Couch cushions still warm from her earlier squirming, the silver-haired neighbor in ripped jeans can’t resist another quick rub before the knock comes. Legs splayed wide on the sofa, fingers frantic between her thighs, she doesn’t hear the key in the lock until the door swings wide and her hand freezes mid-stroke. Pupils blown, lips parted, she tries to pull those shredded jeans up but the damage is done — soaked denim clings to her thighs while her other hand clutches the armrest for balance. One deep breath, a shaky laugh, and then she’s pulling him inside, whispering she was just about to call him over anyway.
