Sometimes, I think I must have the best job in the world. As part of my work, I met a girl a few weeks ago. Not a girl, really. A woman. A truly fascinating woman. Her name is Sarah.
I'm a private investigator for a boutique divorce law firm. It's not as glamorous as it may sound. I do rack up the frequent-flier points, and yes, I went to Las Vegas last Christmas, but it was for work. I was trying to get video of a suspected cheating husband. To a degree, I understood when I spied on him. After all, his wife was a shrew, and he was a typical guy. The young lady he took to his room while his wife finished her shopping did a Tahitian hula/reverse cowgirl thing that I had never seen before.
A lot of my work involves researching hidden assets. Sometimes, I'm looking for real estate holdings or off-shore bank accounts. Sometimes, it's artwork or jewels. Often, I'm at a desk, and when I do go out on field-work, there's no Indiana Jones or Mission Impossible stuff.
The senior partner (known the staff as The Ice Queen) called me to her office. “Don,” she asked, “if I told you I wanted you on a red-eye flight Sunday night, what would it do to your other cases?”
“For how long?”
“I wouldn't normally ask you to do this, but ...”
“Bullshit, Marian,” I interrupted. “How long do I have to be away?”
“You have all the budget you need on this one to hire whoever you want to help you. If you get yourself a good forensic accountant, you should be on the plane back home Friday night.”
“Some clients will argue, but nobody's world will come to an end if I'm not here for a week,” I said. “It's a good thing we love each other.”
“Just remember who pays whom, and why. Clean up your loose ends and go home. Pack for a week in Virginia, near DC. A car will pick you up and take you to the airport. Be ready Sunday morning at ten.” Marian handed me some file folders and a small bundle of discs, and motioned me away. “Go, before we do something stupid.”
My new job was to dig up the dirt on a business. The estranged wife has a large block of shares in her husband's enterprise, and she feels he's siphoning off money, lowering the value of her holdings, which would be beneficial to him when he is ordered to buy her out.
Even though I probably have learned enough over the years to take the exams, I'm not an accountant. This job needed one. From an assignment several years ago, I know a gentleman who is a senior partner in a successful accounting firm in the area. I gave him a call. He agreed to “rent out” his best forensic accountant, a Mrs. Sarah Blevins. Her schedule would be clear late Monday morning.
Her curriculum vitae had me hoping for a dynamic, no-nonsense woman with a sharp mind and a bit of cynicism, all business, and hopefully, a stickler for details. I wanted someone who could find evidence of fiduciary mistakes by the company's own financial people, or signs that the books had been “cooked.”
I've teamed with this kind of specialist before. They're often the nerds of the accounting world. Based on the people I had worked with in the past, I anticipated a plain looking woman.
That's not what I saw when she came into the lobby. She was taller than I expected, honey-blond, blue-eyed, and pretty. If she wore make-up, it was subtle. Dressed in a conservative skirt and jacket, she spoke with a soft but confident voice laced with the sweeter parts of a southern drawl. She looked like a woman you could enjoy taking to dinner, or helping with a project she's doing as a Sunday school teacher.
My first impression was to see her in the role of trusted executive secretary or elementary school principal, but this assignment called for more than that. I needed a rabid badger.
She took me to her office to discuss the case. Following her down the hall, I played with the idea of those long legs in a much shorter, tighter skirt, with dressy heels replacing the sensible office shoes she wore. I wondered what her long hair would feel like in my hands.
“You're disappointed, aren't you, Don?” she asked, after she had closed the door and taken her place behind her desk.
“I get that a lot. Being a woman is a handicap in business. At least it seems that way to me,” she said.
“I don't look down on women in business, Sarah. I'm not that kind of guy.”
“You've read my curriculum vitae, I assume,” she said.
“I did, and I was impressed.”
“Would you have been as 'impressed' if I were a man? Or did you just think my qualifications were good for a woman?”
“Where is all this coming from?” I asked.
“Look, I know what your employers do. They screw people out of money in divorces. They're very good at it,” she said.
“I try not to think of it that way. Are claims exaggerated? Sure. On both sides. Are mistakes made? Yes, unfortunately. We're all human. My job is to make sure that all assets are accounted for, and that my employer's client gets compensation for the value of the couple's shared holdings and for the pain and suffering of a failed marriage.”
Sarah got more animated. “Marriage is sacred, as far as I'm concerned. People stand there in front of whatever they consider to be God, and swear an oath to each other. That's one of the things that ticks me off. This country has become all about getting someone else to pay through the nose for your dumb mistakes. In a marriage, unless you're completely stupid, you should have known what you were getting yourself into.”
“I'm not completely stupid,” I said. “I'm smart enough to have stayed single. Look, if you're not comfortable working with someone who does this for a living, I'm sorry I wasted your time.” I stood and turned toward the door.
“Wait!” she cried. “Please. Oh, dammit, I'm not good at this.” Suddenly, her bluster was gone. “Won't you sit down?”
I did. I looked at her, waiting for her to continue. She was staring at the screen-saver on her computer monitor, playing absent-mindedly with a wisp of her hair that was draped over her chest. She took a deep breath, and then broke into a weak smile.
“That's probably the worst job I've done introducing myself since I was about twelve,” she said. “May I start over?”
I stood up, smiled, and extended my hand, just as I had done before. “Hello, I'm Don Croswell.”
She gave me a smirk, stood, and said, “Good to meet you, Don. I'm Sarah Blevins.” She laughed as we shook hands. “Please, sit down. Would you like a water?” She swiveled in her chair and got two bottles from her mini-fridge. “I'm a competent accountant. My records prove that. I also have a very good nose for bullshit.”
“That's what I need. This guy is hiding something. I'm just not sure where or how.”
She said, “When my boss told me about this assignment, I was anxious to work with you because of what you do, not who you work for. You expose liars. You search for the truth. That's what I do, too. Look, Don, I'm sorry, but I'm guilty of a little bit of hero worship here. You look at the whole picture. All I do is give you some financial details.”
“If you can give me those details, I'll make sure my employers know exactly how valuable your assistance was. There may be need for your services in the future, if you're willing.”
“I have a career with this firm. As I understand it, the boss is basically 'renting' me to you,” she said.
“That's right, and I'm not in a position to offer anyone a job anyway, but I've given references before that have gotten a little freelance work for some people. In one way or another, we're all in the information business. Networking is important, and I've got a big address book,” I said.
“Let's see if I can help you first,” she answered.
“How do you want to start?”
“With lunch. There's a cafe downstairs.”
“I saw it,” I said. “I'm on an expense account, so my employer is buying. I'll drive.”
We walked through the parking garage, Sarah stopping to get an attache case from her minivan. I had parked my rental car out where people were less likely to hit it.
“Oh my,” Sarah murmured when I hit the remote locks on the silver Mercedes SLK. “I never rode in one of those.”
“I hadn't either. Triple upgrade from the rental car company. That's why I said I'll drive. It's a lot more fun than the car I have at home. Where's a good place to eat?”
During lunch, she told me a bit about herself. “I'm thirty-seven. I have two kids. I had to delay presenting my master's thesis because I went into labor with my daughter two weeks early. I'm a hard worker, Don.”
“If we do this, we're going to spend a lot of time together, you know,” I said.
“As long as I can get six hours sleep and a shower, I can be on the job. My husband, Tim, will work from home. I've done this before,” she said.
I paid the tab, and we walked to the car. When we were on the highway, heading to the factory, I asked, “You're saying you'll work past five o'clock?”
“Don, I may be younger than you, but I'm not naive. I know what it takes to succeed in this business. I'll work as long as necessary to get the job done.”
“All work and no play makes Sarah a dull girl,” I observed.
“I didn't think it was that obvious,” she said.
Great. I must have hit a nerve. I said, “That was rude of me. I was trying to be funny. I was willing to settle for lame, but I didn't mean to be insulting.”
“No, no, it's okay. You're right. I do work all the time. Tim keeps telling me I'll be the most successful person in the morgue some day. I've always been like that. It's how I tackled school, even as a little girl. It's the way I managed to make dean's list every semester in college while working full-time and playing Susie Homemaker for my husband.
“When did you get married?” I asked.
“Right after high school. We both worked and went to college at the same time. He got a good job, and I went on for my master's. We even started a family. Somehow, we made it work.”
“Like I said before, I'm impressed. Here's our exit.” I said nothing more, enjoying the muted music of the car's exhaust, as I tapped the paddle shifter to slow us down.
The owner met us at the door, smiling. “Hi! I'm Bill Owens. Did you have any trouble finding the place?” He gave us the grand tour, treating us like we were potential investors. After assigning a secretary to run errands for us, he took us to a conference room where we could spread out whatever materials we asked for.
When we had a moment alone, Sarah said, “My bullshit sense started tingling as soon as I saw him.”
“Okay, then it's not just me. You think he's too good to be true, too.”
“Absolutely. Especially with the creepy vibes I'm getting from him. I'm wearing slacks tomorrow. Loose ones,” she chuckled.
We worked until the office staff was leaving, and Owens escorted us out. He locked the front door behind him. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Croswell, Ms. Blevins. Will I see you in the morning?”
“We'll be here at nine,” I said.
“Great. I'm looking forward to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner date,” he said. He hurried off to his car.
Sarah and I got in the Mercedes and watched Owens drive away.
“What do you think so far?” I asked.
“Am I being hyper-sensitive? That guy is a total creep! Just having him look at me made me feel dirty,” she said.
“I saw him. He wasn't even trying to be subtle.”
