Categories
fantasy fiction

Naughty Neighbours

I was thinking about a PEDESTRIAN who does not know folk around here, walking around our NEIGHBOURHOOD. What would you expect to see? As you trail through the leafy suburban residential areas, you would pass impressive multi-storied houses which have all stood for at least a century. Most have a “Chelsea tractor” on the drive (completely unwarranted within the M25 circle). There will almost always be a second car. The car may be a Smart Car or pint-size Fiat that is only used on trips to Waitrose to fill up on booze. If the second car is a sports car of any variety, you can be sure that somebody in that residence is at the peak of their midlife crises.

But is the secret voyeur in you wondering what is going on behind the closed doors you pass? I can’t tell you everything…but I do know that the guy in the biggest house on our street is living with his best friend’s wife. Yeah, they had a scandalous affair. He is loaded though, having made his money in films. They have loud parties, and unable to suppress our curiosity, we like to peer out between the slats of our Venetian blinds in the hopes of identifying anyone famous who may be attending attending.

At Number 14, there lives a famous dancer. You can tell she is a dancer from the way she walks. Every movement she makes reveals her innate grace. Whenever she leaves the house she does so under the guise of a huge pair of Jack-O sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. I am not sure why she dons her disguise. We all know who she is. We’ve all seen her dancing on the family entertainment show in which she regularly features. However, we are not sure who the well-toned guy half her age who has a key to the front door is. But perhaps the paparazzi will tell us one day.

For PEDESTRIANS who are unawares, it may be intimidating to pass the high brick wall and huge wrought iron gates guarding Number 31, it is good to remember that they were very vocal about Brexit. He is a successful businessman who had established strong links with Europe. His wife would give pointed speeches full of conviction and charisma which were very pro-Europe. The brick and iron barricades were erected after they received a glut of death threats and their property was vandalised. Apparently, somebody tried to put some sort of incendiary device through their letter box.

Whilst chatting, Ben once implied that it could be something to do with the poker-faced, spectacle wearing pro-Brexit columnist who lives a few doors down at Number 39. I told Ben not to say that to anyone else as it is an outrageous accusation! The columnist’s wife often flirts with my Ben, which he is bemused at. She is in her sixties, but power-walks throughout the NEIGHBOURHOOD, wearing perspiration soaked neon coloured lycra and thick white sweat bands around her forehead and wrists, waggling rather hazardous Nordic walking poles at her sides. I don’t know why she cakes her face with cosmetics before she goes out walking. Her make-up always runs and becomes claggy and patchy when she has had a good work-out. She doesn’t mind. Whenever she sees me she stops for a cheery chat, enquiring after my Ben and telling me some salacious secrets of other residents in our NEIGHBOURHOOD.

Any PEDESTRIAN might wonder who inhabits the grand home at Number 48. That huge house has five bedrooms, an indoor swimming pool and a home cinema. We only know that from the estate agent’s listing. Lots of the houses in this street have indoor saunas or games rooms. But Number 48 is a house that is as deep as it is tall. The owners were able to get planning permission to excavate several stories below the main house. After severe losses on the stock market, they have been trying to sell their suburban palace, now finding contentment in walking their dogs and wearing tweed around their Wiltshire estate. Currently the house is being rented by a recent divorcee, who we presume has done rather well out of the divorce. She drives a car that makes everyone turn and stare as soon as she turns the key in the ignition, causing a delicious purr to erupt from the engine.

Then there is Number 53. Divorced ten years ago. Her son is a famous cyclist. She is on every dating agency that exists. Ben has shown me her profile with a photograph of her in a skimpy pink floral dress, and citing a fake name. Her profile claims that she enjoys pottery. Ben chuckled that she is trying to infer erotic scenes with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. Ben is such a snoop!

Round our way, there must be all sorts of things going on that we have no idea about. An innocent PEDESTRIAN may simply be admiring the gaudy houses and manicured gardens, curious about the occupants of these snobby suburban back streets. But if you really knew what was going on in our NEIGHBOURHOOD, you might blush! I mean who would have thought that the couple who live in our house are busy researching and writing literotica together?

Man, Woman, Office, The Language

6 replies on “Naughty Neighbours”

Thanks Sue. Is it ok – I mentioned in my other content that I did not include an advisory note at the top of this post because there was no explicit content.

It is more a fantasy stroll through a fictional neighbourhood told from a gossip’s point of view.

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