Short Shorts


It’s funny where you will find inspiration. I was driving down the street and happened to spy a young woman working in her flower garden. She wore tiny, tight short-shorts and was down on her hands and knees. She was displaying a fine little butt pointed at the street. Clearly, she was not aware of the little show she was providing to passers-by, or maybe she was… I could plainly see her panty lines and the idea for this story was born.

This is loooong, longer than I normally write for one chapter. I became very wrapped up in the backstory and the romance. To be quite honest, there is little sex and it’s mostly at the end. I hope you stick with it and enjoy the journey of two pretty ladies.

I’d like to thank my editor, drbob80. He took a story that was a mess in places and made it readable. I’d also like to thank leftylooo for reading and giving me encouragement.

About ten years ago, I moved into a new home in the suburbs. It’s an average sized three-bedroom home on a cul-de-sac in an upper middle class neighborhood. I have a good job in a relatively stable industry so I felt confident this would be my home for a long time. The downside of my good job is that I work long hours and don’t really have much of a social life. Sadly, the majority of my social life consisted of attending the many block and house parties put on by the homeowner’s association.

It’s not easy being the only single female in a family oriented subdivision. At the homeowner’s association parties, many of the good family men would sidle up to me, figuring that since I was single, I would be gagging for it (as the British say). I was not. At these parties, I tried to make certain that I always stayed clear of the men and hung out with the women. I didn’t want them thinking that I was after their husbands. For the most part, I succeeded in that endeavor. Marci from down the street became a particularly good friend.

Occasionally, there was a new wife who took offense to her husband talking to me. It rarely happened, but when it did, it didn’t last long. The other ladies seemed to know that their men didn’t interest me and would talk to the offended wife. Eventually, I became good friends with all of the wives because I never failed to hold their men at arm’s length and beyond.

Several years ago, the economy took a sharp turn for the worse. Many people lost their jobs and some were not able to recover. There were some families from our little group who lost their homes and had to move away. A few were able to find work locally, but others were forced to move away to distant cities. In any event, we all lost touch with the friends that left our little enclave. Homes that were lost had been foreclosed and sat empty. The lending institutions made certain that the grass was cut, but the lovely little flower gardens became overgrown from lack of attention.

After a couple of years, the economy began to recover and house flippers bought some of the homes. However, there was one house on my street that didn’t sell to a flipper and was looking sadder and sadder. It actually sat empty and forlorn for more than three years.

Then, some time ago I noticed a moving van parked in the driveway with movers carrying furniture and other items into the garage and house. I didn’t see anybody that seemed to be connected to the house, so I had no idea who had purchased the home. I was thrilled because there was somebody in it and I hoped that the rundown appearance would soon begin to improve.


I am an avid runner. Even though I work long hours, I make time every day to run; it’s my time, my sanctuary. Most days my run takes place early in the morning, but my schedule occasionally interferes with that. When that happens, I will run late in the day.

This week I had had a series of meetings at six-thirty in the morning and I didn’t have enough time to run and get ready without getting up at an ungodly hour. So, I was relegated to running late in the day. It was about three weeks after the new neighbors moved in and I had yet to see them. I assumed that while the exterior of the house didn’t look bad, except for the weeds in the flower beds, the inside of the house must be much worse, therefore taking up most of their time. When I ran, my route took me past the house on the way out and then again on the way back. I would glance at the house each time I went by and didn’t see that anything had changed.

One Saturday morning, I ran by, glanced at the house and didn’t immediately notice anything out of the ordinary. However, as I was turning my head back, I barely noticed a tiny movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked back and slowed down (almost stopping) because I didn’t see anything which would have caught my attention. As I was about to give up, thinking that the movement was a figment of my imagination, I saw the bottom of a young woman poking out from the weeds in front of the house. As my mind caught escort mecidiyeköy up with what I was seeing, I thought ‘Oh My God!’ and then stumbled over my own feet, nearly face planting in the street.

