The Fence Between Us

The Hendersons moved out in March.

Good riddance. They'd been terrible neighbors—loud parties, barking dog, a tendency to borrow things and never return them.

Their replacement moved in on a Saturday, and I watched from my kitchen window as the movers unloaded her furniture.

Her name was Claudia. I learned this when she knocked on my door that evening, holding a bottle of wine.

"I'm your new neighbor." She smiled. Her accent was Italian, faint but present. "I wanted to introduce myself."

She was fifty, maybe a little older. Dark hair streaked with gray. Eyes the color of espresso.

And a body that made the casual dress she wore look like lingerie.

Thick hips. Full breasts. A waist that dipped in before flaring out into curves that went on forever. She wasn't trying to hide any of it. She stood there, confident, waiting for me to respond.

"Tyler," I finally managed. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you, Tyler." She handed me the wine. "Maybe we can share it sometime."

She walked away. I watched her go—her ass swaying, her hips rolling.

It was going to be a long summer.

June

I first saw her through the fence on a Thursday.

There were gaps in the old wood—places where boards had rotted or warped over the years. I'd never paid attention before. The Hendersons weren't worth looking at.

Claudia was different.

She was in her backyard, sunbathing on a lounge chair. The bikini she wore was designed for a smaller woman. On her, it was almost indecent.

Her breasts spilled from the top, nipples visible through the thin fabric. Her bottoms cut into her thick thighs. Her stomach was soft, round, glistening with oil.

I watched for fifteen minutes before guilt made me look away.

I was back the next day.

July

She gardened in shorts and a tank top.

I learned her schedule. Mornings were for weeding. Afternoons for sunbathing. Evenings she sat on her back porch with a glass of wine, watching the sunset.

Sometimes she glanced toward the fence. Toward the gaps.

I told myself she couldn't see me. The angle was wrong. The light was in her eyes.

But sometimes she smiled. Like she knew.

August

The storm came out of nowhere.

Wind, rain, lightning—the whole neighborhood lost power. I was in my kitchen, watching the chaos through the window, when I heard a crash from Claudia's yard.

A tree branch had taken out a section of our shared fence.

Not the whole thing. Just enough to create a hole. A gap big enough to walk through.

I stared at it. The rain poured down.

Then I saw her light come on—a candle in her kitchen window. And I saw her silhouette move past it.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking through the gap.

She answered her back door in a robe.

"Tyler." She didn't seem surprised. "I wondered when you'd come through."

"The fence—"

"I know. I heard it fall." She stepped aside. "Come in. You're soaking wet."

Her kitchen was warm, lit by candles. She handed me a towel, poured me wine.

"How long have you been watching me?" she asked.

I froze. "I don't—"

"Don't lie." She sat across from me at the small table. The robe gaped at the chest. She didn't fix it. "I've known since June. The gaps in the fence, the way the light catches. I can see you perfectly."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No. You shouldn't have." She took a sip of wine. "But you did. And now I want to know: was it worth it?"

"What do you mean?"

"All those hours watching. Waiting. Wondering what I looked like without the bikini. What I sounded like when touched." She set down her glass. "Was it worth it?"

"Yes."

"Then come here."

I stood. Walked around the table. She rose to meet me.

"I watched you too," she said softly. "Through my own window. Working in your yard without a shirt. Doing pull-ups on that bar you installed. I'm not innocent."

"What do you want?"

"What I've wanted for months." She untied her robe. Let it fall. "Everything."

She was naked underneath.

Her body was even more beautiful up close. Heavy breasts with dark, hardened nipples. A soft stomach that led down to thick thighs. Between them, she was trimmed, glistening.

"Touch me," she said. "Stop watching and touch me."

I grabbed her. Pulled her against me. Kissed her like I'd been wanting to for six months.

She moaned into my mouth. Her hands tore at my wet clothes—shirt, jeans, everything—until I was as naked as she was.

"The bedroom," she breathed. "Now."

Her bedroom was small, dark, the bed unmade. She pushed me onto it, climbed on top of me.

"I've imagined this so many times," she said, stroking me, testing my size. "Lying here at night, touching myself, thinking about you on the other side of that fence."

"So have I."

"I know." She positioned me at her entrance. "I heard you once. Through the window. My name on your lips."

"Claudia—"

She sank down.

I grabbed her hips as she took me, inch by inch. She was tight—impossibly tight—and wet, and hot. Her thick body swallowed me whole.

"Yes," she hissed. "Yes, this is what I needed—"

She started to move. Rising and falling, her breasts bouncing, her whole body rippling with every thrust. I held on, let her use me, watched her take what she wanted.

"Harder," she demanded. "Give me more—"

I flipped her onto her back. She cried out—surprise, pleasure—as I pinned her to the mattress and drove into her.

"Is this what you wanted?" I growled.

"Yes—"

"Is this what you saw when you watched me?"

"This and more—" She wrapped her legs around me. "Don't stop—please—don't stop—"

She came twice underneath me.

The first time she went rigid, silent, her mouth open in a soundless scream. The second time she was loud—screaming my name, clawing at my back, her walls clenching around me.

"Inside," she begged. "Come inside me—"

I did. Couldn't have stopped if I tried. I emptied myself into my neighbor, months of watching and wanting and waiting all released in a single, devastating moment.

We collapsed together. Panting. Tangled.

"The fence," she said eventually.

"What about it?"

"We should probably fix it."

"Probably." I pulled her closer. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

September

We never fixed the fence.

What was the point? The gap stayed, and so did I—most nights, walking through to her back door, staying until morning.

The neighbors noticed. Of course they did. Suburban cul-de-sacs have eyes everywhere.

"They think I'm a cougar," Claudia said one evening, laughing into her wine. "The younger moms whisper about it at the mailbox."

"Does it bother you?"

"No." She set down the glass. Climbed into my lap. "Let them whisper. I spent my whole life caring about propriety. Being the proper wife. The proper widow. The proper neighbor." She kissed me. "I'm done with proper."

"Good."

"Now." She ground against me. "Are you going to sit there, or are you going to take me back to bed?"

I carried her to the bedroom.

The gap in the fence stayed.

So did I.