Boy Next Door (Chapter 3)

This is chapter 3 of Boy Next Door. If you haven’t already, you can read the previous chapters here:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Short recap: John Callahan (25) - neighbor to the Ashfords - intends to spend the weekend finishing his architectural project due Monday. Then his next-door neighbor, carefree wild child and college sophomore Matty Ashford (19) invites him to the Ashford’s legendary Fourth of July pool party.

Writer’s note: My stories are intended for adult readers (18+). All characters are 18+ and consenting adults.

My stories are handwritten by me (=not AI-assisted). All imagery to bring the story to life is created by me (=AI-assisted). I have never been to a Fourth of July backyard pool party … it’s all my wild imagination and hopefully sparks yours 🎉🌭🍹🏳️‍🌈 Enjoy!

Narrator: John Callahan (25 - neighbor to the Ashford family)

🍔 FLIPPIN BURGERS 🍔

It was a scorching hot Fourth of July. Once Matty dropped on Insta he was having a party, an hour later half the town was in the Ashford pool.

By 2:30 PM the place was packed and cans, towels and floaties were scattered all over the backyard.

Matty’s entrance to the party had caused quite the commotion. He’d probably calculated the exact moment to come out for maximum effect: with his usual swagger, in nothing but tennis shoes, white socks and that skimpy speedo. His tight ass moved smoothly as he strutted to the DJ booth, instantly pulling a crowd.

Matty’s friends had dragged the loungers into a cluster at the pool’s edge. Towels hung to dry over the porch railing of the pool house. Cups and paper plates with hotdogs balanced on the armrests. Half of his group was baking in the sun, the other half was in the pool. There was so much cannonballing the water churned, slapping the pool walls and sloshing over the edge. The girls were trapped in the middle of the wild whirlpool, clenching onto the floaties and each other.

At the outside bar I dropped the extra ice cubes in the cooler. Luke was cracking jokes to a crowd of girls from the neighborhood and his college friends. He was shaking cocktails, pulling his usual moves, flashing his pretty-boy smile. Laid-back in his open shirt, showing off his lean, athletic runner’s physique. He knew damn well the effect he had on people.

“John come over here!” He put his arm around me and pulled me closer. He smelled delicious like he always did. “You know that joke about the three guys in the sauna?”

Oh god, not the three guys in the sauna. He kept his arm tight around me, telling the joke I heard about ten times before but didn’t really quite get. The girls doubled over with laughter at the pun while I smiled like the dentist just pulled one of my teeth.

“I’m heading over there.” I said, when the laughter died out a bit and pointed at the thick smoke rising from the grill area, next to the bar. “I think Marc needs help.”

“He’s the self-proclaimed grill master,” Luke said, “What makes you think he needs your help?”

I looked at Marc and then back at Luke.

He saw my confusion and took my hands. “Sorry. I meant: of course he needs help John, he’s in it over his head, look at all the burned meat.” Luke’s eyes were beautiful. Muddy grey with light specks. Like Matty’s.

“I know you’d much rather be at your drawing table than be out here in this chaos.” Luke added.

A girl squeezed his biceps asking for a cocktail so he got back to pouring and shaking. He winked at me and mouthed “thanks.”

🌽 NEAT ROWS & SPILLED SAUCE 🌽

I stepped into the cloud of smoke just as Marc was balancing a burger on a spatula doing his triple-flip-burger trick.

“Watch, watch this!”

Nobody really looked at this new attempt. Sure enough the burger landed on the stone floor, in the middle of a giant puddle of barbecue sauce that was cooking on the hot floor like a blob of lava, caramelized nearly black under the sun. Nobody seemed to care to mop it up.

The overwhelming smell of tomatoes and vinegar of the spilled sauce added to the heavy scent of charred meat that Marc hadn’t moved away from the flames.

Marc slapped me on the shoulder “Thanks bro!”, handed me the spatula and took off to his football teammates that had turned the backyard into their end zone.

I cleaned up the mess at the workstation, shuffled the sizzling meat over the hot metal and moved the burgers away from the flames.

From where I was standing, I got a pretty good view over the party crowd.

Several throws of the football guys ended in Mrs. Ashford’s hydrangeas.

