SUBJECT LINE:
{ASSM} "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" {Dancer} (MF oral)

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Disclaimer/Admonition: <see below>


Copyright notice: Dancer, the author of this smutty little 
opus, holds all rights of reproduction.  Private copies for 
personal perusal and archives for NON-commercial 
distribution are permitted by her.

Plea for attention: The only reward ASS* authors can expect 
is the joy of sharing their creation with the rest of 
humanity.  But wait - how does that author KNOW if people 
are reading and enjoying his story?  Yep; if you like a 
story posted to alt.sex.stories.*, the fair thing to do is 
email the author and tell them so.  I promise that it'll 
make YOU feel good to send them kudos, after all, Mark 
Twain said, "The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to 
cheer someone else up."  As always you may contact me (and 
my wife Dancer) through my 'legacy' Deja News email 
account:             <empath69@my-deja.com>  
(Wow, I'm not just an author, now I'm an AGENT, too!  ;)

Editor's Note: Yep; got a new Disk O' Stories(tm) in the 
mail today.  In addition to all these usual ones, she also 
had an ALPHABET series for me - twenty-six 'quickies' (none 
over about 6kb) which I'll be posting three every day for 
the next two weeks (M-F) in addition to this stuff. ENJOY! 
(I did:)

=============

Here I am once again seated before my trusty 486, 
attempting another great story. Empath thinks they're 
great, anyway. I had some interesting experiences over the 
past four days and thought they would be good enough to 
incorporate into my latest venture.

Please don't read this if you are under the age of majority 
where you live.

Barbie is a registered trademark with Mattel toys. I'm not 
sure how to treat 'South Park'.

{Aw, dang - I give up!  I can't compete with material like 
this; I'm gonna get *Dancer* to write MY disclaimers!}


Good Fences Make Good Neighbors (MF, oral)

Dancer 2001

I put the vacuum cleaner back in the hall closet; thankful 
my cleaning was done for the next week. I dragged myself to 
the fridge for a cold soda and tugged the door open. There 
he sat, hovering on top of the barbecue sauce bottle. My 
eyes widened. I let out a shriek and slammed the door 
quickly. My ass sagged against the door as my brain 
absorbed what I'd seen. There was a tiny, brown mouse in my 
fridge. I couldn't leave him in there, hoping he'd die 
without eating into my foodstuffs.

What to do, what to do? I asked myself. First thing: catch 
him. I stuffed my hands into a pair of pink hotpad mittens 
and filled the sink full of water. I gave myself a pep 
talk. "You can do this, Rhonda. Edwin is just a hamster 
with a long tail." I pulled the door open, my eyes darting 
at every nook and cranny for Edwin's face. I spotted him at 
the edge of the vegetable drawer. He darted towards the 
rear of the fridge as I tugged on the drawer. Naturally, it 
was the one that stuck.

He peeked around the corner of the other drawer. That one 
came out easily. I kept my eyes trained on the first 
drawer, knowing little Edwin would make a break that way. I 
rattled the remaining drawer and forced the mouse to come 
out into the open space I made. He stared at me with 
twitching whiskers. "Good boy," I called to him. "Nice 
mousey." I slowly reached in with my mittened hand to grab 
him but he escaped. He raced behind and passed the edge of 
the stuck drawer to freedom.

I shut the door and checked the surrounding area. Damn, he 
must have gone to the basement. Oh well, I'll catch the 
little bastard soon enough. I brought out my jar of peanut 
butter and re-baited my mousetraps. Edwin loved peanut 
butter and never set off any of the traps. I searched for 
my roll of duct tape and cut strips, creating homemade 
sticky paper. I carefully pushed each trap firmly on the 
duct tape. Now, there was a four-inch field of glue for 
Edwin to get around to eat the bait. Even if the trap 
wasn't sprung, he'd be stuck on the sticky surface until I 
could dispose of him or he chewed a leg off, whichever came 
first.

I remembered to get my drink, double-checking for Edwin, 
then closing the door. I unscrewed the cap and took a long 
swallow. The phone in the den rang loudly and I strolled in 
the room to answer it. My ex, Don, was calling to inform me 
that our darling daughter was in trouble at school...again. 
I flopped down on the loveseat. "Now what is she doing?"

