Inviting the new neighbors to a BBQ

I had lived in my home for some 20 years, located in a quiet cul-de-sac nestled in a small but friendly community. We would often get together through the summer months for a neighborly BBQ party gathered around the pool. The youngsters would romp and entertain themselves in the water, begging the occasional soda or hot-dog, while the guys over-indulged ourselves on beers and steaks, sitting around, smoking the occasional joint, debating sports, and generally relaxing, the women chatting about kids, fashion, and how annoying or great their respective husbands were.

I had divorced about 5 years ago; my ex having chosen to move to another city in the name of a significant career advancement, before ending up having an affair with a colleague. I blamed myself partly, because I had been reluctant to relocate and uproot myself from the lifestyle and friends. Moreover, being a humble, self-employed central heating technician, I had built up a fairly regular and sufficient client base to afford our home and was not enthusiastic about having to start over in a new city. Fortunately, I managed to keep the house, parting instead with one of my pension funds. Our daughter at 21 being away in university was upset by the divorce but seemed to accept the new future.

At first, being alone, I felt like a fish out of water and lost interest in socializing, but my friends rallied around, and I was soon back, a 45-year-old divorcee, taking my turn at being the social neighbor, hosting the occasional weekend BBQ. Despite the divorce, I regularly worked out to keep in shape, having weights at home and a membership at the local gym, going there whenever time and responsibilities permitted.

The house opposite mine had been up for sale for a while as the family had come into some money following the tragic death of their son in a car accident and had decided to start over in a new part of town; new owners moved in about a month back. They were a young couple in their early 20’s; he was usually a smartly dressed young man, fairly average in his looks in my humble opinion, the kind of guy you’d pass in the aisle at Walmart without a second look. His wife though was quite noticeable, they were clearly a mixed couple, she was slightly younger, I gauged about 22, a petite, lighter-skinned African American, but was distinctive in that she had a really pretty face, framed by long dark hair that hung below her shoulders, with a cute bang, and a slim figure with smallish breasts. She would often wear skirts and a t-shirt for work, so gauging by the bulge in her t-shirts, no more than a 34B with a slender waist and a cute little bubble butt. They both seemed to work and it seemed that he must already be on a decent salary from the car he drove, a late model BWM 3 series, his wife opting for a more modest, pre-owned Ford Fiesta. Invariably they both would leave early on their daily schedule, his wife arriving home around 6 each day, yet he would often return much later and on occasion, would be noticeably absent for several days.

One day, the doorbell rang; it was early, around 8am, so I went to see who had come to the door. The first I saw through the glass was a shadowy figure in a suit. “Mormons”, I thought to myself, ready to tell them it was way too early to be knocking at my door and besides, I wasn’t interested so leave me alone. As it happened, the guy in the suit turned out to be the young man from across the street. Apparently, he had seen my pickup parked outside and seeing that I was a heating engineer. He introduced himself as Dave Robinson and after the usual round of polite exchanges, he explained that his hot water, for some reason, had stopped working and asked me to take a look at it. He told me that his wife, Denise, or rather, he suggested that since we were neighbors, I call her Deni and not Mrs. Robinson, and that she would be staying home all day so he hoped I would find time to take a look. Keen to get a closer look at the young lady, I of course agreed. The whole conversation was somewhat brief, and he sped off to work. He seemed to be a reasonable young man.

I went back and had another cup of coffee, but since I actually had no appointments that day, I decided to call over the road and see what the problem was. I grabbed my tool bag from the truck and on arriving at the front door, duly rang the bell.

A few moments later, Deni opened the door, dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and simple, white t-shirt.

“Good morning Mrs. Robinson, I’m Gary Stevenson from across the street, how are you today?… your husband Dave told me you are having a problem with your hot water, so I came to take a look. How are you today?”

“Oh, call me Deni, all my friends call me that. I’m fine thanks. You?” She seemed a little nervous, no doubt still unfamiliar without really having the chance to get to know each other.

She opened the door wider and invited me in.

Up close, she looked adorably cute, a petite little thing, maybe only 5’ 4”, deep brown eyes, an endearing smile, and a somewhat bouncy personality. Her voice soft and almost childlike. I instantly took a liking to her. I couldn’t help but glance down to check out her t-shirt. Her bra clearly visible, I reconfirmed in my mind that she was at most a 32B, perfect given her small proportions. As she made her way down the passage to show me the way to the basement, not that I needed her to, I glanced her little bubble butt swaying and almost got an erection at the thought of tapping that. The soft scent of her perfume lingered in the air. Her husband sure was a lucky guy.

“Thanks, I’ll take it from here” I volunteered and descended the stairs.

The water heater was quite an old but popular model in these houses, so I was familiar with it and immediately sensed the problem. The thermocouple for the pilot light had gone. I went back upstairs and called out to Deni.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, need to get a part, ‘think I have one in my truck”

A voice from upstairs filtered through the thin walls, “ok, leave the door open, and let yourself back in Mr. Stevenson, I’m just changing”.

“Call me Gary” I shouted back, stepping out to go to my truck. I searched through the various parts and brick-a-brac that cluttered the back of my truck and found what I was looking for. Returning moments later I made my way back down to the basement and soon had it the replacement part in place. Deni appeared at the top of the stairs and came down to see how I was doing. I smiled. She was wearing a pale whitish pink colored summer dress adorned with a small white floral print and little puffy short sleeves. The hemline came down to mid-thigh.

“All done” I said with a smile.

“Wow! That was fast” she replied.

I suggested to her that she go up to the kitchen and run some hot water to test that it was all working. She scampered off and up the stairs, the skirt part of her dress flopping up and down with each step.