It had taken two years, but Diane was finally back on her feet after the divorce. It wasn't like Elliot (A.K.A "The Shit") had ever made a ton of money, but he had been able to at least support them in their small apartment while Diane slogged her way through nursing school. Alone now, Diane found herself facing the choice between education and rent, not to mention utilities, car payment, and groceries. After a drenched, miserable evening crying in the dark over a bowl of cold instant ramen after the electricity cut off, she finally swallowed the last remnants of her pride and moved back in with her parents.
It was hard to believe that was only two years ago. It seemed like another lifetime. And while she was grateful to have a place to stay while she got her shit together, she was also glad to finally be out of her parents' house. It wasn't just the fact that a thirty-six-year-old woman living with her parents was kind of pathetic, but her mother in particular took every opportunity to remind her that her marriage had failed, that she wasn't getting any younger, and they thought they'd have at least a couple of grandkids by now. Looking back, Diane doubted that she really could have raised children with The Shit, but her mother yet clung to the fantasy.
Diane shook her head to clear it of all the bad memories, then looked around the new place. Sure, the furniture she'd brought with her from her parent's was familiar, but the house was new. And it was all hers! It made her feel like a real adult for the first time in a long time. Thanks to her parents, she had graduated school, and even managed to get a steady job at the Clinton State University clinic allowing her to save enough money for a down payment.
With the last of the boxes unloaded from the U-Haul truck, her mother had offered to help with the unpacking, while her father examined all the door locks, faucets and light switches with the odd grunt and mutter. Diane was eager to be on her own, and assured them that she'd be fine. After a final hug each, she sent them on their way, and then collapsed onto the sofa, basking in her solitude.
A bead of sweat ran down her cheek to her chin. She swiped at it with the back of her hand. Moving in had been quite the workout. She pulled the bottom of her T-shirt and waved it, attempting to fan air over her torso. Not getting the desired effect, she looked around, and let it fully sink in: she was finally, truly alone. With devilish delight that was more childish than she cared to admit, she pulled the T-shirt off over her head and let it drop carelessly to the floor, exposing her tits to the empty living room. After another minute without anyone to object, she stood and stripped out of her shorts.
Now utterly nude, she began to dance around the house without an ounce of shame or embarrassment. She went from the living room to the kitchen, and then back to the bathroom where she admired her body in the large mirror on the wall. She squeezed a buttock, lifted a breast, ran her hands over her midriff and down her thighs. Still in pretty good shape, she thought. She knew of several women her age who were already starting to show signs of age, but providentially, she wasn't one of them. She hoped The Shit missed that about her. Whatever else he accused her of being, old and ugly weren't it. Satisfied, she boogied back into the living room. She thought she might try hooking up her stereo so she could have some music to accompany her little spins and hops.
"Uhh… Hi," said a nervous voice, startling Diane. She spun around to find a teenaged boy standing awkwardly in her doorway. He was probably seventeen or eighteen years old, dressed in a yellow basketball jersey and a pair of shorts. His eyes bulged in wonder, scanning from her breasts to the small hairless mound between her thighs and back again.
"Shit!" she swore, spinning around looking for something to cover herself with. Her towels and robes were still packed in boxes. Finally, she crossed the room, aware of the youth's steady gaze, and pulled off a sofa cushion. It just barely concealed her nudity. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Thomas… Thomas Gates," said the teen, looking worried. "From next door?... My parents said to bring you this."
Diane at last noticed that he was carrying a casserole dish in his hands.
"How'd you get in?" Diane demanded to know.
"It was open," Thomas defended timidly. "I swear! We saw you moving in. They must have left the door open when they left with the truck. I wasn't trying to see nothing. Honest. Here!"
Thomas dropped the casserole on top of a stack of boxes by the door. Then his hands went to the front of his pants to hide what was more than the beginning of an erection. Despite the boy's athletic build, the gesture was so awkward it disarmed Diane's initial alarm. Thomas was clearly embarrassed.
"I'm really sorry," Thomas continued. "Please don't tell my parents."