“You don't look at me that way. I don't feel like a specimen under a microscope with you.”
“Oh, you're bad!” she laughed. “You had me fooled. I thought you were a gentleman.”
“I am. I just meant,... well,... I look at you, but I don't drool over you like he did.”
Sarah stared at me, a combination of shock and amusement on her pretty face. “But you've checked me out? Is that what you're saying?”
“Well, uh, yeah, I guess. I'm a man. You're a very attractive woman. So yes, I've looked. Don't sue me.”
“Look, Sarah, I feel really awkward. I'm digging myself into a hole here. What I'm trying to say is, I see how you work as well as how you look. Is that so bad?”
She was silent for a moment. “No. I guess not. I'm just not used to getting compliments. At least, not on anything but my work.”
“That surprises me. I'll bet your husband tells you how nice you look all the time.”
“No, that's not what he focuses on.”
I started the car. “I guess I should get you back to your office so you can get home.”
“Do you want to discuss what we did today, and what we want to accomplish tomorrow?” she asked. “I already told my family I'd be late. Tim will make dinner while the kids do their homework, and he'll come up with something fun to do with them until it's time for bed. We share pretty much all the childcare and household responsibilities. He's Mr. Mom when I do work like this.”
“Should we stop for dinner and a drink?” I asked.
“Not a bad idea. Just one drink, though. I do have to drive home at some point.”
“I'll have to drive you back to get your car, too, so yes, just one,” I agreed. “Mind if I put the top down? Your hair won't blow too much.”
She looked up. “It's metal, isn't it?”
“I guess so.” I pressed the button that began the transformation.
“Oh, my father would love this thing! He's such a car nut!” she said, in the most animated voice I had heard all day.
“This is the 'play' part of that all-work-and-no-play thing I mentioned.” I eased the sleek roadster into traffic, and soon we were on the highway.
“Where are you staying?” she asked, wisps of her honey locks dancing in the breeze.
“There,” I said, pointing to a sign advertising my hotel.
“Do they serve food in their bar?”
“Sandwiches and salads. We can sit and talk.”
“Sounds good,” she said.
I parked the car, and we walked into the hotel lounge. The place was almost deserted, and the music was quiet enough for conversation. We found a small table, got our menus, and placed our order.
“I just had an alarming thought,” Sarah said, after the waitress brought our drinks.
“Yes. What is a nice housewife like me doing here with another man?”
“Is that what this is, in your mind?” I asked. “To me, it's business associates grabbing dinner, unwinding and having a strategy session.”
“It is, of course,” she said, “but how does it look?”
“Who cares? People do this all the time. You're putting yourself in the exact niche that brought on your little show in your office this morning. You know that, don't you?”
She sighed, looking down at the table. Then she raised her eyes to mine. “You're right. I try so hard to be one of the guys in the office or when I'm out in the field, but sometimes I just can't do it.”
“Why can't you be Sarah Blevins?”
“I don't know,” she said, almost to herself. She sipped her drink in silence.
I asked, “What are your overall thoughts on what we saw today? You mentioned your bullshit sense as soon as we walked in there, and you seemed like you were onto some stuff right away.”
“You painted a pretty accurate picture of what to expect, although you failed to mention what a smarmy little creep Owens is.”
“We're going to bring him down if there's anything at all wrong,” I said. “We're playing detective here.”
“You make this sound so clandestine,” she grinned.
“Only in my Walter Mitty fantasies. Seriously, though, do you agree that there is something funny about those books?”
“I have some questions,” she said. “A lot of them, in fact.”
“Good. Now, off business for a minute. Who is Sarah Blevins? What makes you tick?”
“Honestly? Well, there's Sarah, the hard-working forensic accountant. That's who you saw today. There's Sarah, the wife and mother. I can bore you to tears with stories about potty training and parent-teacher conferences. I can tell you how to get grass stains out of little league uniforms and bubble gum out of long hair, and at least five great salsa recipes.”
The waitress brought our dinners. When she was gone, I asked, “What about Sarah, the person?”
“Hmmm. Well, I'm the only child of two salt-of-the-earth working-class parents. I was a smart kid, bookish and shy. I knew the value of hard work, and my parents encouraged me in school. I did well. I was pretty much of a nerd. The quiet girl everyone liked, but no one really knew. I was okay with that.”
“How did you meet your husband?”
“In Sunday school when we were kids. We started dating in high school, church youth group things at first. We really liked each other, and that turned into puppy love. As we got older, we started to realize how serious we felt about each other, and we got married the summer after our high school graduation. We spent the first four years of our life together in college, living in the married-student apartments off-campus.”
“That's romantic,” I said.
“It was, I guess. Anyway, after college, he got a very good job, so he supported me while I worked on my master's degree. We were doing okay, so we decided to start a family. Two kids later, I was lucky enough to get a job where I can actually use my skills.”
“You got up to speed on those books faster than anyone I've ever seen. I've been doing this work almost as long as you've been alive.”
“Thank you, Don. You're going to have to give me some time to study things, though, before I can give you an accurate idea of where the bad smell of that place is coming from.”
She sat back in her chair. “This is nice,” she sighed.
“No,” she laughed softly. “I meant relaxing with dinner and a drink. I don't do this enough.”
“How often do you take time for yourself?”
“I work at least fifty hours a week. I have two kids. I mow the yard for exercise and to get a little sun. I might do some web-surfing if I can't sleep at night, but time for me ended in high school.”
“Don't you and Tim do anything together as a couple? A date night, a weekend away?” I asked.
“No, not really. We were going to go on a married couples' retreat with the church a couple of summers ago, but the kids got sick.”
“Isn't there anything you do for fun?” I asked.
“Fun? Believe it or not, this is the first time I've been in a place that serves alcohol in about five years. It's probably the first time I've been out of the house alone for something other than work, the hairdresser, or the grocery store since I did my Christmas shopping last fall.”
“I used to be like that,” I said. “Worked all the time, trying to build my career. I never took time to play, or to really even build any relationships. It didn't make sense to try, since I was always on the road. When I landed this job with the divorce practice, I built a little house, but I never found anyone I wanted to share it with.”
“I'm sorry,” Sarah said.
“I'm not. Maybe I'm not the type that should be married. I'm just fine in my bachelor pad in the woods.”
“Do you see anyone?”
“What are you asking?” I chuckled. “Do I ever have dinner with anyone, or do I get laid?”
Sarah looked embarrassed and then started to giggle. “I meant the former. I would have assumed the latter, depending on your answer.”
“The answer to the former is yes.”
“Okay,” she replied. Awkward silence followed.
“I think I offended you,” I said.
“No, no, it's okay. Sex was just the farthest thing from my mind.”
It was my turn to be silent.
“You're older, so maybe you can tell me something, if you will?”
“I'll try,” I said.
“I could ask my father, but I don't want to know his answer.”
“What's your question?”
“I can't believe I'm asking you this. All right. At what age do men start to lose interest in sex?
“I don't know,” I chuckled. “I haven't hit it yet.”
“Really? How old are you?” Sarah asked.
“You're my father's age, but you still think about, you know, women and sex?”
“Yes. Supposedly, a man's desire peaks in his late teens or early twenties. That may be true, but I haven't noticed much of a decline.”
She remarked, “I've read that women seem to want sex more when they get to their late thirties or early forties.”
“So I've heard. Why are we talking about this?”
“I don't know,” she answered, more to herself than to me.
“You're unhappy, aren't you, Sarah? You don't have to tell me why, but if it will make you feel better, I'll listen.”
She gave me a shy grin. “How much do you charge for a session, Dr. Croswell?”
“No charge. Professional courtesy. Now, tell me as much or as little as you want,” I said.
“Maybe we can talk while you drive me back to my car. I should try to get some sleep tonight.”
Sarah was quiet for most of the trip back to her office building.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“Twenty minutes up the highway from here. I would drive past your hotel on my way to Owens' building if I came straight from home. Should I pick you up in the morning?” she asked.
“Meet me in my lobby at eight. We'll have breakfast and then I'll drive us to the plant.
“Ooh, I'm going to meet an older man at his hotel again. Sounds naughty,” she laughed.
“Breakfast and work sound naughty? You don't get out much, do you?”
“I was raised to work hard. It's what I do. Anything out of my routine can seem like an adventure to me,” she said.
In the parking garage of her building, Sarah got out of my car, but leaned in to say, “See you in the morning!” I got a quick close-up of her chest when she did that, and a nice view of her legs when she climbed into her minivan.
The next morning, Sarah was waiting in the lobby when I came off the elevator. As promised, she was dressed in slacks with a matching blazer, over a light sweater. If she was trying to cover up her good looks, she failed miserably. Even in this outfit, she was very attractive. Her height and those long, long legs were simply accentuated by the full-cut trousers she wore, and, if anything, I got a better appreciation of her trim torso and entertaining bust line. With her hair pulled back and held in a pale blue clip that matched her eyes, she looked even better than she had the day before. Even more desirable.
“Good morning,” I called.
“Hi!” Sarah smiled, turning to greet me. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Sure.” We walked toward the restaurant.
The place was set up as a buffet. We got trays, and she took a lo-cal blueberry muffin, a grapefruit half, and black coffee. I almost felt guilty piling my plate with scrambled eggs, sausage, and “hash browns,” but that's what I felt like eating.
“No wonder you look the way you do,” I remarked as I buttered a piece of toast.
“What? This?” she asked as she picked a bit off the muffin and popped it in her mouth.
