Like a Good Neighbor

                                            LIKE A GOOD NEIGHBOR

By; Barticlees

  I had seen Anita many times in the neighborhood.  She was very sexy, with long black hair, a great figure, and a pretty face.  She must have had Hispanic blood but she sure looked better than your average Mexican.  With her looks I wouldn't have been surprised if she just walked across the border from Mexico without any papers at all and they probably let her in the country just because she smiled at them. I would have.

  Occasionally she would walk past my house pushing her stroller with a toddler walking next to her.  I would wave politely if I was outside and she would wave back and that was that.  I doubt if we ever said anything much more than 'hello' to each other.

  Then, one day, I was downtown looking at some property for sale in a rundown neighborhood.  My firm had asked me to check it out but I was sure it was a waste of time.  The houses in that area were falling apart and real estate prices in the neighborhood had plummeted.  The property for sale was cheap but when I saw it I was sure that there was no prospect for commercial development in the area so I decided to leave. 

  But as I was getting into my car there was a commotion next door at an old beat up shack of a house.  One look told me it was probably a crack house where they sold or consumed drugs.  I was just going to ignore it when suddenly a woman came flying out of the door and fell onto the yard.  Just then a very large and scary looking Mexican with what looked like prison tats all over his neck and bluging arms came out and said something in Spanish that I did not understand.  Then he spit on the ground in disgust and went back inside. 

  I was going to leave anyway and not get involved when I happened to take a closer look at the woman.  I couldn't believe my eyes....it was Anita. 

  I quickly closed and locked the door of my Lexus and went over to her.  'Excuse me' I said when I got to her.  I could see that she was crying and her mascara was running down her cheeks.  "Don't I know you?" I asked as I reached for her hand to help her up. 

  She looked up at me and immediately buried her face in her hands.  Yes, it was definitely the woman who lived a couple of blocks down from me.  And she looked a lot worse for the wear.

  I knelt down beside her and took her shoulders in my arms as she cried and tried to look away from me.  She was clearly ashamed to be found in such a predicament. 

  I looked over at the house, because I thought I heard the door opening again, and sure enough I saw that big Mexican come outside and stand on the porch.

  He glared at me and then pointed at my neighbor.  "Hey, white boy" he said with complete contempt, "Get that worthless puta out of here.  That kind of garbage in my yard might get me in trouble with the neighborhood home owners association.

  Then he threw back his head and laughed loudly at his own joke as he turned around and went back into his house.

  I helped the woman to her feet and led her towards my car.  I was a little scared to even unlock my car because just then a few of the neighborhood toughs came walking towards me down the sidewalk.  So I hurried up and threw my neighbor into the passenger seat then I got in and drove off.  

  I found a Starbucks cafe in a safe part of town and pulled into the parking lot.  The woman beside me just kept crying into her hands as she leaned her head against the car window.  I reached over and patted her on the arm trying to console her but that just made her cry harder.  I didn't know what to do so I opened the glove box and took out a small complimentary travel package of tissues that an airline had given me and I handed it to her. 

  She took the box from me and started to wipe her face and blow her nose, but it still took a good five to ten minutes for her to calm down.  When she was eventually settled down I started to get out of the car.  "Let me go get some coffee for us.  I think we could both use a cup."

  Suddenly she grabbed my arm.  "Please, please," she beseached me, "Please don't leave me here alone.  Let me come in with you."

  "Yes,"  I said patting her arm, "of course.  Of course."

  She smiled weakly and pulled down her visor to check her face and did the best she could with a tissue to get herself presentable and then we went inside and got a table.

  By the time I got to the table with our coffee's she was looking better.  She had gone to the ladies room and when she came back her eyes were very red, but all of the smeared makeup was gone.  Even without makeup on though, she was still a striking beauty, with beautiful wide dark eyes, high cheek bones and a very sumtuous mouth.   Her long silky smooth black hair hung down to her waist. She was a woman any man would give his eye teeth just to be with.

  I handed her her coffee and she gratefully took a drink.  "Thank you Mr.....?"

  "Abernathy" I said helpfully as we had never actually been introduced.  "James Abernathy"

  "Thank you so much, Mr. Abernathy.  You are very kind.  My name is Anita, Anita Gonzales."

  "Pleased to meet you." I said and awkwardly extended my hand to shake hers, not knowing what the proper etiquette was these days towards someone you had rescued from a crack house.  "And please, call me James."

