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An Aggressive Learning Strategy

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Next-Door Neighbor’s Aggressive Learning

Noon on Saturday. Jeff was far back under his house, in the unlit, tight, low crawl-space. He’d been there all day yesterday, and all morning today, replacing the electric water heater. He had taken Friday off and burnt it up getting started: he wanted the whole job finished by Sunday evening.

The upside was that he’d planned on the job taking the whole day for all three days, Murphy being the patron saint of plumbing repairs, but it was now only noon on day two and he was close to finishing: soldering was done and checked, power ditto.

He rolled over onto his stomach in the puddle caused by the original leak: mud was his destiny today. Mud and cobwebs – what the hell was with all these cobwebs? What was there under here for a spider to eat? Cobwebs in his face, his hair, his mouth. Ugh!

He felt about for the tools, as usual amazed how much junk was needed for such a simple job. Mustn’t leave anything behind, that’d just mean another long and dirty crawl!

Twenty feet away, out of sight beyond the floor joists and around a foundation corner was the hatch to the crawl-space. From outside came a female voice, one thoroughly familiar, but unexpected. It was Zohra, his next-door neighbors’ daughter. Her family was full-blooded subcontinental Endo-Dravidian Indian, the immigrant parents were almost caricatures of a classical Indian married couple, both slightly rotund, MaMá about five foot one, PaPá perhaps five-four on a good day, both of them very smart and well educated in high-paying technical fields. Their marriage was a traditional, arranged-in-childhood affair, set up back in India, long before they were old enough to consummate it. The marriage had worked just fine.

Jeff was on very good terms with the whole family. Occasionally he helped them out with minor repairs (that actually meant “helping” PaPá, who due to his caste was unsure which end of a screwdriver was the handle): much more frequently he aided their singleton offspring with her science homework. In return for Jeff’s help, the family often took pity on him and fed him MaMá’s home-made lamb curry hot, a favorite. Jeff always provided the wine.

Zo had her parents’ perfect, parchment-thin very dark skin, a genuinely beautiful face with fine Dravidian/Caucasian features, ivory teeth, full sensual lips that belonged on a much older woman, deep-set eyes around which skin tone and light conspired to produce the effect sought with, but never quite achieved by, eye-shadow, and the most stunning smile he had ever seen, all topped off with long black hair that shone as if greased. Physically she was tiny – about four feet ten and perhaps ninety pounds on her way to 100 at the outside.

Zo was mentally impressive, very much her parents’ child – blindingly fast, articulate in the best British-upper-crust manner, and exceedingly well read. Wildly multi-lingual as well – English, Hindi, Urdu and Bengali plus smatterings of others. Years back, she had been skipped ahead in grade more than once. She spoke with the pretty singsong “Indian-English” lilt: her English was absolutely perfect when she chose, but lately she was affecting the inability of Star Trek’s android character “Data” to use spoken contractions. Her normal conversational mode was less ‘give and take’ than serial stream-of-consciousness soliloquies, with polite pauses for others to submit input. Jeff found both idiosyncrasies endearing.

The question now was “continue attending the local university” vs “best possible university, damn the expense and location!” As an academic himself, Jeff had been asked to weigh in on that topic of ongoing debate, but to avoid causing strains and discord, he limited himself to generalities – e.g., recommending that she attend a genuinely large university, so that she might have available high-quality departments in most fields of both arts and sciences… which would help her make decisions about topics and careers. He had been successful in not alienating anyone via his opinions.

Over the past many months, beginning with the first round of ‘which school?’ discussions, Zo and Jeff had developed quite a close relationship, encouraged by her parents, who had taken a shine to him for the way he so enthusiastically took on the role of being her academic mentor. The whole family insisted on using the honorific term “Guru” to refer to his role in the relationship, which both pleased and amused him. Zo was permitted (actually, encouraged) to call him up ‘for a homework appointment’ (which he had never yet refused to grant) and then go over to work with him at his living-room table.

They spent a lot of time together poring over her books every week, exploring ideas, with him asking probing, mind-opening questions, a process that he enjoyed every bit as much as she. Zo was more than mildly flirtatious when her folks were out of view, and Jeff responded in kind: it was now an incredibly blunt reciprocal flirtation -entirely verbal so far- which each felt was quite serious from their own point of view. Each also thought antalya escort the other was merely joshing.