By the pool house Chase Whitfield and his group were drawing attention as they did. He was clad in his usual low-hanging jeans and torn second-hand shirt that was hanging of his shoulder. His favorite low-life fit to piss off his filthy rich family. Chase wasn’t bad looking, a bit edgy, not really my type. He was twenty-something and did modeling on the side. The ‘side’ being, living of his parents. His father was the founder of Whitfield Capital. Private equity, high-end property development, that sort of thing. Estates on every continent, butlers, private chauffeurs, helicopters, the lot.

Chase and Matty weren’t really friends so no idea who invited him today. Luke had mentioned Matty being excited about Jessica Whitfield, Chase’s sister, attending the party but I had never seen her before and I couldn’t really spot a girl in the crowd with Whitfield DNA.

Matty had told me there had been some ‘beef’ in the past between their groups. Chase hung out with artists and models while Matty was still very loyal to his highschool mates and friends from the neighborhood he grew up with. The only thing Chase and Matty had in common was their insatiable need to soak up attention: Chase out of arrogance, Matty out of insecurity.

NO 🧅 NO 🧀

I lined the burgers, all facing the same direction, rearranging the messy line-up Marc had made. The grease and marinade dripped onto the coals non-stop, hissing and sending up smoke. I shuffled the sausages to the cooler side and with the tongs I reordered the corn in neat rows. They were plump, the kernels golden and glossy, ready to burst.

People kept asking questions about my long sleeves. I clearly wasn’t half-naked in trunks or bikini like the rest of the party. Questions lead to conversation and conversation was my least favorite thing. Apart from being stuck at a grill with grease splattering all over me. That was my new least favorite thing. To be honest, nobody actually asked. They just looked. Which was the same, only worse.

You could have said no John.

You could have been drawing the damn floor plan of the west wing.

But no, here you are flipping meat.

I told myself I was here to keep an eye on Matty.

He was enjoying himself at the DJ booth, cranking up the volume and bouncing up and down with his best friend Juan. Those two had been a package deal since first grade. Probably Juan was the only one that could match Matty’s energy levels.

The DJ booth, that was merely a rickety structure with a wooden board, wobbled hard. It looked like it could collapse any minute.

The Matty fanclub was busy shuttling back and forth to the bar to fetch fresh drinks for Matty. They served him cocktails to his lips by a straw while he was swaying his hips to the music, his arms in the air. The bottle of sunscreen must have been pretty much empty by now because the girls rubbed his back with layers of white streaks every 5 minutes.

He caught me looking, slid his sunglasses to the tip of his nose and winked.

A girl with long chestnut hair stood waiting till I pulled my eyes away from Matty to take her order.

“Can I have one no onion, no cheese?”

“Just plain?”

“Right.” She twirled a long strand of hair in between her fingers. “Are the buns gluten-free?”

“Good question.” I looked around but there was no-one to help me out.

She chewed on the end of a lock of hair while she awaited my answer with a bored look on her face.

“I guess they are.” I shrugged. “The buns. They might be. Gluten-free. I don’t know.”

She sized me up as if I was hired staff that was shitty at their job. She looked … What was the best word for it? Entitled. Like she had been firing staff from the age of five.

“Is it important?” I insisted. I didn’t want us to have to call an ambulance. “Are you allergic or something? I mean do you have a medical condition?”

She narrowed her eyes into slits, thinking long and hard before dragging out the words. “Not really.”

Gluten-issue solved. Conversations were flowing well today.

I handed her a bun with a plain burger, no onion, no cheese.

The girl returned to her girlfriends who had dragged the loungers to the part of the garden where there was still sunshine at this hour. Halfway she turned to take another long look at me.

🍉 GLUTEN-FREE WATERMELON 🍉

I felt the tender tip-toeing of fingertips on my arm.

It was Nicola Nardelli. He had the face of an angel. He looked at me, showing his white teeth in a warm, generous smile.

The second-cousin resemblance to Matty was uncanny: deep-set grey eyes, narrowing at the outer corners and the same delicate facial features. They were related through their grandparents.

Nicola’s slender fingers caressed my sleeve, his light touch gently gliding over the satin. His eyebrows arched in a question mark. His fingers traced the jagged ridges on my forearm through the fabric.

I changed the subject though nothing had been said.

Nicola was mute. I had been given the gift of speech which I used more and more sparsely as the years progressed. He liked to count things and stack things, lick things and touch things. He liked fabrics and colors and shapes and bugs. We had a kinship that was unspoken.

