MILF Next Door

"It was only supposed to happen once."

That's what I told myself the first time Dale slid inside me. The second time too. The fifth time. Every damn time he fucked me like he had something to prove. And somehow, he always did.

Once became twice. Twice turned into every time we saw each other--and lately, that's nearly every day.

It's been over two months now. Two months of stolen touches, hurried kisses, and raw, unfiltered sex in places we absolutely shouldn't be.

But all I feel is alive.

Maybe it's the danger of it all. Maybe it's the fact that he's 23 and I'm 45. Or maybe it's because he's Dana's son.

Yeah. That Dana.

I'm Julie Shoemaker. Real estate mogul. Import dabbler. Recently single, thanks to my ex-husband and his midlife crisis that came at the expense of my sanity.

I'm tall, hot, and successful. If that sounds arrogant, good--it means you're paying attention.

But I wasn't always like this. I used to follow the rules. I worked hard, built a career, and married a man I thought I'd spend my life with. His name was Ryan.

He wanted a family, and so did I. But my body had other plans. We talked about adoption, surrogacy, even letting another woman carry our child. I was willing to try anything. It still wasn't enough.

Then one morning, he woke up, asked for a divorce, and walked away. No fight. No explanation. Just a signature and silence.

It was like I was something he'd outgrown.

He didn't even take his things--the house, the car, his clothes--he left it all behind. Just vanished.

Dana, my now-best-friend, helped me pick up the pieces. Funny enough, we weren't that close before. Apparently, I was too "uptight," too "condescending." But after the split, she became my lifeline. We trauma-bonded like two women drowning in their own crap.

She's married to Dan. (Yeah, Dana and Dan. I know.) They have three kids. Dale, the oldest, recently graduated. Then Gina and Jill, both still in college. Dale moved back in with them while figuring out his next steps--working as a lifeguard and occasionally helping Dana out around the house.

Everything was just beginning to feel normal again--until Ryan came back.

Out of nowhere. After over a year of silence.

And he didn't come alone.

He brought her--a bony, bleach-blonde twenty-something who looked like she'd been scooped off some dingy yacht in Ibiza. Probably foreign. Didn't say a word the entire time. Just clung to him like a parasite.

That did something to me. Seeing him with her. I wasn't even mad that he moved on--I expected it. But that? That was a slap in the face. A deliberate choice. A jab to the ego.

And suddenly, I wanted revenge. Not the loud, angry kind. No, I wanted to destroy him the way he destroyed me--quietly. Elegantly. From the inside out.

But the court didn't care about elegance. We battled for months--lawyers, paperwork, back-and-forth nonsense. He fought for things he left behind. I think he just wanted to make me miserable. And I let him.

In the end, I walked away from the house, the car, everything. Not because I lost, but because I didn't want to fight anymore. Let him have the skeleton of our life. I'd start over in a place that was mine.

And one night, while licking my wounds and trying not to feel like an aging cliché, I went to a bar downtown--one of those places where everyone's too young and the drinks are too strong. I don't know what I was looking for. Maybe a distraction. Maybe proof I could still turn heads.

I was halfway through my third vodka when someone said my name.

"Julie?"

I turned, squinting past the neon haze--and there he was. Dale. Dana's kid. His hair was a little longer. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to say "I've got nothing to lose." He wasn't alone; a pack of friends loitered behind him, all fresh-faced and full of bad decisions.

"Heyyy, Dale," I said, dragging the word like a drunk cougar--which, in my defense, I kind of was. I pulled him into a hug that lingered a bit too long. His friends definitely noticed.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, amused.

I threw up my hands with a shrug. "Maybe a little."

He laughed, nodded at the bartender. "Two martinis, please."

"Ugh. Weak," I muttered. "Make those vodkas."

The smirk that crept across his face? Dangerous.

A few drinks later, I was spilling my guts like he was my therapist. Divorce trauma. Ryan. The blonde. All of it.

"I gave him everything--my time, my body, my damn soul. And he still left me like I was nothing. Like I didn't matter."

I slammed another shot. The bartender raised his eyebrows. Dale just watched.

"Okay," he said finally, standing. "You're done."

"No, no, I'm not even drunk yet--"

"Julie." His voice was firm. "Come on. Let's get you home."

It took convincing, but eventually I let him half-carry me out. My legs were noodles and my pride was on fire, but there was something comforting about his arm around me. Strong. Steady.

"You didn't go back to your friends?" I mumbled.

"Told them I was taking off. They'll be fine."

At my apartment--a half-furnished placeholder after giving up my actual home--I collapsed onto the couch.

