My Wonderful Neighbor

About 10 years ago, a woman in her late 30s or at the most 40 lived next door to me. She had a husband and teenage son who were away during the day at work and school. Her role was housewife, and during the warm weather months she was out working in her yard and garden most days.
Our backyards happened to be separated by a chain link fence and I could look into her yard and watch her from my kitchen window, which I often did, as she was quite easy on the eyes. She was ever–so–slightly on the plump side, with high, pointed, perfectly shaped breasts, a nice little roundness to her belly, a marvelously shaped butt, smooth, youthful–looking legs, and a cheerful, outgoing personality. Her work clothes were usually the same – a halter–top and blue denim shorts.
One day I observed her in her yard and I could swear I saw a wet spot in the crotch of her denim shorts. With my heart rate beginning to accelerate, I stepped out into my yard, walked over to the fence and casually asked how it was going. As she approached me, it became abundantly clear she had indeed wet herself, and quite recently. The wet patch in her shorts was still glistening and I could see wet streaks inside her thighs. I wondered if she was wearing panties under the shorts.
Realizing her wet pants were obvious, she smiled coyly and said, “Sorry about that, but I do this often. I can’t see interrupting my work to run to the toilet, especially when I’m wearing old clothes.” I fumbled for words. “Seems like a good idea,” was the best I could get out. Fortunately, under my jeans I was wearing briefs, which tended to restrain my growing erection and hopefully made it not too conspicuous.
We stood on opposite sides of the fence and made small talk for several minutes while I struggled not to stare at her crotch. At one point, she tugged at one leg of her shorts, and then ran a finger along her wet thigh. Was this an unconscious move, or was she deliberately teasing me? I would never know.
My erection became so intense it was painful, and I’m afraid it was overcoming the ability of my briefs to contain it. Without looking down, I sensed there was a noticeable bulge in my jeans. I thought she glanced down a couple of times and a faint look of amusement crossed her face, no doubt amused she had the power to give a guy in his mid–50s a woody. She’d be surprised to know that today, 10 years later, I’ve got an equally intense boner just writing about the experience.
She eventually excused herself to finish her gardening. As she turned and walked away from me, she bent forward to pull up a weed. As she did so, her shorts rode up her butt, revealing the leg band of white panties, confirming what I was wondering about.
As the summer went on, I frequently watched her from my kitchen window, admiring her pert figure and hoping to see wet pants again. One day, I had a success I never could have dreamed of – I actually caught her in the act. Just as I looked out the window, she was standing at the corner of her garden, legs spread, joyfully and copiously peeing her denim shorts. It was a long, soaking pee, and when she finished, she took a few spread–legged steps, gripped the legs of her shorts in her fingers, shook off the excess wetness, and then continued with her work as though nothing had happened.
I was tempted to go out and talk to her, but decided against it, fearing it would be too obvious. She might guess I just wanted to admire her wet pants. Although with her sensuality and flirtatious nature, she probably wouldn’t have minded.
She later moved away, leaving me with a temporary feeling of loss. I still have recurring dreams about this wonderfully uninhibited woman for whom pants wetting seemed as natural as breathing. I don’t expect to ever again meet anyone like her.
Bloom