And to think he used to enjoy doing this – getting brief glimpses into peoples' lives by parading from open house to open house in a futile search for the perfect home. It was kind of fun in the beginning, seeing ranges of taste in decorating – good or bad, and getting different perspectives on colors, layouts and styles ranging from traditional and Victorian to contemporary or country.
He was often surprised at the things they would leave out in the open for the influx of strangers, and sometimes he wondered if it was intentional. The teenagers' rooms were usually interesting to say the least, and in an effort not to be swayed one way or the other, he tended to avoid them, especially after one of his early home searches uncovered a goth-style teenager's room with a collection of skulls on a home-made bookcase. Some were obviously human, hopefully plastic replicas and several were clearly animals, but they were collectively creepy.
He imagined the proud father in his workshop, instruction manual in hand, clumsily crafting a bookshelf for his newborn son, filling the completed project with classics like Goodnight Moon and The Cat in the Hat. Later on, replacing them with short novels, mysteries and Harry Potter books, only to eventually see the bookcase littered with remnants of animals. THAT certainly wasn't going to help to sell the home, that is of course unless another couple with an equally disturbed teenager was looking to buy.
Having endured somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 or 40 open houses in the past few months, there was – of course – the other side of it. The master bedrooms were generally immaculate and often appeared to be professionally staged; however, at times – likely in those homes where the sale was prompted by impending divorce – things were sometimes carelessly left out in the open, ranging from porn dvds on end tables to condoms in trash containers. Some people just didn't care, or maybe they were making a statement. And he thought HE was screwed up, he laughed to himself.
The realtors were also an interesting lot. For as long as he could remember, he had a weakness – or some may consider it a fetish - for a sexy full ass, calves and thighs in a skirt or form-fitting dress. Other than in church or the airport, what better place to enjoy that kind of view than at an open house? During last week's round of visits, he actually spent more time observing the realtors than he did exploring the homes. In fact, there was one agent in particular, Kate, who – he convinced himself - was actually almost flirting with him during his tour of the second home on his list, most likely to interest him in the home, but he didn't care. He wasn't above that type of treatment. Clearly out of practice, he sheepishly tried to reciprocate the banter. Snapping back to reality, he completed the tour, noting to himself that the home was nothing special, but she made the trip well worth his while despite his awkwardness. He wondered where her next open house would be, but conceded that it would probably border on stalkerish behavior if he actually showed up there.
The following week, he found himself looking at the classifieds once again to see if Kate was on the docket, but unfortunately she wasn't on the list. After grabbing a large coffee with cream and a breakfast sandwich from the local convenience store, he mapped out the weekend's open houses. He became a logistical master at navigating the county and stuffing as many visits as possible into a 2-3 hour window. Although he would have preferred the view of the rolling hills of Chancellor from the deck of a 3,000 square foot colonial, his budget was more in line with a trailer park in Parkerville, or - worse yet - a modest duplex "fixer upper" in an inner-city neighborhood. Still, that didn't stop him from putting on the act, dressing like someone who cared about his appearance – typically in stylish jeans and a sport coat over an oxford shirt - & driving his decades-old Toyota to the homes that were clearly well beyond his price range, always being sure to park his rusted out Camry far enough away so as not to ruin the façade.
As for Robert, he was quite sure that his story was no different than thousands of others before him. Middle-aged and suddenly finding himself separated and unattached, his life changed dramatically almost overnight, and he actually felt indifferent toward it. Although he loved being married, he was the type of person who equally enjoyed the solitude of the single life – not for the potential of dating or meeting other women, but primarily for the independence that it affords – being able to spontaneously jump in a car and head to the shore or hop on a plane and fly across country, or simply waking up on a Saturday and lounging in pjs, watching old movies and sipping coffee uninterrupted by chores or responsibilities. Truth be told, of those three options, he never expected to actually DO the first two, but the point was that he COULD if he really wanted to.
The first two homes on the Sunday route were impressive as expected, based on the listing prices and locations. One of his trademarks was the creation of phony contact information for those agents who requested them upon entry into the home. Although he was tempted to list some adolescent names such as Hugh G. Rection or Jack Meoff, usually he was simply Jeff Jantzen, Dirk Dugan or Rex Rymshaw – all masculine-sounding and cool names. On Sundays, he was no longer "Bob Smith" – at least not to the realtors. Silly but fun – and what harm was there in pretending?
Clearly out of his price range, he feigned interest with the real estate agent in the second home and engaged in the usual casual banter as he did the walk-through. He found that during football season the male realtors were more apt to have the television on, and they tended to allow visitors free reign of the homes, while the female realtors often lingered nearby, just close enough to hear the various comments made by potential buyers and making mental notes along the way.
Bob preferred unimpeded access, so he tended to stay longer in the homes where the realtors were more disconnected. This was the case in home number two. Signing in, he realized that there were already several people who had come and gone. They usually signed in as couples, but the name just above his, written in beautiful cursive, intrigued him for some reason. Valerie Velez - It almost looked like a "pretend" name he would have created.
A creature of habit, he tended to start downstairs and work his way up, spending most of his time upstairs on the second or third floors, often not even bothering to finish the tour if it didn't really interest him. Laughing as he thought of this, it was the total opposite of his approach with women in his "dating" days of long ago, when he delighted in starting "high" with passionate kisses and nibbling on necks, slowly working his way down and spending as much time as she liked/allowed below the panty line.
That darker side of him, of course, was a well-kept secret from his ultra-conservative Christian wife, a supposedly wholesome woman whom – he was sure – would never understand or allow that type of sinful behavior. How many times over the course of his marriage was he tempted to show her true pleasure, resisting the urge to slide down under the sheets as she slept soundly, kissing her tummy and ultimately working his way to that dark triangle between her legs, kissing her until she tensed up and bucked against his tongue, experiencing a rare climax? Regrettably, he never dared to offer that "skill" to her through the course of their marriage.
Likewise, along with the loss of independence, with marriage to Andrea he realized that he was also likely forfeiting the chance to ever receive oral sex. Had he not experienced such incredible blowjobs prior to meeting Andrea, he probably wouldn't have missed them nearly as much. He thought back to that single time in the car on a drive home when Andrea almost kissed him down there while he was driving. Knowing that her desire was clouded by alcohol, he gently stopped her from doing the wrong thing, but how many times did he use that experience to fuel his fantasy in the privacy of the shower or while away on business trips? Be careful, he thought to himself, "You don't want to get a hard-on alone in this house!"
He continued his home tour as he roamed the "man cave" downstairs. Impressive to say the least. He envisioned lots of shots and beers being tossed back while hanging out with the guys. Moving upstairs to the main floor, he breezed through the family room, dining room, kitchen and glanced into the powder room. Finding the stairway to the second floor, he nearly bumped into another "guest" descending the steps at the same time. He apologized and stepped aside as the woman smiled shyly and passed him. Trying not to be the typical "guy," he nonetheless couldn't help but glance back at her as she slowly walked through the family room. There was something about her, conservative yet sexy, classy with a hint of seductiveness, he felt an incredible range of emotions in those few seconds that passed.
Guessing that she was somewhere in her early to mid-forties, he was struck by her big brown eyes, shy smile and her gorgeous dark hair, lying slightly below her shoulders. Maybe 5'3 or so, she was in flats, stylish jeans and a flannel blouse, not tucked in. Wow, he thought – if he ever DID get back into dating, he wondered if he would be lucky enough to be noticed by someone like her. He never really was a breast man - in fact, for some reason he was actually more attracted to women who were smaller up top. His true weakness was a cute butt and legs – both attributes that she clearly possessed.
Was that Valerie, he wondered? He found himself mildly disappointed that he didn't start his tour upstairs when he could have gotten a better look at her. Down boy, he thought and smiled to himself. Then, as quickly as she appeared into his life, she was gone. Out the front door and down the walkway. The second floor wasn't going to be nearly as interesting now, he realized.
Eventually saying his obligatory goodbye, he left the home and walked around the corner to his old car. He mouthed a silent prayer that it would start this time, knowing that he was overdue to replace the battery. Turning the key, he breathed a sigh of relief when the engine slowly came alive. Looking down at his clipping, he was ahead of his planned pace and figured that he could probably get three more visits in. The third home was immediately disappointing with overgrown bushes and weeds in the front yard, and he only spent a token amount of time politely but quickly walking through the rancher and back out. What a waste of time, he thought. He found the fourth home to be even more disappointing, and unbelievably there was an old stained toilet lying on its side in front of the detached garage. Really? He thought – no thanks. He didn't even bother to venture in.
Debating whether it was even worth going to the final open house, he decided that it was too late to turn back now. Turning onto the tree-lined street, he saw the home just ahead, white picket fence and all. He passed a silver Lexus in front of the home, went around the corner and parked. Entering, he waved to the realtor who only briefly glanced at him as he focused on the football game. He mumbled that he can answer any questions but was going to leave me to explore.
Not planning to sign in, Bob glanced down at the sheet and saw a familiar cursive, but this time the final name on the log was Rosa Rodriguez. Looking back at the disinterested realtor, he decided that this time he would start the tour upstairs instead. Feeling his heart racing, he wondered if he would be lucky enough to run into "Valerie" (or was it "Rosa"?) again. That would totally contradict the notoriously bad timing that dogged him for most of his adult life, he thought.