“You hungry?”

He shook his head, snatched the thermometer and stabbed it into the thickest burger.

“Fun party?”

He rolled his eyes than threw me another wide, hearthwarming smile.

He hand-gestured if he could help me. I let him put buns onto a platter and let him fold slices of cheddar over a row of burgers. He used the spatula to count the rows and the buns and the slices.

We watched the shenanigans around the pool. The golden afternoon sunlight hit the DJ booth and put nature’s spotlight on Matty’s face and his slim, tanned upper-body. Gluten-girl with the chestnut hair, was feeding Matty giant wedges of watermelon. Juice was dripping all over his chin and chest and she was lapping every sticky drop from his ribs.

I peeked sideways. Nico’s eyes zeroed in on the watermelon scene. He was maybe two years older than Matty, twenty-one if I had to take a guess. The group seemed to accept Nicola but more in the way you accept a friendly, harmless ghost that tags along. He lived in his own world and he didn’t seem to mind much else.

Matty had told me he and Nico had done ‘stuff’.

What kinda stuff?

Just, stuff.

He’s your cousin.
Second cousin.

High-pitched laughter and shrieks drew all attention to the pool. Austin and the jocks cannonballed making giant splashes. Austin hauled himself from the water, slowly pushing his torso up the poolwall. He paused for a moment, his broad chest captured in the full sun, shaking his head, sending droplets everywhere. As he hauled himself out, the wet thin lycra shorts vacuum-sealed his thick cock to his thighs.

He came over.

“You got any burgers ready yet?” Water dripped from his blond curls down over his tanned skin.

I had known Austin for forever but up close he remained impressive. Being Marc’s best friend he practically lived at the Ashford house. Through the years I’d seen him grow into this jacked frame: solid chest, tight core and powerful quads. He had a girlfriend but word got out he’d been hooking up with the opposing team’s wide-receiver.

Austin snatched a sausage of the grill.

Nicola smacked Austin’s hand with the spatula.

“Heeeej! Quality control.” He flashed an easy grin, his wet curls clinging to his forehead.

“How many you want? Burgers. How many?” It came out more clipped than I wanted. The constant thumping bass, the heat.. I could no longer summon the patience to delve into my mental catalogue of appropriate small talk. With the back of my wrist I dabbed sweat from my forehead and forced a smile.

While I prepared Austin’s big order, Nico kept watching Austin with his head tilted to the side, ready to smack him again. When Austin returned to his friends, Nico disappeared into the crowd.

🧊 STIFF NIPPLES & SHATTERED HEIRLOOMS 🧊

I motioned for Marc to come and relieve me at the grill. I handed him the tongs and stepped through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen to get a fresh beer.

The place was packed. Half the party had squeezed around the kitchen island. A chorus of cheers erupted and people started filming with their phones held high.

I opened the double-door fridge, grabbed a beer and popped the tab, leaning my back into the stacks of cold drinks behind me. The cool air hit the back of my neck.

Through a gap between the lifted arms of the spectators filming around the island, I saw what the excitement was about.

I should’ve left right then and there.

A guy was sprawled across the countertop on his back, squeezed between the bowls of salad and sliced tomatoes. His head was tipped back over the edge of the counter. His midriff was sticky and shiny from booze running down his sides.

His face was hidden behind shoulders but it was clear to me who it was.

I could pick that smooth body out of a line-up.

I pressed the icy can to my forehead.

The live video feed unfolded on the small phone screens in front of me.

Little bastard Chase Whitfield was upside-down french-kissing the fuck out of Matty. He plowed his sloppy tongue in and out. Nicola was standing next to him, twiddling his fingers through Matty’s hair.

When Chase let go of his lips for a moment, Matty tilted his head up, his abs tensed. He said something I couldn’t hear and laughed.

He loved every second of being on display. Needy. Magnetic. Sharing himself with whoever for cheap attention.

I’d seen it before. It hurt every time.

A cold stream of beer fizzed out of the can when I squeezed it.

Two girls were dragging ice cubes over Matty’s bare chest, circling his nipples that peaked tight. Their fake nails scraped pink lines across his goose-bumped ribs.

Get your claws off him.

I worked my jaw loose and took a long pull from the beer.

