Welcome to the neighbourhood

The sun is almost overhead when a lone figure appears at the end of the block: early forties, tall, slightly rumpled linen shirt, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. He walks like someone who isn’t used to having nowhere to be.

He slows when he spots the stand, hesitates, then drifts over.

Lisa straightens, offers her usual bright smile. “Hey there. Perfect timing. Lemonade’s still ice-cold.”

He stops a polite distance away, rubs the back of his neck. “Hi. I’m… new. Literally moved in three houses down yesterday. Saw the stand and figured… why not.”

His voice is quiet, a little rough, like he hasn’t used it much today.

Lisa tilts her head, reading him instantly. “Long morning unpacking?”

“Long year, actually,” he says with a small, sheepish laugh. “My divorce just went final, and the new house feels too quiet.”

She nods, no pity, just warmth. “Then you came to the right corner. I’d be glad to chat with you.” She fills one lemonade and slides it across.

He takes it. “Thanks. I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“Lisa.” She leans on the table. “Welcome to Coral Lakes, Marcus.”

He sips, eyes flicking to the little laminated card, then back to her face, curious but unsure.

Lisa lets the silence sit for a beat, then says softly, “You don’t have to take anything from the menu if you don’t want to. Some days people just need company and something cold.”

Marcus exhales, shoulders loosening. “Honestly? They all sound pretty good right now.”

She smiles, slower this time, and steps out from behind the stand. “Tell you what. The grass is soft, and the shade’s nice. Sit with me for a minute.”

She grabs an empty cup and lowers herself to the patch of lawn beside the table, pats the spot next to her. After a second’s hesitation he joins her, stretching out long legs, lemonade cup resting on his knee.

They talk, easy stuff at first: how long she’s lived here, the best take-out in a five-mile radius, about how to make good lemonade. But the conversation drifts, and the space between them shrinks. When his hand brushes her thigh it doesn’t move away. When her fingers trace the inside of his wrist he turns his palm up and lets her.

Lisa leans in, voice low. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Marcus looks at her, eyes tired and hungry at the same time. “I would love to.”

She leans back, holding his hands and inviting him to roll over her. No rush. No audience. Just the cicadas and the soft sounds he makes when her lips close around him for the first time in what he later admits has been fourteen lonely months.

A few minutes later, Marcus is spent, shaky and stunned. She tucks him away, kisses the inside of his hand, and lets him catch his breath. She then squats and spreads the red lips of her pussy, to let his cum ooze into the empty cup. Once a good amount is collected, she helps Marcus get up and composed, and sends him off with a kiss.

“Stop by anytime,” she says, touching his cheek. “A quiet house gets easier when you know there’s someone around the corner for you.”

Marcus smiles for the first time all morning and heads home walking a little lighter.

Lisa watches him go, pours the new sperm into the good old cup, and turns back to the street, humming.