“Yes. I thought we were having breakfast. I feel like a glutton, sitting across from you.”
Sarah laughed. “You said last night you wanted to know more about me. Here's something I wouldn't tell just anyone. I made French toast for the kids this morning before they left on the school bus. I make damn good French toast. I had some nice, crisp bacon with it. It's okay, I did my miles on the treadmill after I got home last night.”
“I see you wore slacks today.”
“Yeah. That creep doesn't need to be looking at my legs like he did,” she said.
“You'll break his heart,” I teased.
“Do I look okay in this outfit, Don?”
I looked at her between sips of my orange juice. I wanted to tell her that she would probably look great even in a burka, but instead, I said, “I think you look just fine. I like what you did with your hair. If you were going for business professional, I'd say you pulled it off.”
“I wanted to look a little more severe today, you know, hair tied back, ready to start digging. Maybe these will help.” She fumbled in her bag, pulled out a pair of reading glasses, and perched them far down on her nose. “I decided to give the eyes a rest from contact lenses today. I have my preion sunglasses for driving and these for work.”
The glasses certainly completed the look, if she wanted to resemble the librarian that gave all the guys wood in high school. “Perfect,” I deadpanned.
We worked non-stop that day, eating delivered pizza in the conference room. It was almost six o'clock when Owens appeared in the doorway. “Should I start another small project? Or are you two about ready to call it a day?” he asked, still wearing that painted-on, cheerful, lecherous smile.
“Are you at a good stopping point, Ms. Blevins?” I asked, saving my file and closing my laptop.
There was something in her eyes when she spoke. “Might as well,” she replied. She packed up her materials.
As Owens ushered us through the door, he said, “Lovely outfit, Ms. Blevins. Is it a designer I should know? Even these loose, non-tailored styles look good on a body like yours. Maybe it's the sweater.”
Sarah gathered herself to her impressive full height and gave him an icy stare. “Clearance racks at the mall last year, if you must know. You are starting to be inappropriate, Mr. Owens. Good day.” She strode off in the direction of the car.
“Owens, think about the laws we have these days about harassment, and the court cases. You already have enough problems. I'll let your secretary know when we'll be back,” I said, as I turned to catch up to Sarah.
She threw herself in the car as soon as I unlocked it, and already had her seat-belt on by the time I opened my door.
“Get me out of here.”
“Sarah, that bastar....” I began.
“Drive, please. I'd like to have a drink. And then I'll buy you as many as you want. I'm going to have to drive home. You just have to get on the elevator.”
“Why are we drinking?” I asked.
“Hush. I need to look up a few things,” she said as she worked with her phone.
I drove to the hotel in silence, parked the car, and turned off the engine.
After a moment, Sarah said, “Can you wait a minute or so?”
“Of course.” The car made its muted cool-down noises, and Sarah's nails clicked on her screen.
“Okay,” she said with a grin, putting her phone away. “Now, yes, let's have a drink. I need to talk to you.”
We found a quiet booth and placed our order. “I'm waiting for someone to get back to me,” she said, “but let me tell you what I do know. I understand the real reason his wife is divorcing him.”
“The payments to their former housekeeper, that Jamaican woman,” I said.
Sarah replied, “I think there's more. Everyone knows he cheated once. That' on record. It was when he started leering at me that I decided to look for more of that sort of nonsense. After all, he's been making those payments to the Jamaican for almost fifteen years. That's a long time for a man who has strayed once before. Besides, there seem to be company expenditures that could be similar to the support payments he's already making privately.”
“Company expenditures?” I repeated. “Did you find anything concrete?”
“When my friend gets back to me, we'll know if I'm right.”
“Owens really pissed you off back there, didn't he?” I asked.
“Yes, he did. Dammit, I'm not that kind of woman. I'm certainly not dressing to seduce some slimy little man like that. Hell, I don't even have sex!”
Her words hung in the air for a moment before she realized what she had said.
“With someone like him, I mean! I can't believe I just said that!”
“He really offended you. Do you want to pursue it?”
“What, take legal action against him? Hopefully, it won't be worth it when his wife's attorney is done. Besides, Tim would never understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“He would probably think I had done something to entice the pig.”
“You haven't,” I said.
“I'm certainly not trying to. That's not who I am. I'm not comfortable being sexual in public. I'm not sexual, am I? Be honest, Don.”
“Do you feel sexual?” I asked.
She looked down, played with the ice in her drink for a moment, and then looked at me again. “Am I talking to Dr. Croswell now?” she grinned.
“Is it better if you do?”
“If I see it that way, then I can answer you. No, I don't feel sexual, not usually, anyway.”
“You mean, not in public,” I said.
“Hoo, boy, honesty time. No, I mean I don't feel sexual at all, anywhere, usually. Why am I talking about this?”
“You need some private time with your husband,” I said.
“I try that. I manage to get five minutes of affection every once in a while.”
“He's actually said that he does it to please me, but he's finished in no time, so I fake it so he can get some sleep,” she said.
“Sarah, I don't know what to say.”
“It's okay, mostly. He's the father of my children, so obviously we've had some sex.”
“How long has it been, if you don't mind me asking?”
“Believe it or not, no, I don't mind. It was when the kids were at my parents' place for the weekend about three months ago,” she said. “I guess that's a long time.”
“It would be, for some people,” I answered.
She continued, “He usually won't do anything if the kids are home, even if they're sound asleep. Their rooms are upstairs, and we have motion-sensor nightlights all over the place for safety, just in case someone wanders. We would easily see the light under the bedroom door, and we would lock it anyway, but he doesn't think it's worth the risk.”
I said, “To a degree, I see his point, but you two should be able to work around it. Give the kids a gold star or something if they stay upstairs, and then some reward when they earn enough.”
Sarah shrugged. “The kids already stay upstairs. It's probably been three years since either one of them has gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, and that was only when we all had the flu. Tim's just not that into sex, I guess.”
“You are?” I asked.
“Wow, pretty direct with the questions, there, Dr. Croswell!” she laughed.
“No, I guess not. If I actually dragged Tim to counseling or something, they'd probably ask the same thing. So, I guess the answer is yes. I do like sex. Or, at least, I think I do. Or would. I can't believe I'm saying this,...” she trailed off.
“I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying you think you should like sex, but you're not sure if you do?”
Sarah's phone rang. “It's Tim,” she said.
Finished with dinner, I excused myself to give her privacy to talk. She was just hanging up when I came back to the table.
“Problem?” I asked.
“No, just an update from the home front. The kids are getting ready for bed, and Tim's going to watch one of his stupid war movies,” she replied.
We sipped our drinks quietly for a minute. Then she said, “I'm going to try to answer your last question. I think I like sex, but I feel like I should enjoy it more. See, Tim's the only man I've ever been with. We saved ourselves for our wedding night.”
“Stop being so clinical, Doctor,” she chuckled.
“I'm sorry. I'm just not used to learning this much from a work colleague. Okay, you gave each other your virginity on your honeymoon.”
“Yes, we were both raised to wait, and we did. I guess that's good,” she said.
“Well, sure, you shared, you expressed your emotional love physically, and you learned together how to bring each other pleasure,” I said.
“See, that's the thing,” she responded. “I'm not sure how much we've learned.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do I have to say it out loud? All right, fine. I've never had an orgasm from sex. I've never had an orgasm with Tim in almost nineteen years of marriage. I've faked it every time.”
“Sarah, some women have a lot of difficulty achieving a strictly vaginal-based orgasm. As long as he's satisfying you in some way,...”
“But he's not. That's another problem,” she said.
“What about manual stimulation, or oral?” I asked.
“He spends a couple of seconds rubbing around down there, and then he's ready to go. Tim doesn't do oral. He says it's not clean, and that it's disgusting. I even tried to do it to him, since I've heard guys like it a lot. I thought maybe he wouldn't be so hung up about it if I did it first, but he pushed me away and wouldn't even kiss me for a couple of days.”
“There must be something you two can do to make things better,” I said. “How long has it been this way?”
“Tim said early-on in our marriage that he thought maybe sex wasn't exciting for him because he was afraid of an unwanted pregnancy. When we decided to start a family, I got pregnant right away. He was thrilled when I told him, but he wouldn't touch me until after our daughter was born. It was the same thing with our son.”
“Do you think that's why you have so little sex now? Fear of getting you pregnant?”
“Hardly. We talked about it way back when we were in high school. We wanted two kids, period. When our son was born, we discussed it again, and I had my tubes tied. So no, that's definitely not it.”
“So, there's no physical intimacy between you two?”
“We always hug and kiss when we get home, and we make it a point to give a kiss good-bye, even if we're just going to the convenience store down the street. He kisses me good-night, but it's pretty much the same kiss we give the kids. What's wrong with me? Am I that unattractive?” Sarah asked.
“You're very attractive, Sarah. A man would have to be blind to not see that.
“I wish that were his problem,” she said. “I just think he doesn't like sex. I know he was raised to believe that sex is wrong unless it's for procreation.”
“There were people in my generation who were raised that way,” I said, “but I thought all that nonsense stopped with the Age of Aquarius, free love, and the whole 'If it feels good, do it' hedonism thing.”
“Apparently not,” she mused, “at least not in my house.”
“I'm sorry. I don't know what to say,” I replied.
“There's nothing TO say. Now, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone. The whole thing is pretty personal, you know.”
“Of course. I would never reveal a secret told in confidence.”
“I gather you like sex,” she said.