He briefly flashed back to that early return from his work trip nearly a year ago, which – coincidentally - was the reason for his house hunting. He should have just gone straight into the office, but wanted to quickly swing by their home to pick up a charger for his cell phone. Normally he gave Andrea – his wife – a courtesy call before coming home, but this time without a charged phone he was unable to provide her with a "warning," never actually considering that she would need one.
Rounding the corner, he saw the cable truck in the driveway and wondered if they were finally addressing the issues with their spotty internet service. Entering through the garage, he passed through the kitchen and turned into the family room, where he froze in his tracks. In front of him were two scrambling figures, including his "conservative" wife, fumbling to pull her T down over her exposed breasts while at the same time trying to get up from her kneeling position between the technician's legs in front of their big screen tv.
Panicking, the cable guy was stuffing his still-hard (and rather impressive) cock into his work pants and in Tourette's-like fashion, muttering, "Oh Shit, Oh Shit!" repeatedly. Bob's first thought was, the cable guy? How cliché! Not knowing what else to say, he just stupidly muttered, "You damn well better not charge us for this service call!" and watched the guy as he grabbed his tools and scampered out of the house, while at the same time trying to hold his pants up.
Fast forward to ten months later, and Bob was alone, banished on the other side of town in a tiny studio apartment, with only a few pieces of used furniture, an old guitar and two carnival fish that he didn't even want in the first place. Funny double standard, he thought. Even though he was faithful for his entire marriage, somehow he felt that he was about to be royally screwed in the end. Anyway, life goes on, and at least he still had his health.
Of course, he realized that he had to stop reminiscing. After all, what was done was done. Snapping out of it, he continued his tour. Upstairs, he walked down the carpeted hallway, starting with the first open door on the left. A cute but small bedroom, ideal for a young child or an office. He detected a feint smell of fresh paint, and figured that most of the rooms were recently redone in the warm yet impersonal neutral tones in an effort to make the home more sellable. The second room was similar but slightly larger, nicely decorated as a guest room, obviously by someone with a feminine touch. Floral patterns, laminated wood flooring and coordinated area rugs made it feel warm and inviting – just the opposite of Bob's idea of a guest bedroom. After all, the last thing he wanted was to have guests over – worse yet, to make them feel comfortable enough to stick around!
Disappointed that he was alone, and Rosa (or Valerie) was probably long gone, he turned to the last room and – defying open house courtesy – reached for the knob of the closed door. Opening it, he realized that it was clearly the master bedroom, maybe twice as large as the other rooms, with a private bathroom to the back right. Seeing the television facing the king bed brought him back to that scene back at his former home, and he realized that he was already hard thinking about his ex like that.
What's wrong with me, he thought? He should have been repulsed, but the thought of his prudish wife actually ENJOYING sucking a cock – even though it wasn't his – continued to be an intense turn-on, even ten months later. He almost wished he could have watched her complete the job to see if she would spit it out or swallow. If she did either, it would have been the first time, as far as he knew. She NEVER went that far with him, not even in the first few years of their marriage when they were fairly active sexually.
It was totally crazy, but he suddenly felt like he needed a release. Knowing it was the last room at the end of the hallway, he was sure that he could hear the realtor if he would actually pry himself away from the football game and come looking for him. Why not just touch a little? He positioned himself near the window to make sure he could see if others were showing up for the open house. It didn't take long for him to feel the outline of his hard-on through his jeans. Did he dare open them here? Looking around, he wondered how many times the couple had fucked in this very room. What positions did they try?
How often did she lie there on the bed alone masturbating while he was away at work? He imagined that, based on the indentations in the padding on the window bench, she had been taken from behind while looking out the window, maybe even waving to an unsuspecting neighbor across the street. He wondered, did she have a nice ass? Did he ever kiss that butt? Did she let him fuck it afterward, shaking it as she waited to feel him to penetrate her?
The more he fantasized, the hornier he got. Was she hairy or shaved? Did he go down on her? He stood near the bed, unconsciously pulling his hard dick from his jeans and wrapping his left hand around it... eyes closed, feeling so good! Damn, picturing a trimmed dark triangle, matted from sex – he was lost in a myriad of fantasies. He stopped worrying about getting caught, and concentrated instead on jerking in the stranger's bedroom. Hearing a creaking, he panicked and opened his eyes. Maybe just the house settling, he hoped.
As he continued to stroke, he thought he saw movement in the reflection from the TV screen. A figure – barely perceptible – mirrored in the corner of the TV screen... was someone really there or was his mind playing tricks on him? He realized that if he moved just a few feet to the left he could see around the corner through the dresser mirror, and as he did his heart skipped a beat when he saw...her!
Leaning against the wall just inside the walk-in closet at a forty-five degree angle from where he stood masturbating was Rosa/Valerie, eyes closed, jeans unsnapped, with one hand cupping her mound while the other played inside a few opened buttons of her flannel top. He should have been petrified, but instead he was even more turned on, knowing that she was possibly watching – or at least listening to him.
He had never seen anything so erotic – it really WAS her. He went back to the task at hand (so to speak), eyes half closed but watching her through the mirror. She parted her legs slightly as her hand worked inside of her jeans, under her panties. Opening her eyes, she gasped as she saw him in the mirror, but she was too far along to stop now. So wet from watching – and hearing him, knowing that he had no clue that he was being spied on until now.
This was so out of character for her, and for some reason it started a few homes ago when they almost collided on the stairway. As she left that home nearly two hours before, her mind raced, wondering what his story was. Was he single? Was his wife somewhere else in the home? The look that he gave her in that brief instance in the hallway somehow told her everything she needed to know about him. Kind – but pained – eyes, a smile and an awkwardness all combined to trigger her fantasies. When she felt him watching her leave, it sparked something inside of her. How long had it been since she had a man who actually desired her, and whom she may have actually welcomed inside of her? Years maybe.And here they were, upstairs – in a stranger's home, playing separately, maybe eight or ten feet apart, each nearly oblivious to each other yet totally connected in a strangely erotic way. She rubbed her wet pussy, legs parted, backed against the doorjamb of the walk-in closet. Hips moving now against her hand, she struggled to keep quiet. Opening her eyes, she realized that he was watching her as he continued to fuck his own hand near her, and it turned her on even more – if that was possible.
She remembered how embarrassed she was and how small her husband made her feel when just once, she got up the nerve to ask him to masturbate in front of her, a fantasy that she held for as long as she could remember. It took three glasses of wine for her to get up the nerve to ask, only to have him belittle her and laugh in her face, calling her a sick pervert. Yet here she was with a total stranger accommodating her, allowing her into his private fantasy and she doing the same for him. Normally it took her way too long to make herself cum, but now she worried that it would be over too soon. He pumped harder against his hand as she struggled and failed to control herself, moaning now as she played, SO close to cumming for him, with him.
Her hips bucked against her moist fingers now, as her other hand reached back inside to touch her breasts. Opening her eyes, she saw him reaching for a tissue box on the nightstand and knew he was also close to releasing. She couldn't stop, knowing that even though they were apart, they were going to cum together. She felt the familiar build-up knowing that she was very close. He let out a moan and with his spare hand tried but failed to capture the release, most of it shooting over the tissue in his hand and onto the freshly vacuumed carpet. She could tell already that hers was going to be an intense climax, shaking against her own hand as her fingers rolled over her clit. She tried to suppress her moan, instead blurting out, "Que Rica!" as she came against her hand. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to see him watching her. They had connected in a way that she had never felt before, without ever touching.
Slowly gaining control of herself, she snapped her jeans, buttoned her top and sheepishly entered the bedroom from the closet. He was just as embarrassed, down on his knees trying to clean up the small puddle that he caused. Looking up at her with a warm smile, he asked, "Sorry but who in the hell is Kay Reeka anyway?" She couldn't help but laugh aloud as he looked at her, smiling but confused.
CHAPTER TWO – The Surprise Encounter Continues
"No, it's not 'Kay Reeka'," she blushed while giggling. With a slight accent, she explained, "It's 'que rica,' a Spanish expression. I'm sorry that I just blurted it out. I feel so.. juvenile, so...silly."
Bob was red-faced as he turned away to zip up, suddenly totally embarrassed at the situation, despite how erotic it felt just moments before. Here he was, wiping the expensive carpet with a total stranger standing behind him in a room that was off-limits. He stood, awkwardly extending his hand to her, with a tissue still in it. She looked down, rolled her eyes and started to ease past him. Realizing what was in his hand, he asked her to wait. Explaining that he never did anything like that before, he apologized for the lewdness, thinking that he was alone and worrying that she would think of him as some kind of sexual deviant.
"Well, I guess that makes two of us then," she replied as she looked back at him before opening the door and hurrying down the hall to the staircase without a goodbye.
Knowing that he couldn't leave things like this, a moment of panic overcame him. He raced down the hallway, bounded down the steps and past the realtor, who reached for his arm in a feeble attempt to slow him down. "So, what did you think about the...?" Shrugging him off, Bob reached the front door and saw her fumbling for her keys next to the Lexus across the street. Composing himself, he trotted down the pathway as she looked up.
"Um, I'm Bob," he said sheepishly.
"Wow," she smiled. "How can the women resist a line as witty and deep as that?"
