Marnie’s Clan

Part 1 – Sunday Introductions

It was a sunny Sunday morning and I opened the bedroom curtains to the sounds of children playing out back somewhere. I had no inclination that the children were playing in the next door garden, I didn’t know anyone had moved in the place yet, it had been empty of tenants since the Andersens had left three month previously. I was therefore a little surprised when one of the children looked over, stopped what she was doing and smiled in at me, more so as I was as naked as the day I was born. To add to my discomfort, I was still sporting a rather impressive seven inch hard-on, a side effect of being a man and having just arisen, and nothing to do with the young lady now looking me in the eye and smiling.

I lowered my eyes downwards towards my cock, barely moving my head, and then snapped them back at the girl. She was still looking, still smiling and then proceeded to slowly lick her lips. I felt my eyes widen just as I heard the sound of a woman’s voice across the garden and the spell was broken. I quickly stepped back from the window into the shadows and reached to the door hook for my gown. The children were all running up the garden towards the house, though the girl faltered a moment as she glanced back towards my window before disappearing.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pondered the hard-on that remarkably was still there, prodding its head through the front of my gown, demanding my urgent attention. Usually a short lived reflection of my manhood, my morning glory was being somewhat persistent in its prowess this particular day, somewhat aided by that stare from next door and the parting glance, not to mention the wet lips. My clenched hand enclosed my throbbing shaft and quickly dealt with the problem. Stroking it back and forth, with eyes closed, replaying the moment of first eye contact with the new neighbour, I soon had a small fountain of semen decorating my belly.

It was about an hour later when there came a knock on my door, a definite female kind of demand for attention, firm yet light of the weight that a male knuckle places upon a door. I lay my Sunday paper on the table beside my cereal and coffee, and stepped through the living room towards the front door, pausing to check on the vidcam that it was indeed a woman at the door.

She was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties; slim in the most part, though just beginning to show a middle aged belly bulge under her t-shirt; and was very neatly dressed looking quite remarkable in her shirt, slacks and open-toed leather sandals. Her accent was definitely east-coast and her make-up spoke money and class, applied unassumingly, almost invisible to the casual observer.

“Hi. I’m Marnie, your new neighbour, got in late last night.