“Well, yeah, I do,” I answered. “It's not just the actual sex act, either – you know, penetration and orgasm. I like the whole intimacy thing, the foreplay, discovering ways to give and receive pleasure, and the after-play, if you will – the cuddling, the shower, whatever it is people do after sex. I enjoy all parts of making love with a woman.”
“How do you make love to a woman?”
“Hmmm. I never had anyone ask me to lay it all out before. I guess it depends on whether we've been together before, or if it's going to be a new experience,” I mused. “If she's a partner I've been with before, hopefully I already know what pleases her and what things she doesn't like. I build on that knowledge base.”
“What if it's your first time with someone, or if the woman is inexperienced?” she asked.
“Inexperienced, as in she's a virgin? Or inexperienced, meaning she hasn't done all that much? I was with one virgin, way back in high school.”
“Let's say she's not a virgin, but she's never had really satisfying sex,” Sarah said.
I caught myself before I said, “I'll show you.” Instead, I tried to make myself think in theoretical terms. Finally, I said, “I think I would start with something relatively benign, like holding her hand on a romantic walk, or over dinner or drinks.”
“So, you're saying, the situation we're in right now could be the start of a seduction for you?”
“You mean, if you were holding my hand right now, it would mean we were headed for bed?”
“Not necessarily. Besides, you're a colleague, and you're married. I'm talking about a situation where both parties wanted sex, and were working their way up to it.”
“How many women have you been with?”
“Hmm. I'd have to make a list, but I'd say around fifty.”
“Fifty!” she exclaimed.
“Is this a research assignment? Do you want me to work on a list tonight?”
“Have you ever been with a married woman?”
“Yes, once,” I admitted.
“What about the marriage vows? Didn't you feel like you were committing a sin?”
“I guess we were. She was separated from her husband and was in the process of a divorce, so maybe it could be argued that she wasn't really all that married any more. She initiated it, and we discussed the ramifications of adultery. By the time the subject came up, we were already naked, so we just did what we did.”
Our conversation moved on to the discoveries we had made so far in poring over Owens' financial records.
Her phone rang. She greeted the caller, and then listened for a while, taking some quick notes. “Really?... Yeah.... You're kidding!... Oh, that slimy bastard!... Yes, send it all to me. I owe you. Talk to you later.” She closed her phone again. “That was my contact. He turned up some very interesting information. Those consulting fees we saw? You know, the ones to parties we didn't recognize? The ones that happen on the first of every month?”
“Yeah?” I responded.
Her phone rang again. “Great,” she grumbled. “Hi, Tim.... No, we're still working.... Uh huh.... Okay.... Well, I don't know.... I'm waiting for someone to send me some files.... I may just sleep on the couch in the office. You know I always keep an overnight bag and a change of clothes in the car.... Yeah, that way, I can keep working and still be at the plant early tomorrow.... All right.... Love you, too. Bye.” She put her phone back in her purse.
“You were saying?” I prompted.
“Yes, the so-called consulting fees. One of them could be payment for services rendered and for ongoing silence. That money goes to an unlicensed abortion clinic.”
“That's not all,” Sarah said. “Another of those consulting fees gets laundered into a cash payment to a neighbor woman who has a six-year old son. She somehow got pregnant right after she moved in to her new house. The really shocking one, though, is to the parents of a girl who was fourteen when the payments started.”
“Fourteen? Smiling Bill Owens has a child by a fourteen-year old girl?” I sputtered.
“It seems that way. I knew I didn't like the bastard,” Sarah said.
“I didn't either, but I had no idea he was doing that kind of thing. How did you find all this out?”
“You probably don't want to know. Let's just say, if someone's skillful enough, or unscrupulous enough, they can hack into almost anything,” she said.
I shook my head. “Owens, that greasy slime-ball! No wonder his wife wants to be done with him. But if this information was obtained in, shall we say, less than honorable ways, what are we going to do with it?”
“Not sure yet. Owens probably thinks he has his tracks well-covered,” Sarah mused.
“Could be, but he's got to be nervous with us snooping around.”
“What if we just don't talk to him for a day or two? Let him stew. We'll see if we can find a way to corroborate any of this through more legitimate channels,” Sarah suggested.
“I did tell him I would call his secretary to schedule our next visit when you stormed off.”
“Good. So, since we can't do anything until I get those files, let's have another drink,” she said.
When our re-fills came, Sarah removed the clip from her hair and combed it out with her fingers. “Tell me what you do for foreplay with a woman,” she said.
“It depends on the woman, of course, and what signals I'm getting from her. Usually, I like to be the one who gets her undressed. There are a lot of opportunities for teasing, touching, kissing, and just generally building sexual tension with that.”
“Do you like your woman to undress you?”
“Sure. She has the same opportunities to help the build-up as I do.”
“What do you do to the woman after you have her undressed?”
“I like to touch her, run my fingers all over her. Then I kiss her, starting on her mouth and working my way down.”
“Do you perform oral sex on your women?”
“Yes. I love doing that, since most women seem to like having it done. Often, it's easier to bring a woman to multiple orgasms with my mouth than it is through genital-to-genital sex.”
“Do the women perform oral sex on you?” she asked.
“Sometimes. I leave that up to them. Some women don't like doing it, and that's fine.”
“You don't mind if they don't?”
“No, not at all” I said. “Sex should be a great experience for both partners, an exchange of pleasure. Making a woman uncomfortable or asking her to do something she doesn't want to do is wrong.”
“Do your women always have an orgasm?”
“Usually, most of them more than once. I feel like I would be cheating a woman if I got off and she didn't, so I do everything I can to bring her to climax.” By this time, of course, I was wondering what it would be like to make Sarah cum and to have her return the favor.
“What types of things do you do to make a woman have an orgasm?”
“It depends on the signals I get from her. Some women can cum from careful attention to the breasts and nipples. Some will have an orgasm from finger penetration of the vagina or manual stimulation of the clitoris. Most will cum with oral sex. Some can climax during intercourse, but apparently not all, so I sometimes take a break in the middle of it to play them with my tongue some more.”
“How do you know what your woman needs or wants?” she asked.
“Sometimes, I'll just ask. If I'm spending a lot of time on a woman's nipples and she doesn't seem to be getting more aroused, I'll start rubbing her clitoris, or her vaginal opening, or even her anus with a finger or two. If I get a big, positive reaction from that, I may move away from the breasts and focus on something else.”
“Her anus?” Sarah asked in seeming amazement.
“For some, the anus is a very erogenous zone. It has a lot of nerve endings in it, and if you have the proper mindset, ass-play can be a big turn-on. Maybe you're not aware of it, but some women enjoy having their anus penetrated by a finger, tongue, toy, or penis.”
“I've read about that, but I didn't think it was real,” she said.
“Maybe Tim might like doing that to you,” I offered.
“Are you kidding me? If he's barely willing to touch my vagina because he thinks it's disgusting, how do you think he'd react if I asked him to play with my ass?” she exclaimed.
“Just a suggestion. Look, Sarah, not all guys are as into sex as I am. They're content with just the occasional quickie.”
“And you're not,” I said.
She sighed. “No, frankly, I'm not. I always thought sex would be exhilarating, exciting, and fulfilling. I thought it would bring us closer together. I assumed we'd figure out what we were doing and have a lot of fun with it. But I want a lot more than I'm getting.”
“Okay, I'm going to ask you a question. I hope you won't get offended,” I said.
“Do you masturbate?”
She blushed visibly. “Yes, I do sometimes. I always do after Tim and I have sex. I'm just starting to get warmed up when he's ready to roll over and go to sleep, so I learned to do it then just so I could fall asleep, too. Now, I do it sometimes when I go online. I found a website that I sometimes go to that has erotic stories. Often, they'll get me going.”
“So you are getting some release, then,” I said.
“Some. Not enough. Oh sure, I can make myself have an orgasm, but it just feels kind of empty. I feel like it would be so much better if a man would do things to me.”
“Well, since you're being so honest, I'll tell you, I masturbate too, and you're right. It's much better with a partner. For me, it's a whole lot better if I can satisfy a partner while satisfying myself.”
Sarah seemed very interested in stirring her drink, but finally, she looked up and said, “Don? Can I trust you?”
“After the things we've just shared, I would say you're pretty safe,” I said.
Her hand reached across the table and laid on top of mine. She stroked it lightly with her fingertips, and then asked, “Will you help me?”
“Yes, will you help me? Will you take me to your room and make love to me?” she asked.
“I don't want to cheat on my husband, but not getting any attention is driving me crazy. Maybe it was the whole thing with Owens today. I don't know, but somehow, that creep did manage to let me know that I'm still alive, that I'm not some dried up old prune of a married lady.”
“Are you kidding me? You're a beautiful woman. When I first met you, I was surprised to see how young and pretty you look,” I said.
“You don't have to flatter me,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “I already asked you to take me to your room.”
“Okay, but why, Sarah? What is it you really want?”
”I need to be appreciated, dammit! In all ways. Not just as a good mother, or a good home-maker or a good forensic accountant – I need to be appreciated as a woman. I'm coming up to my fortieth birthday a lot faster than I thought I would. Just once before it's too late, I'd like to know that a man enjoyed me, and I'd like to enjoy that man right back.”
“Sarah, I don't know what to say.”
She withdrew her hand and looked down. “Way to make a complete fool of yourself, Sarah Lynn Blevins,” she mumbled.
“No, wait,” I quickly said. “You didn't make a fool of yourself. You're a beautiful woman. I'd be thrilled to have you in my bed. I'm just a little surprised. Won't guilt rear its ugly head in the morning? Is this you talking, or is it the drinks?”
