Sex with my Neighbor: The Broken Key

Sex with My Neighbor: The Broken Key

Sex with my Neighbor was the only thing that saved my day. I should’ve known today was going to be a disaster the moment my coffee machine sputtered out its last drop, leaving me with nothing but a lukewarm sip and a bad mood. But I pushed through work, fought through traffic, and now here I was—standing on my front porch, key halfway into the lock when the worst happened. A snap. I stared down at my hand, the head of my key between my fingers, the rest lodged deep inside the lock. I cursed under my breath.

“Come on,” I groaned, jiggling the doorknob uselessly. I even tried pulling the broken piece out with my fingernails. Nothing. Okay. No big deal. I’d just call a locksmith. I turned back to my car, already dreading the expense, but when I climbed in and turned the key, all I got in response was a dull click. I tried again. Another click. The battery was dead. Of course.

I had no clue this would lead to sex with my  neighbor.

I slammed my hands against the steering wheel. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”  With no way inside my house and no working car, my options were limited. I could either sit on my porch and wait for someone to pass by or— I looked toward the neighboring townhouse. Graham. My next-door neighbor. Tall, broad-shouldered, and always dressed like he had somewhere important to be. I thought about sex with my neighbor Graham way too much. We’d spoken a handful of times, mostly pleasantries. He kept to himself, and I respected that. Still, I needed help.

I walked to his front door, hesitating for only a second before knocking. A few moments later, the door swung open, and there he was—his gray t-shirt clinging to his toned arms, his dark hair slightly messy, as he’d just run his fingers through it. “Skylar?” His deep voice sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. I forced a smile. “My key broke in my lock, and my car won’t start. Any chance I can hang out here while I figure out my life?”

His lips quirked into a grin.

He stepped aside. “Come in.” I sighed in relief and walked in, immediately greeted by the scent of coffee and something woodsy—his cologne, maybe. His place was warm, neat, and nothing like I’d imagined when I had thought about sex with my neighbor. A dark gray couch, books stacked on a shelf, a record player in the corner. “You want a drink?” he asked. I nodded. He chuckled then began pouring us a few glasses of wine. I took a long sip, sinking into his couch. He sat beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. “Happy to help.”

We talked. More than we ever had before. He told me about his job—freelance graphic design, working odd hours. I told him about mine—marketing, the constant stress. And then, in a lull of conversation, he looked at me, really looked at me, his gaze flicking to my lips. “Skylar…” he stared at me like a raven haired beauty.  His voice was quieter now, rougher. For once in my life, I wasn’t going to overthink it.

My breath hitched at the thought of sex with my neighbor.

I wasn’t sure what he was about to do, but I didn’t stop him when he leaned in, his hand resting lightly on my knee until it slid up my thigh. And then, he kissed me. It was slow, deliberate, his lips warm and soft against mine. I felt a rush of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—excitement, desire, a thrill of the unexpected. Not felt since I was one of those naughty sorority sluts. Sex with my neighbor at long last. When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine.

But I didn’t let him finish. I kissed him again because for once, my awful day had turned into something good. Climbing on top of him I let my lust devour me. How far did I take it?  How long did he last? Call me to find out.

Call Skylar 1-888-856-5921