Her pendulous ample breasticles swayed heavenlyishly through the sheer top she bought at 5ever 21. Her thoughts turned, probably, as they always did, probably, to the older man next door. Was he a super model? Yesn’t. But that didn’t matter to her. Like her fertile mother, Cherelynne’s loins burned with the heat of a just-roasted turkey, basted in the sweat from a handsome chef. She knew she had to have that balding, overweight, middle-aged ex-ginger creep next door and it totally wasn’t all just in his imagination. As I bounced on the trampoline again, I wondered how she didn’t notice me peering over the fence.