I managed to regain my balance before I fell, but the image was burned into my retinas and my brain. It was only a split second look, but the image it left was mesmerizing. She wore tiny, tight, black short-shorts. Her butt was tight and I imagined it to be very firm. The most memorable part of the image was the panty line. Every inch of the line was clearly defined under the shorts. Even though it was just a split-second glance, I swore I saw the groove of her womanhood.

I am in pretty good shape from running an average of five miles per day, but I was out of breath by the time I got to the intersection at the end of our street. I ran in place for a couple of minutes, trying to recover my breath. As I recovered, I thought about what I had seen. I became convinced that the vision burned into my memory was absolutely too good to have been true. I rationalized that I had been so surprised to see someone in the yard, that my imagination had run wild. My breathing now having returned to normal, I resumed my run, determined to shake off the ridiculously inaccurate memory as well as the stress of the week. I had two routes that I ran regularly; one was just shy of five miles and one that was about eight and a half miles. When I reached the intersection that determined my route, I never hesitated and took the eight and a half mile turn. I let the endorphins do their job and ran smoothly and effortlessly, letting my mind clear itself of clutter.

I barely thought about the vison in the black shorts as I ran. Evidently, my subconscious had been working on a problem from yesterday’s meeting, because I suddenly had an inspiration. I had turned the idea over and over in my head when I realized that not only would my idea work, it would solve an upcoming labor crisis. I was overjoyed. It was then that I became conscious that I had been running on autopilot, because the turn for my street was just ahead. As I assessed my condition I realized that I was breathing normally and my heart rate was just as slow as it would have been if I was sitting at my desk. It made me smile. I wished I could bottle this feeling.

I turned down my street and remembered the imaginary girl and her incredible bottom. I looked and was disappointed to see that she wasn’t there. To further my disappointment, I realized that she truly must have been a figment of my imagination. After I got home, I showered and then spent the next several hours on my computer firming up my ideas on labor. By the time I went to bed, the vision in the short-shorts was all but forgotten.


She was a distant memory over the next several weeks as I ran, but didn’t see her. I barely thought about her. On another Saturday morning, I glanced at the house. I didn’t see anything, as usual, and just kept running. I took my long route and felt really good as I turned down my street. Little did I know that I was in for a big surprise.

I looked over as I approached her house and was awestruck to recognize the bottom in the black short-shorts. Not only was she real, but the vision was better than I remembered. As I passed, she got up from her hands and stretched her back, letting me see the whole of her butt and her back. The panty line that had tantalized me was revealed to me to be bikini style panties and, under the white tank top she was apparently braless for there was no bra outline. The pride I always had felt in having my breath after the run quickly dissipated, as I was suddenly breathless.

I stumbled once again, but, this time, I was unable to regain my footing. I shrieked, “Oh Shiiittt!” as I went down, skinning my knees and my hands in the process. I stayed down for a moment, mentally assessing the damage.

I was startled by a soft voice asking, “Are you all right?”

My head snapped up and the wearer of the short-shorts was kneeling in front of me with a concerned expression on her face. I was mesmerized and speechless at the vision of Amy Adams in front of me. Of course, I knew it wasn’t Amy Adams, but she could have been her sister. The strawberry blonde hair, the startlingly pale green eyes, cute upturned nose, gorgeous face seemed to be all Amy Adams. I stayed down, staring at her, speechless, my mouth working soundlessly.

She started to giggle. I frowned and it made her laugh harder. “I’m sorry,” she snorted,” you look like a baby bird, with your mouth opening and closing.” I still was unable to respond, her beauty overwhelming me. It should have pissed me off, that this person that I didn’t even know making fun of me, but it didn’t.

“Come on,” she snickered, “I know you can speak, I heard you swear quite loudly!”

I blurted the thing that was at the front of my mind, even though it didn’t answer her question. escort şişli “You look just like Amy Adams!”

I was stunned by her answer, “Of course I do. That’s ’cause I am Amy Adams!” My mouth started working again as I struggled with a response.

She laughed aloud and her laughter was contagious and I joined in. “Of course, I’m not her; I just love seeing the reaction to me saying that.”

I was grinning when I muttered, “Bitch!”

