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My new neighbor is an online sex advice vlogger — but she doesn’t know that I know
Out of curiosity, I checked out her videos. Who wouldn’t?
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The thing I like most about the Ford Thunderbird is the way a chick’s hips fit perfectly onto the curve of the hood. It’s my favorite car to bend a woman over on.
This time it’s a blonde. She’s face down on the hood of my ’62 Thunderbird. Whatever her name is.
Her denim skirt is scrunched up around her waist, and I step back to survey her naked ass in the streetlight.
“Please,” she breathes.
Without waiting any longer, I free my cock from my jeans, pull the condom out of my back pocket and slide it onto my shaft. I press the tip against her entrance and ram into her.
If there’s one thing a classic car ride does, it’s make women horny. And I’m always happy to pick the best looking of them and bend them over my car.
Tonight is no different.
It’s my chance to play.
I keep pounding into her, my cock getting harder and harder with each thrust. She screams, and goes limp onto the hood as an orgasm rips through her. My balls draw tight against me, and my load shoots out of me with such force I’m surprised the condom is strong enough to contain it.
After a couple of breaths, I pull out of her and tie off the condom.
The blonde doesn’t move.
“Get off my hood. I need to go home.”
She turns herself around, resting her bare cheeks on the hood and looks at me, her eyes wide.
“Will you be here next week?” she asks.
“Don’t know.” I shrug.
Not if she’s going to be looking for me. I won’t do the same woman twice in a month. It’s my rule to make sure none of them get the idea of wanting a relationship. I don’t do relationships, it’s my biggest rule.
I have to come to these classic car rides for my business. Without them, I’d make a fraction of what I make now. But I make time for a quick, hard fuck before I go home and have to be responsible.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever allowed myself. The rest of my life is all about her.
One month later…
“No honking. Boobs are not the horn on an old-fashioned car,” I say, wagging my finger at the webcam.
“If you honk them, your woman will not make the noise you want to hear. You want to make her moan and whimper, not say ah-ooo-ga.”
I yammer on another few minutes about how not to play with breasts, never demonstrating with mine or doing anything to sexualize myself. I’m teaching men how to please women, not titillate them.
The idea is to help people improve their sex lives, at least that’s how it started. Now the goal is to make a living doing it. It’s taken years, but now I have just over two million YouTube subscribers. It finally earns me enough that I’ve been able to buy a house.
Sure, I had to move out of Cincinnati to a small town to be able to afford one, but it’s all mine. I bought it all by myself, without any help from anyone.
“Okay, guys, before I go, I want to give you a tour of my new bedroom.”
It’s not really my bedroom, it’s my spare room done up as ‘my bedroom’ to better connect with my viewers.
“Here’s my bed. This is my desk where I get all my work done, under this nice, big window. Check out my view,” I say and point the webcam outside.
I glance out the window. A man appears in the backyard beside mine. My house is the last on a dead-end street, and his is the only house beside mine, the other side and back of my property borders a park.
I haven’t met my neighbor yet, and I pause to look at him. I guess he’s mid to late thirties with short dark hair and relatively tall. And cute. More than cute, from this distance. I wonder what he’s like up close.
He’s wearing an unzipped gray hoodie with jeans. His jeans look like they’re hiding some sculpted leg muscles, and I’d like to know what the hoodie’s hiding.
He glances up and his eyes zero in on my webcam. His lip snarls and he shakes his head before he turns and walks out of the view of my lens.
It’s already late afternoon and I’m behind on my video. Normally I post one video a day. At least that’s the goal. I do a mix of sex tips, relationship tips, responding to viewers’ questions and product reviews. Product reviews is my real money maker, so I do at least two of those a week.
Companies send me products, and I review them. Not so much review, more display them. Once the monthly viewer numbers of the video are in, they send me a fat check.
Between planning, shooting and editing the videos plus writing a blog to go with them and all the social media promotion, I don’t seem to stop working. Ever.