We just pulled into our driveway after dropping our son Matt off at UGA for football practice. He’s on a football scholarship and could make varsity as a freshman. But that also leaves my wife, Anne, and me as empty nesters for the first time since we were married twenty years ago.
As we get out of the car, the early August humidity hits us in the face, making us almost want to jump back in.
“Hey, neighbors,” we hear a voice from our cul-de-sac. There’s our neighbor Isiah, apparently finishing his run. Isiah is nothing short of an ebony god, a couple of inches shorter than my 6’4” frame—and that’s where all comparisons between us stop. Isiah is maybe in his late thirties, chiseled out of granite. As I look over, his running shorts barely cover his ass, and I know Anne is taking a long look.
“So, did you get the football star off to UGA?” he asks. Anne starts walking over to him.
“Yes, we did, and we can’t thank you enough for your help with the recruiting process. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
She’s walking up his driveway, and even though he’s soaking wet from his run, he’s coming back to greet her. Now just feet apart, he’s looking right at my wife’s hourglass figure in her sundress, burning a hole right through her clothes.
“Anne, you guys know it was no problem at all. I went through the same thing when I was first-team all-state, just like Matt. You know how much I like you guys and just wanted to help out. The fact that he chose UGA like I did was just a coincidence—but a happy one.”
I swear I think Anne may walk into the house with him, and my cock is hard as steel.
“Hey, Isiah, why don’t you come over later and we’ll grill some steaks?”
It’s like they both forgot I was even here. His head jerks up, and he says, “I’ll bring the beer, buddy. See you in an hour.”
We’ve lived in our house for almost fifteen years. We’re on one end of the cul-de-sac. Our neighbors to the left have been here ten years, and next to them, eight years. A