"Nice place," he said sarcastically, bringing me water. "For someone who sells million-dollar properties."

"Screw you," I muttered, chugging the water. It spilled down my chin, wetting the top of my dress. I didn't care.

He sat beside me. Close.

"You know," I said, suddenly quieter, "I just wanted him to suffer. To feel what I felt. But some people never pay for what they do."

Dale sighing now looked at me. "You're obsessing over a loser, Julie. Guy looks half-dead now. And that girl with him? She looks like an excort. Like he brought her just to get under your skin."

I laughed. Too loud again. "What!?"

"I'm serious. He didn't come back for closure. He came back because whatever he left for fell apart. Now he's parading some discount escort around hoping you'll still care."

And God help me... I did.

"You're a catch, Julie," he added. "Successful. Smart. Hot. He doesn't deserve to be in your head."

"You think I'm hot?"

He gave me a look. "Please. You're what we call a MILF."

I nearly choked. "What the actual fuck."

He grinned. "Just calling it like I see it."

"Are you hitting on me?"

"Would it be okay if I was?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

"Then hell yeah I am."

I looked at him, really looked at him. The sharp jaw. The youthful confidence. The mischief in his eyes. And maybe it was the vodka, or maybe it was the wicked part of me I hadn't fed in years, but suddenly I felt like doing something very... very stupid.

"So," I whispered, leaning in, "what exactly do you find hot about me?"

And Dale? He smiled.

Like he already knew the answer.

Sliding closer to me on the creaking couch, Dale's knee brushed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my thigh. The scent of his cologne--warm cedar and something faintly spicy--mixed with the charged air between us.

"For starters, I've always admired your boobs." His voice was rough, low. "So big. So fucking seductive. Every time you'd come over with your undercut blouse..."

I could feel his breath quicken, hot against my neck, just as mine hitched in response. My skin prickled under his gaze.

"What else?" I whispered, my fingers curling into the worn fabric of the couch.

"Your ass, Christ." His hand flexed on his thigh like he was restraining himself. "No matter what you wore--sundress, skirts, those tight little pants--nothing could hide it. I can't count how many times I'd stroke off to you, imagining what I'd do to you."

"You fantasized about me?" The words left me breathless.

"Can you blame me?" His grin was wicked. "You're sex on legs."

Heat flooded my cheeks, my thighs pressing together as slickness gathered. The air between us thickened, every inhale laced with the musk of want.

"So," I murmured, leaning in until our lips nearly touched, "what would you do if I let you?"

He closed the distance, his mouth hovering just above mine. His fingers traced the length of my arm, slow, deliberate, and I shuddered.

"First," he growled into my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine, "I'd tear your clothes off." A pause. My pulse roared in my ears. "Then I'd take your panties off... slowly."

"And then?" My voice was barely there, fractured by gasps.

"I'd tease my way between your legs," he promised, his fingers skating up my inner thigh, "kissing every inch until you begged."

I caught his wrist, halting him. Our eyes locked--his dark with hunger, mine wide with anticipation.

"Dale." My whisper was a plea against his lips. "Do it."

Then we were crashing together, mouths desperate, hands frantic. The world narrowed to the scrape of fabric hitting the floor, the sharp gasp as his teeth grazed my collarbone. He kissed down my body, slow, torturous, just as he'd said--but I was past patience.

Grabbing his hand, I dragged it between my legs. "Take me."

His fingers slid through my wetness, and he groaned. "Fuck, you're already soaked." He smirked, circling my entrance, teasing.

I arched, trying to force him inside, but he held back, chuckling against my thigh. "Not yet."

"Dale." My nails dug into his shoulders. "In. Now."

He pushed in--just the tip--and rolled his hips in slow, maddening circles.

I saw stars. "DALE!" The shout tore from me, raw, loud enough to shake the walls. "Fucking--NOW!"

With a groan, he obeyed, slamming into me with a force that stole my breath. The couch creaked beneath us, skin slapping against skin, the room filled with the sounds of our ragged moans.

"Oh fuck--yes, yes--" I chanted, my back arching as pleasure coiled tight.

He braced himself above me, driving deeper, harder, until the world shattered. My climax ripped through me, a white-hot burst, and he followed with a guttural groan, collapsing against me.

For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, the lingering scent of sweat and sex, the aftershocks of pleasure still humming through my veins.

And the distant, amused thought: The neighbors definitely heard that.

***

I woke up to the sound of footsteps outside the apartment, as I always did. The neighbors were like my own personal alarm clock--up before dawn, shuffling around like the world depended on their routine.

As I stretched in bed, my hand landed on something hot and soft beside me.