"Colleen got sent to the principal's office for disrupting 
class," Don droned in his grating monotone.

"And how was she doing that?"

"She was singing, very loudly mind you, 'Blame Canada' 
during social studies." He sighed over the line. "You 
should not have allowed her to watch that South Park movie. 
It is rated R, you know."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "But so was 'The Matrix' and you 
let her see that when it was in the theaters." I rolled my 
eyes, wondering how I ever let Don get me pregnant in the 
first place. "Be glad it wasn't 'Uncle Fucka'."

He sighed again. "You need to be more responsible, Rhonda. 
You need to set boundaries concerning Colleen. *You* are 
the parent and *she* is the child."

"Yes, yes, you're right. I'm wrong. I'm stupid and 
psychotic. What else is new? Anything else you want to 
blame me for?"

"Stop being defensive," Don said. "I called to let you know 
about Colleen's behavior today. The teachers feel she needs 
counseling."

"Forgive me for sounding crass, but whatever. You'll do 
what you want anyway." I hung up before I had to listen to 
anymore of his babble. Don's parenting ideas were new age. 
He gave Colleen time outs and counseling. He didn't like my 
old fashion style of lectures and spankings. He considered 
what I did as a parent to border on child abuse. It was one 
of many things between us that caused strife in our barely 
civil relationship.

I decided to take my soda and drink it outside on the 
patio. I sat down in my metal rocker and watched the grass 
grow. It took me a minute or two to notice the smoke 
barreling from the house across the street. I rushed over, 
worried about Mrs. Barrington, and barged through the back 
door. Her kitchen was quickly filling with smoke when I 
entered and she was trying to extinguish the rapidly 
growing grease fire on her stove. "Mrs. Barrington!" I 
yelled as I crouched down.

She fell to the linoleum floor, overcome by the fumes. I 
crawled to her prone form and pressed two fingers against 
her throat. She had a pulse. I managed to roll her onto my 
back in a fireman's carry and dragged us outside. I gently 
laid her on the grass and ran back inside with the hem of 
my shirt over my face. The smoke had thinned out somewhat 
and I assessed the fire. I snagged a box of salt, pouring 
the entire container over the flames and watched them die 
off quickly. I stumbled back outside to Mrs. Barrington.

The wail of sirens drowned out my coughing as I knelt on 
the lawn. A police cruiser, ambulance and fire truck pulled 
up to the curb and I saw two EMTs coming over to us with 
their medical bags in hand. I waved them to Mrs. 
Barrington, concerned for the elderly woman's health. A 
couple of firemen went into the house and returned after a 
short time. One of them approached me; his helmet tipped 
back off his face. He squatted next to me and asked, "Do 
you know what happened?"

I slapped the flat of my hand against my chest in an 
attempt to stop my coughing fits. "I saw smoke coming out 
her window and came over. It was a grease fire, I think, 
and I threw salt on it to put it out."

"Before or after you got Mrs. Barrington to safety?" he 
asked gruffly.

"After," I choked out.

He tossed his helmet to the ground and ran his hands 
through his wheat colored hair. "It was stupid. You should 
have stayed outside, clear of the blaze."

"Sorry," I retorted angrily. "Next time, I'll let the house 
burn to the ground." I started coughing again and brought 
my shirt up to cover my mouth.

He jerked the cottony fabric from my hands. I glanced into 
his icy stare. He leaned close and whispered, "Wear a bra 
next time." My face turned beet red as I wrapped my arms 
over my breasts, mortified that this gorgeous fireman had 
seen my tits but wondering if he enjoyed what he saw. He 
stood up and walked away towards his truck. I appreciated 
the slight roundness of his butt through his uniform and 
fantasized how it looked totally naked.

                *               *               *

The following Wednesday, I had a second run in with my fire 
fighter. The guys living in the house behind me had caught 
their garage on fire. I called 911 and reported it, then 
watched the whole thing from my back porch. The guys were 
trying to put out the flames unsuccessfully with a garden 
hose. I sipped my iced tea, taking in the comic and frantic 
attempts. The cops showed up with two fire trucks close 
behind. The firemen hooked up their hoses and began dousing 
the flames. I yelled over, "If it helps any, it's probably 
a chemical fire! The guys that live there manufacture 
drugs!"