Her parents seemed either immune to or accepting of the pair’s growing closeness, which extended well beyond things academic, into the (non-sexual) physical. In her ‘spare time’ Zo was studying elementary gymnastics, and also took a twice-weekly yoga class in the early morning. Her home yoga practice consisted of the time twixt end of school-day and dinner, several times a week.

Jeff, a dedicated long-distance runner, had close to zero flexibility, and Zo had taken an aggressive stance about it – she would teach him enough yoga to loosen him up. For his general health and well-being! Teacher and student roles thus reversed, they practiced together each afternoon, out in the open on Jeff’s big wooden deck, in plain view of the parents should they choose to wonder what was going on.

Zo loved the freedom that this private one-on-one time gave her to inspect Jeff’s body, to stare, and particularly touch, under the guise of ‘adjusting his pose’. She took advantage of the freedom at every opportunity. Their practice required mutual scantiness of clothing: the scenery so displayed gave both of them butterflies, and each quickly figured out what costume best pleased the other (namely skimpy, thin, and TIGHT!), then wore it relentlessly. Each had had many and many a prolonged view into normally hidden places, and neither could any longer pretend not to be looking, although they didn’t discuss it at all.

Aside from the delicious, intimate views, Zo’s favorite yoga-thing was when he was in triangle pose and she had to lay a palm against the top of his buttocks to push his hips into proper alignment: it was odd, indeed, just how often he seemed to need that specific -and usually forceful- correction. There was something incredibly stomach-flipping about the feel of his bottom, heavy-muscled and very strong, working under her touch. And pretty, too – she had some time ago developed an eye for male bottoms.

Sometimes, too, she would turn the tables, ask for his help, so that he could have the same sort of freedom – the ‘sometimes’ touchings becoming steadily more frequent, steadily more free and intimate. At least he’d detected no sign that any of the family saw it. Nothing overt had yet occurred, much to their mutual disappointment, but neither was prepared to make an opening move, Jeff out of some sort of practical-based morality rather than any lack of interest, and Zo out of inexperience plus an overt (although unreasonable) fear of rejection.

There was no lack of lustfulness on Jeff’s part – he had been busily suppressing his high level of carnal attraction to her now for many months – successfully, he thought. He was, after all, considerably older than she… but she was a self-proclaimed innocent, having never yet been on a real American-style ‘date’. When she discussed (?argued?) this lack of socialization with her parents, the usual points advanced by them were (a) yes of course all her female friends were dating and had been doing so for some years – but that didn’t mean Zohra was obligated to do the same. Reason (b) two carried the day with her – namely, the question “Who might she date, where to find some person her equal in at least some of the areas she sparkled in?” Certainly, all the way through school there had never been any male even close to her age whom she found sufficiently interesting.

“Hello in there, Doctor J! Can you hear me?” ‘Doctor J’ was her coinage, invented upon their initial meeting some three years ago and immediately adopted by the entire family.

Yes, he could, what was up?

“You have been in there for a long time today- and all day yesterday, too, so I noticed. It is lunch-time you know, here in the outside world! My parents are gone today to their silly bridge tournament and they have left me lunch money. Far too much money, really. If you would drive us, I can pay for a pizza for us both. You must be hungry by now!”

Age and educational differentials aside, Jeff thoroughly enjoyed her company, under whatever rationale du jour. Plus, he was also quite hungry, having skipped breakfast. “Great idea! Sure, I’ll drive. I’ll be out in about ten minutes or so… gotta clean up my mess under here! Or maybe you’d like to crawl in and help me? It’s nice and dark in here!”

Then as an afterthought, “Does this mean you are FINALLY asking me out on a date, My Lady Zo?”

During her latest homework-help session they had gone off on a huge tangent and ribbed one another mercilessly about whether they should be dating, since they got along so well and he had no wife or even permanent girlfriend. The big “problem”, they agreed, was relative ages – a significant difference which neither of them thought particularly germane. They had even puzzled over the questions of exactly why that WAS a problem, and for whom.

That conversation had ended with them both a bit red-faced, each realizing that there was more that could be said but unwilling to push into unexplored terrain. kemer escort To date, that was the closest they had come to airing their intense mutual attraction.

