the red bikini (pt. 1)

The summer I spied on my neighbor, a gorgeous young mother whose kids I babysat, and masturbated to her almost every day.

Nina was insane. Surrounded as I was by the polite and good souls of small town America, this fact made her distinctly irresistible to me. She was from Ukraine and had moved next door to us with her husband and kids when I was five or six years old. Her hair was wavy and black as night; her eyes a grayish blue and set above high, delicate cheekbones. Imagine a hybrid Megan Fox and Mila Kunis and that was Nina. Short and dark with perky breasts that were slightly too big to fit in your hand; her lips full and always painted a cherry red.

She was feisty. On multiple summer nights during 18th year, my mom and I would be having a quiet night in together, watching reality TV or Days Of Our Lives, and suddenly Nina's voice, yelling what sounded like obscenities in her mother tongue, would overtake whatever silly scene was on TV. My mother and I, shifting our attention from the scene on TV to the more entertaining one across the street, would shuffle over to the window and hide behind the curtains in our nightgowns to watch. 

The first time it happened, this is what we saw: Nina, in a tight red dress, hitting her husband over and over with what appeared to be a children's toy in her hand. Her husband received each blow with dignity, acting as a stoic outlet for his gorgeous wife's rage. I felt a strange mix of envy, attraction, and respect for that man, muscled and large and quiet, as Nina grabbed his dark hair in her fists and spit in his face. My pussy throbbed. 

The scene culminated with her throwing the object in her hand at the wall. Whatever it was, it shattered. She snatched her purse from the living room table and kicked open the front door and stumbled down the steps, still yelling. Something in the way she stopped dead in her tracks, suddenly quiet, and looked directly at our house, made me think that she saw me. I flinched and backed away from the window. Then, with her head down, she was off, black heels clacking on concrete. 

My mom was already back on the couch, clucking her tongue in disapproval, but I gravitated back to the window, watching Nina's ass move underneath the red dress that didn't do much to cover it. Where was she going in that supervixen outfit? I told my mom I was tired and went to my room with that image stamped in my mind, and I fingered myself until I came. 

In addition to her temper and insanity, Nina was also selfish and conceited – but on a woman as beautiful as her, all of these ordinarily detestable traits became intimidating and attractive. When I babysat for her two children (both little girls, dark-haired and badly behaved), I'd be overly punctual with my arrival, because that meant I'd be likelier to get a glance of Nina half-ready (i.e., half-dressed). 

I'd ring their doorbell ten minutes before the agreed-upon time and she'd open the door, impatiently waving me inside the house, which was always a mess. In black slacks which perfectly accentuated her curves and a lacy black bra one size too small for her C cups, she'd give me a breakdown of all the different ways the girls had misbehaved that day, using the presence of an outsider as an opportunity to scold and embarrass them. The girls cowered with sly smiles in the corner of the kitchen, and Nina always ended her rant by shoo-ing them out of the room before showing me where the Benadryl was. 

"Just crush it and mix it in with their dinner tonight," she'd whisper to me with her thick Ukrainian accent, and it took everything in me to meet her large eyes, prettily highlighted with eyeshadow for date night with her husband (or so I’d thought). "They'll be asleep and out of your hair by 7pm." Then she'd turn to show me how to turn on the stove. 

"Seda, love, come watch me." (If only she knew how often I did.) "I know you've got an electric one over at your mom's." I'd move closer to her, cautious, hoping to God that the desire evident by the wetness of my pussy was hidden in my face. I’d breathe in her perfume and sneak glances at her breasts, noticing that the lacy fabric of her bra provided only partial coverage of her dark red nipples. 

When she and her husband would finally leave, I'd feed the kids dinner with the crushed Benadryl in it – and she was right, they were out like a light less than an hour later. After I tucked them in, I'd sneak into the master bedroom and rifle through Nina's underwear drawer. There was variety in there – comfy cotton panties that she probably wore during her period (they had light red stains on them and a musty kind of smell), and of course the sexy lingerie, the thongs. 

I'd choose a pair – my favorite was a lacy pair of pink panties that had white-ish stains on them which I imagined was her husband's cum – and, taking everything off, I'd slide them on and rub my pussy through the fabric, soaked at the thought that Nina's pussy had been pressed up against it. I'd switch between several pairs and masturbate for hours on their bed, until finally, around 11pm, my face sweaty and my pussy sore, I'd go into the living room and pretend to be asleep, and listen for the sound of their car pulling back into the driveway.