"The boy next door" drabbles by Neville Hunt
No is a lonely number
The boy next door #8
Back then, everyone in the street were your friend. He were my special friend, the lad next door, lovely, but shy as a coconut.
In those days it weren't proper for a girl to make the running wi' a lad. I didn't care. If Norman wouldn't chase me, then I'd best chase after him.
When he joined the Preston Pals I told him he were too soft to go warring. That brought out the devil in him and he suggested we should 'do it' before he went off to France. I said no....
...but it's too late for regrets now.
Prayers answered
The boy next door #7
I told him Aimie wouldn't be back for 20 minutes, but he could wait. I lied!
I'd never liked our neighbour's son Nick. Arrogant, cocky and conceited, he sat opposite me, hands confidently behind his neck.
I must say, I was looking pretty good. Crossing and uncrossing my legs did the trick. His arousal was evident... and he didn't care. It took two steps then two hands to release him. He just let me do it.
When Aimie burst in, it might've looked like I was praying, but she's no fool.
If that's what it takes to break them up....
Moving
The boy next door #6
With Charlie moving into the street, I thought it could be embarrassing. When his family moved in next door, then I knew it was.
When you've a crush on someone it's internal turmoil. When that someone is Charlie, it's nuclear! I determined I would try to ignore his proximity. He decided to do the reverse.
To deny this fabulous boy would be churlish and probably impossible. It might have been easier had I not been living on my own. The inevitable happened... and happened again.
It might have been bliss but for being his chemistry master...
...who's now moving on...
Rough justice
The boy next door #5
I was ashamed when my barrister called him my 'bit of rough'! Shouting in court to defend him wasn't smart, I know, because he was the accused and I was the injured party, with the scars to show. And I just avoided being done for contempt.
True, he was rough, even before he roughed me up. Rough but exciting and, living next door, handy for a 'quickie'. Called me an 'old slag'. Older maybe, but 'slag'? Not nice! Nor all the punches after calling him an ugly prick.
His new neighbour shares the cell. A lifer, wanting some ass!
Yeeha!
Teatime Terry
The boy next door #4
I always fancied the boy next door. Terry was good looking but really quite shy. Occasionally he came round to our house for tea with his mother. The mums would send us off into my bedroom so they 'could chat'. That was great as from age 12, I'd fancied him, but excruciatingly embarrassing because he'd hardly say or do anything and seemed relieved when his mother called him to go.
This may sound odd, but I don't think the mums saw us both getting bigger. One day, Terry was very big and strangely assertive. After that I really got bigger!
Testing, testing
The boy next door #3
The local gossips said I was lonely, but I was still in a state of shock.
It was very kind of Timmy next door to help me fix the Welsh dresser to the wall in the dining room. I didn't dare ask him to help me upstairs with my new mattress, but seeing it in the hallway, he offered to take it to my bedroom all by himself. I offered to help, but he managed somehow.
He was so kind to insist that we test it out.
Nice boy. Not sure what he saw in a woman of fifty though.
Banter
The boy next door #2
Banter over the fence in our back yard was a way of life. In our blue collar neighbourhood it was work, supper, pub in that order, regular as clockwork... for the men! Banter... that was for the women, in between washing, cooking, cleaning up....
When Mary next door died, young Martin, unemployed, inherited the role of housewife. He became my banter-mate. He didn't have to become my bedmate, but he did. When banter gets bawdy, boundaries get blurred, and Brenda gets bedded. Boy, it was bloody brilliant!
Why oh why then did he have to take that new job?
Touch is too much
The boy next door #1
Our house was by any standards substantial. The garden was equally substantial, evidenced by its large lawns. Tony's jet-setting job meant he rarely sat on the mower!
Here's how it started. John, the young boy next door, waiting for university, offered to sort out my grass. Why not? He was young, fit and very watchable! Top off, glistening, joining me for a lemonade in the summer house, he complimented me. My first in years it seemed. I touched his arm in thanks and...
Look but don't... that's my advice. But I did! Tony did too, or more accurately, maim.
