Robert Turner | New Neighbor
Author’s Note: It still shocks me that Robert is not more popular amongst the slasher/horror community since David Morse is the total daddy package. Him as Detective Tritter in House was good too even though he was a total ass.
• You just moved into the neighborhood. Two weeks, to be precise, according to his memory. He remembers everyone who comes and goes, who he should avoid and who could one day pose as a problem.
• You, on the other hand, were like him in many ways. You kept to yourself and preferred privacy more than most. He liked that. You weren’t nosey or looking to make friendly conversation just for the sake of it. Apart from the polite smiles and waves, there was barely any interaction.
• You enjoy being outside. He does too. While you like to sit on your porch swing and listen to music or read or whatever activity suits you that day, he is hunched over his garden pulling weeds and working up a sweat. He finds a mole in his garden. He holds it up debating on what to do.
• “Are you going to kill it?”
• It was you peeking over the fence awaiting his answer. To be honest he was quite surprised to see you had spoken to him so he didn’t answer right away.
• “He was in my garden. He is ruining my yard.”
• “But are you going to kill it?”
• He looked down at the mole desperately trying to dig through his gloved hand. He had considered disposing of the animal.
• “Do you not want me to?”
• You shook your head and held out your hand. He dropped the small creature into your palm.
• “If I catch him in my garden again I won’t give him back.”
• You smiled appreciatively and walked away hugging the mole to your chest and he went back to tending his flowers.
• You had a boy over recently. Interesting. He doesn’t seem like your type, but then again he wouldn’t really know what your type was, now would he? He doesn’t mean to pry, but you did not look like you were enjoying yourself. He understands. He too found it difficult to truly connect with people. They all eventually became…disposable after so long.
• You did not take the boy up to your bedroom. He is pleased. He was not the one for you. He knows this because your smile did not light up the room like it usually did. It never even reached your eyes. Soon you were leading him to the door, but he was a persistent one, wasn’t he? He detested people like that. Disrespectful. Eventually the message becomes clear and he leaves and you lean against the door in relief.
• You had nothing to worry about though. He was watching over you and had the boy not left he would have planned to randomly show up asking for butter or sugar that he had supposedly ran out of at that precise moment.
• Your bedroom, believe it or not, sits directly in front is his and often times he would see you toss and turn at night. Nightmare, perhaps? Dare he be that bold to assume you were dreaming of him? Was he chasing you around in your house carrying a blade, lurking around corners, waiting for the perfect moment to attack? He leans in closer to the window.
• And does he catch you?
• And sometimes, if he studies the curtains just right, he can see your figure laying in bed, hand working fast beneath the sheets. He knows what you’re doing and to his shame as a mature, somewhat older man, he become hard. He reaches beneath his own sheets to work himself, matching your rhythm. While he knows you’re not, he imagines that you’re thinking of him. That you can see him clearly through the obscure curtains. Your eyes are pleading for him to come over and up to your bedroom, the very same bedroom that you denied access to someone else earlier.
• Your back arches and he knows you are close. You are beautiful, he admits. Younger, yes, but you seem to have your head on your shoulders and he respects this immensely. He is close now too and as you moan out your release, he looks up at the ceiling and jerks his cock, splattering into his hand. Oh dear, what a mess you’ve caused him to make.
• He dreamt of you last night. He is in his bedroom laying in bed watching tv when you climb on top of him so very delicately. Where did you come from? He doesn’t know, but you’re holding onto his headboard for dear life, steadily bouncing on him. When you start going too fast he corrects you, placing his hands on your hips to slow you down.
• And you follow his command so perfectly. Is that what you yearn for? Guidance? Love? Acceptance? He could only give you two of those things, but would that be enough? You look through your curtain of hair and ask if you could finally come and he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you. You wrap your arms around his neck for support as you begin riding him urgently until you’re shaking in his arms.
• To say he was disappointed when he woke up alone would be a grand understatement.
• He is out mowing his lawn this morning. You see him and wave. He waves back. These brief interactions would be enough.