She responded with mock horror, “You called America’s Sweetheart a bitch?!? Shame on you.”

As I stared at her, it slowly dawned on me that we were still on the sidewalk in front of her house; me on my hands and knees and “Amy”, kneeling.

I cleared my throat, “I ummm, we ought to get up.” I started to rise.

She put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Not until you tell me if you’re all right!”

I tried to hide a grateful smile at her words. I hadn’t heard that level of compassion directed toward me in a long, long time.

“I honestly don’t know.” I grinned. “Maybe if you let me up, we can figure that out.”

She snorted a laugh and stood up, holding out her hands. I took them and felt a surge between us. My eyes widened at the unexpected feeling. I looked at her and her eyes had done the same, as though she had felt it too.

“Whoa…,” she murmured, confirming that she had felt it.

“Ummm, yeah,” I agreed.

As we stood there, she didn’t let go and neither did I. We stood quietly, searching each other’s eyes.

I finally decided that I needed to say something. “Ummm, maybe I need to introduce myself, since we’re standing here holding hands. I am Kendall Jacobs, and I live in the brick ranch at the end of the street.”

She had been looking into my eyes without much of an expression on her face, but after I introduced myself, she broke into a huge grin. “Do you mind that we’re holding hands?”

I decided to see if “Amy” had a sense of humor. “I like that we are holding hands, but I’m not so sure that I like the dirt from the flower beds.”

Her eyes got wide again, looked down at her hands and tried to jerk them away, but I had anticipated that and held on tight. I grinned at her when she looked back up at me. “Gotcha!”

“Ooooh, you are quite the bitch too, aren’t you?” She said, grinning back at me.

“Maaayyybee…” I smirked. “Do you have a name, or should I continue to call you Amy?”

Her grin widened a little when she said, “My name is Reilly Hannigan.”

I grinned back at her, “That’s a very pretty name, and really Irish!”

She blushed, “Uhhh, yeah, my great-grandparents came over in the fifties and settled in Boston. My grandpa and my dad each married proper Irish-Catholic girls and here I am.” She giggled, “My full name is Mary Katherine Reilly Hannigan.”

I cocked my head and grinned, “Mary-Kate?”

The cute smile dropped instantly. The set to her jaw was firm and more than a little scary. “We’re new friends so you don’t know, but no-one will ever call me Mary-Kate again!”

Her demeanor changed back almost as quickly and she was smiling again. “So, if you want to be friends, and I hope you do, you’ll remember that.”

Frightened, I dropped her hands and stepped back. I did not need a friendship with a nutcase.

Her smile fell instantly and her lip trembled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve frightened you. I’m not crazy, I promise. If you’ll let me help you clean up, I’ll explain everything and then I hope you’ll understand.” She stood there, looking sad and yet hopeful. I hesitated and her shoulders drooped even further, the hopeful expression fading.

She turned to walk away. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

My heart broke at the vision of her sadness. I reached out and touched her elbow and she turned to look at me, the hope in her eyes a very powerful thing. “I’ll gladly take your help and listen to what you have to tell me. I’m not making any promises, though.”

Her cute, shy smile returned and was more than a little heartbreaking. She hesitantly reached out to take my hand and I extended mine and placed it in hers, with a little more bravery than I felt. I wasn’t sure about this at all, but the poignant way in which she was acting now inexplicably moved me.

We took a step towards her house and evidently the scrapes on my knees had already started to scab over because I suddenly felt searing pain surge through my knees. They buckled unexpectedly and I yelped as I went down again.

Reilly shrieked in surprise, “Kendall! Are you alright?”

I looked up sheepishly at her covering her mouth in disbelief. “Uhhh, that hurt more than I expected.”

I struggled to stand while she was frozen in place. She suddenly realized that I needed help. She reached out again and took my hands. The surge that we had felt earlier was alive and well and it comforted me a little. I hoped that the electricity between us was a sign that everything would escort taksim be alright.

