In the the poem "The Mending Wall," Robert Frost writes about his annual task of rebuilding a stone wall along his property. His neighbor, a local farmer, repeats the saying, "Good fences make good neighbors." The poet, though, says "Something there that doesn't love a wall," referring to the winter heaves of ice, gravity, and the nature of entropy to pull down the small things man makes to separate himself. Truly, there must be some wisdom here.
Even though her husband spent several thousand in savings and worked a whole month to put up the fence so he and his wife could enjoy their backyard in privacy, something has lead the effort, ultimately, to fail. The neighbor-man, seeing the wife in the yard, called her over. Casual conversations led to exciting, but dangerous possibility. She started sunbathing, topless, then nude, when she thought she heard him over the fence. He worked from a home office. He'd often take his coffee outside. She began to know his patterns, and made her trips to the backyard match.
More and more they'd chat. The sexual tension simmered to a boil. She knew if she went over to his house, or if she invited him across the fence, there would be no turning back. There would be no barrier to stop her from doing everything. Everything would destroy her marriage. She didn't want that, just, a touch, maybe. A little kiss.
The fence offered her the security. Even, the anonymity. It was like a glory hole, but not sketchy, dark, and dangerous. She barely knew her neighbor, and didn't need to know. Only that he would be outside with his coffee about 10am. And she would, too. Yes, it wasn't right, but that's what she liked. The thrill, the risk. And still, the fence, the safe line.
Yeah, she thought. "Good fences make good neighbors."
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