"Jesus, Thomas," Diane said, "Just get the hell out of here. And next time knock."
"I did knock," Thomas argued.
"Then call out," Diane returned.
"I did!" Thomas persisted.
"Then do it louder," Diane shot back. "Just go!"
Thomas turned and quickly retreated.
"And thank your parents for the casserole," Diane shouted after him before the screen door banged shut behind him, though she doubted he heard her.
She walked to the threshold, glanced up and down the empty street and then closed the heavy inside door, making sure to lock it. With the door secure, she returned to the couch, fit the cushion back into place, and then collapsed onto it. A smile spread across her lips like the first crack in a dam, and rapidly grew into hysterical laughter. She recalled the juvenile's awkwardness, and wondered if she might have been the first woman he'd ever seen naked.
"You see, Diane," she mock-rebuked herself. "This is why you can't be an adult. This is why! First opportunity to prove you're a responsible member of society and you're throwing yourself stark naked at the first neighbor boy you meet!" Another fit of giggles overtook her.
***
It took just a couple of days to finish unpacking her belongings. For whatever reason (Diane suspected there was some kind of insult buried in the gesture), her father had insisted on giving her his camping equipment, even though she'd never went camping in her life. "You never know," he had said. Now, they were the final two boxes left to find a space for, and all available space was accounted for in the closets, and garage. The only options left were the attic or the trash. After a few minutes consideration, she decided to store the equipment.
There was an access panel in the ceiling of the hallway, with a cord hanging down. She had to carry a chair all the way upstairs from her dining table. Even standing on it, it was a stretch, but at last, she was able to reach the cord. With a loud violent rattle, the panel fell downward on a hinge, and a metal ladder came crashing out down to the floor.
"Jesus," Diane said, catching her breath. She'd nearly been knocked off the chair, but managed to keep her balance. Prudently, she stepped down and moved around the ladder. She gazed up into the dark attic. "Jesus," she said again, feeling a little creeped out.
She gathered her nerves, and then took one of the boxes in her arms. Slowly she wrestled it up the rungs of the ladder and into the attic. Climbing up behind it, she found a space of exposed insulation, cobwebs and wooden beams. A plank walkway (or crawlway, since there wasn't enough room to stand up entirely), had been constructed over several of the beams. Once she was up she found there was at least a beam of light filtering in through decorative windows.
As she shoved the boxes further into the dim attic, she heard the clear sound of a starting lawnmower. She turned her eyes in the direction of the noise, and saw that one of the windows was open a crack. The sun was on the other side of the house, and so there was little in the way of light coming through, but Diane's mind leapt to possibilities of rain damage, invading critters, and runaway electricity bills. She cursed the previous owners for being so damned careless as she hobbled hunched-over towards the window.
As she closed and locked the window in place, she gazed out. The view was limited. If she turned her head one way she could see into the back yard where Mr. Gates was pushing an old red gas-powered mower around his lawn. If she turned it another she could just barely see the street. Looking straight down however showed her another window, and beyond it a messy teen boy's bedroom with posters of football players and hip-hop artists on the walls. The floor was covered with discarded t-shirts and boxer shorts.
Thomas Gates, Diane thought, recalling the image of the anxious kid standing in her doorway holding his mother's casserole. She couldn't help but smile to herself, thinking of the confused, terrified, but also horny expression on his face. The poor clueless child!
As if conjured by the memory, Thomas suddenly appeared in the window. Startled, Diane attempted to stand, but hit her head. "Ow! Shit!" She cried, her hands going to rub the offended spot. She looked again, but Thomas seemed not to notice her at all. He was scanning the windows below. Looking for what? For her? Maybe hoping to catch another glance of the nudist neighbor?
Diane's surprise gave way to curiosity. She saw him thrust one hand deep into the pocket of his shorts. She could see it shifting and moving around beneath the fabric as if searching for a lost coin. But the motion continued for too long for him to really be digging out a bit of spare change. Slowly it began to dawn on Diane. Was he…? Oh God, what if he was?