She laughed as she felt herself letting her guard down just a bit, shifting her balance as she looked into his eyes. From the other side of the car, he recovered and deadpanned, "Well, my strict policy is to provide complimentary coffee to each and every one of my anonymous mutual masturbation partners, so...um... I'm afraid you're obligated to accept. Sorry – it's just the rules."
"Oh, really? Well, that contradicts my long-held stance of quickly escaping horribly embarrassing situations as soon as possible, so I guess we have a little problem," she smiled. The ice was broken, and with a five-minute conversation, they each sensed a surprising comfort level, eventually agreeing to meet for coffee at a quaint corner shop nearby.
Over the years, Bob prided himself on gauging a person by their choice of beverages, including not only what they chose to drink, but also the way in which they ordered it, and his highly subjective observation skills rarely failed him. Apart from the obvious ones such as a morning coffee overloaded with Kahlua or Bailey's, he became quite good at gauging the degree of maintenance that would ultimately be required to satisfy the person. In more than thirty years, the only time that he felt that he was clearly wrong was with his ex-wife. He vividly remembered the first time she ordered a "mochachino, heavy on the cream with a hint of cinnamon" on one of their earlier dates, and it totally defied her conservative, simple Christian appearance. Although, come to think of it, now that he knew the "real" Andrea, he supposed that his first impression was right after all.
Today, however, his "date" opted for a basic iced coffee – not quite as simple as his order – a Columbian blend with half-and-half, but a good sign nonetheless. He learned that her name was in fact a mix of the two that she listed in the open house logs. Earlier she was both Valerie Perez and Rosa Rodriguez, and in each case she was half right. She claimed to be Rosa Perez. Bob wasn't quite sure that he believed her, but in the grand scheme of things, did her name really matter?
Over the next ninety minutes they spent two refills sharing caffeine-induced portions of their life stories, essentially providing "cliffs notes" versions as they attempted in a sense to accelerate their emotional connection in an effort to catch up to their brief physical encounter of just a couple of hours before. Although it was foreign territory for Bob, they compared sexual notes at her prompting, at times drawing raised eyebrows from patrons who happened to be within earshot. Bob learned that Rosa was visiting from the west coast, was recently divorced and a mother of two girls. With family in the area, and an unstable ex-husband, this location clearly offered the best combination of safe distance and family support.
In nearly fifteen years of marriage, she confided that she had strayed "a few times," more out of boredom and a hint of revenge than an actual need for the physical act. Bob summarized his experience quickly – more than twenty-one years of total faithfulness ending with his wife in a compromising position in front of a stranger, carefully choosing his words when describing the act so as not to offend her. As he spoke of that, Rosa shifted in her seat, imagining the scene and surprisingly feeling a tinge of desire down below.
Glancing around, she leaned in and whispered, "In other words, you caught her sucking his nice hard cock?"
With that, Bob felt an instant erection, as if a switch was suddenly turned on with those crude, yet incredibly exciting words coming from this outwardly classy woman in front of him. After yet another dirty look from the snooty barista, Bob suggested that they drive down to the public park to continue the conversation. Her hand lightly came to rest on his as she surprisingly offered a more exciting choice of destinations with a mischievous smile.
She giggled as he confided that he needed a few minutes to "compose" himself, glancing down at his lap. Taking a pen and paper from her purse, she hesitated just for a moment, then referred to a handwritten page from her pocket before jotting down the address in the same cursive that he saw on the open house logs.
"Promise me you're not a serial killer," he whispered, as his hand shakily reached out for the post-it.
"You know I can't make promises that I won't keep," she smiled, looking into his eyes. "Besides, I could ask you the same thing."
Very true, he thought. Clouded by lust, there was no turning back now, and he – with his raging hard-on - could only hope that she was kidding.
Caught up in a tornado of desire, fear and excitement, Bob fingered the post-it as the old Camry rumbled back to life. After a quick stop at his apartment to freshen up and change, he ventured back out. As he navigated through his seedy neighborhood en route to the rendezvous location, he envisioned the scene. Rosa had that rare combination of classiness, yet mischievous and discreet sluttiness that was an incredible turn-on, but was she too good to be true? After all, he had seen many murder mysteries that were rooted in chance seductions that were not altogether different from this one. Still, he drove on, guided more by carnal instinct than common sense.
Vaguely familiar with the area, he vacillated between guilt and potential pleasure. Why feel guilty? Could he actually go through with it? For the first time in years, he was a free man, but he hoped and prayed that it was like riding a bike. Although he – like millions of other post-pubescent men – indulged in occasional pornography in the privacy of his home, the fact was that his experience with Andrea over the last twenty-plus years involved a grand total of two different sexual positions, and was nearly as infrequent as the change in seasons. Did he have it in him? Slowing down as he approached the modest neighborhood, he fought the urge to simply reverse course and drive home, but he knew that he had to see it through, reaching down to tug at his bulge as he drove.
Nearly dusk now, a CVS Pharmacy sign around the corner brought him back to reality. Damn, he probably needed condoms. How long had it been since he made that type of purchase? Smiling, he remembered the first time he ventured in as a teen, scared to death and hoping that he didn't run into anyone that he knew as he made his first purchase – a dozen Trojan condoms, "specially ribbed for her pleasure." To mask the fact that he was making the embarrassing purchase back then, he loaded up his basket with other unneeded items, probably spending more on those than the condoms themselves.
The clerk was indifferent as she robotically rung up the purchase. He recalled that years later he finally forced himself to toss the remaining six or eight unused ones in the trash, hiding them discreetly within a milk carton to avoid further embarrassment. Today, however, was different. With horniness that was off the charts, Bob quickly bee-lined to the birth control section and barely broke stride as he grabbed the pack, narrowly beating a geriatric couple to the self-checkout line, and picking up a Snickers bar along the way. He was impressed with his time – from start to finish in less than five minutes. Beat that, Mario Andretti!
Finally, he approached the destination. Pulling up to the mailbox and double-checking the address, he was both relieved and a bit panicked to see the secluded home, roughly fifty yards from the main road. Naturally, there was a long gravel drive leading up to the home. Now pitch black, the night was like a blanket out here in the countryside, and as he pulled into the driveway, he envisioned masked goons appearing from the shadows and holding chain saws, blocking his escape. He had seen way too many horror movies, he realized, but trumping that was the fact that he probably watched twice as much pornography.
He laughed nervously to himself as he continued along the dark path until he reached the home, parking behind the Silver Lexus. In front of him was a modest two-story home, with a wrap-around porch, and in the darkness he barely noticed the obligatory hanging glider swinging in the shadows to the right of the front door. Checking his appearance in the door's reflection and adjusting his bulge one final time, he rang the bell.
A voice to his right nearly scared him out of his shoes. From the dark corner, he recognized the outline of Rosa, sitting cross-legged on the glider.
"Was it leaning to the side?" she giggled, obviously referring to his last-minute adjustment.
As he turned toward her, she lit a candle, allowing him to see glimpses of her as it flickered. "Stay there, ok?"
Nervously, he stopped in his tracks, half expecting someone to sneak up behind him and slit his throat. Now roughly ten feet from her, he watched her as she swayed seductively on the glider, wine glass in hand. Mesmerized, no words were spoken. She now had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her contacts were replaced with black-framed glasses. As she sipped her wine, she bit her lip and boldly looked at his crotch, unfurling one leg and now sitting with her right leg tucked under her while her left leg dangled from the glider.
Despite the darkness, he could see the rise and fall of her chest, her small breasts pressing against the thin T. Although it was oversized, the T-shirt was bunched up just enough below her waist to reveal her tiny yellow panties between toned thighs, and nothing else. Looking around, Bob knew that they were alone – no neighbors, no traffic – just them and the soothing sound of crickets and cicadas in the background, along with the occasional lightning bug revealing itself briefly.
"I never... played in front of a man before today," she said calmly. "And I never saw a man... touching himself like that before."
Taking another sip, one hand dropped to her inner thigh as she watched him through half-closed eyes. Her finger traced its way along her thigh as he watched intently, slowly leaning back against the porch post.
"What were you thinking about back at that open house," she asked, "that made you so nice and hard?"
As she spoke, her hand gently cupped her mound through her panties, clearly aroused at the memory. Glad she couldn't see him blushing in the darkness, Bob shared the thoughts that were going through his head in that master bedroom, this time not sparing the graphic detail, realizing that the dirtier he talked, the more excited she became.
Finishing with "... and when I thought of her on her knees near the window, shaking her tight ass and waving to the unassuming neighbors across the street while he slid into her from behind, I couldn't help myself."
As he spoke, she moaned and her hand found its way under the panties, fingers now working together, as turned on by having him watch her as she was at hearing the nasty fantasy.
"In your mind, was he in her sexy ass or her tight wet pussy," she asked, fingers working even faster under the panties.
"Her ass."
"Oh God!" She moaned even more loudly, taking her hand out of her panties and bringing her moist fingers to her lips, sliding each one in, one at a time, savoring the taste. "How... Was she kneeling at the window? Kind of...like this?" Shifting her leg out from under her, she stood for a second, turning around and putting her knees up on the glider, facing away from him. Turning around to look at him, she lifted her t-shirt with one hand, exposing her lower back, moist with perspiration. The canary yellow panties were just low enough to show perhaps an inch of her butt crack.
