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I needed to give Matt and crew a little rest. I hope that's okay with the "Shooting Matt" folks.

There's only straight sex in this story. I wanted to make sure I could still write erotic straight sex. If I've failed at that, please let me know how I can do better. That's how I learn.

The sex is straight but a little out there, or so I hope. Sno-balling, voyeur, you get the idea.

Thanks to LarryInSeattle.

Enjoy.

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Thank god it was my wife who noticed it first. If it had been me, I'm not sure I'd have said anything. Primarily, because I'd be afraid she'd think I was a total perv. I would've wanted to say something but freely admit I might have been too chicken shit to have done it. So, as I said, thank god, Chrissy heard them first.

"Oh, my god," she gasped. "Do you hear that?"

We live in an area that realtors refer to as "transitional". Meaning, folks like Chrissy and I are gradually forcing the working poor to find somewhere else to live. No, mom, we're not 'yuppies'. That was your generation. We're millennials. We're totally not hipsters. If I put my hair into a bun it's because it's for convenience, not because I'm a hipster. Plus, I can't lie; I fucking look hot with long hair.

I get it. Saying shit like that makes me sound like a totally self-centered douche. I'm not. So, sorry - not sorry.

TBH, I'd been phubbing her. We've not been married long but I knew enough to take a sec to make sure she hadn't tumble to the fact I'd totally flaked on the conversing and was lost in a Reddit feed on whether the latest craft brewery to open was perf or a total ass-up. She'd been spilling tea on a co-worker's failure to do more than produce greenhouse gases and I could not get into it. So, when she let up and asked if I'd heard that, I was smart. I listened.

We live on the top floor of a three-family home. Super common style in Hartford. We bought the place with the money our parents would've burned on the wedding. We covered the mortgage with rent from the lower two units. A third story walkup brings in the fewest Benjamins, so we took it.

These three-family houses are jammed tight. On one side, there's just enough room for a driveway. In ours, that side was the side the living room and kitchen were on. On the bedroom side, our building was only three feet from the other building. I could, I shit you not, lean out of our bedroom window and touch the other building. The whole block had been built in pairs, except for the houses at either end of the block. Each pair was enclosed by driveways. Our building was the mirror image of the building next door. It's like this: driveway- building-building-driveway. Cool? As stated, they're mirror images. I guess bedroom facing bedroom was felt to be better than bedroom facing living room. Maybe humans fucked less back then.

Any fuck, our bedroom is three feet away from our neighbor's. These houses are old, no A/C, at least not the kind everyone is used to in the modern era. There's a window unit in the other window but it wasn't hot enough yet to waste greenbacks on A/C that are better off stashed away for early retirement. The window beside the bed is open. It's not hot enough for A/C but hot enough you'll sweat your balls off without a window open or a fan.

So, was the neighbor's. Window, open, that is.

I hear it, alright. Once, Chrissy's yak yak shuts off, hearing was totally a no sweat proposition. Someone's little red corvette is being rogered in a most righteous fashion. There's a woman's soft "oh, oh, oh", harmonizing with a deeper, grunting, "uh, uh, uh", the rhythmic squeak of a bed frame and the banging of said bed frame against the wall provides a nice contrapuntal bass line.

It's fucking hot, sex-wise not thermometer-wise, and within a dozen heartbeats I'm sporting wood. I'm always fucking horny. Horny for Chrissy, horny for the sight of a nipple peeking through a tight shirt (fuck bras, just fuck them, the only good thing about them is their fun to take off, fun to trap your girl's titties in but mostly, fuck bras), horny for the amazing curve of a woman's ass. Horny. Fuck, dude. I'm twenty-eight, making a bit of coin, beautiful smokin' hot wife. I'm horny. If the rest of the world was as horny as I am there be a fuck ton less blowing up of shit, except, of course, the blowing of cocks and cunts.

So, any fuck, my cock goes from its baseline state of one-quarter to one-third hard to full-scale, rock hard, glorious tumescence. I'm prouder of my dick than I am my hair. I mean, I'm not a dick snob or anything, I just think it's a really fucking nice dick. I don't mean to give the impression I send a lot of time judging dicks; I don't. I'm not into dudes. I'm totally cool with dudes into dudes, it's not that, it's just dick, other than my own, just doesn't interest me.

The idea of sucking a dick doesn't gag me. I fucking hate it when dudes go on and on about how fucking gross sucking a dick must be. Fuck you, bro. If it's so fucking gross how can I ask the smokin' hot chick lying beside me to gooble my pole? I got zero desire to smoke a pole but the simple idea of it doesn't leave me weak in the knees with disgust.

