Bone

She liked the new guys who'd moved in behind her. Their semi-regular parties always ended by midnight, and though there were often three or more cars in the driveway and garage, they weren't up on blocks and left to rust—they got worked on and then others took their place.

One of the guys was a cop. She thought of him as The Babe—tall, a little on the skinny side, with great, long legs and a big smile.

The other one seemed to be a mechanic. He was fine, too, in a wife-beater way. Even his shaved head looked like it had muscles, and he talked so low that she had no idea what his voice sounded like. She called him Muscle Man.

Muscle Man and The Babe lived their days and nights like they loved their jobs, their house, their back yard, and each other. They never tried to hide it, and as someone who'd hidden a lot in her life, that made watching them even better. No matter how sucky her day went, most nights, she could look over the fence at just the right angle, and something she'd see would make her feel better.

She didn't spy on them, exactly, more like one of her kitchen windows looked out on their kitchen window, and so over time she learned their routines. Okay, so she had to sit in one certain spot to see their house, and lean a little bit, and yeah, sometimes she left the lights off—no point advertising her interest —but it wasn't like she was stalking them.

She just liked watching them.

Before them, she'd had no idea that seeing two guys together could turn her on, but, wow, it did. It totally did.

She'd noticed that Muscle Man was especially prone to jumping The Babe when he was doing yard work. She'd love to know what they did in the rest of the house, given what they were willing to do in the back yard. Obviously, they had no idea anyone could see them. Otherwise, she was pretty sure The Babe wouldn't have let Muscle Man give him a hand-job right there on the back stoop that one sunny Saturday, The Babe leaning back on his hands, legs twitching, while Muscle Man took his dick out of his shorts and yanked on it 'til The Babe turned red from his chest to his hairline and came all over Muscle Man's hand.

She'd stayed still as a little mouse, afraid to move from her perch until it was over, squeezing her thighs together in the same rhythm as Muscle Man's hand. It took a while to get her breath back after that one.

There was that other time, too, when Muscle Man stretched out on a big lounger under their one tree, and The Babe laid down right on top of him, and they'd surfed some tide only they knew, waves crashing. That time, she'd actually come when The Babe reared his head back and pushed his thighs between Muscle Man's legs, lunging up and down on him. He'd looked so strong, so gone.

But nothing beat tonight. Tonight, with the fancy dinner Muscle Man spent a couple hours making and The Babe spent about a minute cleaning up before he got pinned to the counter from behind and groped right there in front of their big kitchen window.

She congratulated herself—she'd figured The Babe for catching and Muscle Man for pitching, and given the way The Babe seemed to surrender the minute Muscle Man shoved up against his back, she'd been right on the money. Oh, yeah, this should be good.

She settled in her chair and vowed to keep her hands off herself, at least until things really heated up.

But, hey, wait a sec… Muscle Man turned The Babe around, started talking to him. She squirmed in her seat, disappointed. The Babe started to drop down, but Muscle Man pulled him back up, hugged him. There, that was better.

Then all of a sudden The Babe started stripping Muscle Man like his clothes were on fire, and taking his own clothes off, too, and within a few seconds, as far as she could tell, they were both standing there stark naked.

Naked!

In the kitchen!

Damn, she wished she had binoculars. Or a telescope, even.

So she could only see them from the waist up. They still managed to shock her, arouse her. God, they seemed to be having so much fun together, like they didn't have a care in the world. She wondered if their lives were really as golden as seemed from where she was sitting.

They'd switched places; now Muscle Man had his back to the window, and she had a nice clear view of The Babe's gorgeous face. Whatever he was doing to Muscle Man, he was enjoying it, that was for certain.

The Babe's head disappeared, and she thought, ooooh, he's gonna blow him, just watch, but then Muscle Man pushed him away and turned around, stared straight at her through the window.

Her heart, which had started racing right about the time she saw The Babe's bare chest come into view, skipped three beats in a row.

Muscle Man could see her, she just knew it. He was looking right at her.

She'd lifted her hand before she could stop it. A wave? A salute? Some acknowledgement that she'd seen them? She didn't know, couldn't think or even breathe.

He didn't do anything. Didn't wave back, didn't turn tail and run; he just stood there, staring. Then he shrugged, a little movement of his shoulders, and her heart started its frantic beat again.

If he'd seen her, if, surely that shrug said all was well? Go ahead and look, lady—he's fine, ain't he?

Muscle Man braced himself with his hands set wide, and The Babe did something behind him.

No.

Surely not?

Was The Babe hitting the mound?

Was that big Man O' Muscle getting himself ready for a fastball?

It skewed her view of them. Not literally, she could still see them just fine, thank you. But her view of who they were changed in that moment. It had seemed so clear, watching from her shielded nest, that in their world Muscle Man drove and The Babe navigated. But here stood The Babe, putting it to Muscle Man something fierce if the way Muscle Man dropped down to his elbows told her anything, and Muscle Man looked really, really happy about it.

Huh.

The Babe's hands moved out of view. Touching Muscle Man's cock? She hoped so. She liked imagining what was happening just out of sight.

Muscle Man's head dropped, and The Babe stood stock still behind him. Shit. Was he in? Was The Babe inside him?

Fuck, that was hot.

The Babe started to move and then it moved past hot and into incendiary, panty-soaking, and no way could she keep her hands out of play, not with their rhythm seeping into her body, dragging her down with it. She let her hands slide between her legs, over her panties, gently nudging the fabric against her clit, drawing out the pleasure, determined to come when they did.

The Babe had some kind of beat going now, rocking so hard he shook them both, bending across Muscle Man, rubbing his head on that broad back.

He seemed to be trying to say something, or hold on, or something, but whatever it was, it didn't work, because he lost it, just about lifting Muscle Man off the ground he was ramming him so hard, and suddenly, a wet streak splattered against the window. Sweet Jesus. Had to be Muscle Man, coming so hard he shot that far.

She shoved her hand into her wet panties and rubbed quick and hard, catching the orgasm just as it started and sending another close on its heels. She gasped to the glass between them, "Babe."

They fucking blew her mind.

Their fucking blew her mind.

Muscle Man and The Babe ended up bent over the sink, The Babe holding Muscle Man around the chest. She could imagine their thundering heartbeats, their sweaty bodies sliding together, the kitchen smelling of come and wine and whatever delicious thing Muscle Man had made to seduce The Babe, like he needed anything beyond his handsome self and the crook of a finger.

She gave herself one more climax, a slow, sweet one, to the sight of The Babe pulling back and Muscle Man turning around, reaching for him, pulling him close.

The Babe caught Muscle Man's chin in his hand, grinned, and kissed him. Muscle Man leaned over, put his face in The Babe's neck, moved up to his ear. He must have said something, because The Babe nodded, then kissed him again.

God, they were good.

She stretched, satisfied, warm inside and out.

They'd ruined her, she was sure of it. Ruined her for boyfriends and neighbors.

Oh, well. They looked pretty settled there, in their house with the lemon tree and all those cars, and she didn't plan on going anywhere. Maybe they could stay as they were, the three of them.

Two together, enjoying each other; one apart, enjoying the view.