My Neighbor's Spa

by Habu

10 Aug 2019 3018 readers Score 8.8 (60 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


A foreshadowing that summer again would follow spring descended on my neighborhood in the form of a minor heat wave one early May evening. We’d had a particularly cold winter and early spring, and thus when the sun had brought us an unusually early warm day, we opened the windows on the bedroom level, giving the house its first breath of fresh air in over three months. My home office was on the bedroom level in what had once been the house’s second-largest bedroom, down a long hallway, over the garage, and at the front side of the house. It had been light outside when I was called to dinner, but it was dark before I returned to my office to continue work on a major proposal my firm needed finished sooner rather than later.

I entered my office and raised my hand to turn on the lights. But my movement was arrested by the sound of murmuring and what I distinctly recognized as moaning. I had two windows in my office, now both open. One was on the front of the house over the driveway that led into the double garage beneath me. The other window was at the side of the house, only about ten feet from the fence line to my neighbor’s back yard.

It took me several seconds to realize that the moaning sounds were coming from the window on the side. I moved to the window in the darkness and looked out and down into my neighbor’s yard.

I hadn’t known he had put in an outdoor hot tub, but there it was, at the back corner of his house. It was fenced off, but my window looked almost straight down into it. There was decking and soft patio lights around the hot tub and even softer lights inside the tub, diffused by the gently roiling, gurgling water, being moved by the pump. It was really a surprise to see. It hadn’t been there before, back in the fall, the last time I actually had come to this window and looked out. He must have had it installed sometime during the winter.

A trim, well-muscled man of late middle age, undoubtedly my neighbor, Marty, was sitting on the side of the pool, facing me. He seemed to be the one doing the moaning. Another, younger and slighter man was crouched down in the water between his knees, facing him. I could not tell positively what was happening, but the expression I could see on my neighbor’s face illuminated by the pool lighting and moaning he was doing left little doubt that he was receiving a blow job.

This sudden, totally unexpected view conjured from below my home office window on a warm night following a confining winter and early spring shocked me into inaction. I just stood at the window, staring at the scene audaciously being played out below my window. Even when my neighbor stood and changed positions with the young man who had been giving him suck and spread the man’s legs around his thighs and began to fuck him, I remained there, a surprised voyeur. The moaning changed to a higher pitch. The young man was the one doing the moaning now down in the hot tub. I quickly realized the moaning had taken on a stereo tone, though—tenor and baritone after the initial bass. Now I was moaning as well.

I stood there, transfixed, all the way to the climax, which was punctuated by the young man writhing and groaning hard and my neighbor’s bulbous buttocks undulating at an ever-quicker pace until he cried out and lurched with a final definitive, long-held thrust. And I remained there, watching, long after they both had sunk down into a close, sitting position inside the tub, their arms entwined and their mouths joined in a prolonged kiss.

I tried to force the images out of my mind, but when I went to bed that night, they started to flood into my consciousness, preventing me from sleeping, causing me to twist and turn in the bed. I found I could not keep my hand off of my cock, which was at full arousal. I could not masturbate myself into sleep, however. My wife would have felt the movement of the bed. I briefly considered rising, going out to the hall bath, shutting the door behind me, and stroking myself to relief.

But my wife turned in the bed and reached for me and found my aroused cock. She murmured her surprise. She wasn’t accustomed to finding me hard. I rolled over on top of her, spread her thighs, settled my pelvis down between them, and for the first time in more than a month we fucked languidly in the breeze coming in from the open windows. The rhythm of our mating brought my cock relief. But her moans of unexpected pleasure conjured up what I had seen from my home office window, and all of the time I was fucking her, images of what I had seen in my neighbor’s hot tub raced through my mind. I put her in the same position I had seen of the two in the hot tub, her on her back below me, and me between her thighs, holding her legs raised and spread with a grip on her thighs and moving my hips back and forth, pumping her. My eyes were closed, imagining myself in the hot tub, with the small male under me, taking my cock deep, and I gave up my seed.

* * * *

Three days later, with us still enjoying the warm spell, my wife was off to see her maiden aunt in Philadelphia for a week. My neighbor, Marty, had come down to the bottom of his driveway when I was waving my wife off. I took the occasion to casually note that he seemed to have put in a new hot tub.

“Not just a hot tub,” he said. “I’ve had the whole basement redone into a gym and spa. A weight room, massage table, showers, and a sauna. The whole enchilada.”

“I thought you went to a gym,” I said.

“I do—and probably will continue to. But I got lonely in that big house over there. I met guys at the gym who were looking for rooms to rent and other guys to share houses with. So, that’s how I get tenants. And everyone who rooms here likes being able to work out at home. I put in a gym and spa for them. I had the room for it, and It helps me stay in shape too.”

“Sounds great,” I said—mainly to keep up the conversation. I knew he had been taking guys in. Neal, the guy I was attracted to at the car dealer, was living there now. And now I knew what Marty was doing with those guys he took in—or some of them, at least. I wondered if that was a criterion he had for finding housemates. The other night—the hot tub scene—I’d tried my damndest to see if Neal was involved in that. But if he was, I hadn’t recognized him. If he was, there was always some hope . . .

