Nick lived in a quiet, little community that was due in part to geography with lots of hills and woods to the West, a very nice, large lake to the East and all not far from a big U.S. city. Fortunately the developers hadn’t found the area yet, but the real estate agents and those with money from the city had. Nick lived in a small, older house that overlooked the lake which was comfortable for him, but he was single with no children, having been divorced many years before. The majority of the small houses in his neighborhood had been torn down and turned into McMansions, even though they were a second (or third) home for their owners. His house was surrounded by them, a couple of them not more than 40 feet away and towering over his.

The pros and cons that come with any small, lakefront community were true for Nick’s: everyone knew everyone else by name as well as their children and pets, outdoor activities were abundant, the home owners generally kept up their properties and would lend a hand to anyone who needed it. However, there was bickering every now and again: the older generation didn’t like the noise of the younger generation’s parties that were loud and went late, some of the teenagers were out-of-control at times and even some of the adults did a poor job of holding their liquor.

Nick liked his area, exercising four or five days a week by bicycling, jogging, kayaking, swimming or working with weights. He really enjoyed the summertime, seeing his shapely female neighbors go down to the lake in bikinis, and generally enjoyed all of the sights and sounds that surrounded him. Somehow, over the years that he had been there, he fell into a niche that no one else in the neighborhood seemed to occupy: that of being the quiet confidant that everyone turned to when there was something salacious happening. He even enjoyed being the neighbor whom everyone seemed to trust with their secrets, dislikes, problems, dreams and neighborhood gossip. Young and old came to him often.

Nick had his own secret, but really only one: he enjoyed erotica. He read sex stories, had a profile on a couple of adults-only websites, watched videos, ogled pictures of women who forgot to wear a bra when the photo was snapped and enjoyed chatting with like-minded women. It was not an obsession, but he dabbled when the mood struck him. He didn’t have a steady woman friend, so what was the harm? It was an outlet for him on his laptop in a corner of his house and no one saw him slipping off his shorts or jeans when the mood struck as he started stroking his above-average sized cock, with the occasional climax as he masturbated and enjoyed stories, videos, sexy pictures and chatting.

As happened fairly often, there was a knock on his door on a beautiful late summer day. It was Alissa, the ex-wife from the McMansion next door, which made him smile. She was older but still sexy, with blonde hair and a very nice figure. She had been divorced about a year before and apparently had opted for the lake house instead of the city townhouse in the divorce. Nick’s favorite thing about her was her regular summer attire: a sun dress, often low-cut with clearly no bra underneath. He often wondered if she bothered with panties but he was never able to definitely tell.

“Okay so what happened to cause everyone up the hill to be so irritated with each other?” she asked, walking right in. It was mid-afternoon and she came equipped with a large glass of white wine.

“Well hello to you too! Come on in.” Seeing her wine, Nick decided it was happy hour and retrieved a beer from his fridge.

They sat in Nick’s living room on the couch. She was wearing her usual summertime sundress, while Nick just had on shorts and a t-shirt. He knew exactly what she was asking about.

“I was out walking this morning and saw the Merrills and Scalettis talking over the fence between their yards. You’d have to be completely blind not to notice the ice between the four of them earlier today,” she continued.

She was right. Two couples up the street had had a pretty big blowout over borrowed tools that Fred Merrill had loaned to Mike Scalletti that had not been returned. The fallout escalated, apparently, when the Scalletti’s hosted a large party the previous weekend that was loud (Nick had heard the music at his place) with guests parking wherever they could find a spot in a neighborhood that was already tight on parking, which included on lawns and the edge of the very narrow roads. Nick had the inside scoop on all of this from the Merrill’s very cute 23-year-old daughter, Pam, who had stopped by the day before and had a beer with Nick.