Nicole Nichols: My First Anal Penetration!

Get in tight with the girl next door. Petite with blonde hair, brown-eyes, and a sweet smile, Nicole’s other blessings are best not mentioned in mixed company… but you can see them up close if you come on over.

I’ve lived next door for six months, and in all that time, we’ve exchanged maybe fifty words. “Morning.” “Nice weather.” “Thanks for grabbing my mail.” The usual polite distance of people who share a wall but not a life.

Until last week, when everything changed.

It started with a power outage. The whole block went dark around 8 PM, and I was stumbling around looking for candles when my doorbell rang. I opened it to find Nicole standing there, holding a flashlight and a bottle of wine.

“Figured if we’re both going to be sitting in the dark, we might as well do it together,” she said, and her smile was exactly as sweet as I’d always imagined.

I invited her in.

We sat on my living room floor, candles flickering around us, drinking wine and talking for hours. About her job as a graphic designer, about my work in marketing, about the strange intimacy of living so close to someone you don’t actually know. She laughed easily, asked thoughtful questions, and somewhere around the second glass of wine, I realized I’d stopped thinking of her as “the girl next door” and started thinking of her as Nicole.

The power came back on at midnight. Neither of us moved.

“I should go,” she said, not moving.

“You should.” I didn’t move either.

She looked at me then, really looked, and something shifted in the air between us. “I’m glad the power went out.”

“Me too.”

She stood finally, and I walked her to the door. On the threshold, she paused, turning back to face me.

“You know, I’ve lived here for two years. You’re the first neighbor who’s ever invited me in.” Her brown eyes held mine, warm and slightly nervous. “I’d like to return the favor sometime. If you want.”

“I’d like that.”

She smiled, that sweet smile, and disappeared into her own apartment. I closed the door and leaned against it, heart pounding for reasons I couldn’t quite explain.

The next evening, I took her up on the offer.

Her apartment was smaller than mine, but warmer—plants everywhere, art on the walls, books stacked in comfortable piles. She made dinner, something simple and delicious, and we ate at her tiny table while her dog curled up at our feet.

“This is nice,” I said, meaning it.

“It is.” She looked around her space, then back at me. “I don’t usually do this. Invite people over, I mean. I’m kind of… private.”

“I noticed.”

She laughed. “Was it that obvious?”

“Just a little.” I set down my fork. “Why me? Why now?”

Nicole considered the question, turning her wine glass in slow circles. “Because you looked at me the other night like you actually saw me. Not the girl next door, not the blonde with the dog, not whatever story people tell themselves about who I am. Just… me.”

I thought about that night, about the candlelight and the conversation, about how easy it had been to talk to her.

“I did see you,” I said. “I see you.”

Her eyes glistened, just slightly. “I know. That’s why you’re here.”

After dinner, we moved to her couch, still talking, still learning each other. She told me about her family, her dreams, the things that scared her. I told her about my own. Somewhere in the middle of it all, her hand found mine, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m glad you came over,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you asked.”

She leaned in, and I met her halfway. The kiss was soft, tentative, full of possibility. When we pulled apart, she was smiling that sweet smile, but her eyes held something deeper now. Something that felt like trust.

“You should stay,” she said. “If you want.”

I wanted.

The night that followed was full of discoveries—the sound of her laugh in the dark, the way she fit against me, the surprising strength in her petite frame. We talked until we couldn’t keep our eyes open, then slept tangled together, her dog curled at our feet.

In the morning, I woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee. Nicole was in the kitchen, wearing one of my shirts—when had she gotten that?—and humming softly to herself.

“Morning,” she said when I appeared in the doorway. “Sleep okay?”

“Best sleep in months.” I accepted the coffee she offered, wrapped my hands around the warm mug. “This is…”

“Crazy? Fast? Too much?” She looked nervous suddenly.

“Perfect.” I kissed her forehead. “This is perfect.”

Her smile could have lit the whole block.

We’ve been inseparable since that night. The girl next door isn’t a mystery anymore—she’s the woman I come home to, the one who leaves notes on my door and steals my shirts and makes me laugh when I’m taking myself too seriously. Her other blessings, the ones best not mentioned in mixed company, I’ve discovered up close. And they’re exactly as wonderful as the rest of her.

Sometimes the best things in life are right next door. You just have to be brave enough to knock.