My Bride and I Click with the New Neighbors By Titslave I felt apprehensive about marrying Heather two months ago for only one reason - she's a youthful 32 and I'm 45. Otherwise it was a precious gift from God. Putting aside the age difference I was thrilled with our new life together. We were planning on a family, Heather would stop working, and every morning in our new home out here in California I took one look at my gorgeous bride and felt like praying. Mrs. Randall Carlson made me proud. Soon after we were married in our home town of St. Paul, Minnesota I had accepted a position heading up an information systems department at a hospital in southern California, and I managed to get Heather a part-time x-ray technician job there. We bought a three-bedroom split level in this pleasant community in metropolitan San Diego, although it is a bit of a commute from the hospital. Heather is a long-haired bleached blonde with a charming smile, bright brown eyes, and plenty of curves. After years of botched romances (I am na've and often terribly clumsy about women) I got lucky with her. She kids me about how unsophisticated I am about sex, and pokes fun about how mesmerized I am with her chest. But you would be too. When they passed out the breasts, she really got a quadruple helping. They're so big and rounded, and they sag only a little with all the weight, yet they're still perky. Some days they look absolutely incredible. She wears bras that never seem to fit her right, and the flesh of her boobs pushes over the top of bra cups at her tops. She is somewhat modest about it. When we're intimate, I feel like a little boy, intimidated by her extra large bosom. Our neighborhood out here is quiet, too quiet when we first got there. We knew nobody here, and it has been hard to get acquainted with people. Our folks lived back in Minnesota. So it was a relief when a week ago the ranch home next door, which was vacant when we had moved in, was rented out by the owner. Some very nice, jock type guys in their early 20s set up housekeeping. We were thrilled to see the Ryder rental truck in the driveway on the day they moved in. Not long after two of the four came over to meet us. It was a relief having neighbors, and people who actually were friendly. We said so when Jack, who was a tall, beefy lacrosse major at one of the universities in the area, introduced himself along with Curt, short but also very well built. Curt was out of college and was kind of vague about what he did. Later that day we met the other two guys, James, a very ripped construction worker, and Bill, who went to school with Jack, and who was lifeguarding for the summer. At last, other human beings we could talk to, who didn't hide inside their homes. We bought our new friends a bottle of champagne to welcome them to the block. I could tell these young guys appreciated us and Heather seemed to make a big impression on them. Jack looked down at me while Heather was chatting with Bill and James in the driveway earlier this past Wednesday and said very tactfully, "you're a lucky guy. Heather is very pretty." I thanked him, grateful for the compliment. Later Heather told me that Bill and James joked with her and said it was too bad I had beaten them to it and grabbed her out of the pool of "babes." This last Friday Heather and I, worn out from the week, couldn't wait to leave work and were sitting on our deck around 7, still in our work clothes. Our new neighbors appeared to have gone away for this late April weekend, so we were worried we were back in the too quiet mode. Then, fortunately, we heard a car door slam next door and a masculine voice said "knock knock!" We saw Jack standing to our left near the side of our house, at his driveway. He was carrying a bag from the liquor store and was pointing toward the fence separating our properties. We greeted him warmly and he said: "Come on over for a drink. It's time for happy hour." His invitation was music to our ears. We ran inside and changed. I was ahead of Heather and after throwing on some shorts and a polo shirt ran downstairs and grabbed some wine from the fridge. I heard the sound of her laced Gucci knock-off raised heel sandals on the living room hardwood floor, and she came into the kitchen with a yellow tube top and a loose fitting light red skirt that went down to just below her knees. She sure looked incredible with bare shoulders and midriff, and her too die for overdeveloped breasts jutting out braless. I was still almost incredulous that she was my loving wife. As I predicted, all four of the guys were very happy to see us, especially to see my wife. We poked our heads through the door where the backyard fence met their house, and they gave us a warm welcome. To our pleasant surprise they had a pool and a hot tub. There