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Six months ago, my husband and I purchased and then moved into our dream home. Since then, I’ve been involved in a steamy, online affair with my neighbor, and we’ve gotten into swinging. It wasn’t planned; it just happened. The veil of my normal, mundane, happy life was ripped away, finally letting me see that while I was happy, I could not only be satisfied with life but also live out my sexual fantasies. Hello, my name is Lyn, short for Marilyn, and this is exactly what happened.My husband, John, and I weren’t each other’s first, but we were each other’s first love. We met in college, graduating at the same time, although I was two years younger than him, and began dating right after graduation. Ours was a typical romance, followed by a typical wedding, with the standard renting of an apartment in the city. He found a good job in IT, traveling a lot. While I had a few jobs here and there, my mediocre Psychology degree wasn’t exactly what one would call a marketable skill, so I ended up becoming a stereotypical stay-at-home wife.City life eventually reared its ugly head. Crime, noise, the lack of privacy, and high living costs were a constant bane in our otherwise happy existence. For years, we scrimped, scraped, and saved until we could afford the down payment on our dream home, a quaint home in the country, away from the hustle and bustle that had lost its luster long ago.As a couple, we looked like the American dream. He was tall, athletic, and moderately handsome with black hair, dark eyes, and a tanned complexion. I was the typical, cute, girl-next-door type with long, wavy medium brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a creamy complexion that made me look innocent enough, but with just the right amount of mischief to tip the scales, ever so slightly, from cute to sexy. Body-wise, I didn’t feel slighted. At thirty years old, I still turned heads and got plenty of stares when I felt adventurous enough to wear a bikini in public.Our American dream of a home wasn’t in the fine, physical condition that John and I were. “Fixer Upper” would be a more accurate term. The house needed work, the yard resembled the wilds more than anything else, and there were many factors, other than the price, that were less than perfect. We jokingly called it a “disaster area with a roof.”We could afford the payments, barely. However, it was more than forty minutes further away from my husband’s office than we had hoped; the home needed major renovation. The remote location meant that it was much further away from city conveniences, such as shopping, than I liked, and, while I adored the view, there was only one neighbor, across the highway and set far back from the road, in sight. Nonetheless, we both loved the view, and the surrounding country and bought the house.Closing costs, background credit checks, utility deposits, and property taxes ravaged our savings more brutally than Vikings attacking a citadel. By the time moving day arrived, we only had enough money to rent a rickety moving van for a single day and maybe treat ourselves to some fast-food burgers for our first-night-in-our-new-home feast. Murphy’s Law şişli escort prevailed; everything that could have gone wrong went terribly askew. It was both the best and most stressful day of my life; even my wedding day went smoother. However, it was also the day we met our new neighbors, Christy and Glen.Magnetically attractive and radiating lusty sexuality, I nearly gasped at the too-perfect sight of them. Two perfect beings with broad, welcoming smiles, and a casual, accepting air about them, were walking up our overgrown and disintegrating driveway. My first thought was that they looked photo-shopped. My second thought was to remind myself to not stare at the man whose eyes were burning into my soul like lasers.He was strikingly handsome with grayish, hazel eyes. His hair was a sexy mass of blond tangles, and the rest of him seemed to be custom designed to entice me, as well. His fitted t-shirt enhanced his perfectly-formed muscles rather than hiding them. His worn and ragged jeans seemed somehow stylish, accenting his small waist and bulging leg muscles. A more alluring bulge was outlined, in denim, between his legs. He was incredibly desirable as if he radiated an aura of sexual pleasure. It was as if he were made especially for me to drool over. For a moment, I forgot all about my husband.In a panic, I painfully tore my eyes away from one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen, glancing at my husband to ensure he hadn’t caught me leering over another man. He hadn’t noticed; he was too busy staring at the gorgeous woman with her arm possessively draped around my next husband. I’d never been instantly sexually attracted before in my life; it struck me like horny lightning.If he was beautiful and seductive, she eclipsed him. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with fiery red hair, the color of the edge of a flame; deep, medium green eyes; a pale complexion with sexy freckles; and a body that was too sexy and perfect for comfort. She was dressed in a mid-length, Boho skirt, sandals on her feet, and a frilly top, thin enough that the outlines of her perfectly-shaped breasts could be seen, her nipples darkening the fabric.They looked like movie stars, models, or porn stars with their bodily perfection and raw sensuality. They were obviously very into each other and very sexual; that was evident at first glance.