Bob couldn't help but unzip his pants to release his throbbing dick as he watched what was unfolding before him. As she watched him, he was astonished to see the outline of her hand once again working on her pussy under the waistband of the panties. Hips moving in rhythm to her touch, her ass began swaying just a bit from side to side.
"Are you sure it was her ass and not her tight wet pussy?"
With one hand stroking his cock, he fumbled in his pocket for his newly purchased condoms, finding a single packet and tearing it open with his mouth, all the while watching her playing just a few feet in front of him." It had been years since he slid one of these damned things on, and naturally he struggled to focus on it as he watched her hand moving across her mound. Finally getting it on, he took a step toward her, pausing to watch her as her back arched and her hips moved.
It had been SO long since he experienced anything close to this excitement – no, who was he kidding? He had NEVER experienced anything like this before. Still closer, just a foot or so away from her, he reached out to touch her soft butt, and couldn't resist moving his hand lower outside of her panties to feel her fingers through the fabric. She moaned even louder as she felt his hand against her, boldly running her fingers across her clit under the canary yellow canvas.
He couldn't hold out any longer, pushing the small panties to the side, just far enough to allow him access to the hot wet folds. She groaned, "Que Rica!" again – just the second time in his life that he heard that expression, and both times in the same day - as she pressed back against him. "Yes!" After years of primarily fucking his dry hand, this was such a departure that he feared that he couldn't hold out very long.
Slowly he slid in and out, pausing inside of her with each thrust. Leaning into her now, a bead of sweat dropped onto the back of her neck, and he bent lower to kiss her there. Tasting the salty perspiration and hearing her deep breaths brought out the animal in him, and he instinctively thrust even harder, his cock fully inside of her now.
Thinking he couldn't go any deeper, he felt her bucking back against him, as she demanded, "Fuck me! Fuck this tight pussy!" All the while, her hand continued to work inside her bunched up panties, occasionally feeling his drenched dick sliding in and out, but always returning to toy with her clit. Kissing her ear, then her cheek, he balanced himself against her and gently stroked her hair – the tenderness in stark contrast to the savage pounding that was taking place between her legs.
Suddenly, her hand reached behind her to push him away. Confused, he stepped back as she peeled herself off the glider, turned and sat back down, now facing him. Reaching back down, her hand again found her matted mound under her stretched moist panties and continued to work. Looking into his eyes through the darkness, she pleaded, "Watch me? Show me?"
Pants still bunched around his ankles, he pulled the slick condom off and, using both hands, worked his cock while rubbing his balls as he enjoyed the view directly in front of him. Once again, as in the master bedroom earlier that day, they enjoyed themselves as they played separately. As his stroking picked up, so did her finger movements under the panties.
"Tell me again about her – your wife – sucking that nice big dick. Did he cum in her mouth?"
As she spoke those words, Robert didn't speak, but again envisioned Andrea's head bobbing up and down on the young technician's throbbing dick, and it was nearly too much for both of them to take. Lifting her butt up from the glider, Rosa pulsed against her hand, her eyes fluttered closed as she again bit her lip.
He couldn't hold out much longer, and with a hoarse whisper, she said, "Cum on me?" - as much a question as it was a command. With that and one more thrust against his hand, he unloaded for a second time in front of her, spewing hot cum across the front of her panties, with a few drops even reaching her tummy just above the now-stretched waistband. Exhausted, he slowly pulled on his spent dick, still half-erect, as her finger traced lightly through the cummy deposit on her stomach. Eyes meeting, both said in unison, "wow!" and giggled like teenagers at the timing.
"So does this mean you're not going to murder me?" he asked kiddingly.
She didn't answer, instead lying there, looking almost through him as though he wasn't there. Gone was the sexy, easy-going woman that he thought he knew intimately, suddenly replaced with a sterile, almost lifeless mannequin blankly staring ahead. Slowly Rosa's left hand dropped to the side of the glider. In the darkness, with only the flickering light of the small candle, Bob felt a rush of adrenaline as he envisioned a knife – or worse yet – a gun being retrieved. God, was he going to die out here, mere minutes from enjoying the most incredible sexual experience of his life? Quickly pulling his pants up, he fumbled with his zipper, wondering what in the hell he had gotten himself into. Seconds later, the "old" Rosa broke out of her phony trance with a laugh.
She smiled in the darkness, quietly saying, "Scared you, huh?"
Relieved but still traumatized by his overactive imagination and the thought of a painful and embarrassing death, Bob just managed a nervous smile, thanked her and backed down the stairs, never taking his eyes from hers as he found his way to the car, praying yet again that it would start. Cranking the ignition, he was relieved to hear the familiar sound of the engine. Taking his eyes off her for a second, he backed the car up. Glancing at the porch as he straightened the car, he waved half-heartedly before gunning the engine and speeding down the gravel driveway.
Passing by the "For Sale" sign lying face down in the thick weeds, he turned onto the public road, wondering if he overreacted. From the porch of the vacant home, Rosa watched the dust rise behind the escaping car before blowing out the candle and bending down, fumbling in the darkness to retrieve the pruning shears from beneath the glider, physically satisfied yet emotionally unfulfilled and alone once again.
CHAPTER THREE – Andrea's Hidden Side
(11 months earlier)
Ugh! In her opinion, one of the worst sounds in the world has to be that damned alarm going off every weekday morning at 7am. Even though she was usually half-awake anyway by that time, to Andrea the obnoxious sound just served as a rude reminder that another mundane day was about to begin. Fumbling to turn the alarm off, she rolled back over – knowing she could probably steal another ten or fifteen minutes of rest before reality set in. Robert was long gone, having quietly slipped out at least an hour before. Although she didn't like to admit it, this narrow window between seven and eight could sometimes be her favorite time of the day, depending on her mood.
Lost in her half-conscious state, for reasons she could never really understand, this is the time that she felt uninhibited, and yes – even horny. In Robert's eyes, she was the ultra-conservative, almost prudish obedient Christian wife. Lying flat on her stomach, reaching around and under the waistband of her flannel pjs, she lightly caressed her round ass, slowly pressing her hips against the sheets and thought, if he only knew!
Robert and Andrea first met more than twenty years before during a weekend church retreat - a most unlikely place considering her background. Andrea's childhood was not one that included nurturing, warmth and love. Instead, it was more survival, a product of a single irresponsible mother and an unknown, faceless biological father. Although at times she wondered who may have been her real dad, she realized later in life that – based on her mom's pattern of promiscuity – she was eventually convinced that she didn't REALLY want to know. She likened her childhood memories of her mom's "dating" to a revolving door.
Mom always seemed to be popular in the trailer park, and unfortunately the cheap tin contraption that she knew as home was poor at containing the creaking sounds of old bedsprings and the moaning that inevitably followed most of mom's late night rendezvous. She spent countless mornings preparing for school while wondering whether mom's dates would have the decency to wait until she was gone before sneaking from the tiny bedroom. She doubted that most even knew or cared that she was there.
It wasn't surprising then that Andrea learned at an early age that she too could be quite popular with the boys, and it really didn't take much effort. A week at summer camp between eighth and ninth grade resulted in her first real sex education, and within three days she was known among the campers as "Easy Andi." By age fifteen, fueled by low self-esteem and a need to be desired, in a strange masochistic way, she felt honored and quite worthy of her reputation as the best cocksucker in high school, and she was only a freshman!
There was something about being on her knees in front of her "dates" that made her feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. When she finally mastered sucking without gagging, her popularity spiraled. When word got out that she also swallowed and actually seemed to enjoy it, she found that she was rarely without a "suitor" or even two on any given night. Although almost anyone else in her position would have been horribly offended, when one of her "dates" dropped a wrinkled ten dollar bill onto her lap shortly after releasing on her, she actually felt a strange sense of accomplishment.
All of that changed with the news that she received on THAT day during her senior year in high school. She remembered it like it was yesterday – how couldn't she? She was sure that it would be ingrained in her mind until the day she died. The words spoken to her in the sterile office by the middle-aged guidance counselor who – not 2 weeks before – placed her hand firmly on his bulge as he boldly explained – no, make that threatened - that she could quite possibly be "held back" for a year unless special arrangements were made. It wasn't the first time that she allowed herself to be "tutored" by older counselors and teachers, so by that point she was actually numb to the words, even feeling somehow that it was her obligation, her duty.
This time, however, was different. She knew that she was in that office for something much more serious than to provide him with another quick blowjob under his desk. The counselor sat her down, held her hand and explained that there had been "an accident." The rest was a blur – how it happened, whom could she call, sharing that there are professional counselors available to help her through the pain. Within a week, she found herself at the doorstep of her distant Aunt and Uncle's farmhouse in Pennsylvania, more than six hundred miles away from the trailer park that she called home for more than seventeen years.
It was there, over a period of three years, that Andrea ultimately reinvented herself. Far from the trailer park and the reputation that she left behind in South Carolina, she immersed herself in chores. When she wasn't working on the farm, she began reading everything she could get her hands on, gravitating frequently to novels involving transformation and hope. She religiously read every novel that was recommended by her new role model – Oprah Winfrey. Finally surrounded by a loving non-judgmental family, at first she felt awkward and out of place.