WTF? Focus, asshole. Focus. I was bragging about my dick. No, it's not nine inches or ten inches or any other bullshit like that. If I pull really fucking hard, I can just brush the seven-inch line on the ruler. And that, mother fuckers, is above average. Look it up. The largest average erect dick was, stereotypes have a grain of truth, been found in the Congo, and that was just a little over seven inches. In the US, the upper range on average boner size is 5 and 3/4 -- inches. So, all you lying bullshit artist, posting about your eight and nine-inch dicks, fucking spare us already.

Back to me.

TBH, if I forgo pulling until I'm red in the face, I have a six-and-a-half-incher. It looks bigger. I'm trim to the point of almost too skinny. On the plus side, Chrissy fuckin' loses it when I shake my hips and my jeans fall off. I keep the pubes tamed. That helps. I don't shave, just trim, except the base of the shaft. Back when we still used rubbers, I learned to keep the hair off the shaft and pubes cropped short. Yanking out your pubes when you yank off a rubber fucking sucks. Any fuck, thin build and trimmed pubes makes my dick look bigger and hotter.

I leak like a farmhouse faucet. That helps. My cock is already drooling, the head glistening under its hood.

My parents were hippies; not really, they missed the sixties but they were or rather are, wannabe hippies. They didn't have me cut, thank god. (I don't believe in him so I don't capitalize him.) It may turn some chicks off but the ones that don't run and learn how to take advantage, holy shit, I mean sweet Jesus. (I don't think he was god but I do think he existed, in case you were wondering.) The first time Chrissy stuck her tongue under my foreskin, I fuckin' immediately nutted in her mouth. She was cool with it. It was the first time she'd blown me, so I was freakin' out. Not cool to nut in your girl's mouth until you've gotten the 'cleared for a landing' message.

She was cool. I freaked out more when she crawled up my chest and planted her mouth over mine. I didn't know what the fuck was happening. I swallowed some but most of it went down my chin and over my neck. She'd shaken her head sadly.

"Goose, gander, man up," was all she'd said before wiping the cum off my chin with her finger and sticking it in my mouth.

That freaked me out more than the unsanctioned nutting in her mouth had. She's so smokin' and the things she can do with her mouth are on some other higher fucking plane of existence, so I swallow my pride and went with it. Hey, that's fucking funny -- swallowed my pride. Totally unintentional but hilarious don't ya think?

Judge away, mother fuckers, judge if you must. Yup, my girlfriend, wife (the fact she's my wife now still wasn't stuck), makes me eat my own cum after she sucks my dick. If I'd let her blow you, you'd do the same, so fuck the fuck off.

Now, all that shit zips through my head faster than the speed of light -- fuck you, Einstein -- I'm not buying your bullshit limitations -- JK, Einstein is, well fuck, dude, Einstein -- zipped through my brain really fucking fast, much faster than it takes to tell it.

As I'm thinking all this shit, my hand gropes between her legs. I got a great dick but Chrissy, fuck bro, her cunt makes my dick look sad. I mean it's apple and oranges. I get that shit. I'm just sayin' if you compare my dick to an ideal dick and her cunt to an ideal cunt, her cunt is way the fuck closer to ideal than my dick. Capiche? I may not pay much attention to dicks but, not to brag, but with my hair, tight body, and nice dick, I have more than a nodding acquaintance with pussy. Nodding? Sort of like the way your head moves when you're dining on pussy? A pun? Fuck it.

I've seen a reasonable number of pussies and Chrissy's is, like her blow jobs, on another fucking plane. I know you think I'm just some numb nuts in love with a chick. I mean a pussy is a pussy is a pussy . But you're wrong. Yeah, there's a clit and a labia majora and labia minora and an introitus. I'm a fucking doctor, seriously, I know the anatomy. It's not just anatomy.

Chrissy's cunt is perfection. It encompasses perfect symmetry, perfect proportions, perfect coloring, perfect texture, perfect scent. I have to meditate before I dare trim her bush. The fucking pressure is unbelievable. It's like fucking trying to do the Mona Lisa's eye shadow. Pretty much all you can do is fuck it up. Fuck. Plus, the way her fingers play in my hair and the way her pussy grows a duskier red and clear nectar starts to run over her perineum -- her taint, if you insist -- is pretty fucking distracting. But if I didn't have a rock steady hand, I wouldn't be a neurosurgery resident would I?