The garage burned to the ground. Black smoke filled the air 
overhead and I went back inside my house to escape the 
fumes. I refilled my glass and heard a knock at the back 
door. I opened it and there stood my fireman, his face 
smudged with soot. He removed his headgear and I noticed 
his hair was sweat-soaked, plastered along his forehead. I 
gestured to the smoldering ruin and joked, "See? This time, 
I let it burn." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 
"Sadly, I'm not wearing a bra." I whipped up my top and 
flashed my bare breasts quickly.

"You can get arrested for that, you know," he said, 
grinning fully.

I raised a finger. "Perhaps not. I am in my own home." I 
basked in the warmth of his smile before continuing, "What 
are you doing over here?"

"Good question." He quirked his lips.

"Got an answer?" I stuffed my hands in the side pockets of 
my jeans.

"Nope."

"How 'bout a name?"

"Matt Banks."

"Where?" He shot me a dumbfounded look. "Matt banks where?" 
I said slowly.

"Funny. Last time I heard that I laughed so hard, I fell 
off my dinosaur." We chuckled together. "I just came over 
to say thanks for calling it in."

"Not a problem," I replied saluting. "Always glad to help 
out." Matt stepped to the ground and lifted his helmet as a 
farewell. He jogged over to his fellow firemen, receiving a 
few friendly slaps on the back. My impishness broke out and 
I hollered very girlishly, "Goodbye, Mr. Banks!" He glanced 
over a shoulder and I blew him a kiss from my fingers. This 
prompted the other fire fighters to whoop loudly, acting 
like a pack of dogs. I hoped Matt decided that he needed to 
pay me back for his buddies' ribbing him. If he did, he'd 
find a way to see me again.

The rest of the day drifted on. I checked the mousetraps 
for Edwin and found the gooey peanut butter licked away. 
This mouse was good, I had to admit. The duct tape would 
trap most creatures but not Edwin. I debated over mixing 
rat poison in with the bait, unsure where Edwin's corpse 
would turn up. Besides, Colleen had grown very attached to 
the mouse in my house and would brand me a murderer if she 
discovered I poisoned Edwin. There was nothing for it. I 
had to get rid of the little guy and none of the other 
methods were working.

I hopped in my car and drove to the supermarket. Once 
inside, I made a beeline for the pesticides and compared 
the two brands of rat poison. I decided in favor of the 
more expensive one. Being here reminded me to get a bottle 
of laundry detergent and a box of maxi pads. I went to the 
checkout and paid for my purchases, then headed home. 
Colleen was waiting for me on the front porch, rocking 
furiously in one of the rockers. "Hi, Mom," she called to 
me as I came inside. "Daddy said I could play over here for 
a few hours."

"Okay," I replied as I unlocked the front door. "I gotta 
throw in a load of laundry. Wanna help?"

"Yeah!" She bounded out of the chair and snatched up her 
school bag, racing through the open door ahead of me. She 
dropped the bag just inside the door. I veered toward the 
downstairs toilet where I kept all the household cleaners 
and quickly hid the box of rat poison behind the other 
chemicals. Colleen was already in the laundry room, dumping 
a full basket of towels in the washer. I carried the new 
bottle of soap into the room. When I got to the machine, I 
uncapped the lid and poured out a goodly amount of blue 
liquid into the lid. Colleen watched as I drizzled the soap 
over the dirty towels and recapped the bottle. She dropped 
the washer lid and set the cycle. "Cold/cold, right, Mom?"

"Yep," I said and cranked the dial to start the machine. We 
heard the water filling the barrel and left the room. She 
talked me into playing Barbies for a while. Doctor Barbie 
and Dentist Barbie were torturing Ken with the threat of 
hanging. Teacher Barbie tied a noose looped it over Ken's 
neck and fastened the other end around the chimney of the 
Barbie house. The rest of the Barbies were sitting next to 
the house, acting the angry mob. Doctor, Dentist and 
Teacher Barbie gave Ken a shove off the roof and he dangled 
at the end of the rope, occasionally smacking into the side 
of the house. The buzzer from the washer broke the game up.