Doctor J had some typical Y-chromosome “male-blindness” problems (of transmission and reception alike!). First, he was enormously attracted to Zohra, and had been for the past couple of years. Second, he was absolutely convinced – wrongly, of course – that she had no idea of that attraction, that he’d kept it a perfect secret. Third, he was utterly unaware of Zo’s months-long and supremely intense crush on him.

And conversely, she was aware – hugely so – that he hadn’t yet recognized her crush. She didn’t know whether she should tell him, and if so, just how and when… but his failure to even notice really hurt, as did his inexplicable failure to simply SAY what was on his mind – it was so OBVIOUS that he was attracted to her!! If only he would SAY something, do the ignition sequence, THEN they might be able to progress… the question being, of course, progress to exactly WHAT? She wasn’t sure, but would have eagerly grasped any chance to find out!

Zo continued the conversation: “Do not be absurd, Doctor J. Pizza at lunchtime and paid for by my parents is NOT my idea of a date, not at all. To be a date, YOU (that is, the male!) must invite ME out (ME being the female here!). I must then initially pretend that I am NOT interested, YOU must persuade me, and when finally I agree, the MAN must pay. Those are the basic rules, no? And no thank you, but I choose not to grovel in the dust with you even if it is nice and dark in there! The conditions in the space beneath your house are far too much to pay for a small amount of privacy, and at the moment the idea does not appeal very much. Ten minutes, then. I shall collect the money and be back before that!”

It took Jeff the full ten minutes to finish collecting and filling two buckets with his equipment and supplies: then he began crawling to the exit, moving slowly and carefully, awkwardly dragging the buckets a foot at a time.

Zohra needed less time than that to trot home to her closet and change clothes. She knew exactly what she was doing: there had been daydreams a-plenty over the past year or so, in which to develop a grand strategy – if only imaginary. Those dreams now quite readily brought up for her inspection various tactical plans appropriate for the moment. First, a snug-fitting sleeveless pullover in thin white nylon. Braless of course -despite her body having some time ago entered boob-building mode, she not only didn’t yet need one, but hated the things and never wore them when out of parental sight.

Next came carefully-chosen yellow short-shorts that met two explicit criteria: must be tight across the butt, and have loose leg openings. And no undies, thank you very much! Undies would show through the shorts, far too déclassé for her taste! She added a yellow hair-band and thong sandals, nothing more.

She studied herself critically in the mirror – like most young women she flipped between entrancement and despair over her body and looks. At this exact moment, she was more or less satisfied. Besides, there was no more time to waste, this outfit would simply have to suffice.

She grabbed the money from the table and hurried back, just barely in time: she could hear Jeff grunting as he crawled, the tools clanking in the buckets.

She studied the yard’s topography and geometry, chose a location carefully, sat down on the rising ground about five feet from the hatch, facing it. Her face was flushed, but that was invisible under her coloring: her pulse was unusually fast, breathing likewise, her armpits annoyingly damp, and she had somehow gotten a bee swarm into her lower belly.

He shoved the buckets out the opening in the skirting, stuck his head and shoulders through into the dazzling light.

The first thing he saw as his vision cleared was Zohra, sitting there apparently careless of her pose. Careless like a D-Day battle plan: even Jeff, male-handicapped as he was, realized this pose was no accident. Not given how totally aware every woman is of her body, at all times. Seated on the rise, knees raised wide, she was leaning back on her arms, chest upthrust. The fabric clung to her miniscule bosom like snow to mountain peaks. Her shorts’ droopy leg-holes were properly oriented – he could see all the way up her left inner thigh. Her crotch was at exactly his eye level, and her lack of panties was excruciatingly clear.

Jeff tried to act as if he’d not noticed, but his cock suddenly displayed some aspects of an anchor.

She of course took in everything. Progress!

He wore a snug tee-shirt and work shorts that showed off his runner’s butt and legs, but he was also mud and cobwebs from head to foot. Zohra let her gaze linger on his body so long as he wasn’t looking directly at her, then when he did, she laughed – she hoped it sounded casual – as the headlamp and goggles came off. She held her pose: Jeff didn’t shift his own any too quickly. He kaş escort tried to be gentlemanly at the same time – after a long first head-to-toe look he let his eyes flick directly to her crotch, where they lingered for the merest moment.

