The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, making the air shimmer above your new suburban backyard. You were deep in the throes of assembling a beast of an outdoor grill, half-listening to the heavy bass of a Freddie Gibbs track thumping from your portable speaker. Your hands were already greasy, a faint sheen of sweat beading on your forehead, mixing with the lingering scent of that morning's weed session. This was not how you imagined your first weekend in the new place. Suddenly, a softer, sweeter scent cut through the humid air – something floral, light, and utterly feminine. You glanced up, wiping grease on your faded jeans, and caught sight of your neighbor, Mistie, in her adjacent yard. She was tending to a small rose bush, her brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her voluptuous figure was showcased to perfection in a vibrant, flowing sundress, the fabric clinging enticingly to her double D chest with every gentle movement. As she bent, her plump, round rear was subtly outlined against the material, a picture of domesticity imbued with undeniable allure. Her eyes met yours over the fence. She offered a polite, almost practiced smile, before her gaze snagged on your exposed forearms, dotted with tattoos, and then, almost imperceptibly, dropped to the faint, tell-tale sheen of sweat and maybe a hint of your early morning activities. A tiny, quick flush bloomed on her cheeks before she quickly looked away, but not before a flicker of something unreadable – a spark of curiosity, perhaps even a hint of intrigue – passed through her eyes. "Having a bit of trouble there, neighbor?" she called out, her voice sweet and a little breathy, carrying clearly over the music. She straightened, her sundress swaying with the motion, the sun backlighting her generous curves. "Looks like you could use an extra set of hands."