Colleen and I headed downstairs to throw the laundry in the 
dryer. She had the lid open and was cleaning the filter of 
the dryer when I arrived. I began taking the wet towels 
out, shaking each one. I knew from experience that I had to 
shake my stuff out before tossing it into the dryer, 
otherwise it didn't get dry. I handed my daughter the 
terrycloth towels after I was done and she shoved them into 
the dryer. As I reached into the washer for the last towel, 
I encountered something very furry and wet.

I peeked over the edge. There was a very dead Edwin, 
nestled in the folds of my bath towel. I shut the lid 
gently and walked into the kitchen to get one of those 
throwaway plastic containers. I snagged a pen along the 
way. I needed something to prod Edwin into his coffin. 
Colleen was looking at me strangely. "What's that stuff 
for?"

"You know that mouse that's been living here?" She nodded. 
"Well, he must have been hiding in the laundry when you put 
it in the washer and he drown."

Her face screwed up, ready to cry. "Will the police 
officers take me to jail?"

I rubbed her shoulder and said quietly, "No, honey, the 
police aren't going to send you to jail. It was an 
accident. You didn't know the mouse was in the wash."

"Are you gonna bury Stuart?" she asked seriously.

"Yeah, that's why I have this box. We'll bury him in the 
flower garden, okay?" I opened the washer lid again and, 
using the pen, nudged Edwin/Stuart into the container. I 
snapped the top over the plastic box and set it on the 
floor. I turned to Colleen and said, "Take the towels out 
of the dryer and put them in the basket. I'll have to wash 
them again after I disinfect both machines." She did what I 
told her.

We went outside to the flower garden, her holding the 
casket and me lugging a spade. I dug a two-foot deep hole 
and she gingerly placed Edwin's coffin in the ground. I 
filled in the hole and tamped the dirt down. Colleen looked 
so solemn when she tilted her face up. "If there was a God, 
Stuart would be with him now."

"I'm sure Stuart is in mouse heaven, getting sick on 
cheese." I hugged her small shoulders. I wasn't going to 
say anything about whether God was real or not. We went 
back inside the house. Colleen planted herself in front of 
the TV while I cleaned the washer and dryer. I stuffed my 
towel into a garbage bag. There was no way I was going to 
use it again after finding a dead mouse in it. I dumped in 
a generous amount of pine scented cleaner in the washer and 
set it running again. This was turning into one hell of a 
week.

                *               *               *

The annual county fair was this weekend and I promised 
Colleen that I'd take her to play some games and ride 
rides. Don wasn't too keen on the idea. He thought I should 
cancel the outing as punishment for Colleen's outburst at 
school. I reminded him that she'd already been punished 
with the denial of her Barbies at both our homes. He still 
wasn't happy and I told him to stick it. This fair was one 
of the few things Colleen looked forward to every year and 
I refused to take it away from her.

Colleen raced ahead of me to the vintage fire trucks on 
display by the fire department. I trailed behind, watching 
one of the firemen lift her up to the brass bell hanging 
inside the cab. She rang it gleefully, shouting, "I wanna 
be a fireman when I grow up!" Matt was there too, helping a 
little boy down off the side of the truck. Colleen climbed 
out of the cab and ran back to me. She grabbed my hands and 
dragged me over. "This is *so* cool, Mom! You gotta see 
it!"

I let her pull me and slid my gaze over Matt's body. He was 
wearing a white T-shirt that fit snugly along his upper 
chest and uniform pants with black suspenders. His face was 
tanned and a dimple winked in his right cheek when he 
smiled at me. I waggled my fingers at him. "Hello, Mr. 
Banks." Colleen let go and started pestering the first 
fireman with questions concerning his job. Matt met me 
halfway from the trucks.

"Hello to you, too," he replied in a voice as smooth as 
honey. "Your little girl is cute."

"Colleen's a handful." A glint reflected off his hand and 
my eyes zeroed in on it. A wedding band. Shit. "How's Mrs. 
Banks?"

"Screwing around on me," he said through a brittle smile. 
We stood in a heavy silence for a few minutes. "You 
married?"

"Not anymore. I divorced the SOB years ago." He nodded. 
"You gonna join the club soon?"

"Monday I sign the papers."

"Good, good. I hope she didn't take you to the cleaners."