With time, memories of her past transgressions began to dull, and even though she found that she still had the occasional craving to suck a man – any man – to completion, she found other outlets to distract her, including attending a weekly bible study. No longer did she feel like "Easy Andi." That was in her past. She was quite simply Andrea once again.
That evening she prepared for the bible study, glancing in the mirror and finally liking – no, loving – the woman that she saw looking back at her. Long auburn hair, often pulled back in a ponytail, on this night was left flowing. She possessed natural beauty, with just enough freckles to be considered "cute", and a body that, although curvy and soft where women were supposed to be soft, was also toned and tanned from years of outdoor chores. Long gone – at least outwardly - was the cheap and easy South Carolina trailer park whore. She was prim and proper Andrea. No one was the wiser, and she intended to keep it that way.
That night at the bible study, she learned of plans for a Christian retreat to be held in a nearby county. It would be three days of workshops and bible studies, attended by several other churches in the tri-state area. They expected to accommodate fifty guests for the event, and Andrea's church was allocated up to seven spots. Tethered to the farmhouse and her new "parents" for the past three years, Andrea initially saw it as an opportunity to explore and learn more about her new self, but she also found herself flashing back to that first camp nearly 7 years before when "easy Andi" was born.
This would be different - SHE was different, she tried to convince herself. Packing a borrowed overnight bag, her Aunt dropped her off at the church, and they said a teary goodbye with a hug that neither wanted to end. Only Andrea and two other girls from the bible study signed on for the retreat. At age twenty, she was the "middle child" of the group. Tina was barely nineteen and Melissa just turned twenty-two. Of the fifteen young adults in the study group, she was happy that they were the ones who decided to attend.
She found them to be wholesome and proper – both traits that she only pretended to have. Tina and Melissa were inseparable despite the age difference. When the three arrived at the retreat, they explored the grounds together, until they were funneled into the main hall for a group orientation.
Nervous but excited for the chance to finally be somewhat independent – at least for a few days, Andrea scanned the room as they were given the weekend's ground rules. Nine pm curfew, boys stay on the east side, girls on the west side, no exceptions. Six rooms per side, each room containing two bunks, with hooks and a basic chest of drawers to store clothing. Common restrooms on each side, with each room assigned its own block of shower times. So THIS is what prison is like, Andrea thought, but she was determined to keep an open mind.
Friday night was actually surprisingly fun, with interesting and thought-provoking group studies followed by singing by the fireplace for the dozen or so who remained in the main room. Andrea did her best to blend in with the smaller crowd, but one of the two guitar players kept glancing in her direction as he played clumsily. When their eyes met, he blushed and looked away. She giggled when he struck yet another wrong chord, and he just sighed, rolled his eyes, laughed and continued playing. Such an innocent Christian man, she thought. Did she actually have a chance with someone pure like him?
As they reached curfew, Andrea waited her turn in the communal restroom, then returned to their small bedroom, changed into her church t-shirt and sweatpants, then sank into the lower bunk while Tina and Melissa claimed the bunks across from her. There was no air conditioning in the room, with only a small window fan offering relief from the typically humid Pennsylvania summer evening. Back at the farm, Andrea would have slept in only a t and panties; however, she didn't dare do that here. Better to be a little hot and uncomfortable than to come across as slutty, she thought.
After comparing notes about the day and of course some of the cute boys on the other side of the unit, Andrea turned off the light and they each said their goodnights. She kept quiet about Robert, the guitarist, but as she slowly drifted into unconsciousness, she found herself fantasizing about a life with someone like him. She was sure that the old Andi would have already cornered him and had his pants around his ankles, but she was more determined than ever to carry on as naïve Christian Andrea.
Once asleep, her unconscious mind conjured up a series of interwoven nonsensical dreams, all meshing together. Each however, had a common theme, a common sound... A nice refreshing ice cream cone, a version of Andrea desperately trying but failing to lick the melting vanilla that dripped down, over her hands and onto her t-shirt. Looking up, she saw that it was no longer a cone but a penis, and now it was not one but several, unattached, merely floating just out of reach of her waiting mouth. As she strained to reach them in her sleep, she moaned – or was it her?
Her eyes opened and she realized that it was virtually pitch black in the room. With no idea of the time, she lay there and tried to focus, looking at the underside of the bunk above her. Light whimpers followed by murmurs and a muted giggle came from across the room. The other bunk, parallel to hers - was only six or eight feet across the room, but other than dark forms, was nearly impossible to see. Assuming the girls were awake, she turned on her side to face their way, still resting in her pillow, eager to join in the conversation.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out some movement in the lower bunk. She was surprised that Melissa was under the covers, given that it was probably still at least eighty-five degrees inside, even with the old fan blowing. More giggling, then a whispered, "shush!" Then, "Quiet! She'll hear"! Andrea at once realized that as experienced as she was with boys, until this point she was totally clueless about things like this – was something really happening over there?
She remained still, feigning sleep, and the noises all began making sense, taking her back to the trailer & the muted moans of her mother, heard through paper-thin walls. She should have felt sad, repulsed, even depressed, but instead she felt a familiar warmth between her legs. Dare she touch? Here? In a Christian retreat?
More whispers, more giggles, a louder moan – then total quiet. Eyes partially closed as if sleeping, from the slight glow of the moonlight she saw a face peer out from under the sheet, quietly looking over at her. Several seconds went by before she heard a voice whisper, "it's ok, she's sound asleep."
"Mmm...yes, there... oh my God..yes!"
Then another "shhh!"
Andrea realized that she was now drenched, partly from the heat, but mainly from the sounds and the mental images Andrea conjured up, wondering if they were just touching or more? Could they have been kissing, or even licking each other? It took everything she had to keep from playing with her now moist pussy. She buried her head in the pillow, trying not to hear, desperate to be a good Christian woman despite the erotic sounds coming from the lower bunk. Eventually the noises died down, minutes later a dark form quietly slipped out from under the covers and climbed into the top bunk.
Hours later, the next time she opened her eyes, it was morning. "Rise and shine!" Melissa was up and stretching, as if nothing happened. Andrea smiled sleepily, now seeing the two "proper" girls in a totally different light and realizing that she wasn't the only one with a secret.
Walking together to the community breakfast buffet, Lisa and Melissa were their cheery selves – with no noticeable changes at all to their demeanors. Andrea wasn't sure how she expected them to act, but she was surprised that it seemed just like any other day for them. Probably an indication that they had been intimate for much longer than just this weekend trip, she figured. As they made small talk at the breakfast table, Andrea's mind raced, hearing those stifled moans over and over in her mind while sitting directly across from the secret lovers at the table. Was it her imagination or were they sitting too closely together?
When a calf grazed against hers under the table, she wondered if it was intentional or just an accidental touch. My, how her perspective changed in the matter of only a few hours! What would a proper Christian woman do in this circumstance, she wondered, already knowing the answer. She subtly moved her leg away from the warm calf, somewhat reluctantly. Suppressing those old feelings of desire, she looked down at the mixture of eggs, potatoes and ham, pushing it around on her plate.
It was no use – her mind kept reverting to the night before, and biting her lip, she kept mentally finding herself in her old familiar position, on her knees between parted legs, hands firmly holding her head in place. This time in her mind, however, her cheek was pressed against the inner thigh of her weekend "roomy", not one of the high school boys or men from her past. Did she have the nerve to kiss another woman down there? Her breath quickened as she imagined Lisa spreading her legs, reaching down to pull her damp panties aside, awaiting her kisses in the most private place.
"EARTH TO ANDREA!" She was brought out of her trance by Melissa's bark, and realized that both girls were staring across the table at her.
"That must have been SOME daydream, girl," Lisa giggled. "Thinking of Robert again?"
"Um, you must have read my mind," Andrea blushed.
"Go talk to him. He's 3 tables away, and he keeps looking over here at you."
Although she didn't have the nerve that morning, she felt that it was their destiny to meet, when coincidentally they were paired up in a workshop that afternoon. Following that, they found reasons to run into each other throughout the rest of the weekend, even agreeing to meet on the trail for a walk around the lake. She did her best to maintain her façade of innocence, and by the end of the Sunday session, he sought her out and shyly asked if she would like to keep in touch. Smiling and nodding yes, they exchanged phone numbers, hugged and said their goodbyes. Easy Andi remained dormant, but for how long?
It didn't take long for them to reconnect. It turned out that Robert lived only forty minutes from her, so he became a frequent visitor to the farm that summer. As expected, he was the perfect gentleman, which made it easier for her to keep up the ruse. When they finally kissed behind the barn on his third visit to the farm, they both blushed and smiled before she pushed him away, gently. She knew from experience and by the way he held his arm in front of his Levi's that he was hiding his excitement, but she pretended not to notice.
How she wanted to unzip him and show him her skills, honed by years of practice, but she continued to hold back. To him she was the naïve and proper Christian country girl, and the perfect potential wife. Within a year they were married, façade intact.