She indulges my childish whims. At the moment, she has a very arty heart-shaped patch of soft black hair. No razor burn, that would be fucking blasphemy. I get my post-trim, post-waxing revenge for the way her cunt distracts me from my work, by taking my sweet time massaging oil into the soft skin of her pubis and pudendum. I was scared shitless the first time she asked me to wax her. I've cut open people's skulls, well, helped cut open people skulls. I've fucked around insider their brain, yet I was a quivering, sweaty mess at the thought of hurting her with wax.

I fell back into med school mode. I read everything on Google and watch a zillion videos on waxing before I touched her perfect pussy. I tell you, no shit, that pussy is straight out of Plato's cave, it ain't no reflection of reality; it is reality, in the flesh and she's trusting me with it. That's some fucking pressure, dude.

I didn't hurt her, no more than waxing ever hurts. Her fingers kept playing with my hair, and her pussy kept getting wetter and wetter and my dick kept getting harder and harder but somehow I grew more and more relaxed. I was in the groove. I was fucking Michael Jordan, flying through the air, oblivious to everything but the feel of her skin, her smell and the need to accept her gift with nothing less than utter reverence. I was still in the groove, we both were, when we fucked afterward.

Silly? Maybe, but you haven't seen Chrissy's pussy either, so fuck the fuck off.

I know I sound totally obsessed. I wish you could see. A picture wouldn't be worth a thousand words, more like a thousand million words. Maybe not, photos, even great ones, aren't real and her cunt is more than use the random reflected photons a camera would capture. I guess you'll just have to take my word for it.

Any fuck, when I say I 'groped' between her legs, I don't mean I shoved my hand between her legs like some high school football meathead trying to get to third base for the first time. Groped is really the wrong word. My hand approached her cunt on figurative hands and knees, head bowed, seeking an audience with a goddess. My intention had been to make sure she was wet, then go down on her, slack my thirst at her wellspring of delight, if that's not too over the top for you.

She shifts her hips, granting my petition. I stroke the velvet softness of her pussy lips. I carefully push a fingertip between her pussy lips. I'm not worried about hangnails -- I work with my fingers. The nails are short, the skin soft. I won't scratch her. She's already wet.

I moan. I can't help it. I am so completely lost and in awe of this woman. The best part? That doesn't scare me. I totally trust that she won't use that against me. I can't really fucking believe she chose my ass over, like, every other fucker, male and female, in the world but I trust her with my heart, with my soul, which I also don't believe in but that I'd be happy to cede to her.

I curl my finger, press against the front wall of her pussy. She's quiet but I feel the muscle in her thigh tense. That's the spot. I pretty much have the location etched in my brain and muscle memory but the confirmation is always welcome.

I rub my nose in the hair, behind her ear.

"I can't believe how much I fucking adore you," I whisper in her ear.

"No more than I adore you, baby," she whispers back. She reaches across her body and lays a finger across my lips. "Sssh, now, baby. Let's listen."

I feel my dick twitch. This is a little freaky-deaky. Hmm. I shouldn't be surprised by Chrissy but I am.

I rarely disagree with her suggestions, so I shush and listen.

Listening to the woman's voice, I try to picture her in my head. We've said hello and waved but that's it. She's very pretty. Nice boobs and ass, not as nice as Chrissy's but before I was pulled into orbit around Chrissy, the neighbor gal would have been extremely interesting. Well, expect for her husband or boyfriend. Not fucking with someone else's shit is an excellent rule. It's never worth the drama. Her dude is okay looking, from what I can recall.

Any fuck, the woman is still calling out "oh, oh, oh" with each thrust. I guess I can't say for sure it's with each thrust but the oh's are in sync with the squeak and bang of the bed, so I feel it's a safe assumption. The deeper voice's "uh, uh, uh" is more urgent. The banging of the bed a little louder, a little faster.

"Jesus, Kelly, you're so fucking tight," the deeper voice grunts.

Kelly, that's her name. We've introduced ourselves but I'd forgotten. After a while it's no longer cool to ask someone what their name is again. I owe her boyfriend/lover.

"Am I wet enough for you, baby?" the no longer nameless woman next door, pants.

"Fuck, yeah," still nameless man replies.

She can't be any wetter than Chrissy. I have two fingers inside her pussy now.

"Fuck me harder, baby. Fuck me harder. Please," we hear Kelly plead. Her voice carries perfectly through our open windows.

"You want it harder, babe? Huh? Do ya?"

"Yeah, Nick," she whimpers. "Don't tease me. Fuck me with that big dick of yours. I fucking need your cock, baby. Give me your cock. Fuck me," she whines.

