The Neighborhood Karen
I’m 50. After my divorce, I had to take a room in a run-down house in the middle of a cul-de-sac full of medium-nice houses. My roommates are all college-age guys, so I’m the oldest in the house. Out of necessity, I’ve had to take responsibility to collect utilities and rent, assign duties (taking out the trash, taking the can to the curb, mowing, sweep/mop of common areas and kitchen, cleaning sink and counters, etc.). I post a rotation of chores, so that everyone can see its fair, and it works okay most of the time.
So, it wasn’t a surprise that my roommates and I were something of a neighborhood pariah. We tried to be friendly and responsible with our parking, moving the trashcans each week, and keeping our noise to a minimum. But, try as we might, we were still given the stink-eye and avoided by most.
Enter our neighbor across the street. This entitled neighbor (“EN” form now on) not only glared at us as we came and went, she was always either shouting at us from across the street, or coming over to knock on our door, to tell us how we’d failed to do something or other she thought we should have to do. (One such task was cleaning up the palm leaves that a big wind had left all over the place. She thought we should have cleaned them up earlier than we had, so owed her to come over and clean the leaves off of her lawn and sidewalk – no, she hadn’t cleaned hers up.)
I learned that her kids had graduated and moved away a year before I arrived, and her husband worked long hours, leaving her with a LOT of time on her hands, to spend poking her nose into our business. In her early- to mid-40’s, EN was doing her best not to completely fall apart but was losing the battle: wrinkles around the eyes, a bit of extra developing under the chin, and a slightly marshmallow waistline. She wore pant-suits to work and sweaters on top of jeans in her free time. All in all, nothing spectacular to look at – medium and average in every way. But it was the “constantly chewing bees” look on her face that put her from a possible 6, down to a 2 (scale of 1-10).
In the beginning, I tried to be nice, accepting her abuse and giving in to her demands (as long as they seemed half-way reasonable), just to shut her up. Then I discovered her husband didn’t actually work that late. She’d just pestered and bullied him to the point that he never spent much time canlı bahis at home. After re-assessing my approach, I decided the best strategy was not to comply with her any more.
At first, when I just started shutting her down, she just closed her mouth and walked back into her house. But, after a few weeks, she was back to her relentless levels of bitching at us for every little thing, our fault or not.
One cold morning, I was putting the trash cans out of the curb, when she decided to march across the street and try yelling at me for the “terrible state of our lawn” – my roommates and I had been chipping in on a service that came every two weeks, so it really didn’t look as shabby as she claimed.
I tried ignoring her and had almost made it to the open door to the garage at the side of the house, but she kept jumping in my way. (I almost knocked her down more than once.) She’d raced out of her house to confront me, dressed in a long, loose t-shirt and bunny slippers, her rage the only thing to keep her warm, which caused me to notice her nipples pushing out through the fabric – I could have hung my heaviest coat on either one of them and not worried about them falling off! Catching my glance at her chest (only a glance, I swear!), she stopped mid-rant, let out an exasperated grunt, and gave me what we used to call a “titty-twister,” when I was a kid.
At that point, I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to let this entitled nut-case off without some appropriate payback. In the moment it took to make that decision and utter an “Ouch!,” she did it again. So, I did it back. I grabbed her poking nipple and gave it a quick, but firm twist, telling her to stop. She responded by pushing me and pulling her fist back to hit me. I responded by pushing her up against the half-open door and pinning her by the arms, so she couldn’t hit me. She squirmed and pushed back, wriggling out (I wasn’t holding her very hard), starting the hit and kick me again, murmuring, “Let me go,” while grunting with effort.
Now, I have to tell you that I used to be a bouncer for a few years just out of college, so I responded by going in low and wrapping her up, so that she couldn’t hurt me. I managed to keep us from going to the ground, but it was NOT easy. She just kept grunting for me to let her go and peppering me with foul names and slurs. We continued to struggle and bahis siteleri ended up just inside my garage. Pinned up against the washing machine and wrapped up as she was, she finally stopped trying to wriggle free and let out a huge sigh. I noticed that her body was very hot against my skin but didn’t think anything of it.
