By morning, I had almost convinced myself I'd overreacted. The neighborhood couldn't be that bad, right? We'd probably just caught a few weird moments yesterday. Moving stress, unfamiliar faces — maybe it was clouding my judgment.
"Let's visit the neighbors," I said, pouring her tea. "Would be a nice gesture."
She agreed with a small nod, tying her apron over a fitted cream t-shirt and a navy skirt that hugged her ass too naturally. Her style was simple, typical — soft tones, neatly tied hair, not a hint of makeup yet she radiated something magnetic without trying.
As she stepped ahead of me with the fruit basket in hand, the movements of her ass made me want to grab them but I looked away. This was not the time.
We rang the doorbell next door. After a few seconds and some rustling sounds from inside, the door creaked open. And there he was — an old man from, now in a stained shirt and sagging boxers, the smell of mildew and something stronger drifting out from behind him.
His smile stretched unnaturally as his eyes landed on my wife, pausing there, soaking her in with zero effort to hide it.
"We're from next door," I said, a little awkwardly, "Just wanted to say hello. We brought some fruit."
"Come in, come in," he said immediately, waving us inside with a little too much enthusiasm.
I glanced at her, unsure. She gave a polite, almost hesitant smile, and we stepped inside.
The house was a disaster — cluttered furniture, the lingering scent of something rotting in the air, walls stained from years of being ignored. My regret was instant.
We sat across from him in the small, dimly lit living room while he asked us strange, shallow questions and shared long-winded stories about people neither of us knew. I pretended to listen, but I was distracted. He wasn't talking to me. Not really.
Every time she moved — adjusting her t-shirt, smoothing her skirt — his gaze followed, always slipping back to her legs, her chest, the curve of her ass when she shifted. He didn't even blink when he stared. Just watched, as if enjoying every inch with the hunger of a man who no longer cared about hiding it.
She noticed it too. I could tell by the way her posture stiffened. But she said nothing. Maybe out of politeness. Or discomfort.
After nearly twenty minutes, I stood. "We should get going. Still settling in."
The old man rose with us, moving slower, but with a strange anticipation on his face. "Ah... before you go. Here, we have a custom. A parting hug for guests — makes good fortune stick around."
I forced a smile and stepped forward. His embrace was quick, his arms surprisingly firm for someone his age, but I pulled back almost instantly. I turned toward the door, assuming she would follow right behind.
But instead, he stepped closer to her, his eyes half-lidded. "And from the lady of the house," he murmured, voice lower now, "a proper one."
She hesitated for just a second too long.
Then, softly, she stepped forward.
His arms wrapped around her slowly, his hands resting on her back — one of them pressing a little too low. His face leaned near her neck, the grab was too strong for her to even make a movement. She stood frozen, her arms half-raised, unsure of where to place them.
Then I saw it — the subtle flex of his hand, fingers pressed just above the curve of her rear, not quite touching indecently... but close. Too close. His cheek brushed against her hair, and for a second, he simply held her, breathing her in.
Her face was unreadable. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either.
I cleared my throat loudly.
The old man smiled as he released her, letting his hand trail off her waist just a fraction slower than necessary.
She was *panting -- her hair and face all sweaty -- the smell of the old man was stuck with her.
"Lovely to meet you both," he said, as if nothing strange had happened.
We stepped out in silence. Her hands adjusted her skirt. Mine curled into fists.
I didn't say anything on the way back.
But something about that hug — how long he held her, the way his hand lingered — played again and again in my mind.
She hadn't said a word.
And that silence was starting to feel louder than anything else.