“Hi,” she said. “I’m Christy, and this is my husband, Glen. Welcome to the neighborhood, not that we have one.” Even her voice was sexy, slightly shrill and husky, very seductive. She was a glowing example of feminine perfection, making me very self-conscious of every flaw on my body.After John and I regained the power of speech, we managed to greet our new and only neighbors, properly. The two of them were more than happy to pitch in and help us unload the moving truck. Over the hours it took, I found myself treating them both as if they were intimate friends; they were both so open, entertaining, and accepting that it felt like magic.The psychologist in me was intrigued, as the two of them were unique, bordering on the bizarre. The woman in me couldn’t keep mecidiyeköy escort her eyes or mind off of that hunky morsel of man-flesh, Glen. I’d never once even thought about straying from my husband, a few inebriated masturbation fantasies aside, but he made me swoon. Even though the water wasn’t turned on yet—it was scheduled to be turned on next Monday, along with the rest of the utilities—I excused myself to the bathroom several times to catch my breath and dry my nether regions.Unpacking became dinner, delivered by the fine restaurant a few miles down the road, even though they don’t deliver. Glen “knew” them. That was serendipitous, a nice, chef-staffed restaurant just down the road. Dinner evolved into “housewarming wine,” with Christy proclaiming that we’ll get some out of her wine cellar.Christy was a psychoanalyst’s dream…and nightmare. She was a case study in contrasts. Babbling incessantly, I knew her entire life story before we’d even hung the curtains. All through the day, I couldn’t discern if she was a vapid bimbo with flashes of brilliance or had a stunning intellect and was just playing ditsy. Even more intriguing was the fact that she, and Glen as well, were entirely self-aware. She called herself out on her idiocy, laughed at herself, and was fully aware that she presented herself in a larger-than-life, slutty fashion.Glen, her sexy-looking and exceptionally sweet husband, was simply an enigma. Any attempts to analyze his psyche quickly disintegrated. It was entirely unfair that any man should be allowed to be that good-looking, be that sweet, witty, and charming, and make my panties damp. There was just something very different about him, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. That didn’t concern me; I was enjoying the way he made me feel. He was very flirty, I think, at least I hoped, because I flirted back, hard. However, with him, it wasn’t a come-on. I felt seen, appreciated, enjoyed, admired, and desired. No wonder Christy was be-bopping all over the place without a care in the world.“I wish we had the money for a hotel, tonight,” I found myself saying. I was lost in the camaraderie. “I don’t think I’ve ever needed a hot shower more than I do right now.”“Oh,” Christy giggled. “I know, right? Why don’t you come over to our place and take a shower.”“I-I can’t. I have nothing to wear.”“No problem,” she reached out and touched my arm. “My body isn’t anywhere near as decent as yours; I’m so jealous, but we’re about the same size. Raid my closets and pick out whatever you want.”Closets? Plural?“John,” I called out. “I’m going over to Christy’s to grab a quick shower and borrow some clean clothes.”“Are you sure, hon,” he looked at me quizzically.Glen laughed at that and patted my husband on the shoulder. I tried to not leer at his muscular arms that had so recently bulged under the weight of the box containing all my pots and pans.“That’s lady-code,” he smirked at John. “It means that they’re going to grab some ‘girl time’ and see if they hit it off. If they do, then they’re going to gossip about us.”“And we’ll pick out some nice wine,” Christy said, taking me by the arm and leading me across the highway.That’s the exact moment my life began reeling out of control.Their vibe had been gnawing at me all day. I felt compelled to figure them out. Christy was obviously in the wrong decade; she was more of a flower girl, a hippie child, a free spirit with a sexual streak a mile wide. Glen couldn’t be labeled, but he was most intriguing. He was too good to be true. She was, well, Carrot-top Barbie, an odd mix of intelligence and vapidness, sexual and slutty, but still somehow classy, exuberant in her positivism to the point of being almost annoying. We crossed the road, as barely any traffic drives down it, and Christy led me down their winding, cobblestone driveway. When their home came into full view, my mouth dropped.Their spacious house looked like a haunted house you’d see in the movies or a castle. The exterior was all cut stone, a tower jutting skyward just off-center. Carved stone ornamentation highlighted the entire yard, tastefully done, and off to the back, right against the woods, was a new-looking gazebo.Of course, she lives in a fucking castle, the bitch. I thought to myself. Instead, I said, “I see you have a gazebo, so lovely.”“Yep,” she shrugged and smiled. “It was a surprise gift for my fortieth.”“Fortieth what?” I asked, incredulously.“Birthday.”“Forty?” I paused in disbelief. “As in years old?”“Yep, I’m an old crone now.”“You’re forty?” I paused, unable to restrain myself. “You’re fucking forty and look like that, you live in a castle, and you have a damn gazebo?”“I know,” she mocked herself. “I told you that my life is like a fairy tale.”“Let me guess,” I scolded. “Glen just has to be a plastic surgeon then!”“No,” she said innocently, totally missing my meaning. “What gave you that idea? He does concrete carving.”A thousand emotions, disbelief and envy being most prevalent, ran through me. Very slowly, I inquired, “are…you…insane?”Christy smirked and shrugged in all her sex-kitten glory, totally nonplussed at my accusation, but agreeing with me. “Yep. I’m definitely crazy, but not ‘afraid to go to sleep’ psycho.”She laughed at herself, and I found myself laughing along with her. Over the day I hadn’t given it much thought, but, at that moment, I realized that we had, indeed, bonded. I was sure that would all change when she discovered that I lusted after her husband. She led me inside.The interior was simply stunning. If I thought the outside looked like a castle, the interior removed any doubt. Although a study in the various textures of stonework, the house had a spacious, warm vibe to it, ancient, historical architecture meets modern-day convenience. Gleaming appliances looked perfectly at home beside rough-hewn stone counters, and the mixture of the old and new somehow worked. Even the swords and shields on the wall looked perfectly natural next to a large-screen TV and a comfy, modern couch.Babbling on and on, Christy gave me a mini-tour that started at the side door and ended at the wine cellar. A small room with finely-crafted wooden shelf units along the walls, the variety of wine in there made quite a nice collection. I discovered that the place used to be a run-down farmhouse, but Glen had remodeled and renovated it into the medieval castle that it now was. Then, my new friend’s phone rang.