She sighed. “Sure, there will be some guilt. I think there would have to be something wrong with me if I didn't feel just a little bit guilty. But no, I'm not drunk. Just unappreciated. Besides, it's not like Tim will find out. He thinks I'm planning to sleep in my office. I've done that before. Pretty much the only way he'd find out would be if I got pregnant, and that's not going to happen.”
“You don't think you'll find yourself needing to tell him?”
“And risk losing my kids? Not likely,” she answered.
“Aren't you afraid of taking this step? Of looking outside your marriage to find physical love?”
“Of course! But after all these years, I think the only way I'm going to find physical love is to do exactly that – look outside the marriage. I feel like an old woman at home. This may be my last chance to break out of my shell”
“I don't want this to change things between us, Sarah,” I said, taking her hand in mine again.
“I'm sure it will change things, and I don't care. I need to feel wanted and special. I need to know I'm normal. I need to find out if I can have an orgasm with a man. Don't worry. I'm not going to fall in love with you. I just want to make love with you.”
“Okay,” I said.
We finished our drinks and left the lounge. In the elevator, I pulled her to me and kissed her lightly on the lips. It was a gentle kiss, not a passionate one, but still, she gasped.
I put the key card in the lock and heard it open. Sarah was clinging to my free hand with both of hers. We walked into the room, and I turned on the light on the desk.
“Two queen sized beds?” she asked.
“That's what they had available.”
She looked at the beds, clearly visible in the glow from the desk. “Do you want to have the light on?”
“Not if you don't,” I said, turning back to the desk to switch off the lamp.
“No, leave it on. I don't mind, I guess. It's just that Tim always insists on having the lights off.”
“Whatever you want. I can turn it off if that would be better.”
“No, it's fine. It's just one more thing that's different from what I've done in the past. Maybe that's a good thing,” she said as she took her jacket off.
“May I do that?” I asked.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes, unless that would make you uncomfortable.”
“I've never had someone else undress me,” she said.
“Have you ever undressed Tim?”
“No. We just get in bed in our night clothes and then take them off ourselves. We change in the bathroom separately. Tim thinks the naked human body is something others shouldn't see. He wouldn't even come into the delivery room when our kids were born.”
I pulled her to me and kissed her. She seemed timid at first, but soon, we were kissing passionately, teasing each other with our tongues. My hands, which at first had been on her back, soon moved down to her high, firm buttocks. She moaned when I first began massaging them and pressed her crotch against mine.
Between tastes of her sweet mouth, I said, “Lift your arms.”
“Hmmm?” she breathed.
“So I can get your top off,” I murmured as I kissed her behind the ear.
She whimpered almost too softly for me to hear, but then stepped back slightly, lifting her arms over her head like a child needing help with a difficult garment. After I freed her hair from her sweater, I smoothed her tresses and cupped her face to kiss her again. The bare skin of her shoulders and chest was smooth and pale in the indirect light.
As our tongues played and explored, my hands were drawn to her lovely ass again. My touch was answered by stronger kisses from Sarah and firm pressure from her still-clothed mound against my growing hardness.
We broke our kiss and moved apart slightly. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes. I feel like I've already cheated, just kissing you and letting you take my sweater off. It doesn't matter. I want more.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Hurry, before I lose my nerve,” she whispered, kissing me again.
It took two hands, but I was able to open her belt and her slacks and lower them without breaking our kiss. Her ass was hot to the touch, the feel of the lace edge of her silky bikini panties making her seem all the more sexy and innocent.
“Should I undress you?” she asked.
“Would you like to help?” I offered, bending down to help her step out of her slacks and shoes.
“Yes. Can you believe I've never done this? I helped my father with his shirts when he had his one hand in a cast when I was young, and my kids when they were little, but I've never done it when I was half naked myself.”
I sat on the edge of the bed to take off my shoes and socks. “Come here, please,” I said.
She sat next to me and folded her hands in her lap.
“If I wind up naked on this bed with you, I know what I'm going to want to do,” I warned her.
“I hope so,” Sarah blushed. She began opening the buttons on my shirt.
When it was off, she started working on my belt. In seconds, my slacks were on the floor. She looked at the obvious bulge in my briefs and then kissed me, even harder than before. When she pulled back, she said, “Don't question this again. I want to spend the night in this bed with you. I want you to help me make up for all the years I've missed.”
We pulled the covers down. I lay on my back, and pulled her to lie partially on top of me. “I want you to enjoy this, but you're going to have to help. I want you to let me know what you like and what you don't. Okay?” I asked.
I brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, softly, hoping to find a spot that would make her moan.
“Oh,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
“Making love to you.” I caressed the strap of her lace-edged bra off her left shoulder and traced my finger over the slight crease it left in her soft skin. The right strap came down more easily, and I kissed her there. Her breath caught in her throat for an instant when I opened the fastener.
“My breasts are sensitive.”
“In a good way?”
“I play with them when I masturbate,” she said. “It makes me wet.”
“That's good to know.” I guided her over onto her back and lifted her bra off. She had lovely nipples, a nice size to play with, and they were getting harder as I watched.
The years have very kind to this woman. Her breasts had matured from cute teenager to hot young woman somewhere along the way, so that now, the best way to describe them was perfectly vine-ripened.
Her pale skin glowed in the light of the desk lamp. My hand crept across one proud breast. The nipple was firm on my palm as I kissed her. I felt myself lengthen and thicken more.
“Don,” she shivered. “I feel you against my leg.”
“Yes,” I said, leaving her mouth and tasting her nipple for the first time. At that moment I smelled her warmth.
“You're making me wet.”
Her hand went down to touch herself.
“No, no, I'll get there,” I said, licking my way over to her other breast.
“Don't take too long,” she whimpered, turning her hand to stroke me through my shorts. “You're really hard.”
“Uh huh.” My hand moved past hers so I could trace a finger over the damp center of her panties.
She grasped my erection through my underwear, bending it up so the tip was out over the waistband. Her massage continued, her fingers running more and more urgently over the underside of my swollen shaft.
When I pulled the crotch of her damp panties aside and touched her wet flesh for the first time, she jolted visibly. More of her sweet smell wafted to my nose, and I knew I would be tasting her for the first time very soon.
“Take them off, Don. Please take them off,” she gasped.
When I moved between her long, shapely legs, she lifted her hips slightly, letting me slide the sodden fabric off her. The obviously aroused, beautiful Mrs. Sarah Blevins lay naked in my bed.
I played with her soft short curls, probably the shade of honey-blond the hair on her head would be if the sun couldn't kiss it. Just to get her reaction, I ran my fingers over her damp slit and then slipped them into my mouth. She watched me with her pale blue eyes, the pupils dilated, her breathing rapid, almost as though she couldn't get enough air.
I kissed her sweet mouth again, listening to her moans as I made my way from her throat to her breasts. I enjoyed them for a while, and then kissed my way across her belly.
She spread her legs in anticipation. I lay on my elbows between them, fucking her with my eyes. Then I slid my tongue from her navel down into her hair, trimmed for modesty in a swim-suit. I stopped just short of her hood and looked up at her. She was propped up on her elbows to watch, her tongue moistening her soft lips.
“Go ahead,” she whispered.
“Oh, I will,” I answered, inhaling her aroma. She smelled sweet, ripe, and juicy. I wanted to savor this. I moved down and stretched my tongue to just tease the front edge of her pale little asshole, through the sparse, damp hair of her perineum, along the wetness of her slit, and up to her hood. She jumped, and her thigh muscles clenched, trying not to slam her knees together. I did it again, a little deeper this time. Another jump, with a whimper escaping around the knuckles she had stuffed in her mouth.
With my fingers, I eased her lips apart, revealing her pink juiciness and her winking hole. I made sure to keep eye contact with her this time, as I hardened my tongue and probed her. I licked upward again, bringing her sweet-tart creaminess with me. Her clit was starting to show itself, so I licked it thoroughly. Her answering jump was more violent, and the tremors in her long thigh muscles lasted a lot longer.
“Relax. Let me do this. We both want it,” I murmured, reaching up to caress one fine breast.
“I'm trying to relax,” she whined, her pretty lower lip caught between white teeth.
“Good,” I said. Her labia were swollen now with want, the petals opening so I didn't need to hold them. I combed her soft, short curls between my fingers for a moment, and then slid my middle finger to her opening. “May I?” I asked.
She didn't answer – just nodded, still nibbling on her lip. God, she looked beautiful and sexy like that. I wish I had had a camera at that moment. I would carry a photo in my wallet of her honey-colored hair strewn on the pillow, her brow furrowed, the way she does when she's concentrating at work. The pupils of her baby blue eyes were large and deep, echoing the desire her pouting mouth showed. How any man could not want her the way I did was beyond me.
I slid my finger inside. She was warm, almost hot, and I could feel the same tension in these muscles that I had seen in her quivering thighs. It would be easy to make her cum.
Fingering her gently, I sucked and licked at her clit. Her moans turned to lower, more guttural gasps. She seemed to pump herself up with these, suddenly exploding into the music and movements of a strong orgasm. We held each other locked in place, her heels digging into my back and her thighs shielding my ears from her yell. I pulled her sex tight to my face, the fingers of my free hand dug into the firm flesh of her ass cheeks, licking her again and again, relishing both her flavor and her sounds.
I pulled my finger from her, and licked up her spilled nectar. That's when I heard her mutter, “You have to stop. You have to stop, please.”