“I see you like to stay in shape too,” Marty was saying to me. “You’ve got a great body. You should come over and see what I’ve got going.”

Yeah, I have seen what you’ve got going, I thought. And I’m fighting an interest in getting going like that too. And what was with the “great body” comment? Was he hitting on me? I now knew he swung that way. I took another look at him. Would I, given the opportunity?

“Yeah, maybe I’ll come over sometime,” I said, “and at least see what you’ve done to the house.”

“Sandra tells me she’s going off for a week to visit her aunt in Pennsylvania. You could come over while she’s gone; we could have a boys’ night of it.”

I don’t know if he was intentionally suggesting anything to me or not. Marty had made me feel self-conscious for some time—the way he looked at me when I worked out in the yard shirtless. It had actually made me think twice about going out in the yard without a T-shirt on. Ever since I’d started having those thoughts about Neal at the car dealership, I’d worried about what I wanted, what I was interested in.

The look that Marty gave me when he invited me over made me both nervous and a little excited. I mumbled something noncommittal but polite, turned from him, and started raking on the other side of the driveway. He didn’t notice that my face flushed at that remark—or, if he did, he certainly didn’t say anything.

Marty was divorced and probably was in his early fifties, judging from his graying hair, but he had kept himself quite fit. He was a businessman, and I could tell he was doing well at that because of all of the money he must be spending on fixing his house up. His fitness probably was a result of the many hours he spent at the gym—and now, maybe, in his own basement. I’d watched both a back porch and a bedroom addition go up on his house—and now there was the hot tub enclosure too. He’d also put in a patio and had the backyard landscaped, which is a lot more than the people living there before him had done. I knew now that he had a good gym in his basement, but he said he still frequently went to a big fitness center in town, and I saw him from time to time coming and going in workout clothes and carrying a gym bag. Marty said he went there for the people he met. And he sublet to some of them, he said, because he could use the company and it was always good to have someone at home to take care of his dog when he traveled. Having seen some of the hunks he had lured over there, I wanted to go “woof” and volunteer to be his mutt.

One thing was for sure. All the housemates I’d seen were really ripped. They looked like they spent most of their time in the gym. Neal looked that way too. I wondered if he spent all the time he wasn’t in the garage fixing cars in some gym—and maybe would be spending a lot of his time exercising right next door to me now.

I hadn’t given any of this much thought until the recent night when I discovered Marty had a hot tub—and saw what he did with it. I was now able to deduce for myself, of course, what the real reason for the string of young, buffed male tenants was. For this reason, I had contemplated and planned what I was going to say if he ever asked me to visit his hot tub.

What I’d done the last couple days—without really making a conscious decision about it—was to resume doing yard work with my shirt stripped off. I hadn’t been gardening for some time without a shirt, and I told myself I was doing so now because we had waited so long for the warm weather. But I really knew I’d done it because I’d already made a decision and hoped that Marty would notice me. I was the curious type and I was always ready to experiment, but my wife and I weren’t very inventive in our infrequent love making, and I guess I was antsy about that with everything else that was popping up of late. I hadn’t exactly been celibate or strictly conventional in my sexual activity before I settled down with my wife. I’d never done it—actually done it all—with a man before, though. I wasn’t including what I’d been thinking of doing with Neal of late.

I racked my brain whether this was new, stronger attention from Marty or whether he had shown this level of interest in me before and I just had not caught the signals. I knew he’d noticed me, and I’d always suspected he liked young men. I wouldn’t have surprised me if that had had something to do with his divorce. But I was just a neighbor—and he talked over the fence a lot with my wife, Sandra. I hadn’t thought he had interest in me beyond looking. He and Sandra certainly could get chatty, although I never had gotten even a hint that he fancied her. And now that I’d seen in him action in his hot tub and knew why he wouldn’t fancy Sandra.

Upon reflection, I had to admit that maybe the change was in me, not in Marty. There were the recent thoughts of Neal. And the little performance I’d seen the other night had knocked me off my blocks. I was in heat—and confused—in ways I’d never felt before.

That night I stood at the side window of my home office in the protective darkness of the room and watched Marty fuck another young guy in his hot tub. The young man was bent over the side of the tub, his chest on the terrace stones surrounding the tub and his arms stretched out in a sacrificial stance. Marty was mounted on his ass, holding the young guy’s waist between his hands. Marty’s bare buttocks where moving forward and back, clutching in the thrust and relaxing in the withdrawal. One of his hands left the guy’s waist and cupped the guy’s chin and pulled back, arching his back and pulling his head into Marty’s chest. The stroking picked up and then Marty held and jerked, held and jerked. He turned the young guy’s face to his and they kissed.

I felt my hand sticky and realized I had been stroking myself and had come with Marty.

by Habu

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