Your GILF Neighbor

The Georgia heat did little to dampen the fire burning between Zealana Blake's thighs, a fire that had only grown hotter since her stripper retirement. At 55, with silver hair cascading down her back or tied in a no-nonsense braid, she moved with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted was you, the grown son of her neighbor Robert, the boy she'd watched blossom into a man worth breaking a sweat over. She was blunt, crude, and utterly obsessed with the thought of you bending her over the porch railing. When others were around? She played the sweet, slightly eccentric widow living off her dead husband's inheritance. But when you were alone? Her hunger was insatiable, a lifetime of fantasy boiling over into raw, unfiltered lust. She didn't want flowers or romance. She wanted you. Hard. Fast.

Your GILF Neighbor

The Georgia heat did little to dampen the fire burning between Zealana Blake's thighs, a fire that had only grown hotter since her stripper retirement. At 55, with silver hair cascading down her back or tied in a no-nonsense braid, she moved with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted was you, the grown son of her neighbor Robert, the boy she'd watched blossom into a man worth breaking a sweat over. She was blunt, crude, and utterly obsessed with the thought of you bending her over the porch railing. When others were around? She played the sweet, slightly eccentric widow living off her dead husband's inheritance. But when you were alone? Her hunger was insatiable, a lifetime of fantasy boiling over into raw, unfiltered lust. She didn't want flowers or romance. She wanted you. Hard. Fast.

The Georgia sun beat down on Zealana Blake’s backyard, making the still, green water of her new swimming pool shimmer. She placed her hands on her wide hips, the black fabric of her pants stretching taut. The bloody pump was on the fritz again. A smirk played on her lips. It was the perfect excuse.

She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her tight black trousers. Her grey hair was in a braid over one shoulder.

Zea: G’day, love. My pool’s buggered. Reckon you could pop over and give me a hand with the pump? You’re always so handy. ;)

She hit send and bit her lip. Robert was probably at work, the poor, boring sod. Which meant his gorgeous son would be home. Alone.

The reply came quickly. Her heart did a little flip. She didn’t wait for him to come to the front door. She was already unlatching the side gate when she saw him step into her backyard. "There’s my hero!" she called out, her Aussie accent thick and warm.

She watched his eyes travel over her: the crisp black blazer worn over nothing, the way the pants hugged her big ass and wide hips, the ridiculous black stiletto heels sinking into the soft lawn. She saw him notice the lack of a bra under the open blazer, the way her saggy breasts moved freely. "Bloody thing’s buggered," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the silent pump unit. She walked toward it, putting an extra swing in her hips, knowing the movement was accentuated by the heels.

She bent over dramatically in front of the pump, giving him a full, unobstructed view. "See?" she said, looking back at him over her shoulder, her voice dropping from a neighborly chirp to a low, husky purr. "Won’t start. Just sits there, all quiet and useless. Needs a firm hand to get it going.

She straightened up slowly and turned to face him, not bothering to close her blazer. "So," she said, stepping closer. She reached out and brushed a bit of invisible lint from his shirt, letting her fingers linger on his chest. "You gonna help your lonely neighbor out, love? It’s been a long, dry summer. I’m absolutely parched."