A body.

A man's body.

Muscular, I noticed immediately.

I turned my head to see his face--

Shit.

Memories from last night poured in like a flood.

Fuck.

It wasn't a dream.

I'd really slept with my friend's son.

What would Dana say if she found out? What would she do?

She'd kill me. No hesitation.

Her best friend--old enough to have birthed him--shacking up with her baby boy?

What the hell was I thinking?

I tried to slip quietly out of bed, like tiptoeing to the bathroom would somehow absolve me of my sins--but he stirred.

"Morning, Julie."

His voice was thick with sleep. I winced. My name sounded too real, like it came with consequences.

He propped himself up on one elbow and grinned. "You look good."

I turned my back to him out of shame, maybe--but couldn't help sneaking a glance.

Damn.

He looked good. Stupid good.

What the hell was he doing in college, bodybuilding?

Washboard abs, a chest you could eat dinner off, arms made for ruin. He was sculpted, absurdly so.

I followed his gaze downward and realized I was still completely naked. He was staring--shamelessly, like it was just Tuesday.

I scrambled to cover myself.

Too late.

Too late for modesty.

He'd already seen everything last night and... right now.

He stood up--naked, confident; his cock swinging like it had its own damn agenda. I tried to look away. I did. But eventually, my eyes circled back.

Dang

How did I not notice that last night?

Maybe I was too drunk, or maybe my sex-starved brain had glossed over the details, but damn.

He had to be at least eight inches. Thick, too. Intimidating. Even semi-hard, it looked like something you'd need to negotiate with.

Then he was in front of me. Hands sliding into my hair, cradling my face, lifting my gaze.

"So. Last night," he said, voice low.

"It was a mistake," I blurted. "I was drunk--I'm sorry--"

He cut me off. "Relax. You were vulnerable. Needed something. I gave it to you."

A weak, awkward laugh escaped both of us. The pun wasn't lost on either side.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he added. "We can pretend it didn't happen. I won't bring it up again. Sound good?"

I stared at him. Opened my mouth. Closed it again.

Before I could say anything, he kissed me.

Quick. Teasing. Then pulled away.

"You're not upset?" I asked. "I used you like a piece of meat, and you're just... cool with it? Are you a masochist?"

I tilted my head, raising a brow.

He laughed. "Upset? After a night of amazing sex? Please. I knew what I was doing. We both did."

He shrugged. "If that's what it means to be used, then--hell--use me anytime."

I covered my face with my hands, groaning into my palms.

What the hell had I done?

He got dressed, quick and casual, and left.

* * *

A few days later, I went to see Dana.

The guilt was still eating me alive--even more so now that I'd come.

I found her in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards like she was hunting down a secret ingredient.

"Hey, Julie," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Hey."

She looked... dressed up, but not in a work way. More like she was going to run errands but still cared who saw her. Maybe visiting a neighbor? A casual grocery store slay?

She moved into the living room, purse in hand.

"Going somewhere?" I asked.

"Yeah, grocery run."

She looked back at me, lingering in the kitchen. "Did you want to talk about something?"

Her tone had a bite. Suspicion--or worse, knowing.

"N-no, it's fine. When you get back."

Am I being paranoid?

"Suit yourself. See you later."

She paused at the door. "Oh--and Dale's home, by the way."

"... Okay?"

Why was she telling me that?

"Nothing," she said lightly. Too lightly. "Just thought you should know. Bye."

A million thoughts collided in my head as I sat down at the kitchen island.

Was that a test? Did she know? Was this the part where she left to call the cops?

Then I heard it.

A familiar voice.

"She doesn't know anything," Dale said, descending the stairs like a sin on legs--shirtless, smug, and in just his boxers.

Oh boy.

He'd been shirtless before. Plenty of times. But now, after that night, I couldn't unsee him. And I couldn't unsee everything else, either.

"How'd you know I was thinking about that?"

"What else could make you look so pale?"

"You didn't--" I started. "Did you?"

"Did I tell her I slept with her best friend?" he said, grabbing a glass from the sink. "You think I'm crazy? No, I didn't."

He drank. Water trickled down his chest, catching the light, gliding along muscles he probably didn't even work for. I stared like I was in some teenage fever dream.

"Did you already eat this morning?" he asked casually.

"Uh... what?" I blinked, scrambling for words. "N-no."

"Alright," he said, moving toward the fridge. "I'm gonna fix breakfast. You want some?"

"... Yes," I said, too quickly.

As he made breakfast, I devoured him with my gaze--bold, unapologetic. My eyes traced the lines of his body, lingering where I shouldn't, imagining things that would make him blush if he knew. Whether he noticed or not didn't matter. I was too far gone to care.