Nympho, obedient sheltered wife, or both? Andrea couldn't decide which she truly was on any given day. Deep down, was she still the trailer park tramp, the eighteen year old who gave head for tips most evenings during her senior year? She knew, of course, that if Robert ever learned of her past, the life that she now knew and enjoyed would be over. Still, she longed to be the sexual center of attention, remembering back to the hazy night that her "boyfriend" at the time invited his cousin over, and introduced Andrea to cheap Thunderbird wine (drunk from a brown bag of course), and eventually lured her into playing a game of truth or dare. Feeling warm from the wine, it seemed like it was always her turn to choose, at first selecting "truth," and answering each question honestly and without shame, because in her mind it was just wrong to tell a lie.
And the questions flowed – "How old were you when you gave your first blowjob?"
Answer: Fourteen.
"Did you ever kiss another girl?"
Answer: Yuck, no.
"Did you ever let a guy inside your ass?"...
Answer: No one has ever asked.
"WOULD you let a guy fuck your tight ass?"
Answer: Maybe.
"Did you ever have a threesome?"
Answer: Not yet.
Not surprisingly, the dares inevitably led to the three of them naked in her boyfriend's room, when the answers to some of those questions would be matter-of-factly changed from No to Yes if she ever played the game again. Even now, thinking back to it, she resented herself for being excited, wanting so much to be on her knees, with her boyfriend behind her, pulling her hair while sliding first inside her drenched pussy, and ultimately becoming the first to take her ass, all while his cousin slid his cock between her lips, holding her head still and ultimately releasing in her wet mouth. After resting briefly, the boys went out for a smoke while she took a nice warm shower, again feeling the satisfaction of a job well done. When they returned, their positions were reversed, and her ass was taken for a second time that night. Was it wrong of her to feel that those were the "good old days?"She knew that - all in all - it was a good trade off, eliminating sexual openness and freedom for a stable, drama-free life with a good man. Christian couples weekend session topics danced around spousal sexual intimacy, hinting that sex for pleasure only, especially "debasing, perverted sex" (oral or anal, she wasn't sure) was sinful. She knew by Robert's reaction that he would never venture down those paths, and for the most part, she honored that.
On one occasion, after his company Christmas party, they were uncharacteristically frisky in the car on the ride home and Easy Andi briefly appeared. As he drove, she reached over and rubbed his pants, feeling him get hard. He looked so handsome that night at the party, and she felt proud to be arm in arm with him. For the first time in ages, she actually really wanted him, not that she was repulsed by him – quite the opposite, but it was much better to avoid the "vanilla" sex that always brought resentment that she couldn't do what she wanted to do to him, what she was "meant" to do. She unfastened his belt, opened his pants and pulled his half-hard cock out, salivating as she did it, knowing it would be in her mouth in a matter of seconds.
As she shifted positions to reach him, he pulled over. Thinking that he was doing it for safety reasons, she felt herself getting wetter, knowing that FINALLY she could get what she longed for. Instead, he gently admonished her – telling her it was the devil's doing – not hers, and zipping back up before heading back out onto the road. She almost told him – it's NOT the devil, it's ME that wants you to fuck my mouth, but of course she held back, as a good wife should.
Over the years, she found herself longing more and more for her "alone" time, giving her a chance to explore her body, knowing that Robert wouldn't be home for several hours. There were even times that he would travel for work, which allowed her ample opportunity to play. At first it was enough to just substitute common items to satisfy her oral fixation while fantasizing about her trashy past. Her mind became quite good at building scenarios, most of which concluded with her deep-throating a hard throbbing cock.
When they made their first computer purchase, she was fascinated by the functionality, and found herself testing the search engines such as alta vista and later google to find the most bizarre topics. Suddenly a whole new world opened up to her, and she struggled to wrap her mind around the seemingly infinite amount of information that was now available at her fingertips. Her exploration started innocently at first, and she downloaded several recipes that were shared on line. Later she would search on pastimes, reading up on hiking, needlepoint, famous authors, etcetera.
It was quite by accident that she discovered the seedy side of the web. Clicking on a series of novels, "The Joy Of Sex" suddenly appeared in front of her in bold letters. What if she keyed in "oral sex," she wondered.
Needless to say, over the course of several months, Andrea's curiosity grew, fueled by the seemingly infinite amount of information available on virtually any topic. Andrea found that she couldn't wait for Robert to leave in the morning so she could continue her "education" on line. The more she viewed, the further she regressed. Clicking on a new link, she ultimately discovered a sexual chat room and was shocked – but also thrilled – to find others out there with similar desires to be fulfilled. With each foray into the rooms, more and more of Easy Andi would appear.
Although she told herself that it was "virtual", so what harm was there in exploring that side of her, it became harder and harder for her to revert to the demure Christian wife in time for Robert to come home. Could one person be both conservative AND shamelessly slutty? She wondered which of her personalities was the real Andrea, but deep down she knew.
Still, she was somehow able to keep up appearances. She filled her time by volunteering at church whenever possible, which helped her to keep her mind off of what she found herself craving more and more. "Easy Andi" still appeared almost daily, but always when she was alone under the covers or exploring on line. She even used that as her chat room name a few times, and it only served to intensify her desire. With Robert away on yet another business trip, her morning started out like so many others had before, with a basic breakfast consisting of fruit, yogurt and a slice of wheat toast, followed by her morning run, then a nice hot shower.
She was SO in the mood to fantasize – to become Easy Andi yet again this morning. With Robert out of town for one more day, she planned to "chat" through the morning, signing in yet again as "Easy Andi" and ignoring most of the chat requests that popped up.
She had become quite popular on this particular site, and she learned to be especially creative at roleplaying. For those on the other side of the connection who were up to the task, she would slowly pull them into her fantasy world within the roles, and she rarely failed to bring them to climax through her written words. It was disappointing at first to excite them enough that the screen would get quiet, then they would disappear without comment. Later they often reappeared, claiming connectivity issues or interruptions, but she knew better. Still, Andrea always felt a sense of accomplishment and dirty pride at a job well done.
This morning, she again ignored most of the vulgar chat requests, but one caused her heart to skip a beat. It simply read, "Andi – we camped together in the Carolinas...How have you been"?
Stunned, she felt that it had to have been a coincidence, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she couldn't resist responding, wanting more details in order to see if it was someone from her real past or her cyber present. She tentatively answered, telling him he must be mistaken.
Where in the Carolinas? It seemed like minutes went by as she waited for a response. When there was none, she felt both relief and disappointment for some reason.
Finally, the window opened, with the comment, "Does Camp Chatuga ring a bell?""
Andrea stared at the screen in stunned silence, realizing at that moment that the person on the other end DID know her, and he probably knew her intimately. In fact, over the next twenty minutes he provided enough graphic detail that she was sure he was on the receiving end of one her very early excursions into the world of oral sex. She should have been horrified, and in a way she was, but her overwhelming emotion was one of pure lust, as she was thrust mentally back to that time when she was the center of attention, the sexual outlet for any horny boy who had the nerve to step up. The man on the other end of the connection prodded her with a series of bold questions, and the more he asked, the wetter she found herself getting.
How many men had she sucked? She had no clue but guessed it was easily more than one hundred, excluding repeat customers. Where was the wildest place that she rode a cock? That was easy – in the fellowship hall while church services were going on not fifty feet down the hall. Shamelessly she punched the keyboard, sharing way too much information, and getting more and more worked up with each typed response.
Easy Andi resurfaced, and this time there was no denying her. Typing became more sporadic as her left hand found its way inside her yoga pants. God, she missed this side of her. Could she actually cum like this, legs parted in front of her computer in the formal study, surrounded by bibles and other religious publications? She flashed back to the summer camp as she abandoned her typing altogether, alone in the study – just her, the memories and her fingers working their magic under her panties. She was lost in a myriad of past sexual excursions combined with new fantasies, getting oh so close to an earth-shattering climax, when it all came crashing to a halt with the ringing of the doorbell and a hard knocking on the front door.
Peeking out the window from the study, she saw the cable truck and realized that even though they gave her an insanely wide window for their expected arrival, they were actually here more than two hours early. With no time to properly tidy up and quickly working to recover from her lustful state, she tried within seconds to assume the role of conservative Christian housewife, straightening her hair and composing herself as she hurried out of the study, for some reason unconsciously grabbing a bible on her way out, and shakily working her way down the hall.
Please God, bring me a balding overweight middle-aged smoker, she thought to herself. Opening the door, she knew with a single glance at the technician that this was not going to end well. Probably in his early 30's, tall, toned and tan, he looked nothing like the type of technician that she prayed for just moments before. Greeting her was "Clint" – the perfect porn name for a service technician - clearly showing on the pocket of his shirt. He sported a full head of dark hair in need of a haircut but not overly long, a chiseled chin under perhaps a three-day stubble, and a shy smile showing ridiculously white and straight teeth.
Be strong, she said to herself as she let him in the door and directed him to the family room. She did her best to avoid shaking her firm ass as he followed her there, but she knew he had to be watching it – after all, he WAS a man.
Something took over her, and with the last two steps she couldn't resist an exaggerated swaying of her hips. Pointing out the television and the control box, she bent down from the waist to turn it on, exposing her ass and mound from behind through her clingy yoga pants, legs slightly parted, almost begging him to look. Her pink Cape May T, although oversized, shifted as she bent over, allowing a brief glimpse of her lower back and possibly a hint of her breast, depending on the angle.
