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I take a long, cold sip of my lemonade (spiked with vodka), wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead, and silently curse the previous owners of my new house for letting their garden go to hell. It is a brutally hot afternoon, but I am bound and determined to rid my flowerbeds of these God-forsaken weeds. My tank top and running shorts are plastered to my skin and I just tossed my hair up in a ponytail to get it off my neck. I had no idea when I moved here that it could still be so blazing hot in October, or I might have reconsidered my location instead of changing my life on the whim of a dart. Really. I threw a dart at a map. The city it landed on is where I found a job and moved. Crazy? Maybe. But I was not in a particularly lucid frame of mind after finding my fiancée in bed with my sister. I had to get away, and tossing a dart seemed as logical as any other method of escape. With my litigation skills, I had no trouble landing a job with a law office in this nice Southern town. I bought a big house in a beautiful neighborhood and drove the 2000 miles from Seattle with nothing but my car, my chocolate lab Dexter, and one suitcase. I left everything else, wanting nothing to remind me of my old life. This is a new start, and while I’m not exactly excited about it, I am resigned to make the best of it. The people in this neighborhood seem friendly, smiling and waving to me as they drive by. It’s not a very big neighborhood, but it is gated and exclusive. Everyone seems to drive a luxury vehicle, and all of the clothes I’ve seen carry designer labels. Not a problem for me. My Lexus fits in just fine, and I plan to replace all of my old designer clothes with brand new designer clothes, starting this weekend when I treat myself to a marathon shopping spree. I have one nice outfit to my name right now, and I plan to bust that out tonight when I am visited by the neighborhood Welcome Wagon. That visit was announced this morning when one of the neighbors walked over and introduced herself to me. She looked about my age, mid thirties, with a fake tan, fake nose, fake breasts, and perfectly almanbahis coiffed fake blonde hair. She extended a meticulously manicured hand, with fake fingernails, which I shook with my dirt-encrusted one. Her nose wrinkled just slightly as she attempted to subtly wipe her hand clean. Then she pasted on a fake smile, and gave me the good news. “I’m Veronica. Welcome to the neighborhood. The Welcome Wagon would like to stop by this evening and welcome you properly. Is 7:00 acceptable to you?” I smiled back, and mustered some (fake) enthusiasm, “I’m Nikki, and I’d absolutely love a visit. I look forward to it!” I check my watch. 5:00. How on earth is it still so hot at 5:00? Giving the weeds the evil eye, I throw in the trowel with a temporary, grudging acknowledgement of defeat and head to the shower. I peel off my sweat-soaked clothes and step into the shower, my amazing new shower with the floor to ceiling wall of jets that can soak my entire body horizontally from head to toe. The water pressure and temperature is cranked up high, and the jets pelt my tired muscles with the hottest water I can stand. I just want to stand here for hours, relaxing, letting my thoughts run down the drain. I wash my hair, massaging my fingers through my scalp and working up luxurious bubbles before rinsing it clean. My shower gel is called Seascape, and its scent reminds me of the beach. I have a fleeting image of Jason, tanned and ripped, his swim trunks sitting low on his hips, walking towards me as I lounge in the sand. Without thinking, I step closer to the shower jet wall, bending my legs just slightly to position one of the jets so that the hot water shoots between my legs. I shiver at the sensation as my body temperature rises, my nipples hardening under the assault of another pair of jets. With thoughts of Jason in my head, I reach down to touch my pussy. I slide a finger inside, moaning at the feeling as the powerful jets attack my clit, heating it up, sending little shivers of excitement through my entire body. I add a second finger and fuck myself with them, thrusting my fingers almanbahis yeni giriş in and out while my hips press forward, forcing the jets to pound me with the hot water until I feel my orgasm tearing through my body. I grit my teeth and moan, and the tears spring unbidden to my eyes as I collapse against the shower wall. I shake my head viciously, trying to force Jason’s image from my mind. Not enough time has passed yet. I just need more time. After the shower, I collect myself with a cup of hot tea before I carefully dry my shoulder-length brown hair, straightening it and flipping up the ends. I apply my makeup flawlessly, and dress in a designer skirt, heels and a very expensive beaded halter top. Then I eat dinner…a piece of pizza left over from the feast I provided the delivery boys that have trooped in and out of my house for the last few days. Finally, I settle on the couch with a stack of briefs to wade through, while I dread…er…anticipate the arrival of the neighborhood Welcome Wagon. At 7:00 on the dot, the bell rings. I walk to the door, expecting a handful of smiling women. I am totally unprepared for the horde that waits on my doorstep. No less than a dozen female neighbors, some smiling, some not. Without an invitation, they troop into my living room. “Come in,” I say, with just a touch of irritation. One of the women thrusts a basket into my hands containing fruit and a copy of the neighborhood bylaws. A statuesque redhead, apparently the spokeswoman for the group, steps forward, clears her throat and addresses me without introduction. “This neighborhood is very exclusive. We are very particular about maintaining its appearance. You must demonstrate meticulous attention to your lawn, landscaping, and exterior of your home. You must keep all vehicles in operational condition and housed within your garage. Trash cans must be kept out of sight except on trash collection day. There will be no clutter allowed standing in your driveway, on your porches, or in your yard. All window coverings must be lined in white, and all windows in the house must almanbahis giriş be covered consistently. Other, more specific requirements are outlined in this document,” she sweeps her hand towards my basket and steps back. A second woman steps up, tossing her jet black hair off her shoulders and clearing her throat. “We are concerned that you appear to be single. Is that the case?” Incensed at the question, I have momentarily lost the power of speech. I nod my head. “We thought so. You must understand this is a family community. We are all happily married women and wish to avoid any unnecessary…tension in the neighborhood that could come from a single woman parading through the streets. So we will require you to dress appropriately from now on to avoid putting yourself on display within view of our husbands. For example, gardening in a tank top with no bra could hardly be considered modest. You will refrain from such vulgar dress in the future.” I just stare at her for a second, then I bust out laughing, a good, long, hearty laugh. No one joins in. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. A petite blonde speaks up from the middle of the pack. “We don’t condone that type of language in this neighborhood. We pride ourselves on our upstanding moral character and hope that you will adapt to our values, find yourself a good husband, and become a respectable member of our little society.” Wow. Just wow. Never…ever…in my life… Have I died and entered some other dimension? It’s like Twilight Zone meets Desperate Housewives. I’m so stunned, I can’t even think straight. Then, suddenly and without warning, the bitch in me wakes up and gets pissed. A plan jumps into my head, fully formed. I quickly plaster on a (fake) smile to rival any one of theirs. “I understand, and I completely respect your desire to maintain a peaceful and happy neighborhood. I will do everything I can to ensure that my presence here is…desirable. Can I ask a favor? I’d love to learn who and where all of you are in the neighborhood, but I have a terrible memory. Would you write your names and addresses in this notebook? And please include your husbands’ and children’s names as well…so I know who to avoid, of course.” A collective sigh of relief goes through the crowd at my apparent willingness to conform, and they all take turns writing out their information.