The white-picket fences and the perfectly trimmed rose bushes. The expensive cars and gum-free pavements. The husbands and wives cheerily bidding goodbye to one another as they part on the doorsteps. The sound of children’s laughter as the nanny walks them to school. The jolly pleasantries shared with the mailman as he completes his rounds.

Yes, that morning, anyone who was keeping an eye on Wisteria Lane would have found it almost impossible not to heave a dreamy sigh at what must surely be the very definition of the All-American Dream and it’s neighbourhood.

Or so it would appear.

Any onlooker would also have observed something new in the neighbourhood, something which already had curtains twitching and idle mouths gossiping. In the early hours of the morning, a removal van had pulled up to No. 19, a residence which had lain vacant for over 6 months after its previous inhabitant had passed away.

The sight of a young man unloading the van and paying the driver, all without any sign of a wife, partner or significant other, had gotten tongues wagging. Soon, the news of the handsome-and apparently single- young man had all of Wisteria Lane buzzing with novel excitement, eager to greet their new neighbour.

~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~

Blaine Anderson was not satisfied with his life. Working as an inner-city lawyer at Carter, Perry & Newman had never been his dream, and with each passing day he saw himself growing more and more miserable, falling further into a corporate abyss of fancy suits, Italian show and false smiles.

Then one day he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He saw a polished, well-dressed city boy ready for a day at the office. As his gaze lifted up he met his own eyes, still a beautiful golden-brown like they’d always been, but devoid of the light and the life and the i/spark/i they used to hold.

His decision was made.

He would go upstairs, type up a letter of resignation, and give his two-weeks notice to the partners that afternoon. But just quitting his job wouldn’t be enough for a fresh start. No, he was going to have do something bigger. He should move. That’s it. Sell his apartment, move to some white-picket suburban neighbourhood, and live out the rest of his days fulfilling his dreams, the ones he’d missed out on in an effort to please his father.

Money wouldn’t be an issue. His salary at the law firm was very substantial, what with being a junior partner. And he had plenty of money stashed away and invested. With the hours he’d had to log at the firm, he never had a chance to spend any of it anyway. Furthermore he had no social life to speak of, very few friends and he hadn’t been on a date in... Oh god, he i/really/i needs to do this, and do it i/now/i.

His hands began to shake against the porcelain bowl of the sink. He was really going to do this. This was big. Really big. His father would be furious. His mother would surely disapprove. And Cooper... well, Cooper would probably give a slap on the back and tell him a bit of rebellion was long overdue. For the past twenty-four years, Blaine has done nothing but try to please other people; his family, his clients, his friends, his last boyfriend (and boy, was i/that/i a train wreck).

But now? Now, he was determined to start living for himself.

~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~~~X~~

Three weeks later

Blaine waved to the driver as the removal van pulled away, and turned to look at his new home. He smiled what felt like the first genuine smile in i/years/i and looked at the vast number of boxes littered across his lawn. i/His lawn/i. He had a lawn!

Blaine could barely contain his excitement, not even the fact that he was somehow supposed to carry all of these boxes inside and unpack absolutely everything he owned could wipe the smile from his face.

What Blaine didn’t notice was the audience he had gathered. A group of friends lounged on the lawn directly opposite his new abode, each attempting to watch discreetly- with varying degrees of success- as the newcomer continued moving his belongings into No. 19. Of course, none of them felt the need to go across the road and offer a helping hand. What fun would there be in that? No, that would only spoil the show. It was much more satisfying to sip margaritas and watch their sexy new neighbour get all hot and sweaty in that oh-so-tight white t-shirt of his. The climax- no pun intended- of this show came whenever things got a little too hot for the young man, and he began to peel his shirt off, throwing it into an open box and continuing with his work.

After that, it just wasn’t possible to silently observe anymore. Comments had to be made, his physical appearance assessed and scores out of ten given.

“i/Damn/i. Did you just see that? Boy should be a porn star!” Mercedes laughed as she clinked her glass with Sugar’s.

“Damn straight. Even I’d like to get all up on that.” Santana grinned as she brought her glass to her lips.

“I thought you were a lesbian?” Tina asked, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“Exactly.” Santana replied as she high-fived Mercedes, and turned to the person sitting to her left. “Damn, Hummel. Pick your jaw up off the ground, this is a respectable neighbourhood.”

“Huh,” Kurt whirled around in his chair, “Then why’d they let i/you/i in?”

“Oh, snap” Mercedes said as she, Rachel and Tina giggled at Kurt’s bitch face.

Santana just smiled at him appreciatively, “And i/that/i is we are friends, Lady Lips. So what do you think, guys?”

“Although I hate to admit that anyone could possibly be more attractive than my Finn,” Rachel spoke up, “That man is cute as a button and hot to boot. Definitely a ten.”

“Ten” Tina said quietly.

“Mm-hmm. Already a ten.” Sugar said dreamily, “Must be one of the only people in this neighbourhood who wouldn’t benefit from a little plastic surgery.”

“Hell-to-the-yes, that boy is yummy. Ten from me.” Mercedes grinned.

“Eight-and-a-half.”

The five women turned to stare at Kurt in amazement. “What?” He asked with an all too innocent smile, “I couldn’t possibly score him any higher until I get to see the whole package.” He winked and turned his gaze back to No.19 with a playful laugh.

“Wanky.” Santana grinned and refilled her glass with margarita mix. She raised he glass and cleared her throat loudly to propose a toast, “To our new neighbour. May he be as awesome as his abs, and may he be as well-endowed as we hope he is, ‘cause Hummel here needs a good fuck!”

They all cheered as their chinked their glasses together, laughing and joking well into the afternoon.

Yes, Wisteria Lane has all the appearances of the perfect neighbourhood, with the perfect people and perfect couples and families who are all just wonderful friends. But since when has anything ever truly been ‘perfect’? There’s a reason people say “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is”. And it definitely is.

Much like anywhere else in the world, this little suburban neighbourhood is home to many surreptitious affairs. Everybody has secrets, but the residents of Wisteria Lane have more than just a few skeletons in their closets.