She excused herself, telling him to yell if he needs anything. Before leaving the room, she stole a glimpse at his bulging slacks and blushed, realizing that her movements had done the trick. Quickly escaping to the powder room, she tried to compose herself while washing her previously occupied hands. Looking in the mirror, she realized that her face was still flush with desire built up from prolonged masturbation combined with the excitement generated from seeing Clint's bulge just minutes before.
Picking up her bible, she opened the powder room door, turned the corner and smiled nervously as she caught Clint adjusting his bulge. Looking up at her with panic, he realized that her focus wasn't on his eyes. Biting her lip, she stared at his tented pants and his hand covering his thick member. The bible dropped on the floor, and what seemed like minutes went by. A bead of perspiration formed on her upper lip, and she licked to wipe it, not thinking that the action only served to intensify his erection. He stammered, saying, "I'm so sorry...," taking a half step backward; however, his knees hit the couch and before he could catch himself, he slowly fell back onto the sofa.
Lust in her eyes, Andrea first reached down to pick up the bible that she dropped earlier, but her mind had other ideas. Down on one knee, maybe five feet from Clint, she looked up. In her position, he could see down her top, and in her haste to answer the door she was still without a bra. Knowing her small breasts were likely exposed didn't faze her at all. Instead, it served to fuel her desire. Realizing that he was now lost in the heat of the moment, she allowed him to spend as much time as he needed before slowly crawling over in front of him as he parted his legs.
She knew the time had come and there was no turning back. Her head spun as she unbuckled his belt, unsnapped and quickly unzipped his pants. In her mind, she was back in the Carolinas, eagerly taking on anyone who wanted her mouth, and she was long overdue to showcase her talents. Clint reached down clumsily and tried to pull her T up and off, but she didn't have time for that. He only was able to pull it to just above her breasts when she couldn't wait any longer.
Yanking his boxer briefs down, she allowed the thick hard cock to brush against her flushed cheeks, looking up at him hungrily before taking the head into her waiting mouth. This was what she was born for, she thought, as she lowered her head to take him deeper. For the first time in decades, she was exactly where she wanted to be, where she LONGED to be. And then, within seconds it all came tumbling down.
With the opening of a door and Bob's unexpected early return from a business trip, the façade was exposed, and her life was turned completely upside down. Even so, she was ashamed to realize masochistically that her only real regret was in not completing the job in front of her, failing perhaps for the first time in her life.
With the awkward and hurried exit of the technician, Bob could only stare at her with a combination of confusion and disgust. Shaking his head, he dumped the contents of his carry-on bag in the laundry room, trudged to the master bedroom and packed his essentials. Within thirty minutes, he was gone. Andrea, shamed and shocked, peeled off her T and yoga pants and took a long hot shower. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she realized what had just unfolded, but despite that, a combination of the hot water and the memory of that delicious cock briefly thrusting into her wet and willing mouth overtook her.
What was wrong with her, she wondered? She couldn't help but reach down and touch. The touch from her fingers was soon replaced with the gentle spray from the showerhead as she held herself open and aimed at just the right spot. Maneuvering the showerhead inches from her mound, her other hand slipped around to her ass and gently probed the tight hole, remembering that time long ago when a much younger and more naïve Andrea allowed her boyfriend inside the virgin passage. Although she wanted it to last, the memory and the water made it impossible to hold out, and despite the circumstances, Andrea experienced her most earth-shaking climax in years.
After drying off and dressing, she returned to the family room. Her mind raced as she began replaying the earlier scene in her mind. As she straightened up the room, out of the corner of her eye she spotted the bible, still lying face down and opened at the foot of the couch. Her hand shook for some reason as she reached down to pick it up. Holding it gently in her hand as if it were a wounded bird, she turned it over to find a slightly ripped page clinging to the rest of the book, a likely casualty of its collision with the floor earlier.
Finding a tape dispenser, she placed the bible on the end table and prepared to reconnect the stray page. Working to align the page, tape in hand, her heart suddenly sank. She blinked in disbelief as she stared down at the passage before her. Corinthians, chapter six. Although the print was in the same small font as the rest of the passages, verse eighteen seemed to boldly jump out at her, "Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body."
A single tear dropped onto the page as she completed the surgery, closing the book and returning it to its place in the study along with the other theological manuals, each of which – she sensed – were judging her as she left the room.
The following weeks were spent going through the motions of her mundane life and waiting for Bob to call or stop by, which he occasionally did, although it was primarily to pick up a clean set of clothing or to do a few loads of wash. He was detached but civil. There was no mention of a reconciliation, no mature discussion of the situation, no thought of counseling. Andrea made a token effort to talk through the issue, but it was clear that Bob had mentally and emotionally checked out. Two months later, they were formally separated, and Andrea reluctantly resigned herself to the fact that she was virtually a single woman for the first time in more than two decades. Would she take advantage and revert to her old ways, or would she work yet again to rebuild her self-esteem? Even Andrea didn't know the answer.
CHAPTER FOUR – Life Goes On, Barely
PRESENT DAY
As Bob's old car labored down the road, his mind raced as he thought back to the day's events. What started as another dull weekend turned out to be ANYTHING but, and he thought to himself, boredom is way too under-rated. As much as he thought he needed more excitement in his life, today's events – mutual exhibitionism/masturbation and later, casual anonymous, dangerous sex - proved to be way too extreme for him. Why, he wondered, couldn't there ever be a happy medium?
He pulled in to his apartment complex and squeezed the old Toyota into the last remaining space, totally oblivious to the fact that he was seconds away from potential castration – or worse - just a short time ago. He passed by two thugs smoking in the lot, and one of them commented under his breath, "Nice fucking car, dude." Wishing he could pull a "Clint Eastwood" move, he instead chose to ignore them and climbed the broken steps to his depressing studio apartment.
Entering, he passed through his combination living room/bedroom and bee-lined for the bathroom, hoping there would be hot water tonight. He was in luck – kind of. He settled for lukewarm water, showered and toweled off. Pulling on a pair of old sweats and T-shirt, he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and plopped down in his cheap but comfortable recliner. He fumbled for the remote, hoping to catch a football game, but instead was greeted with an info-mercial, claiming that, "You too, can master the guitar in just 2 months!"
He laughed as he reminisced about his own struggles in trying to pick up the basics, and he glanced at the corner of the room where his long-neglected guitar case rested. He remembered passing a pawn shop on the way from his former home with the guitar in the passenger seat. The temptation was there to abandon it, but something told him to hang onto it rather than sell. He hadn't touched it in the months since he moved here, nor had he opened the case in probably the past five years, or more. Sadly, today it only really served as a coat rack.
Still, he wondered if he could even remember any chords. Surely there were no riffs remaining in his old brain, but chords – just maybe. He sipped and thought back to simpler times, when he would sit down with a six-pack of beer and work his way through acoustic versions of basic classic rock songs. By the fourth of fifth beer he would usually have them figured out, and after a six-pack, his terrible singing voice didn't sound nearly so bad – at least not to him.
Based on his close call earlier in the day, he figured that it was probably time for him to take a break from his open house fantasizing and realtor-stalking. Instead, maybe he could dust off the guitar and try to rediscover another passion. He sat back on his bed/couch and thought back over the day's bizarre events and his experience with Rosa. As he took another look at the old guitar case, he closed his eyes, folded his hands and for the first time in nearly a year, said a short prayer of thanks. From out of the blue, he also prayed for Andrea before eventually falling asleep, beer in hand.
Across town, Andrea took a final peek into the mirror. Her turquoise blouse nicely complemented her auburn hair, which now reached just below her shoulders. She had to admit that despite the turmoil of the past several months, appearance-wise, she looked stunning. Amazing what a depression-induced loss of appetite and near-obsessive workout routine could do, she thought. She slid on a new pair of white slacks, still amazed that she was finally able to fit comfortably into size nine clothing. Unfortunately, nearly her entire wardrobe consisted of sizes twelve through sixteen, so it was going to take some time and money to replenish it fully, and she wasn't exactly raking in the cash with her sporadic temp jobs.Despite a bit of excitement as she thought about her upcoming "date," she wondered if this was how her life was going to play out. Although she didn't revert completely to her "Easy Andi" persona, she had her moments over the past several months. For better or worse, she decided to keep a journal, and she paged through it, both embarrassed and admittedly somewhat turned on by some of her entries.
She counted a total of five dates, using the term loosely. They were basically booty calls, coordinated through a variety of illicit hookup sites. Although the first couple were incredibly exciting excursions into debauchery, she found that she was becoming mired in the law of diminishing returns, and the last two failed to satisfy her both physically and emotionally. If "Easy Andi" disappeared, what would be left for her, she wondered.
Despite that, she left the cold, empty home at dusk and began her nearly twenty mile drive en route to a location she used a couple of times before – a secluded parking lot behind an abandoned shopping mall. Several months ago, the prospect of an anonymous rendezvous would have had her unsnapping her slacks and touching while driving there, but tonight was different for some reason. Although she still found herself masochistically wanting to be "used" and to please her dates, the sensation was duller than ever before, and again she found herself once again desperately missing Bob and her prior vanilla life.
She knew that her desire to please wasn't totally out of her system, but she also realized that this high-risk trajectory could eventually get her hurt, or even killed. Fortunately, the previous men – despite their welcomed kinks – were married professionals with a great deal to lose if caught. Tonight's date was an exception, and she conceded that she knew very little about the man she was driving to meet.
