My wife and restaurants weren’t really a good combination. One time when we went out for a family celebration to a buffet restaurant for my parents’ anniversary — my mother and father not too thrilled by the presence of their daughter-in-law and not my brother’s wife — Libby followed me around the buffet directing what foods and in which quantity I could put on my one allowed plate. After this, I was allowed to return the buffet for a single serve of fruit salad.
I nibbled at the tasteless tofu and tried to focus on my work again, succeeding for a short time as I worked on a Year 8 Geography curriculum on the Solar System. I sighed and shook my head, knowing my hard work would probably be in vain when it reached Victoria’s classrooms. The group assignment would see a class of kids fighting to get into the group that did a presentation on Uranus. And the essay would result in 95 percent of them being about Uranus. I had taught kids that age long enough to know that. My wife’s lover was probably among the boys laughing and disrupting the class about the large green planet orbiting between Saturn and Neptune just a decade ago.
Thinking about school made me think about the reasons I stayed in my marriage, and did not dare confront Libby about the way she controlled every aspect of my life much less about her infidelity. One, I was afraid of her, her pretty face hid a terrible temper and a mean-spirited and vindictive streak if you crossed her. Two, Libby had more money than me and that meant better lawyers to take me to the cleaners in the court if we divorced. Three, in spite of everything deep down I still loved Libby, and I would wistfully look our photos from our wedding and honeymoon, hoping we could recapture what we had back then, although the truth I didn’t want to face was that deep down I knew we never would.
The fourth reason was the house next door, or to be more precise one of the residents there, a certain young lady by the name of Montana Miles. If Libby and I separated, I would have to move and I would not see Montana again. I looked out of my study windows at their house, which was a double story house in the same design as ours. Across from my study window was the window occupied by Montana. I looked through the curtains, I could not see Montana but I could see her pussy.
I looked at Montana’s pussy for a few minutes, the black and white tuxedo cat enjoying the rays of sunlight in the window, washing her ears and whiskers. Montana was not there. Of course she wasn’t, she was 18-years-old and in Year 12 at high school, and it was a Thursday. But it was now approaching two, and Montana would be coming home from school soon.
Going to the kitchen to wash my plate, glass and cutlery, I thought about how I could be outside when Montana came home from school, so I could set up a chance meeting.
*
Fortunately for me, one of Libby’s tasks she had set for me was raking the leaves on the front lawn. Libby’s list of tasks for me to complete would sometimes be flexible, some items I could complete tomorrow if I didn’t get to them today. Raking the leaves was one of them, but I got out the gardening tools and was casually dealing with the leaves, taking as long as possible while looking up the street from the direction of the bus stop from where Montana caught the bus to and from high school each day.
Montana did have a drivers’ license, I remember seeing her girlish excitement and glee when she returned home having passed her practical test last year. I would often see her driving one of her parents’ cars, her P-plates displayed, but never to high school. The bus ran pretty much straight from her house to her school and back, so that was how she got there most days.
I saw the bus pass by and waited to see Montana appear from around the corner, but she did not to my disappointment. Perhaps she was doing something after school? Or maybe given Montana had a part time job in a sandwich shop at the nearby shopping center, perhaps she had a shift there this afternoon and gone direct from school when it finished for the day?
In any case, my speculation on Montana’s absence lasted only another two minutes or so, when I saw one of her family’s cars coming up the road, the car’s indicator turning on and the automatic garage door sliding up to allow the vehicle entry. Making sure I was raking close to the mail boxes at the end of the driveway, I waited as the car engine stopped and the doors opened, the three occupants stepped out.
From the back of the car came Montana herself, while her father Tony was at the wheel. Climbing out of the passenger seat was Montana’s other father Will. Libby and I had not long moved to this house in early 2003 when we got new neighbors. We were told it was a couple and their young daughter. Expecting a husband and wife to move in, I was surprised to find the couple was a gay male couple with their adopted daughter Montana, then aged six.
Not that I minded, I had never had a problem with gay people and Brad and Will were really nice as was their daughter. In the 12 years since Montana had obviously grown from a child to a pre-teen, then a teenager and now a young adult who had celebrated her 18th birthday earlier this year.
And a very beautiful young adult. I watched as Montana made her way towards the letterbox, feeling the excitement of anyone with a crush who sees the object of their affection. Having seen Montana grow up, it was hard to believe that I had developed a crush on her in the months since she reached the age of 18. Not that I could of course do anything about it, she was the neighbors daughter still in high school and I was married.
But I could look, and there were plenty of fine sights to see when one looked at Montana. Her long dark hair cascaded loose down the shoulders of her slim, five feet seven body, and she smiled at me, giving me a friendly wave as she saw me, a gesture I returned. Apart from her ears, Montana seemingly had no piercings or tattoos which was a good thing, I hated body piercing and excessive ink especially on very young women. I had previously seen Montana’s midriff when she was helping her fathers in the garden and her tee-shirt rode up, and her naval was also unblemished by piercing.
Montana had an unusual way of dressing, and she had no end of clothes that seemed to take me back to the 1990s. She wore patched jeans, overalls both long and short, stirrup pant leggings which I hadn’t seen in years, long floral skirts and baby doll dresses, complete with a white tee-shirt and cute white ankle socks and sneakers. When wearing her hair in a pony-tail, Montana often tied it back with a scrunchie.
However, it was the school uniform in which Montana was attired today that I found the sexiest. This was a blue blouse and a blue jumper if the weather was warmed, a blue tartan skirt that came to just above the girls’ knees and white knee-length socks with black Mary-Jane shoes. I felt bad perving at Montana in her school uniform when I was a high school teacher myself, but was unable to resist it. Montana’s big teenage boobs filled out the front of her uniform, and I wished sometimes we would get caught in some sort of time warp that kept us in the year 2015 forever and she would never have to graduate high school and I could enjoy the hot 18-year-old in her school uniform for years to come.