“I need you to hold me. My heart is racing,” her shaky voice said.
I moved up and lay on my back again, pulling her against me. Her fists were clenched against my chest when I first kissed her, like a frightened child, but soon, she flattened her fingers against me and kissed me back like a satisfied woman. She seemed to relax as I stroked my hand lightly along her luscious ass cheeks.
Eventually, she breathed, “Your face is wet. I'm tasting myself on you. That was better than any ten of the orgasms I give myself combined.”
“I thought you might like oral sex,” I said, kissing her gently again.
“You were right. I'm going to want to do that again.”
“Good,” I said. “I liked doing it.”
“I want to do that for you,” she said, playing with the sparse, graying hair on my chest. Propping herself up on one elbow, she said, “Lift your hips so I can get your underwear off.
She pulled them down, revealing my manhood. It stood proud, happy to be in the fresh air. She just looked at it for a minute, her brow furrowing slightly again, and then pulled my shorts off the rest of the way and tossed them on the floor.
“I feel silly. Some of the people I went to high school with are going to be grandparents soon, and I've never sucked a cock.”
“You don't have to if you don't want to.”
“I do want to,” she said quickly, wrapping her fingers around the base. “I've read about it enough online, and a lot of the women sound like they enjoy it, and the guys always do. After what you did for me, I have to try to make you feel good.”
Even at my advancing age, those words made me leak. It's not every day that a man close to being able to apply for social security has a woman young enough to be his daughter ready to suck his cock. Especially when the woman doesn't look a day over thirty.
“Why don't you come over here while you think about it,” I said, caressing her one thigh.
“Hmmm?” she murmured, now stroking my cock gently with her hand, her face close to it.
“Come over here,” I repeated. “Put that pretty pussy of yours on my mouth.”
“What? Oh. OH!” she smiled, flushing with excitement. “You want to lick me again? You wanna do a sixty-nine?”
“If you do.”
She answered by climbing on top of me, straddling my head with her lovely legs. “I'm not sure where you want me,” she said.
We figured it out pretty quickly. Again, Sarah clenched her muscles when my tongue touched her. Her sweet musk was stronger now, the flesh hotter. I was just thinking about how it was going to feel to push myself inside her when she first licked me.
“Mmmm,” she said. “I think I might like this.”
I couldn't say anything to answer her. I was busy with her weeping pussy, but when she first took me into her mouth, I know I leaked.
Somehow, I kept my focus on her lovely womanhood, until she hissed, “If you keep doing that, I won't be able to do this right.”
“That's okay,” I groaned, feeling her slowly bobbing her head up and down on me. “You're doing fine.”
When I teased her with my tongue, licking everywhere but her button, she stroked my shaft and suckled my head with her lips. When I hardened my tongue and probed at her opening, she took as much of me in her mouth as she could, moaning and bobbing up and down. When I eased two fingers inside her and flicked my tongue quickly around her clit, she lost her rhythm completely.
“I'm going to cum again,” she whined. “Oh no, I'm going to cum again!”
I worked my fingers inside her, massaging the ridgy sponge inside, while my lips clamped onto her swollen nub.
Sarah forgot about my cock completely, losing herself in a long, vigorous orgasm. I kept massaging her with my fingers, licking and sucking up her fluid. She dropped her head to rest it on my thigh, whimpering as she came. Finally, she gasped, “Don, please!”
“Let me catch my breath,” she panted. “I have to take a break.”
She turned and snuggled in my arms, her head on my chest, lightly fondling my cock. “All this time I could have been having that,” she mused. “Is it always that good? Are you some kind of trained expert, or am I just sensitive?”
“Trained?” I chuckled. “No, I've just been practicing for over forty years. You know what they say. 'Find something you like, and try to do it well'.”
“What's happening to me? I'm never like this!”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know what I mean, passionate, maybe. Good, anyway,” she said, kissing me like she was ready to start all over again. “I think I really want to finish what I started with you, but not right now. Right now, I just need you inside me.”
“Sounds like Sarah Blevins is coming out of her shell.”
“I think so. I've never said anything like this before, but I'll say it now. I want you to fuck me.”
I rolled her on her back and started devouring her lovely breasts again.
“Don, please! I've never wanted a man inside me like I do right now!”
We kissed hungrily. When I pulled away, her nails glided across my back. I teased her opening with my cock, rubbing along it, nudging my head a fraction of an inch inside her. She rewarded me with new wetness to mix with my pre-cum.
My pulse throbbed in my hand as I aimed. Pushing just a little, I felt her swollen lips part enough to admit my crown. I stopped there, feeling her hot wetness squeezing me, wondering if I now felt her pulse or mine.
“I need this,” she sighed. “I don't even care if I don't cum with you inside me. I just want you to.”
I pushed in another inch. She gasped.
Another inch. I was with women in college who weren't as tight.
“I can't wait,” Sarah moaned. She enveloped me with all four limbs, crushing her mouth to mine, and taking me to the root. “Oooooh,” she sighed. “It's been way too long.”
I kissed her as I withdrew about half way and then allowed myself to sink into her again.
“I need this, Don,” she whispered in my ear.
I eased in and out of her slowly, allowing both of us to savor the sensations of tight, wet pussy and steel-hard cock. Soon, her legs began urging me to go faster. I did, and she started to moan. Moving her hips, she met my rhythm, pulling with her legs to get me to go deeper.
“Oh my God, I think I could cum from this!” she breathed.
“Think you could, or know you will?”
“I never cum during sex.”
“Let's see if we can change that tonight,” I said.
I made a few parting thrusts, and then pulled out, moving down to feast on her breasts again.
“Why did you stop?” she whined.
“I wanted to lick you one more time before I came in you, babe,” I replied. “Would you like that?”
“Oh God, I don't care what you do to me! Everything just feels so good. So much better than anything I've felt before.”
I sat on my haunches between her legs, lifted them and put them on my shoulders, and grabbed her firm buttocks. Her tight little hole was shrinking, but was still open enough to drool down the crack of her ass. I lifted her to my mouth and plunged my tongue as far into her as I could get. I fucked her with it, stopping periodically to lick up the fluids that leaked down toward her little pucker or to suck on her engorged clit.
“Ohhhh!” she groaned. “You're going to make me cum again. Oh, oh, oh, oh dear God, OH!”
Then she began to twitch. Her legs bore down on my shoulders, her hips thrust against my face, her juices flowed, and her fists clenched the sheets. She opened her mouth like she was going to scream, but held her breath.
When it was over, I lowered her down so she could rest her shoulders. She lay there, sweaty and beautiful, her legs sprawled on mine, her pussy wantonly exposed only a few inches from my straining cock.
She opened her eyes. “I'm weak. I've never been weak from sex before.”
“You liked that, huh?”
“Yeah,” she giggled. “I didn't know Dr. Croswell was a sex therapist.”
“I'm not. I just enjoy making a beautiful woman cum.”
“Well, that's good,” she laughed. Then she looked at us. Her line of sight was over her still-hard nipples, down her trim belly, through her damp honey curls, to my cock. “I've never used these words, Don, but I want you to fuck me again and fill my pussy with cum.”
I helped her push some pillows under her shoulders to raise her, and then lifted her ass onto my thighs again.
“Oh, Don,” Sarah breathed as pushed into her.
I leaned down and kissed her. “Watch,” I said.
I straightened up and eased out, until only my crown was still inside her. Her moisture glistened on my shaft. I pushed back inside, and we watched her swollen outer labia pucker around me. I pulled back, and her lips followed, trying to keep me in place.
“You're hitting me in just the right spot.”
“Good. You can watch me do this, too,” I said, playing with the tender skin around her clit.
“And this.” I bent down and took one of her nipples into my mouth.
“Go faster,” she whispered.
I straightened up again and began to stroke her purposefully, deep, not hard enough for skin to slap, but hard enough to let her know she was getting fucked. Her breasts moved beautifully until she grabbed her own nipples.
“I want you to cum inside me.”
“I want to watch you,” Sarah said. “I want to feel it inside me and watch you while you do it.”
I thrust one last time. Then my rhythm was done. Twitching, spasming, grunting, I emptied myself into her. With each spurt, her pussy tightened on me, milking my orgasm for her own.
She smiled weakly up at me. She was drenched in sweat, her hair was matted and tangled, and my semen was leaking out of her.
I lay down next to her, and she cuddled against me. “So that's what it's supposed to feel like? Every time?” she asked.
“I don't know. Every time should be good. I can't imagine it being much better than that,” I panted.
We lay there for a while, the soft hush of the ventilation system now louder than our relaxed breathing. The curve of her ass felt good in my hand, the skin soft to my touch.
“Don?” she murmured.
“Am I a bad person?”
Shit! Exactly what I was afraid of. “No, Sarah. You're not.”
“I didn't think so. That was too good to have been bad. I guess it was wrong, but I can deal with that. If things were different in my life, I would like to feel like this a lot more.”
“People can change, babe.”
“Yes, they can. I want you to change me some more.”
“What about guilt?”
“Screw guilt. This is the right thing for me, for me as a woman,” she said, burrowing her head into my shoulder again. “When you leave, I'll have some great memories.”
“Maybe you can change Tim,” I said.
She chuckled. “No, he's too different from you. Tim's fine the way he is. He's happy, I think. The kids are happy. He's a good father and the best husband he knows how to be. I love my job. I can find enough pleasure from those things, now that I know that sex can be as much fun as people say it is.”