Andrea made it to the halfway point before pulling into a convenience store parking lot. Realizing that she was shaking, she was overcome with a premonition that something bad was going to happen. Coincidentally at nearly the exact time that Bob was completing his prayer across town, she folded her hands, lowered her head and also said a silent prayer, asking for guidance, but already knowing what she needed to do. Although "Andi" wanted to continue, "Andrea's" rational self ultimately won out. Lifting her head, she pulled out of the lot, reversing course to return home, relieved yet somewhat unfulfilled.
Ten miles further down the road, the parolee waited impatiently for his victim. Sitting at the far end of the deserted lot in a "borrowed" car, he sipped from a half-empty bottle of Thunderbird and rubbed his bulge with a grimy hand. The longer she made him wait, the more she would be punished, he decided. The thought of hurting her only fueled his lust, and he unzipped, his breathing now nearly uncontrollable as he fantasized about the pain that she was about to endure. He waited in the darkness for nearly an hour past their planned meeting time before realizing that he was being stood up. Shit! Lucky woman, he thought as he put the car in gear and drunkenly pulled out of the lot, narrowly missing a fire hydrant as he fishtailed down the road.
CHAPTER FIVE – At long last, Secrets Are Revealed
Bob's week dragged on, and he found himself merely going through the motions at the office as he thought back to the strange interactions with Rosa/Valerie. On Thursdays, he usually began to plan his upcoming weekend open house visits, but he was determined to take at least one or two weekends off, based on his possible near-death experience from the week before. Instead of perusing the classifieds, he felt himself drawn for some reason to the guitar case as if it was beckoning him. He pulled his sweatshirts and coats off the old case and sat down, placing it across his lap. What memories this simple act conjured up, from his lessons as a young student to his awkward strumming at the Christian camp where he first met Andrea.
He took a deep breath and released the rusted clasps, opening the dusty case. Setting it down on its base, he reached in to pull out his old reliable acoustic guitar. He popped open the inside pouch, looking for a pick. Instead, a sealed envelope dropped to the floor. Putting the guitar down, he fumbled with the mysterious envelope, wondering how long it had been stored there. Setting it aside for the time being, he pulled his old notes & hand-written chord charts from the case, including an unfinished song that he intended to sing to Andrea for her thirtieth birthday more than a decade ago. Had it been that long since he even opened the case, he wondered?
He picked up the old guitar and started playing, not caring that it was horribly out of tune. As he strummed, he looked at the envelope, which seemed to be beckoning him. No longer able to avoid it, he picked it up and turned it over. It was addressed simply, "to Robert". How long had it been hidden in that case, he wondered? He leaned the guitar against the recliner and took a few steps into the kitchen to grab a beer. Something told him he would need it.
Sitting back down, he fumbled with the envelope as he took a big sip. Finally, he slid a finger under the corner and opened it, pulling out a card as well as a handwritten page dated nearly six months earlier. Nervously, he chugged his beer and wandered back into the kitchen to grab another before dropping down into his recliner. The front of the card was mostly blank, with a simple phrase, "I'm so sorry" in small font at the lower right corner. Opening it, Robert read the note, single-spaced in cursive:
Robert, if you're reading this it means we are no longer together. It probably won't matter to you at this point, but there are some things that you should know about me – things that I should have shared with you long before I made the single biggest mistake of my life. Well, here goes – you may want to sit down with a shot or a beer, because it's time for me to finally bare my soul to you, the love of my life, and my best friend over the past twenty years.
When I saw you for the first time at the Christian camp, I wondered if someone like you could ever find someone like me to be attractive. By that time I was completing the process of reinventing myself as the good wholesome Christian woman that you thought I was. I knew that if anyone was aware of my past, they would dismiss me as a sinner – a slut, and for good reason. In reality, that's what I WAS, at least through most of my teens. You fell in love with a wholesome, naïve teen, but the truth is that I was anything BUT that over a span of four or five years. I won't go into the gory details, but imagine the worst sexual sins that you can, and your supposedly virtuous wife has probably done even worse than that, not just once, but as often as she could. As I write this, I realize that deep down I miss that part of me, and I hate myself for it, but it's the harsh truth and I will have to live with it.
I know that if I can't forgive myself for that side of me, I could never ask YOU to fogive me. The horrible truth is that I'm probably much closer to the person that I hid than the person I wanted you to think I was. None of that changes how I felt about you, or how I still feel about you. You are and always will be the love of my life. I miss you. I miss your friendship and your companionship, and I miss the person that I tried to be when I was with you. You are a good man who deserves to find a good woman. As much as it hurts me to say it, my hope is that you find her and can be happy.
With all my love and regret,
Andi
Stunned, Robert read through it a few more times. How was she able to suppress her desires for so long, and how would he have reacted long ago if he had known? Although his past wasn't nearly as sinful as hers, he realized that he wasn't the man that he only pretended to be for her. Would he have given her a chance, had he known about her past indiscretions? As he continued to read through the letter, he experienced a myriad of emotions, from regret to shock, and everything in between. What he DIDN'T feel, however, was revulsion.
What type of relationship would they have built if they had just been honest with each other in the first place? Could he accept her as she was? Her words, "You are a good man who deserves to find a good woman," stood out, and he realized that he was just as deceptive as she was. Was he really a good man, he wondered? Would a good man masturbate in front of a stranger in a vacant home? Would a good man fuck that same woman on a porch, letting his cock be his guide? Would a good man fantasize about his soon-to-be ex-wife and her past indiscretions?
The thought of her, his conservative Christian wife, in a variety of compromising positions fueled his lust once again as he abandoned all thoughts of being the "good" man. He unzipped and again thought back to Andrea, or was she now going by "Andi?" He wondered, how many men – or even women – had she been with before him? Did she ever take on more than one person at a time? He realized that his disgust wasn't aimed at her and her past, it was self-directed.
He now understood that he wanted – correct that, NEEDED – to live vicariously through her, and he hoped that her past was as slutty as she hinted. It took him only a few minutes before he released. He surprised himself by remaining hard as the thoughts continued to flood his mind. He envisioned her at the Christian camp as a naïve nineteen year old, engaged in a hot sixty-nine with her bunkmate. He again flashed to her on her knees with the young, hung cable guy and fantasized that there were two or even three of his co-workers surrounding her. His fantasies were now out of control and he found himself cumming yet again.
Now spent, he cleaned up and reached for his beer. Finishing it, he glanced at his watch, briefly considering calling her until he realized that it might be too late on a Sunday night. "Fuck it," he thought as he texted her instead –
"Hi – I know it's late- finally found your card. Can we talk?"
The response – "OMG – Hi – Yes - call me"
Bob took a deep breath. His hand shook as he hit "call."
"Hi," she answered, meekly.
"Hi Andrea... um, I know it's late, I um... opened my guitar case tonight. I guess I told you I found your letter," he stammered.
"Yeah, about that," Andrea said. "It was really hard to write, knowing you would probably hate me for what I confessed. Do you... hate me?"
"Um, well... It WAS a shock, but...can I confess something too?"
"I guess so, if you want to," Andrea said, nervous to hear what was coming.
"You wrote that I'm a 'good man,' and it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me - but um... you're probably going to hate me... here goes - would a 'good man' be turned on knowing that the love of his life had a secret past?"
"I don't understand," she said quietly.
"Well, never mind, Andrea. I shouldn't have said anything."
"Robert... You called me for a reason. Are you saying that you don't hate me for what I've been hiding from you?"
"Well, it's more complicated than that, and I guess I'm embarrassed to admit it," Bob said quietly after a long pause.
"It's ok, Robert. I mean, at this point, what do we have to lose?"
"True. Well, here goes. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, I think I might like the 'You' that you confessed to be."
"How exactly do you mean that you 'like' that part of me," she asked.
"Let's just say, I'm not the person you THOUGHT I was either."
"How do you mean, Robert?"
He took a big sip before getting up the nerve, finally saying, boldly, "It turns me on to know that you have done things. There, I said it."
"It does? "
"Yeah, it really does, a lot."
Silence.
"Say something, Andrea. Tell me what you're thinking – that I'm a horrible person."
"I could, but that would be a lie, Robert. Are you... turned on now?" she asked.
"Totally, I admit it," he confessed.
"I kind of am too, to be honest," Andrea said as she quietly slid a hand into her pajama bottoms.
Bob smiled to himself, quietly saying, "Who ARE you and what did you do with Andrea?"
As she rubbed her pussy through wet panties, Andrea responded, "I'm the slut that you married, Robert."
She heard a groan on the other end, as Robert's breathing became heavier. Both quietly played separately and the phone went quiet for nearly a minute. Neither could believe what was happening, nor could they stop the momentum at this point.
Andrea broke the silence, whispering, "Are you playing with your nice hard cock?"
"Guilty. Are you...touching yourself too?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you are."
"You're right. I'm so wet. I wish you could be here to taste me."
"Well, it's only a twenty minute drive... it's up to you," he said.
"Stay on the phone while you're driving. If you want, I'll tell you about some of the guys who fucked your Christian wife," she said boldly.
He stroked his cock harder, saying, "I want you to tell me EVERYTHING, Andrea."
"Ok. I will Love, but could you do me a favor? Call me 'Andi' from now on."
THE END