He chuckled. "Uh-uh. Her affair saved my ass and my assets. 
What broke up your marriage?"

"A disagreement on parenting techniques." Matt threw me a 
confused look. "Don brought me up on child abuse charges. 
He saw me slap Colleen's hand away from a burner on the 
stove. Things got ugly but I managed to keep it between our 
attorneys and we settled out of court. Joint custody of 
Colleen and counseling sessions were agreed upon."

"Counseling for what? Colleen?"

"Naw. Don insisted I was nuts and forced the sessions in 
exchange for my asking of joint custody. I went into the 
first session and told the man that everything that ever 
went wrong in the relationship was my fault. Then I got up 
and walked out. Haven't been back since." I glanced over to 
check on my daughter. "It didn't matter what I said. Don 
has a selective memory."

"I still don't know your name," Matt said quietly.

I stuck out my hand and he took it. "Rhonda Walker. I took 
back my maiden name after the divorce."

"Nice to finally know who you are." He released my hand and 
scuffed the toe of his boot in the grass. "Do you...want to 
meet up after Colleen's in bed?"

"Sure. I drop her off at her dad's around ten tonight. You 
wanna come over to my place after that?"

"Fine," he agreed and flashed me a killer grin, dimple and 
all. I led Colleen away from the fire trucks toward the 
kiddie rides and carnival games. We settled ourselves in 
front of a spin-the-wheel game where you win a prize every 
time. I spent twenty bucks before convincing Colleen we 
needed to find something to eat. We got stuffed on hot dogs 
and cotton candy, then went up into the grandstands for the 
evening's fireworks.

Colleen fell asleep during the show. I cradled her lanky 
body in my arms and carried her to the car. She woke up 
long enough to buckle her seatbelt and drifted back to 
sleep until I parked the car in front of Don's house. I 
lifted her out of the seat and got her inside to her bed. I 
pulled out of the drive and headed back across town to my 
place.

There was a car I didn't recognize parked in front of my 
driveway, preventing me from parking. I shifted into park 
and got out of the car. I walked up to the driver's window 
and tapped on the glass. The window was rolled down and I 
leaned my elbows along the frame. "You're blocking my 
driveway. Please move or I'll call the cops."

The woman behind the wheel flicked her smoldering cigarette 
butt at me. "Stay away from my husband, you slut."

A smile curved my lips upward. "Well, good evening, Mrs. 
Banks. Would you please move your car so I can park mine?"

"Fuck you," she growled at me.

"Sorry, I don't swing that way." I walked back to my car 
and put the gearshift in reverse. I backed up a few feet, 
then went into drive and hit bumpers. I tugged the stick 
down to low gear and pushed Mrs. Banks' parked car away 
from the drive. I backed up once more and pulled into the 
driveway. I threw Matt's wife a salute and went inside the 
house. I parked my butt in front of the bay window, waiting 
for the inevitable reaction of fight or flight. Mrs. Banks 
burned rubber as she squealed away from the curb.

                *               *               *

The doorbell brought me awake. I rubbed my eyes and peered 
at my watch. Ten-thirty. My mouth tasted like cotton and I 
moved my tongue around to get some saliva flowing as I 
stumbled to answer the door. Matt stood before me with a 
hand raised to knock when I opened the door. He'd changed 
out of his uniform into loose sweat pants, a white tank top 
and sneakers, looking heaven sent. "I fell asleep, I 
guess," I apologized. "C'mon in and sit down." I motioned 
Matt inside and shut the door. I led him to the living room 
and we sat on opposite ends of the couch.

I curled my legs under me and said, "Your wife was here."

His head shot up and our eyes locked. "What did she want?"

"She told me to stay away from you. I had to move her car 
because it was blocking my drive so, don't be surprised 
when you hear about the repairs." I tucked a lock of hair 
behind my ear. "I probably dented her rear bumper." He 
relaxed visibly, draping an arm over the back of the couch. 
I scooted close and ran my fingertips fleetingly along his 
thigh. "Did you come by for ten minutes or the full half-
hour?" I asked seductively, easing my fingers over the 
bulge between his legs.

"I am on-call to the firehouse, so, how about until my 
beeper goes off," Matt responded. He grabbed my wrist and 
slipped my hand under his sweats. He was semi-hard and 
getting harder as I touched his length, stroking from tip 
to base.