  "Thank you....James" she said in flawless English, as she took my outstretched hand and gave it a feminine shake.  Wherever she had come from she spoke English as though she were born and raised in the good ol' US of A.

  "I am so sorry that you I put you in such an awkward situation.  It's just that I....well I...I..."

  "That's all right, Anita.  May I call you Anita."

  "Yes, please.  That is the least I can do."

  As she rubbed the corner of her eye once again to wipe away a small tear I caught a glimpse of some round red dots on her arm. 

  She saw me notice them and quickly pulled down her sleeve to cover them.  She was an addict; probably heroin or cocaine I guessed.

  She quickly reached for her coffee and took a sip; suddenly too embarassed to look me in the eye. 

  We sat silently for awhile drinking our coffees and trying not to look at each other.  I had no idea what to say or do.  The next move was up to her.  But, when she didn't say anything after a few minutes had passed I looked at my watch thinking that I maybe had better get back to work.  Not that I was on the clock and had to hurry but I did have other things to do. 

  Then just when I thought I was going to have to suggest that I get her a cab to take her home she started to speak, softly, so softly I could barely hear her.

  "I was born in Mexico, in Juarez.  Do you know about Juarez, James?"

  "Ummm, well it's across the border from El Paso isn't it?"

  "Si....uhm..I mean, yes.  I'm sorry my mind was back in Mexico for a moment."

  "That's okay," I assured her.  Spanish didn't bother me; in fact, I liked the sound of Spanish, I had always thought that it sounded more colorful that English.  And I certainly had no beef with the Mexicans.  Most of the Mexicans I had ever met in this country had been hard working, quiet, family people who wanted the same thing everybody everywhere wanted; a chance to make an honest living and a chance to have a home and a decent life.  

  "Yes, Juarez is just across the border from El Paso," Anita continued.  "Geographically it is only a short distance from the United States, but emotionally.....Juarez is in a different galaxy: a galaxy filled with pain and suffering" she sounded as though her mind were a  million light years away from our safe little table at the Starbucks.  "Did you know that Juarez is known as the murder captial of the world?" she said as she finally looked up and fixed her gaze on me.

  "Well," I said suddenly feeling awkward and decadent, "I have heard that there are drug wars going on over there and that they have been killing each other and......"

  "Not just each other, James." Anita said looking deep into my eyes.  "They kill anyone, anybody, for any reason.  They own the police and the government.  They are a law unto themselves."  She stopped and took a deep drink from her coffee cup.  Then she stared down at the table top.  "They are predators, James." she said very softly,  "They take what they want."

  I took a sip, feeling bad for her and waited patiently. 

  After a moment she continued.  "Do you think I am pretty, James?"

  "Well," I said somewhat taken aback.  "Yes. Yes I think you are very pretty."

  "So I have been told" she continued almost in a monotone now.  "My parents tried to shield me when I was growing up.  They were very poor, they had to fight for every peso they could get but they loved me very much.  Yet it was a vey difficult life."

  I felt like a heel, though I wasn't sure why. 

  "When I was little they could hide me; dress me as a boy and send me to school.  But as I grew older...and my body began to change......"  she looked down at her body.

  I thought it was a very nice body, a very nice body indeed.

  "Well, they knew they had to do something.  Then one day one of the neighbors.... he had a friend in the States.... and he called that friend....and that friend came over to our little run down shack one evening and had a long talk with my father."

   "I could sense that something important was going on.  It frightened me.  I tried to hide in my room, what little there was of it, but after a while my father called me into the living room.  I was very afraid.  When I went into the living room my mother grabbed me and hugged me and told me to be brave.  She had been crying.  I started to cry when I saw the look in my mother's eyes." 

  She stopped talking for a moment and reached for her coffee to take a sip.  When she lifted the cup up I could see a tear slip from the corner of her eye and slide quietly down her cheek. 

  She wiped it away and then continued with her story. 

  "The friend of our friend had a son, in the U.S.  He was eighteen and was soon going to follow his father into the family business.  They were quite successful.  And he was there to get a bride for his son; a pretty bride, a chaste bride, someone who could bear him children.  I was to be that bride." 

  I felt horrible for her.  I had been one of the lucky ones.  I had married my high school sweetheart and we had been happily married for twenty years before I lost her to breast cancer.  I had never married again, but I did not feel sorry for myself.  I had been very lucky to have twenty wonderful years with the woman I loved.

"I'm sorry" I said weakly. 