We ate in silence, punctuated only by stolen glances and the occasional hushed comment. A quiet, electric tension hummed between us--like two teenagers too afraid to admit what they wanted but too hungry to look away.

When I offered to wash the dishes, he moved behind me, his presence a slow, deliberate heat against my back. He took each plate from my hands, his fingers brushing mine just enough to make my breath hitch. By the time we finished, we stood flush against each other, his hardness pressed into me, neither of us willing to pull away.

Our breaths grew ragged, hips rocking in a slow, torturous grind. The friction was maddening--not enough, but damn, it felt good.

"Dale." My voice was barely a whisper as I arched back against him, my head resting on his shoulder. "This... was only supposed to happen once."

"Technically..." His lips grazed my ear, his voice rough. "This is once. Last time didn't count. You were drunk."

"Oh." The word left me in a breathless exhale.

Then he stepped away, and my body ached for his heat. But before I could protest, his hand slid up the curve of my spine, firm and commanding. A gentle push, and I bent forward over the sink without thought, my body surrendering before my mind could catch up.

His fingers traced my thighs, gathering the fabric of my dress at my waist.

"Damn." A wicked smile curled my lips. I knew what he had find--the scandalous black lace I'd worn just for this moment.

He didn't tease. Just a shift of fabric, the barest graze of his fingers, and then--

"Ughhh--" My gasp tore free as he filled me, stretched me, his thickness sinking in with agonizing slowness. How had I taken him before? He felt bigger now, impossibly so.

"Fuck." His groan was raw, his grip tightening on my hips. "You know... I haven't touched myself since last time. I wanted this, I waited for this."

"Oh--" My nails dug into the counter as my body clenched around him, already teetering on the edge. "So full--oh, ohhh--"

I shattered before he even moved, my orgasm ripping through me like lightning. But he didn't stop.

His thrusts started slow, deliberate--each one dragging a whimper from my throat. Then faster. Harder. His hands gripped my shoulders, driving into me with a desperation that matched my own.

"Dale--!" My voice broke as another climax tore through me, my body convulsing around him.

He was relentless, pistoning into me like a man possessed, his rhythm fracturing as his own release neared.

"Can I come inside?" The words were ragged, barely coherent.

"Yes--yes, yes--"

One final, brutal thrust, and he spilled into me with a groan, his heat flooding my core. I collapsed against the sink, trembling, as his weight pressed into me, his breath hot on my neck.

When he finally slipped out, I couldn't meet his eyes. Shame warred with satisfaction, and I moved to leave--until his hand caught my wrist, yanking me into a searing kiss. I melted into it, my lips parting greedily.

"It was only supposed to happen once," I breathed when we broke apart.

He smirked. "This was once." A pause. "Technically."

Oh boy.

I didn't answer. Just walked out, my legs still trembling, thighs slick with the evidence of what he'd wrung from me.

***

It had been days since Dana's home--since him--and I hadn't gone back. Shame curled hot in my stomach, but not enough to outweigh the hunger. Dana had called, her voice laced with concern, asking if I still wanted to talk.

No. Not when every thought led back to the way his hands had pinned me, the way his voice had dropped to a growl in my ear.

"It was only supposed to happen once."

But the lie tasted weak even to me.

I was mid-tour with a client when my phone buzzed. An unknown number. An attachment.

My breath hitched as I tapped the screen--then froze.

A photo. His cock, thick and veined, gripped in his fist. Precum glistening at the tip. The memory of it stretching me wide flooded back in a dizzying rush, and a sharp gasp escaped me. The clients turned, eyebrows raised.

"Everything alright?"

No. Fuck no.

"Just--family emergency. One moment." I barely managed the words before stalking away, fingers shaking as I dialed.

He answered on the second ring. "Missed me?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I hissed, pulse hammering. "I was with clients--"

"Did you like it?" His voice was dark, amused. "Bet you clenched just looking at it."

I hung up.

Somehow, I finished the showing, sold the house, kept my voice steady--but the second I was alone, the dam broke.

That photo. The way his grip had looked, rough and possessive. The memory of his hands on me, on my body possessing me.

My fingers dove between my legs before I could stop them, rubbing tight circles just the way he had. But it wasn't enough. I needed--

Fuck it.

I snatched my phone, pulled up the image again, and stared. His cock. His fault. My hips jerked, chasing the memory of him filling me, and within seconds, I was coming so hard my vision whited out.

Panting, limp, I glared at the screen.

Bastard. Even miles away, he was still fucking me.