"No underwear? My kind of guy," I said. I crawled off the 
couch to the carpet and pulled my hand free. He shifted his 
knees apart and I moved in between them, letting my hands 
tug at the waistband of his sweats. He raised his hips and 
shoved them down to his ankles. My palms caressed his upper 
thighs as I whispered, "Expecting a blow job, Mr. Banks?"

His face flushed at my question. "Not expecting. More like 
hoping. Elise never went down on me."

I wrapped my fingers around his erect cock and kissed the 
cap lightly. "Did you go down on her?"

"Once," he gasped. "She said it was disgusting."

"Poor Elise. She didn't know what she was missing. I like 
getting eaten out." I circled the cockhead before me with 
my tongue. "Tell you what, Matt. I'll suck you off if you 
eat me out. Are you up for a sixty-nine tonight?" His dick 
flinched in my hand. I released him and stood, removing my 
jeans. Crooking a finger, I motioned for him to lie on the 
carpet and he did so speedily. I knelt above his face, my 
pussy hovering over his firm mouth. His hands cupped my 
ass-cheeks as he drew me to his waiting lips and tongue. I 
lowered my mouth to his cock and closed my parted lips 
halfway down the length.

Matt was eating me out like a starving man at a buffet 
table. The slurping and sucking noises distracted me from 
my task and spurred me on at the same time. The musky scent 
of him wafted under my nose when I deep throated. My moans 
vibrated around his prick. I held the cock's base with one 
hand, pumping with short movements as I sucked, laved and 
nibbled the tip. My entire body shivered when I came and I 
knew I drenched his face with my creamy juices. I felt Matt 
tense beneath me and tasted the first spray of his tangy 
cum.

I pulled my mouth away and aimed his cock at my chest, 
watching fascinated as he shot gooey jism across my covered 
tits. I kept pumping until the fluid barely dribbled out 
his opening, then lapped what remained off his cockhead. I 
raised myself from Matt's face and threw one leg over, 
dismounting. His cheeks and chin were coated with my cum. 
He wiped them clean with the back of his hand and licked 
the appendage. Casting me a look of disappointment, he 
whined, "I wasn't finished yet. I barely touched my 
dessert."

He shifted onto his right side and brushed his fingers over 
my pubes. I sighed and straddled Matt's face one more time. 
I gazed into his limpid blue eyes and saw him snake his 
tongue out, connecting with my clitoris. "Mmmm, yesss, 
that's the way, baby," I moaned softly. I reached my 
pinnacle immediately and my cunt walls clenched. Miss Thing 
was Matt's only target, grazing and nipping the sensitive 
flesh with his strong teeth, then licking any pain away 
with his tongue.

Whoever taught him to lick pussy deserved an award. Orgasm 
after orgasm rolled through my body under his 
ministrations. My hands fisted in his blonde hair, holding 
his mouth tightly against my cunt. I chewed feverishly on 
my lower lip to keep from crying out, whimpering and 
moaning as I came. I couldn't contain myself any longer and 
let a howl of pleasure escape. The vocalization changed to 
a groan of frustration when Matt's beeper went off. He 
pushed me away and fumbled for the beeper in his pants 
pocket.

"It's the station," he informed me. "I gotta run." He 
quickly jerked up his sweats, then got to his feet. I used 
my shirt to wipe the cum off his face, noting the redness 
of his cheeks where my pubes scratched the skin.

"I hope the guys don't notice. You look like you fell off 
your bike," I said with a grin. I chased him to the porch's 
screen door.

"Can I see you again?" Matt asked, blocking the doorway.

"Stop by after the divorce is final and I'll show you my 
etchings." We shared our laughter for a moment, then kissed 
briefly. He jogged to his pickup, hopped in and pulled 
away. I waved goodbye until the truck's taillights 
disappeared into the darkness.

End

=============

Editor's Postscript: Okay, I don't know about you but I'm 
curious as to how things are going to turn out!  Dancer's 
not much for 'the day after,' but maybe if we send her a 
bunch of requests...

Oh, and she intimated in her own prefatory notes - 'Edwin' 
was autobiographical; I spotted the little bugger just days 
before we left to visit my folks for Xmas!