“There's a seminar coming up that I think you should attend.”
“Yeah, next month. It's basically a long weekend.”
“I have personal days coming. I could probably add a Friday and a Monday.”
“What about Tim and the kids?”
“Tim's likes to go deer hunting, so I hold down the fort in the fall. The payback is a long getaway weekend or two for me. What's the seminar about? Where is it?”
“It's called, 'Feeling like a sexual being.' It's taught by Dr. Croswell,” I said.
“Sign me up!” she laughed. “After I get a shower. I'm messy.”
I touched her pretty lips again, the hair sticky with our cum. “I'll help you get cleaned up. Get used to it. The seminar is at my cabin. I have a shower stall and a jacuzzi. I don't use soap or body wash in my jacuzzi.”
“You want to shower with me?” she asked.
“If I may.”
“Wow,” she mused. “I've never done that – showered with someone.”
“Would you like to?”
“Why not? I've done enough other things tonight I never thought I'd do. But I don't have a bathrobe.”
“Why do you need a robe?” I asked. “It's warm enough in here, isn't it?”
“Yeah, but I should wear something.”
“Why? I've seen you, now, Sarah. I've made love to you.”
“Hmmm. Yes. You're right. This changes things between us. I knew it would,” she said, turning on the bedside lamp. She propped herself up on the headboard, her breasts displayed proudly, and ran her finger along the top of my dick. My pubic hair was damp with sweat and a mixture of our juices. “I can't believe I had that in my mouth.”
“Are you sorry you did?” I asked.
“No. No, not sorry I did. That's what I mean. This changes things. The only thing I'm sorry about is that you didn't cum.”
“I did, sweetie. I think I filled you up pretty well. See?” I ran my middle finger over her slit. It came away wet.
She looked at it, and then at me. She touched my wrist, and guided my finger closer to her. Then she licked it, and sucked it into her mouth. When the finger was clean, she released it and smiled at me. “That was you I tasted, wasn't it?”
“Some of it, yeah.”
“Will you wash me?” she asked.
Sarah's ass felt looked every bit as good as it looked. Smooth, firm, carried high on those fabulous legs. I turned her to face away from me in the shower so I could wash it. I lathered my hands with the hotel bar soap, and caressed her cheeks, rubbing them, kneading the flesh. Finally, I had to. I pushed my middle finger into the cleft of her ass, stroking the skin just above her pucker.
“What are you doing?” she moaned.
“Oh. Okay. Please. Go on.”
I did. Teasing her with both hands, I worked at her. I had two fingers of my right hand in her ass, and two of my left in her pussy when she came this time. I washed her again to clean away her juices, and then kissed my way up her body to her face.
“My God, Don,” she gasped into my mouth as I kissed her.
“I think you liked my fingers in your ass.”
“I can't believe it, but yes, I did.” We kissed deeply again, and her hand found my erection. “There was something else I liked.”
“What was that?”
“This,” she said, as she knelt in front of me.
I turned the shower off so I could watch.
She draped her wet hair behind her ears, took my cock in her hand, and smiled up at me. “This,” she said again, before opening her mouth and taking me inside. She bobbed back and forth on me, not taking all that much, but it was enough. With one hand, she jacked me, taking care of the part her mouth couldn't reach.
Finally, she came up for air. “Is that okay?” she asked, fixing her wet hair again with one hand while fondling my balls with the other.
“You've never done this before?” I asked.
“No. I guess I read more porn than I thought,” she grinned, running her tongue up and down my shaft.
“You're very good at it.”
“I like being able to use some of what I've learned through my reading,” she chuckled. She took me in her mouth again, looking at me the whole time with those baby blue eyes. She grasped me firmly in one hand, and flicked her tongue rapidly on the very tip of my cock. “Will this make you cum?”
“Probably,” I panted.
“Or do you like this?” she asked, resuming her efforts to bathe every bit of my manhood at once with her tongue. “Or this?” going back to bobbing back and forth on me.
“I'm gonna cum soon,” I moaned.
“Look at me when you do,” she said, jacking me and tongue lashing me again.
I tired to keep my hips from thrusting. The first surge of my spunk bathed her tongue, soon to be joined by more. She took as much as she could, then pulled back and watched as one more small drop spattered on her very hard right nipple. She looked back up at me, gave me a cummy smile, and then swallowed.
“I did it. I gave a blowjob. I just gave a man a blowjob in his hotel shower and swallowed his cum. Wow,” she mused.
I helped her to her feet and lathered her breasts again. She was very quiet as we rinsed off. “You're not saying much,” I observed.
“No. Just thinking about how wonderful this is. Kinda mad I can't get this all the time,” she said, reaching for a towel.
“You're staying here tonight, aren't you? You said you have a change of clothes in your van?”
“Yes, but I have to get dressed to go out and get it. I have a bag with a nightgown.”
“You don't need a night gown,” I said, turning down the covers on the unused bed. I was amazed to feel myself thickening again.
It seemed difficult for her at first, but soon Sarah acted comfortable enough spooned naked against me. My cock was nestled between her cheeks, and her hand was lazily stroking mine that was cupping her breast. Both the stroking and her breathing soon slowed, and then I knew she was asleep. I joined her.
We felt each other move during the night. When I rolled on my back, she cradled her head on my shoulder or my chest. If I turned away from her, I would feel her move to cuddle with me, and then we would both be still again.
I woke up to feel a soft hand gently rubbing my cock. It was already pretty wide awake.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning. What are you doing?”
“Playing with you. I wanted to see how hard you would get before you woke up,” she snickered.
“Is this part of coming out of your shell?”
“Shell? Oh, that? You pretty much shattered that last evening. My inner slut woke up during the night to feel your erection poking my ass, and she got up and swept away the last of the bits of shell that were lying around. So, what should we do about the state you're in?” she asked, still slowly stroking me.
“Well, I sure can't go to work like this.”
“No, you can't. Any more than I can go to work thinking about what should have been done about it,” she said. “I want it inside me again.”
I pulled her to me, helping her to straddle me, and wiped my leaking cock against her already wet pussy. “Lower yourself. Aim it, and lower yourself.”
“Oh, that's nice. I like that,” Sarah whispered as she took me inside. She was careful and slow, so it took her awhile to set her full weight down on me. “You're deep. Real deep. I didn't know it could go that deep.”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah! Yes. Just not used to it. Getting there though. Wow,” she muttered.
I pressed up into her, probably not penetrating her further, but feeling damn good.
“Do all women like this? Riding cowgirl, right?”
“Yes, riding cowgirl. I don't know about all women. Some do.”
She eased herself about halfway up my shaft, and then slid down again. She did it again, moving her hips forward and back as she went. “Mmmm,” she said. “I think I do.”
I pulled her to me so I could kiss her breasts again. She began to rock on my rigid shaft, fucking herself with it as I licked and sucked her nipples.
“Can we do it really hard without hurting me? I always wondered what that was like,” she said.
“You're in the saddle, cowgirl.”
“That's right. I am!” she giggled. She straightened up again, lifted herself nearly off me, and let herself down quickly. “Oof!” she said. She did it again, this time with my hands dug into her firm ass to help her. “Oh!” She did it more, speeding up and dropping harder, until the smack of our sweaty skin was probably loud enough to hear in the hallway.
“So good!” she whimpered.
I grabbed her and pulled her down on top of me. She kissed me as I fucked her, using my grip on her amazing ass to help me drive into her. She fucked me back just as hard.
“I want you to cum inside me again,” Sarah gasped. “I want to feel you cum inside me.”
I could tell she was on the brink. Good, because I wasn't far behind.
She pumped up and down on me hard a few more times, and then shoved herself down farther than she had before. Grinding, squealing, clenching her internal muscles with her orgasm, she made me erupt.
When she collapsed onto me, I held her, one or the other of us occasionally shuddering with the aftershocks of our shared cumming.
Finally, she propped herself up to look at me. “Yeah, Don, this definitely changes things. It's probably good you live so far away, though. This could get complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
She kissed me again, rubbing her naked breasts over my chest. “I'd want to start every day like this, and spend every night like I spent the last one.”
We showered together again, but I got out first. After dressing quickly, I went out to her van for her fresh clothes. It was difficult watching her get dressed again. It had felt so natural, so deliciously correct, seeing her nude.
Over breakfast, we made our plans. We weren't going to Owens' plant that day. There was some leg-work to be done following up on the leads Sarah's contact had given her the previous night. We were back at my hotel by late afternoon.
What was supposed to be a “business meeting” quickly turned into another love-making session, with Sarah practicing her oral skills and enjoying mine. We agreed to meet for breakfast again the following morning.
Early Thursday morning my phone rang.
“Are you dressed yet?”
“No, I just got out of the shower. I thought I'd have about twenty minutes until you got here.”
“More like thirty. I'm picking up breakfast and bringing it there. Don't bother getting dressed,” she said.
Nibbling on bagels and fruit, naked in bed with me, Sarah asked, “You're going home tomorrow aren't you?”
“Yes, I'm taking a late flight out tomorrow evening.”
Sarah said nothing for a while. Then, “A big part of me doesn't want this week to end.”
“Me either,” I said.
“You know I'm going to stay here and go back to my prim and proper life,” she said.
“I thought that was the plan all along.”
“It was,” she answered quickly. “I love my kids, my house, and my career. I love my life. I even love Tim, but for much different reasons than I would have if I let myself fall in love with you.”
“I don't know that you want to do that. I'm not a home-wrecker, and besides, I'm not sure I'm the marrying kind. At my age, old habits die hard.”
