting your

moisture. My thumb is brushing your mound, Angela,

playing through your lovely sparse hair."

"It used to be thicker," she giggled, "before they

shaved it."

"Ah, but I make you thin it out because I love to see

your flesh through it. We keep it trimmed back nice

and pretty, don't we?"

"You're such a good husband to help. Or it is because

you're such a pervert?" she chuckled.

"No, I'm just addicted to every part of you. I love

the way you smell and I love the way you taste. Every

part of you. I'd spend hours looking at you, touching

you, licking you."

"Let's move away from the stove. It's getting pretty

warm in here."

"That's my thoughts as well, Angela. You put the red

beans and rice aside while I rush to the bedroom and

throw off my clothes. When you come into the room, I

laugh because you've left your apron in the kitchen.

I was all set to chew it off of you with my teeth."

"You'll have to find something else to chew."

"I'll have to find a whole meal to eat, because I'm

hungry for you. I pick you up and throw you on the bed

and watch you bounce delightfully until you settle

down. And then I'm right on you, between your thighs

and spreading you out, my dear. You smell so lovely,

I think I've found another perfume spot, haven't I?"

"Oh yes," she said wistfully, almost sadly. "I've

wanted you between my legs forever."

I almost choked up, but instead, I used it in the story.

"I know it's seemed like forever since I left this

morning, but I'm here now, home with my wife. I spread

you out like a luscious meal and feast on you, my

dear. You taste delicious darling, just like always."

"You really like the taste?" she questioned. When I

nodded so emphatically she laughed. "Then I really did

miss something. I've only had half-hearted lovers."

"Well not anymore, dearest. I'd stay in your lap all

day if you let me, darling. In fact, you're so warm

and wet by now, that just by kissing and nibbling and

licking your clitoris, I bring you to your first

orgasm easily."

"My first? There's more?"

"Oh yes, darling. We've just started. We've got all

evening."

"Are you hard, T__?" Angela asked with a sense of

wonder in her voice. I don't know how she could have

missed it. My penis had been straining my pants for

quite a while now. "Can I see it? Please, let me

touch you!"

"I don't know, Angela. That's very close to crossing

a line."

"T__, they cut out most of my female parts, so we

can't go any farther. But, they're still giving me

these damn estrogen shots. I still feel like a woman,

T__. I can't do anything for you. I'm too weak. But I

want to feel a man one last time, to hold you and

smell what a man smells like again. I want to really

feel like a woman one last time before I die."

So she lay on the couch on her side. I took my clothes

off and lay next to her. She pressed her warm cheek

against my hard penis, nuzzling it, smelling deeply of

my aroma. She seemed content just to hold it in her

frail hands against her face. She didn't let me

continue with the story. No doubt, in her mind, she

was making up her own.

After a while, I sensed her breathing alter, becoming

more rhythmic. Angela had tired herself out and fallen

asleep. Her warm breath against my penis kept me hard

for a while longer, but gradually it began to soften

as I lay there and began to cry.

I wondered if she would last until Christmas. I wished

I could give her more.