My eyeballs were glued onto Matty’s stiff nipples. The flat, light-brown patches on his chest had tightened into round, puckered circles crowned with a taut little nub. Nicola caressed Matty’s chest, thumbing over the nipples and tweaking them with his slender fingers.

I rubbed the firework of tingles exploding all over my neck.

Matty’s whole frame jerked as Nicola kept pulling at his stiff little peaks non-stop. More hands started stroking his flank and up his thighs. His flailing legs shoved his mother’s porcelain bowls toward the edge of the counter.

The speedo strained.

Juan was holding up a bottle of tequila, egging the crowd on. He placed his hand up Matty’s thigh, pouring in a shot in Matty’s navel.

Gluten-free girl was first in line to lick the alcohol out of Matty’s belly button. The island erupted, chanting, fists tapping the counter-top:

Jes-si-ca. Jes-si-ca. Jes-si-ca.

My nerves thightened. Jessica?!

The chant hit me square in the chest. Gluten-girl was Jessica Whitfield? Chase’s sister. The girl Matty had spent all week obsessing over and now he had her brother’s tongue down his throat.

Seeing Matty pawed in public, his back arching off the counter in pleasure, made heat surge up my throat like acid reflux.

Nicola was supporting Matty’s head in his hands, giving him some relief of hanging over that counter for god-knows how long. Matty’s eyes scanned the room while Nico stroked his temples.

Was he looking for me?

For a split second Matty saw me. There was a shift in his stare, he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but at that moment his head got yanked back by Chase who unbuttoned his jeans, pulling it lower over his hips, squaring his stance and pulling his shirt high up his chest. A plate of hard, lean muscle. He had the body to match the face, the smug little twat. He dragged his palm low over his stomach, through a bush of pubes, down into his briefs. His fingers clenched around his cock to adjust himself.

The fabric of his Tom Ford underwear gaped where his dick poked upwards, forcing a gap between his stomach and the broad elastic band. He directed Matty to his groin and rolled his hips to Matty’s face.

Why wasn’t I ending this?

Matty was taking deep sniffs, his nostrils twitching, inhaling the odour from Chase’s crotch like an oxygen-deprived maniac on life support.

I pressed the cold can to my forehead to silence the voices in my head screaming for a brawl.

Sweep everything off the counter!

Yank Matty off the granite!

Land a few heavy punches right into Whitfield’s pretty, pretentious face!

I stomped my foot into the bottom row of cans. Harder the second time.

Why was I still standing here?

I told myself it was concern. Just looking out for my friend’s younger brother spread-eagle on the counter. I could step in any second. End the scene. Pull him out. I could. Any second.

Chase’s hand gripped tight around Nicola’s neck. He pulled him in for a quick, wet kiss, then pushed Nico’s head down to meet Matty’s open mouth. He was controlling both boys like a puppeteer, a sly grin on his face.

Nico kissed Matty, not in the aggressive, vulgar Chase way. But tender. Soft. Somehow the gentleness of that kiss hit me harder than all the rest.

My blood was boiling.

Matty was rolling his hips back and forth over the counter, clearly turned on by all the sensations. His wrists were pinned down by a couple of guys, his hands curled into fists.

The speedo was straining, pushed to its limits.

So was I.

My hand tightened so hard the beer can crinkled and cracked, foam spilling over my knuckles.

Matty’s legs flailed. The only part of his body that wasn’t pinned down.

As if on cue, one of Mrs. Ashford’s delicate porcelain fruit bowls slid off the edge and crashed to the floor. Oranges rolled everywhere.

Matty jerked his head up, looking around, looking for me.

I set the crushed beer can down and took a heavy step toward the island—

“Marc wants you back on grill duty. He’s burning everything.”

Luke’s head popped around the open fridge door, his loud voice startled me.

“In a minute.” I said, not taking my eyes off Matty.

“John, seriously! We need your help.” He laughed, then realized I wasn’t moving.

He followed my line of sight. His eyes flicked from the shattered heirlooms, to his brother sprawled across the kitchen island like a centerpiece, then back to me.

The grin dropped from his face.

“Grab the bowls,” he muttered, yanking my arm. “And bring him, too.”

Whitfield glanced over. His fist tightened in Matty’s hair, forcing Matty’s face in my direction making sure he saw me watching. Matty’s hazy gaze drifted across the room until his eyes finally found mine. For a split second, his expression shifted from lustful to vulnerable.