  She looked up at me, smiling sadly.  "Do not be sorry for me, James.  I was one of the lucky ones.  My husband loves me very much.  He is very good to me.  And he is faithful and loves our children with all his heart.  He is a good man." 

  There followed a long silence.  Finally she spoke again.  "But........." she said letting the silence speak volumes for her.  "Though I have tried as hard as I can" she said with obvious effort of will "I cannot love him.  I do not love him."

   She took another sip and set down her cup.  "I do not know why.  There is something wrong with me.  I must live with a man I do not love." She looked up at me with an emptiness in her eyes seemed to go on forever; an emptiness that seemed to plead for compassion, for absolution  "I live with a man I do not love.  That makes me a whore, James.  That is why I do the drugs."

  I wanted to touch her, to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, but it woud have been a lie.  "No, Anita," I said, trying to sound convincing.  "You are not a whore..."

  "I AM A WHORE"  she suddenly shouted slaming her fist down on the table. For a woman so beautiful, the intense anger I saw  flash in her eyes at that moment was amazingly frightening.

  I looked quickly around the room, embarassed for both of us, but only saw a few arched eyebrows and curious looks.  Not knowing what eles to do I reached over and patted her shoulder as though to calm her down, as though to say to everyone that she was just upset, nothing to worry about here.

  Slowly she calmed down while I sat and waited. 

  "I cannot leave, James.  I have no papers.  I was smuggled across, in a tractor trailer, and I do not have citizenship in this country, even though my husband was born here and my two little children were born here.  I am an illegal; a wetback."

  "If I were to leave I do not think my husband would turn me in.  No," she said getting angry again.  "not my husband.  But.....his father."

  I could not see the fire in her eyes at that moment, as she was looking down and talking as though talking to herself, but I could feel the hatred in her soul at that moment; see it in the tension of her shoulders.  "His father would turn me in, and I would be deported back to Juarez."  She looked back up at me.  "How long do you think I would last in Juarez, James?" she asked looking very very angry. "What do you think they would do to me there?"

  I did not answer.  It was a rhetorical question. 

  "Better to be a whore for one man than to be a whore for a whole gang.....or a whole town."

   There was nothing I could say.   I could see the logic in that argument.

  "No, James.  I am a prisoner here.  A prisoner in a gilded cage.  That is the expression, is it not?" she asked me.

  "Yes," I agreed.  "That is the expression."  There was nothing else to say.

  "Sometimes I pray that my husband's father would die.  But he is too mean to die." she continued.  "My husband adores his father.  He would do anything his father tells him.  He does not see what his father is really like; what a ruthless bastard he is."

  She paused for a while, gathering herself together to withstand the effort of thinking about her father-in-law.

  "His father emigrated." She snorted after she said that word.  "He e-m-i-g-r-a-t-e-d to this country when he was young." she said drawing out the word with a sneer and then laughing derisively at her own comment.  "That is what he tells people.  The truth is that he crawled on his belly like the snake that he is across the desert from Laredo to San Antonio when he was a young boy and found work as a roofer until he eventually received amnesty."  She made as though to spit on the floor at the thought of her husband's father recieving amnesty and citizenship.

  "His son does not see what I see in his father's eyes; the complete disdain for others.  His hatred of Americanos is surpassed only by his loathing of all things Mexican.  He is a man who hates himself and everyone else.  He cares only for his son.   And I know, and he knows I know, that he would slit my throat and throw my carcass to the dogs if I were ever to do anything to hurt his little bambino."

  "No, my husband adores his father and blindly obeys his father's every wish.  His highest goal in life is to be just like his father.  If that day should ever come I would gladly slit my own throat and let the maggots feast on my body.  You see even whores have their limits, James." she said looking up at me.  And I believed her.  I could see it in her soul. 

  I felt sorry for the woman, very sorry, but I was beginning to wish I had driven off and left her on the yard in front of the crack house.  Maybe it would have been best if she just took a cab home.  What could I possibly do for her?

  "That is why I have no money, James" she continued, by way of explanation....finally.  "My father-in-law; he tell his son to be frugal, to make sure I do not have extra money to waste.  So that I do not become another spoiled American housewife who spends all day shopping.  He says I must teach my children, his grandchildren, to be smart with money.  He loves money, that old man, it is the one thing he understands...money is power.  And he means to make sure I am powerless." 