So, taking this for possible compliance, I eased up the pressure just a bit, telling her that I’d let her go if she’d stop trying to hit me and go home. She looked up at me, as if to say, “fine.” As we locked eyes, however, a completely different look came over her. Her face flushed and her breathing changed. As I released her arms, she suddenly reached up and grabbed my face, pulling me down to her. I was shocked and took a moment before pushing her away.
This was a “Karen,” a married woman, and this was VERY awkward!
Now the tables had turned, and I was the one struggling to get free! EN was relentless, however, murmuring, “No, don’t…,” pulling me closer, as she grabbed fingerfuls of my hair, pulling me down, and continuing to kiss me. She release one hand form my hair, in order to push my hands away from trying to push her away, and grabbed for my crotch. Thinking this might be a ruse, and she was only feeling around, in order to grab my balls, I pulled my pelvis back. This only allowed her for locate my penis all the quicker. And she began stroking it through my shorts. Then, looking me in the eyes, “Please. Please let me. It’s been so long,” she whispered, beginning to tear-up.
I can’t say I was taking pity on her, it was more like I was taking a fresh look at her, that prompted me to do what I did next. Before, I’d only noticed her terrible attitude, bitchy voice, and pissy face. Now that she’d relaxed a bit, I was able to notice that, although far from perfect, she wasn’t so repulsive as I’d thought of her.
I paused a moment, then she smiled as I lifted her up onto the washing machine. She wrapped her legs around my waist and we kissed for several minutes, exploring each other’s mouths and tongues. I could feel her nipples stabbing into my chest, so I stroked the side of her breast through the t-shirt, working my way across and out to the tips. She gasped when I touched them and proceeded to reach into my shorts, pull out my erection, and start rubbing its head on her hot, slippery pussy. (In her bahis şirketleri haste to run out and berate me, she’d apparently forgotten to put on a pair of any panties!) “Is it okay?” she breathed.
I answered her by pushing forward into her. She was so ready, it buried itself to the base on the first thrust. She held me close and encouraged me as I laid into her. She rocked and bucked, eyes rolling back into her head, as she trembled and jerked with multiple orgasms. I’m honestly not sure how long it lasted, but I stabbed balls-deep into her as I came. She was arched back, stiffened by a major orgasm (I thought she might be having a stroke!), so I kept it inside of her. The tension finally broke, and she sagged forward into my arms, completely limp, sweat completely soaking the t-shirt.
I helped her down off the machine, but she couldn’t stand for a minute or so. I didn’t know exactly what to say, so I lifted the shirt off of her, used one of the towels from the dryer to dry her off, let her use one of my shirts, and helped her back to her house. Once she was inside, I left shaking my head at the strange events, never thinking anything would come of what happened. I remember thinking this would definitely put an end to her tyrannical outbursts, though, right?
Well, sort of. You see, although she didn’t bother us for anymore, she still came over to hassle me. Well, by “hassle,” I mean about once or twice a week she’d storm over, yelling about how she needed to talk to me. When I responded with, “I really don’t have time for this shit right now,” followed by a better time, she’d call me all sorts of names and tell me to get bent. Otherwise, I’d yell back, “Fine! But let’s talk about it inside.” At this, she would follow me into the house, I’d fuck her silly, and she would leave weak in the knees.
We never actually spoke much, never flirted, and never talked about our feelings for each other. I made it clear, however, that we were only friends. I did NOT want to interfere with her marriage, nor did I want to have a romantic relationship with her. She was okay with this, finally confiding details about her loveless marriage. We kept this up a few years, before a job change caused me to move.
Follow-up: I had cause to visit the area a month ago, so I drove past the neighborhood around 4:30pm, just out of curiosity. I happened to get there just as her husband was exiting his vehicle, trying to extricate himself from a woman hanging around his neck. As I drove past, I discovered the woman was EN – apparently their marriage was doing much better!