For me, Blair Mallette was That Neighbor. You know who I mean - that woman you know because your wife knows her; and whom you secretly want to fuck. Don’t lie. You have one.
Blair lived on the cul-de-sac that branched off from our street. It’s a starter neighborhood, mostly young couples, some with kids. It’s an upscale development with a busy clubhouse and pool, plenty of splashing and yelling by the kids. When Blair was there, I watched her, my eyes hidden behind sunglasses, so Anna wouldn’t notice. Or so I thought.
Blair had long, gorgeous blonde hair, blue eyes, lips that curled just right. Her figure was lithe, but full - unbearably erotic. She was single but hardly alone. It was not uncommon to see a man leaving her house early mornings from time to time. Lucky guys, I always thought.
Not that I was unlucky! Anna, my wife, was a beautiful woman too. We married young though, so the mystery of other partners always lingered. What would it be like? Anna and Blair weren’t exactly friends, but as they were about the same age, and childless - the mommies tended to clump together - they sometimes went for a run together, or a glass of wine.
Wine. Veritas vino.
“So tell me,” Anna said as she poured the last of the bottle into my glass. We were sprawled on our sofa, television going in the background. She was still in her office clothes: hoop earrings, heels, black skirt, white blouse. Her short hair was dangling just a little in her eyes. “If you could - if I wasn’t here, I mean - what woman, that we both know, would you fuck?”
I laughed. Sober, I would never answer that question. And, in the back of my mind, I realized I’d seen Anna talking to Blair earlier that day. Danger, the back of my mind also warned me. But the wine said to me, why not say it?
And, Anna didn’t let it go. She’d drunk the other half of the bottle. “Seriously!” she said. “Safe zone - I won’t get mad, I promise!” Her eyes were heavy-lidded and sexy. She’d always had a competitive streak. The wine said to me, see, she said she won’t get mad.
“Well,” I said. “Blair is kind of attractive, I guess.”
Anna’s breathing changed. She put down her wine and swung her legs to the floor. Without a backwards glance she stalked out of the room. I sat there, staring at the television. Shit. I waited a few minutes before I went to find her, steeled for an argument.
Anna was in our bedroom. And, not looking to argue. She had stripped off her skirt, opened her blouse and bra. One hand dipped into her panties, and the other toyed with her nipple.
“The question was based on me not being here - but I
am here, aren’t I?” Anna’s voice was low, almost a purr. “So that slut Blair isn’t getting your cock - is she?” And when she pulled me onto the bed, I did forget Blair, sort of. What kept her in my mind was that Anna’s almost-purr had an edge. Vino veritas.