  "That is why I was thrown out of that shithouse that sells my drugs.  I had no money.  I went there to beg for some drugs, to beg to be released from my hopeless prison, if just for only one afternoon while my children are at their grandfathers house.  But that worthless piece of shit that deals there, he refused to give me credit.  He said it was strictly cash and carry.  But he said he would give me five dollars... five dollars for each blow job, if I would suck the dicks of him and his filthy gang members."

  I felt a little uncomfortable at her crudeness, but I had to admire her directness.

  "Five dollars, James" she said incredulously as she stared at me point blank.  "I may be a whore but I am not a cheap whore."

  I was stunned.  "How about twenty?" I asked trying to lighten things up a little. 

  Anita looked into my eyes, and, for a moment, I thought she was going to reach across the table and strangle me right then and there.  But, suddenly, the clouds cleared from her face and she threw back her head and laughed. 

  It was a long and full laugh, and, I thought, as I watched her and saw her smile, that she had a particularly beautiful smile.  A smile so beautiful as I had not seen since my wife had died. 

  "Oh, you make a joke, James" Anita said still laughing as she reached across the small round table and put her hand on my arm.  "I like you James, you have a good sense of humor.  You are a good man."

  I had to admit that it was good to see her happy.  Her sudden shift from anger to laughter reminded me of all the stories I had heard of Mexicans and their hot latin blood. And as I looked at her it occured to me that Anita wasn't just Mexican; she was Mexico.  She was everything good...and bad, ugly... and beautiful, that was south of our border.  In her eyes I could almost see the long rolling hills and the dry parched deserts that her people had farmed and raised cattle on for centuries.  I could see the pride and the dignity that came with being born of such a starkly beautiful and unforgiving land.  But, I could also see the shame of the poverty and the hard times that had befallen their land in recent times; due in no small measure to the predatory agricultural and economic practices of the great El Norte next door to them.  We were their curse and their blessing.  The were the cause and the cure for their economic woes.  We were the ones that paid for the drugs that had ravaged their land and their society.

  So I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised when, after having a good long laugh, Anita leaned towards me, and, changing gears with amazing swiftness she looked me in the eye and said "Do you want me to suck you here in the bathroom, or outside in your car?"

  You could have knocked me over with a feather.  Here was this georgeous mercurial woman, this latin goddess, offering to suck my dick.  No, wait, we had struck a deal, hadn't we....twenty dollars.  That was what I had said.  She selling me sex; a blowjob for twenty dollars...American.

  I had never been to a hooker in my life.  Some of my buddies in the Navy had done stuff like that but I could never bring myself to stoop to that level.  Somehow it all seemed too cheap and tawdry.  But now, as I looked into the eyes of this very beautiful woman, all of the years of abstinence since the death of my wife, interrupted only by some brief messy sessions in front of my computer late at night, came back to me in a rush.  And suddenly my big head was listening to the little head in my pants which was suddenly saying....yes, yes, yes, do it, do it, do it.

  Anita saw the indecision in my eyes.  "Please, James.  Release me from my prison," she pleaded, "just for one afternoon.  With twenty dollars I can feel good again, very good."

  The gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in.  I could get arrested for buying sex.  I could get thrown in jail, and lose my job.  What did I really know about this woman?  Was she a cop in disguise...a really creative cop who could win an oscar if she were to go into acting full time?

  "Uhm...uh...well, I'd like to but uhm...I mean... Look, why don't I just lend you twenty dollars and you can..."

  "Because you know and I know" she said evenly, "that I could never pay you back.  I may be a whore James.  But I have my pride.  I do not take charity.  I do not stand on street corners begging like so many of my countrymen.  I will not stoop that low."

  It wasn't until later, after we were in the back seat of my car and her georgeous head was bobbing up and down in my lap that I remembered that she had begged the drug dealers for a hand out.  Did she like me better so she was willing to do for me what she wouldn't do for them?  Or had she no intention of ever paying them back because she had no respect for them and they knew it.  And, that was why they threw her out into the yard on her ass. 

  But all rational thoughts did not last long once I felt the warmth of that beautiful mouth wrapped around my manhood.  I didn't know how often she had done this, somehow I doubted that she would be this enthusiastic on her husband; a man she didn't love.  But she was good.  Very good.  She didn't just suck my cock, she made love to it with her mouth.  Her tongue caressed the crown with expert tenderness while she fondled my balls like they were the most precious Fabrege eggs that any zcar ever owned.  And, just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any better I felt the velvet grip of her throat on my cockhead as she shoved my entire length into her mouth. 