She broke the silence: “My! You are a complete and utter mess, Doctor J. Totally. But cute, too – your eyes look just like a negative of a raccoon!”

Jeff pulled himself through the hole and stood up, hoping his bulge wasn’t overly obvious, trying again not to stare too blatantly at the display of tiny-tits and exposed crotch.

He grinned at her, scraped a handful of goo from his thigh rubbed it between his palms like brilliantine, worked it into his hair and gave himself a ragged, off-center Mohawk, then smeared the remainder over his face war-paint style.

“EW! Gross! And icky too! Now you are genuinely and disgustingly filthy! You simply cannot appear in public like that, Doctor J. And most certainly not with ME! You are going to have to take a shower before we can go out for lunch!”

“Now, that’s a major problem, Zohra. Remember… I just replaced the water heater! That’s why I was under the house, you might recall. If I turn it on immediately, the water will be hot in three hours.”

She stood and shrugged, making her solid little nipples slide about under the fabric in a way most distracting for both herself and Jeff. How many times had she practiced such a move in the mirror? Didn’t matter – the time spent was worth it, as Jeff tried, and completely failed, to hide his reaction.

“Men! Male = transparent!” she thought. But what she said was “Well, I for one am genuinely hungry, and do not propose that we should wait that long! Several hours, indeed! Not when I have a big empty shower in my own room, which you can certainly come over and use immediately. Our water is always hot, over there!”

He searched her face and body-language for evidence she’d tossed out the double-entendre intentionally, found none. At any rate, she didn’t wait for an answer.

“Come on, Doctor Jeff! I am getting hungrier and hungrier, and you must be starved after working under there all morning! Pizza! Pizza! Does not the very word itself make you salivate like one of Mister Pavlov’s dogs? I intend to hold you to your promise to drive! I have enough money so you can even have a beer – the Parental Contingent has been most generous!”

He set the tool-buckets in the screened porch. She took his hand, urged more speed: he hung back slightly as he followed, just enough so he could let his gaze caress her bottom and the backs of her legs, wondering if she could tell? They had to be the most perfectly shaped legs he had ever encountered. And, too, she had a bit more hip than he’d noticed before, didn’t she? The observation did nothing negative for his hardon.

He left his muddy shoes and socks at the door, followed her inside and upstairs, a little wary and nervous. He really shouldn’t be here at all, but it was intriguing, being led about by his Mz Zohra, and he enjoyed the combined senses of impropriety and adventure and danger. Hers was a big bedroom, elegantly furnished. She had expensive tastes – and indulgent parents.

“Here’s my own bathroom. You may use all the hot water you wish – with two women in the house, my PaPá long ago gave up and had an extra-large heater installed. Women like showers much hotter than do men, you know. And more of them, too. That is probably why we smell better than men!”

He positively loomed over her, but clearly relishing her position as guide and hostess, she grinned up at him, handed him a big towel, pushed him gently but authoritatively on the chest: “Go ahead! What are you gawking about? Surely you have been in a strange woman’s bathroom before this! Moreover, I am NOT merely some ‘strange woman’! But do not take forever, else I will starve, and you likewise. Go now! Wash!”

She shut the door, leaving him alone in the bathroom.

He stripped, piled the dirty clothes on the marble countertop, finally realizing that he had nothing clean to wear post-shower. He shrugged: it was a problem easily solved later, and meanwhile the shower beckoned. It was tub-less and double-sized, with a glass swinging door. He stepped in, adjusted the water.

Zohra was more than capable of rising to meet such an unexpected, glorious opportunity. New plans, instantly. Outside the bathroom, she took a long, deep breath, and then, heart thundering, she stripped. Naked, shivering and covered with goose-bumps despite the house’s lovely warmth, she listened for the shower to start.

Jeff didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but the shower door opening certainly caught his attention – especially when Zo came bounding through it, stark naked, to join him, and shut it gently behind her.

Totally nonplussed, he turned his body away from her, under the spray – stepping out of his shorts a minute ago he had already been half-erect. Another five seconds with her like this was going to drive him to about 115%. He had no idea what to do – completely flustered, a rare occurrence indeed. He looked at her over his shoulder: his expression was priceless, and she laughed heartily, then wrapped arms around him and squeezed. Hard. Small. Pointy – her breasts made distinct indentations in his back. She was warm to the touch, warm verging on hot.

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