were appreciative whistles from our neighbors, and applause, as they looked Heather over. They were very "cazh", in shorts only, and introduced us to Lemont and Reggie, two other lifeguards that worked with Bill and did part-time personal training at a local gym. Lemont bore an amazing resemblance to a young Walter Payton. Reggie, to an intimidating bouncer retired from professional football. Jack thanked us for the bottle of wine and handed us two healthy sized Margaritas. I begged off and asked for some white wine and Heather, who must have been thirsty, laughed and said to them: "I'll take his then!" "All right, the lady's thirsty!" someone laughed. A gas grille was sitting idle, with brats and burgers still wrapped from the store. "Does anyone know how to do this?" Jack called out. Like an idiot I said: "I'm an expert." He put his arm around me and said: "Good, cause we don't know a thing about it. All we know around here is drinkin', the sports pages, and girls with real big racks." Bill hollered: "and tonight definitely looks like a real big rack party!" That got everyone cheering and hooting. I didn't quite get his reference, but suspected he might be alluding to my wife, so I went along with it and grinned. Heather didn't seem bothered by it and took a healthy sip of her Margarita. Feeling at home I fired up the grille. "Let's hear it for Randall!" someone yelled, and I was treated to a round of applause. Soon the preparation of potato salad and keeping the condiments and chips going were added to my responsibilities. The atmosphere was TGIF. The six guys were very nice to Heather, surrounding her at the picnic table. I was learning about her enjoyment of Margaritas; she was almost done with the second one after about half an hour. She was giggling as she sat on the picnic table, Jack sitting to one side of her and Lemont to the other. Everyone was very nice to her and asked her all about our whirlwind romance and our Puerto Rico honeymoon. As I unpacked all the food and set up the grille, I heard bits and pieces of the solicitous sounding questions all the young hunks were asking my bride. "Bikini or two piece?" I heard Curt ask, with a big grin. "Any topless beaches?" someone yelled, and that got a big laugh. It was really impressive to see young guys, unattached and apparent party animals, display such a congeniality toward Heather and a genuine curiousity about our honeymoon. And they just couldn't stop focusing on her. I was totally flattered. My cooking duties sort of made me the fifth wheel, my being over at the grill and all the guys and my bride were at the picnic table about ten feet away. To show how considerate they were, one or two guys made a point of coming over to talk to me from time to time while I worked away at the grille. But, understandably, even when they were over by me, their eyes almost always were on my cute, voluptuous wife. I think we were the hit of the evening, or rather, she was. Three of the guys were in a side conversation and as the first batch of brats got going I could tell they were hungry. They must have been impressed with the hefty burgers and brats I was preparing because I heard one say, as they stood near me but looked over at the picnic table: "Can you believe the size of those fuckin things?" "Tonight," one of the others said, "we gotta get our hands on them." The three laughed to each other, and I said: "They'll be coming your way shortly, gentlemen." One of them, I think it was Curt, looked at me blankly, then sort of smiled nervously and said: "Oh, yeah, we're hungry." Someone else said, "hey, they're coming our way shortly. Outstanding." I sensed I was amusing them, or being made fun of. Maybe they thought I might screw up the big brats. Heather got up to use the john next door, her new fans slow to step away from surrounding her, and as she walked by me and said hello Jack said: "No, you don't have to go home. It's right inside, off the kitchen." To show what a gracious host he was, Jack scooted past me and escorted her into the house, his beefy arm around her, and seemed to take more time than he needed to make sure she found the bathroom. "Wait up!" Curt yelled, in a discreet kind of voice, with a smug grin on his face. When I said to Bill, "hey, where did Curt and Jack go?" he stumbled a little then thought that they waited inside for her to give her a quick tour of their place. It seemed quite a while before I heard that patio door slide open. "How was the tour, honey?" I asked her. She seemed puzzled by my question, looked at me and smiled but said nothing. Bill sort of raised his voice and to help me out quickly asked Curt and Jack, "how was the tour you gave the lady?" Jack said, looking back and forth at Bill and me, "oh, yeah, great." By that time the sun was gone