Neighborhood Hospitality

Neighborly Hospitality

Unannounced visitors were not very common, especially in the middle of the day, so when the knock came at the door for Lisa Ingles, she was caught a little off guard. Little did she know that she was about to be introduced to a world of experiences that would shift her reality and alter her life completely. Little did she know that she was about to become an entirely new woman.

She opened the door to find herself staring, face to face, with a beautiful black woman who looked more like she belonged on a runway in Paris or New York as opposed to a quiet, unassuming street in Alpharetta. Her face was made up in a way that was flawless, highlighting her chocolate brown complexion that looked as smooth as silk and her hypnotic eyes and full sensual lips. She was wearing a tight black leather vest that pushed her breasts up and put them on display like a set of pillowy mounds of soft flesh. Her expensive designer jeans hugged every curve and you can rest assured that she had curves. She was wearing rather expensive shoes as well; not that there was much of them, it was a pair of dangerously high heels made up of just a few strips of black leather that crossed her toes and wrapped around her ankles and formed a perfect canvas for her coral colored toenails that complimented her beautiful brown skin. Lisa, forgetting all her manners, simply stood and stared. Waiting patiently for the usual initial shock to wear off and extending her hand, she said, “Hi neighbor, my name is Syreeta and I’m going to be moving in next door and I wanted to stop by and introduce myself.”

Regaining her composure, Lisa shook of look her initial surprise and invited her guest in. She felt rather underdressed in her workout clothes and she tried to hide her insecurity by being gracious. “Steven did mention that he might be moving but I really don’t have that much interaction with him; I wasn’t even aware that he’d moved. Welcome to the neighborhood, I’m Lisa. My husband Brad is at work now but it’s very nice to meet you. Please do sit down. Would you like some coffee?”

Syreeta’s demeanor was graceful and friendly. She politely declined the offer for coffee and asked for some bottled water instead. “Actually, Steven is just renting the place to us for a couple of months. My boyfriend got a job here with CNN and I told him that I’d give him a few months to see if I could adapt to life in the burbs. I’m hoping it’s remotely reminiscent of Wisteria Lane because I’d hate to think the most excitement that there is to be found out here is a concert at Chastain.”

Lisa laughed along with her, rather nervously, knowing that there was little excitement north of the perimeter compared to the Desperate Housewives melodrama. Syreeta was delightful, engaging in fact, and wove enticing tales of being a model in New York and how she and her boyfriend, Dixon, had met when he was Director of Marketing at the Lincoln Center. As if on cue, there was another knock at the door and it was Dixon, coming to inquire about the whereabouts of his other half.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to steal Syreeta back to help me finish painting.” Lisa stared again. Dixon was 6 feet tall and had the same cocoa brown complexion of his lover. His body showed evidence of many workouts and his t-shirt and sweat pants indicated that he had been working up a sweat getting things ready in the new house.

Syreeta rolled her eyes and apologized about taking up too much time; looking like she was looking for any excuse to get out of doing work. “Hey, want to come over for dinner on Saturday? Bring the hubby and let’s make it a foursome, okay?” With that, she leaned over and kissed Lisa on the cheek like they were long lost friends. It was a little more intimate than Lisa was expecting and it gave her a thrill somehow, not really sure why but aware that there was some sort of unspoken exchange of electricity in the room.

Lisa shut the door and was alive with sensation but she didn’t quite know why or what to do about it. Her pussy was tingling and her clit was throbbing. She hadn’t masturbated in years. In fact, she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d been really horny. On the rare occasion she felt like she wanted some sexual release she would get in bed with her husband and say, “Honey .