  Until then I had tried to be a gentleman, but at this point my lust overcame me and I gripped that perfect head with both hands holding it still I began to rock my hips up and down in a brutal fucking motion. 

  When I did, a primitive guttural sound emanated from deep within her throat that seemed to convey 

approval.  It was as though the more I used her the better she liked it;  as though I were validating her low opinion of herself and thereby condoning her use of drugs.

  Or was it revenge?  Was she somehow getting revenge on her father-in-law and his son by demeaning herself and thereby cheapening their conquest and ownership of her?  Whatever it was,  we both liked it...a lot.  Because soon I could feel every part of my cock coated in and being milked by her mouth and throat flesh as though she wanted nothing more in the universe than to pleasure me and make me cum. 

  I tried like hell to hold back.  I tried not to think of the curious feeling of my swollen glans as it slipped up and down inside her tight throat.  I tried not to think of the warm saliva that coated my cock like a wet electric blanket set to "high".  I tried not to look at the erotic sight of the back of her very beautiful head as it plunged up and down in my lap.   I also dared not look at the perfect curve of her backside as she was curled up on the back seat.  Even the beauty of her feet in her revealing sandles was too much to look at.  But most of all, I tried not to think of how incredibly beautiful and vivacious her face was when she had been laughing at the table. 

  But I was only human, and just a man; a man with his cock in the mouth of a very pretty woman.  So eventually I had to shut my eyes, lean my head back, and give in as every one of  those highly erotic awarenesses flooded simultaneously through my mind, and mother nature took its course... right down Anita's eagerly swallowing throat and into her pretty little flat stomach.

  In short, it was the best twenty dollars I ever spent.  Anita was one Mexican import that was worth every peso.  If Juarez knew what it had let get away they wouldn't be confining their activities to Mexico; they would have been flooding across our borders in a torrent of four wheel drive atv's, motorcycles, RV's, cars, boats, planes, trains, or roller skates, and searching behind every bush, tree, building, house, and shrub trying to find her and bring her back.  Anita was just one more natural resource that we had stolen from Mexico.  And, in my humble opinion, the best of the lot. 

  Afterwards I drove Anita to the house of a friend; her maid.  "A maid," she had said, still trying to straighten out her blouse and smooth down her wrinkled skirt.  "My father-in-law even denies me the dignity of cleaning my own house.  Fortunately, though," she continued, " Maria has become my best friend in the whole world.  She is the only  person I trust and the only one who knows about my drug use.   Besides now, you, of course." she said putting her hand affectionately on my thigh and giving me a sly conspiratorial smile.

  So I dropped her off outside Maria's small but clean little house not too far from the crack houses.  As she got out she thanked me for the ride as though it were a simple act of Christian charity, ignoring the fact that it was the very least I could do after the oral heaven she had just taken me to;  or, should I say, just sold me to.  Then, just before she walked away, she stuck her head in the window and said "Goodbye, James Abernathy.  Maybe I will see you around the neighborhood again some time." 

  Then, with a wink and a smile, she was gone.

  There was something disturbingly businesslike in that parting comment though, leaving me to wonder just what had happened here...really?  How much of what she had said was true?  How much of it was make believe?  Did she really hate her husband?  Or was she just a bored housewife who passed the time making up stories to suit the listener and selling blowjobs for some extra cash on the side to spend on some recreational drugs.  Maybe she just liked sucking dick and enjoyed spicing up the activity with a little creative storytelling.  Maybe she had enjoyed it as much, if not more so, than I did.  Maybe she was selling more than just her mouth.  Maybe she was selling illusions; erotic fantasies.  If so she was damn good at it. 

  But then I found myself wondering at the hypocrisy of my own act of chivalry in letting her keep her dignity by sucking me off instead of taking a handout. But, all in all, maybe I was just being too cynical.  Who knows?

  'It's a strange, strange world we live in' I decided as I headed my Lexus back across town to my office.  But, as I drove, I realized that I couldn't wait to see her again in the neighborhood.  If she was blowing every guy in our subdivision, hell, even if she was blowing every guy in town, I didn't care.  It had been an afternoon I would never forget.

  

                                                        The End. 

 

 

  The irony of my chivalry in letting her give me a blow job so she could maintain her dignity.

 

She cannot leave, she has no papers, and her husbands father would turn her in, she can see it in his eyes,....she is trapped...a prisnoner in a gilded cage

  her husband does not give her much spending money...she lives in fear of the father.