Kelly and Nick. Kelly and Nick. Kelly and Nick. I repeat it over and over in my head, trying to make it stick. Kelly and Nick.

Nick doesn't answer. From the sound of it, he simply grants her wish. The sound of flesh smacking into flesh joins the chorus. The bed is squealing and from the sound of the banging, they'll need to repair the wall. If I was their landlord, I'd be quite concerned about that. But, I'm not their landlord. My only concern is trying to picture in my head what's happening a few feet from my bedroom window.

Kelly's "oh's" are replaced with, "yeah, yeah, that's right, fuck my pussy, uh-huh, fuck my pussy, baby," gasped over and over.

"Slap your clit, babe, slap your clit," Nick pants.

I add that to the tableau I'm constructing in my head. Fuck, this is hot. Jesus. I wish I could say I can hear her fingers slapping her clit but, alas, I cannot. There's just too much audio already. But I can see it, or imagine it. Her girl-dick is hard, hard and angry and red. Rightly or wrongly, I imagined her hood is pierced. I can see her hips jerk away every time her fingers slap her hard, angry, red lady cock. It's risky to tamper with perfection but, suddenly, I want Chrissy to pierce her clit hood. I can just about feel it against the tip of my tongue.

Bro, this shit is fucking baller; too baller. I need to taste her pussy, like right now. I start to make my move. Chrissy puts a hand on my chest and mouths, "wait".

I moan. I can't fucking help it, dude. I'm in fucking agony. She pins my ass to the mattress with a look. As if our neighbors can hear me moaning. With the racket they're making, they wouldn't notice if I suddenly cranked up a lawn mower in our bedroom.

I believe I've made it clear I am in awe of my wife. That doesn't mean I can't shoot a puhlezze-bitch-get-real look at her when there is a clear and justifiable need to do so. This is one of those times. She fucking ignores me.

"Baby, I'm gonna cum," Kelly begins to pant.

Nick settles for slower but louder slams into her body, each punctuated with a grunted "fuck".

She screams or starts to. I envision her biting her own arm to stifle her screams. Nick's grunts and the sound of body against body continues. Kelly begins a soft, but high-pitched keening, a 'eee, eee, eee' that rises and falls.

"Oh, fuck!" Nick yells. There's a final slap of flesh on flesh and then it grows quiet, no squeaking, no slapping, no banging on the walls, just Nick panting for breath and that "eeeee" sound from Kelly and even that fades. There's a loud squeak and Nick's pants sound a little further away. I picture him collapsing on the far side of Kelly, away from the window.

Chrissy swings her legs toward the side of the bed. I grab for her. Where the hell is she going? She's a fucking goddess but I got a bad, real fucking bad, case of needs here. She shakes me off.

"Come over here," she demands, pointing toward the side of the bed. I start to move across the bed and she shakes her head. "No, Steve. On the floor, beside the bed."

I stare at her. What the fucking kind of trippy shit is she up to? She lies back in the bed, puts her feet on the bed rail and scoots her ass to the edge of the mattress. If we had stirrups, I could do a pelvic exam. Her hand goes between her legs. Her fingers disappear into her cunt. She pulls them out and licks them.

"Are you going to eat my pussy or not?"

That shakes me out of my stupor. For a halfway smart guy, I'm pretty fucking slow sometimes. I hop out of bed and make my way around the foot to her side. It's a small bedroom. There's barely enough room for me to kneel between the bed and the wall. Before I do, she tosses a pillow on the floor, for my knees. I fucking lover her.

"Push the curtains back," she tells me after dropping the pillow on the floor. WTF?

"Huh, Chrissy, you sure? Seriously?"

"Push them open," she demands. "Hurry up," she insists, fingers once more dipping into her pussy. I drop to my knees. But not before I open the curtains.

"Steve, hurry up. My pussy's on fire. Eat my pussy."

Her voice is way louder than it needs to be. Holy fucking shit! She's not simply going to give them the opportunity; she's luring them in. And not just to listen. Holy shit!

I want to turn, see if her words have had an effect but I'm more interested in her pussy.

It fucking glows. It glistens. It's a goddamn thing of beauty.

Her fingers wrap themselves in my hair. "Eat my pussy, please." The desperation in her voice is real. Fuck, I'm just as desperate. But not yet. I need to feast my eyes before my mouth.

I kiss her knee, the right one, the one with the scar from the tumble she took on her bike. I'd dived off mine racing toward her crumpled body, sure she was dead. It was horrible but when I got to her she was laughing at her stupidity. I push the memory away and kiss her scar again.