and Curt and Reggie were lighting lawn torches. Lemont was chatting it up with me about the night spots they liked to patronize. Apparently as wholesome as these guys were they had no compunction about taking in the topless places and men's clubs around San Diego. Meanwhile I looked over at the picnic table and my bride was giggling at all the attention the other young men were giving her. She was lounging on the top of the table with her legs crossed, her back to me, her hands directly behind her back, planted flat on the table. The guys at each side of her and in front of her evidently were making such a fuss over a long necklace she was wearing, because they were staring closely in that direction. I had bought it for her in Puerto Rico - cost me a fortune with the good-sized amethyst stones in it. The guys were gesturing toward the necklace and quietly kidding her about it, or raving about it, I couldn't tell. But she was in the spotlight and laughed. She didn't seem to mind at all when just about everybody inspected the necklace, sometimes two doing it at once. The laughter and teasing had eased up and it got quieter. They appreciated jewelry and she seemed to be very flattered as they took their time handling her necklace. I could see they appreciated the real precious stones in it. At one point Lemont kept saying, "these are real. Biggest fucking things I have ever seen." Someone said, "she's sure proud of them." As this continued Curt got behind her on the table and I couldn't see much. But judging by the sounds of approval, that necklace was getting an amazing amount of inspection time. I couldn't get over how Heather and I had hit the jackpot. Two weeks ago we felt so lonely and disconnected, and now we were among people that were friendly. Here were amiable neighbors treating my wife like a queen, catering to her request for a fresh Margarita like five personal butlers. But I was the runner. I found myself being sent to the kitchen or to the basement to check for more propane for the grille in case we needed it and while I was inside could I check for any voice mail messages on their phone. As I came back outside I noticed that the comments turned to my bride's working out and Heather's jogging. She mentioned that it was giving her back aches and cramps in her thighs. "I can see why YOU would have back aches," Reggie said. Heather poked him in the chest and smiled, among the giggles and hollers. "Let us know when you're bouncing by," someone said, drawing snickers from the fellas and a swat from Heather. The thing about her aches and cramps was news to me, and I figured she was exploiting all the attention from these very athletic looking guys. She threw in some comments here and there about how cut they were, and did they get knots in their big muscles too. She obviously appreciated their physiques and I figured, just because she married me she should still have the freedom to look other men over. Nothing wrong with looking, right? Then I heard Jack say, very seriously: "Well, if you have a back ache I can fix that. I am trained." Heather yelled over to me: "Hey honey, Jack is certified in back massage, and he can fix that ache I have in my lower back." Again, first I had heard of her back problem, I hadn't realized that she had one, but it was nice to know I married a gal who was not a whiner. Soon, I looked over and saw Heather move, or get moved, with Bill's able assistance - he sort of picked her up - from the top of the table and let her down to straddle the bench. Jack planted himself snugly behind her. I thought it odd that he was sitting so close, since that would make the back rub more awkward, but he was trained in this, after all. What did I know. She looked at the others and smiled and lifted her hair off her shoulders, her arms bent at head level. She sat up real straight and everyone was gawking at her necklace again, and kind of looking at each other, then back to her necklace. Jack seemed very conscientious about what he was doing, concentrating carefully. The other guys grew quieter again as he went to work on her problem. I was impressed that this man would drop everything and give her a solution to her back problem. Judging from the smile she gave me and the way her eyes half closed as her head drooped, his powerful hands were doing a good job of locating the problem areas in her back. I noticed that her skirt was way up her thighs but I thought better of calling attention to it in front of the others. Of course she was unaware of how much of her thighs was showing. Or maybe they had been talking about how toned her legs looked from working out. I caught her eye and she waved at me with a loving grin. I went back to chatting with Lemont, who was asking me about the Vikings and why they were so lousy. I could