Reilly slipped an arm around my waist and took my left hand in hers. I smiled gratefully as I once again felt the caring feeling from her wash over me. Even though I really didn’t need it, I leaned into her a little more and she tightened her arm around me. I sighed happily and I felt her either shiver in appreciation or shake with a little giggle. I really didn’t care either way.

Reilly apologized, “I’m sorry, we need to go around to the back door. The living room is a little torn up and I’m afraid that you might stumble and fall again.” This time she did giggle, “I wouldn’t want those long beautiful legs to get hurt again.”

I flushed in embarrassment, but also in excitement. I teased he a little, “Beautiful, huh? Have you been spying on me?” I glanced up at her, grinning to myself.

“Oh! No! I uhhh, I, oh crap! I…” Reilly flushed in embarrassment, stuttering along, not really able to answer me.

I snickered and her head snapped around to stare at me, then she grinned, “Bitch!”

I smirked in return. As we slowly made our way around the house, we weren’t watching where we were going. I was captivated by her lovely green eyes and I hoped she was similarly absorbed in my own brown ones. We stumbled over the hose that was stretched across the sidewalk and I went down, yet again. When I looked up from my now very painful hands and knees, her eyes were wide and her hands were covering her mouth in horror. I had to laugh.

Her hands left her mouth and went to her hips. “Just what is so funny?” Reilly asked indignantly.

I chuckled, “I just had a flash of the future. When people ask how we met, I will say, ‘After I had fallen at her feet, my angel of mercy helped me to my feet and to her home. Then she threw me to the ground.’ After that, my heart was hers!”

She tried to continue frowning, but failed miserably. “What would make you think I want the heart of somebody so clumsy?” She started laughing, “My back would be sore all the time from picking your uncoordinated ass up!”

When she said ass, my thoughts immediately returned to the vision of her ass in the shorts. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting to her hip, trying in vain to see her ass. When I looked back at her face, her eyes had widened again, then flashed and she had a little smirk on her face.

She raised her hands above her head, raising her small, firm breasts into her tee shirt; her hard nipples pressed into the sweaty cotton and then did a full, slow pirouette. My eyes were drawn to her ass like a moth to a flame. When she came around, she stopped and I was staring right at her crotch. I noticed movement in the periphery of my vision and her hands had returned to her hips. My eyes returned to her face and her perfect lips were drawn up into another smirk.

“Like what you see?” She whispered throatily.

I was completely and utterly speechless. I simply nodded.

“Good,” she whispered, “so do I. Let’s try this one more time.”

Gently, she took my hands in hers and helped me to my feet. Silently, her arm returned to encircle my waist and into her hand went mine. It was comfortable and somehow felt as though that was how we belonged. Slowly, this time paying close attention to where we were walking, we made our way through the back door.

I barely remembered this house from the previous owner’s, but the kitchen had been completely transformed. All of the cabinets were new, as were the countertops and appliances. A wall that had separated the kitchen from the rest of the house was gone, making an open inviting space. Beyond the kitchen, however, the house looked like it been hit by a tornado. There was no furniture, the carpet was pulled up and rolled up in the middle of the living room. The drywall had been pulled down from the studs and was piled alongside of the carpet, as were about half of the studs. I could see that a room at the other end of the house had what looked to be new studs and a layer of drywall installed. I assumed that was Reilly’s bedroom and it appeared to be finished.

Reilly saw that I was looking around her house. She guided me to the table and had me sit on a chair. Then she explained. “Sorry, my dad and I have been working on this. I saw this house and fell in love with the neighborhood and most of the house, but there were things I wanted to change. Mostly, I wanted a fresh start. We tore everything out down to the studs, enlarged and put the bedroom back together and finished the kitchen.”

I asked in amazement, “You did this all in three weeks?”

She laughed, “Of course not. I’ve owned the house for six months. We’ve been working on it every day.”

“But I run by it nearly every day, I haven’t seen anything.” I said.

“We work between nine and three every day, no breaks. Then Daddy and I fill up his truck and are out of here by four.” She said. “I didn’t want my new neighbors to be unhappy with the construction. I didn’t move in until I had some place to sleep and eat. Now, we work the same hours indoors and I get to live in my house.”

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