have used some eye contact for at least five seconds from one of these guys while I worked, but like the others who stepped over for a brat or sent me into the kitchen on some obscure mission, he was looking at the picnic table. Everyone was getting more jumpy, or obsessed with the picnic table, the more time went by. A few minutes later I noticed that Heather must have been getting that back ache cleared up because she was arching it and thanking Jack. But then Curt picked up where Jack left off, planting himself right behind her. "Like this, Jack?" Curt grinned as he concentrated on a rubdown. The others congregated closer around the table as he sat snug behind her. Sometimes he wasn't rubbing her back at all but just was snug against her, particularly at bench level. Apparently the ache was migrating because his hands were on her shoulder blades, her neck, up and down her arms, her waist, down at the hem line of her skirt, and even under the tube top. He tickled her a few times in the stomach and in the sides and hugged her when she shrieked and giggled. Others noticed her ticklishness and got in some good natured tickles at the same time. I noticed that in addition to the physical therapy she was getting for free that they were having great fun, and he then he bent near her ear to say something I couldn't hear and she smiled. Then she muttered something back at him and everyone chuckled. A few turned to look at me, to make sure I wasn't left out, and then turned back to watch. I went in to use their john. As I made my way from the patio to the sliding door I looked over and saw someone else behind her, Curt having been replaced, and I heard Heather say that she also had some cramps in her legs from running. She looked around at everyone and pleaded theatrically: "I keep telling you that both legs bother me. Wish I could find a decent therapist for that problem." She pulled her skirt up even more and pointed at her thighs. She did not have to yell to be heard because all the guys were barely breathing, much less talking. "I'm an expert" someone finally said, and there was a subdued murmur, not laughter. And I guess I wasn't the only one to suspect that her underpants had to be really small because as high up as her skirt was, you could't make out the panties. But I was hardly an expert on women, as I told you before. I found the john myself, and when I came out Heather was back sitting on the top of the picnic table longways, her left leg stretched out and her right bent. Her skirt was practically all the way up to her crotch. Lemont was on the table too, kneeling behind her, his knees snug against her sides. As I watched him move what I assumed were his hands up and down her back, he noticed my gaze and smiled, then said: "Hey Randall, my man, could you call for pizza?" Jack and Curt jumped right in with that, hurriedly looking my way and turning back to face the table. I once again was willing to be a helpful guest and agreed to step in the kitchen and get the order over the phone. As I wrote down the pizzas to get before going in I noticed Reggie was sitting on one bench facing her at waist level, rubbing her leg, and James was on the other doing the same thing. She moved her leg toward Reggie, so that he could get at the ache, and bent her other leg toward James. Reggie looked over at me and said to her: "Here?" and she said "sort of" and then he would move his strong ebony hands elsewhere and ask "here?". He seemed intent on helping her and, although Bill was kind of blocking my view, standing in front of her sort of, I could see that Reggie was sincerely trying to locate the pains in her legs. He was very thorough. So was James. As far as I could tell Heather was so relaxed from this attention and her Margaritas. Her eyes were closed and her mouth somewhat open, her tongue slowly licking her upper lip. Bill was grabbing a brat and when I noticed two others taking over and working on her leg cramps he told me that all the lifeguards could be trusted to massage Heather because they needed to know this for lifesaving. "She's in good hands," he said confidently as he returned to his spot right in front of her, facing her. Whoever was working her legs was getting more and more vigorous, taking turns in using an in and out motion with an arm bent, like they were rubbing back and forth faster and faster parallel with her upper leg. My lovely bride graciously bathed in all the flattery she was getting non-stop from these guys who were saying alot of positive things to her the whole time. As she lay more and more against Lemont she gripped Lemont's arms. She seemed to be singing or humming a tune I couldn't make out. Someone, looking my way quickly, leaned over to the boom box next to the table and turned up the music to drown her out.