“Can I still care about you?” she asked.
“You can. I wish you would. I'd hate this to be all one-sided, baby.”
“When is your seminar?”
“Whenever you want. Just give me a little notice so I can take the time off work,” I answered.
“Show me more of what you would teach me there.”
I rolled her on her back. “Okay,” I said as I took her nipple in my mouth.
We managed to get some work done Thursday afternoon, enough that I knew I could easily pull my report together over the weekend, and go back to my regular work on Monday.
Sarah went home to make dinner for Tim and the kids, and I did some work at the desk in my room. Late that evening, I was reading the news online when Sarah's screen-name (SBmomof2 – “Sarah Blevins mom of 2”) appeared as a chat request. We had given each other our instant message addresses so we could pass information back and forth when we weren't physically in the same room this week, and we had decided it would be a good way for us to keep in touch.
SBmomof2: r u there
SBmomof2: what r u doing
NosyDon51: not much
what about u
SBmomof2: reading dirty stories
NosyDon51: lol hows that working out 4 u
SBmomof2: not well
my fingers dont feel as good as yours
NosyDon51: not as good as my tongue either
SBmomof2: ur not helping
NosyDon51: wanna go parking in ur van
SBmomof2: embarrassed to say what i want to do
A pop-up appeared. “SBmomof2 wants to open video chat window. Click to accept.”
I clicked, and after a moment, Sarah appeared on my screen. “Don't talk loud. I don't know how high I have to turn the volume.
“Okay,” I whispered. “How's that?”
“You can talk. Just keep it down.”
“Like this?” I asked in a tone I would have used if she were on the next pillow.
“Just like that,” she said. “That's nice.”
“Is everyone else asleep?”
“Oh heavens, yes,” Sarah answered. “I'm in my half of the home office, on the other side of the house from our bedroom, and I can still hear Tim snoring.
“We can video-chat from work, you know. In fact, that's probably a pretty good idea for when I want to consult with you about something or if I can offer you any business.”
Even in the dim lighting in Sarah's study, I could see her pretty face blush. “I wasn't exactly thinking of video-conferencing with you, silly.”
“What were you thinking of?” I asked.
As she opened her robe, she said, “Pull your pants down, Don.” Conservative Mrs. Blevins put on quite a show for me that night, and she saw how much I appreciated it.
We decided to go to see Owens one last time before I left on Friday, to make sure we hadn't missed anything. He was his usual overly-cheery self when we got there, but came storming into the conference room just before lunch.
“What the hell are you people doing?” he bellowed. “You talked to my neighbor?”
Sarah calmly got up from her chair, walked over to him, and got in his face. “Not only did we talk to your neighbor, you miserable scum, we visited that illegal back-alley abortion clinic you help to finance, and met the parents of your little playmate. Well, let me tell you, sleazy Mr. Bill Owens, for your sake, you'd better hope you can still afford to make all those payments when your wife's attorney is done with you. I don't know how you see the money you're spending, but those people see it as hush money.”
I stood up too, gathering my belongings, since it was time to leave. “I'm no lawyer, but I imagine you could have some liability for any injuries caused by the quacks in that clinic. You might want to think about what your criminal culpability is there. Oh, and I assume you know that the statute of limitations on what you did to that little girl is twelve years in this state, and they don't start counting until the victim turns eighteen. By that time, the son you fathered would be sixteen years old – big enough to give you the ass-kicking you deserve.”
“Get out!” Owens yelled. “Get out now! I will not stand for this invasion of my privacy! You have no damn right to treat me this way!”
Sarah packed up her materials. “We have every damn right to treat you this way, Mr. Owens. Every damn right in the world. But don't worry. We're leaving. I'm feeling a little ill just being around you!”
In the car on the way back to my hotel, Sarah asked, “When do you have to catch your plane?”
“I should be at the airport by six.”
“Six, huh? You didn't check out of your hotel, did you?”
“Not yet. I wanted to be able to go back and change into more casual clothes before I had to leave.”
“So you'll be naked at some point?” she asked.
“I'm going to call Tim and tell him I'll be getting home a little late.”
In my room, it was very much like out first time. We undressed each other again, taking our time, making it last. When we were finally nude, we got in bed. Sarah lay on top of me, kissing me as I fondled her wonderful ass.
“How many times can you cum before you have to leave for the airport?” she asked.
“Baby, I'm not a young man. I don't know. Twice if I'm lucky,” I answered.
She rolled off me, turned around, and positioned her wet sex over my face. Just before she took me in her mouth, she said, “I hope you're feeling lucky.”
This time, when she knew she was about to cum, she pulled out of my reach. “Not yet. You're not gonna make me cum yet. When that happens, I forget about what I was trying to do for you.” She knelt at my side and kissed me, hard, and passionately. “Don't move.” She kissed all over my face, rubbing her one nipple against mine while teasing the underside my shaft with just the pad of her index finger.
“What are you doing?” I gasped.
“I never saw a man cum before last night. Now I want to see it in person, so just lie there and enjoy.”
She kept stroking me with the single finger, occasionally leaning over and licking up the pre-cum I was leaking.
Without thinking, I reached for her hip, hoping she would move so I could reach her. Instead, she moved away.
“Nope,” she said. “Not this time. This time, you're gonna cum for me.”
The build-up was maddeningly slow. This wasn't a hand-job. It was a finger-job, and a single finger at that. Over and over she stroked, the tiniest bit of her skin against mine. When she concentrated her feather-light touch on the patch of nerves just below my piss-slit, I leaked pre-cum, a dribble of it lubricating her finger. She would only interrupt her slow stroking to lick me – a quick spreading of my fluid.
I was shuddering by now. Hands had played with me many times (hands other than my own), but I had never felt anything quite like this. Leave it to meticulous Sarah to do this to me this way. “I'm gonna cum soon, baby,” I said.
“From this?” she smirked, her baby blue eyes sparkling as her finger continued it's slow, deliberate rhythm, “or this?” She bent down and took a quick lick along the underside of my shaft, from the base to the head, circling the crown once before pulling back and resuming her stroking.
“Everything. You,” I moaned.
“Is it going to be a lot?” she teased, still tickling that little triangle of ecstasy.
“Yeah,” I groaned, as the first spurt arced into the air. Stream after stream rocketed out of me, volume and height like I hadn't seen in decades. When I was done, I realized that Sarah was still stroking me with just that single, now messy, fingertip.
“Wow!” she laughed. “That was impressive!” She licked her finger. “I still can't believe we're doing this!”
My shrinking cock leaked one more small drop. She leaned down and licked it off, and then very methodically cleaned my entire manhood and belly of my spilled cum.
When she was done, she sat back on her heels, smiled at me, and blushed visibly. “What have you done to me, Don?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Here I was, the conservative housewife/career woman, about as virginal as an almost middle-aged mother of two could be, and now I'm some kind of cum-slut!” she giggled.
“I'm sorry, baby.”
“For what?” she asked, lying down next to me. “For showing me a new side to myself? I've always wondered what good sex was, since I knew I wasn't having it. Now I know. I'd love to do it all the time. It's just like when I tried water-skiing.”
“Water-skiing?” I laughed.
“Stop it,” she said, sitting up in bed. She had her hands on her hips, which put her proud breasts on display. There was a serious expression on her mouth, but her baby blue eyes were twinkling. “I'm trying to make a point. It was a dangerous new thrill, something I'd never done before, and something I wanted to do again. Plus, it made me all wet.”
“Ah. Speaking of making you wet,” I said as I pulled her on top of me and moved her to sit on my face.
“I'll play with myself after you're gone, thinking about what you do down there,” she moaned.
“I think I like this as much as you do, baby,” I said.
We rested for a while after that, cuddling, the way she had learned to love to do. Our pillow talk brought us to the “seminar” I had mentioned.
“How much notice do you need to get time off from work?” Sarah asked.
“My boss, Marian, wants two weeks minimum, but often, it's more like three, depending on my case load.”
“Could we start the seminar four weeks from today?” she asked. “I had been talking to Tim about taking my 'hunter's widow' reward weekend soon.”
“I'll confirm your enrollment on Monday when I've had a chance to look at the due dates on the stuff that's probably on my desk.”
She snuggled against me. “What time is it?”
“Almost three. I have to be out of here in about two hours.”
“Should give us enough time,” she said, moving to straddle me so that her pussy lips were against my soft cock.
As she ground against me, she asked, “What will we do at the cabin? Besides make love, I mean.”
“Well, we can go walking in the woods, toast marshmallows in the fire pit outside, and go swimming in the lake. It's very clean, and by that time of year it will be nice and warm.”
“I guess I should get a new swimsuit,” she said.
“Why? I don't even own one. It's my lake. I own the land around it. No one goes there.”
“Skinny dipping?” Sarah laughed. “I've never done that.”
“The new Sarah is ready for skinny dipping,” I said.
“The new Sarah is ready for one last session before you have to leave, Don.”
As it turned out, I was ready, too. I was tired – I had worked hard this week, and had enjoyed a lot of sex for a man my age. But Sarah brought out the best in me. We started out slow this time, but we didn't end that way.
We didn't say much while we were getting dressed, or even as we walked to our cars after I checked out of the hotel. I loaded the Mercedes in silence, and then we embraced one last time.
Just before she got in her minivan to drive home, she said, “This may have been the best week I've had in a long while.”
“We'll have the best weekend ever, next month,” I said, leaning in her window to kiss her farewell.
At the rental car return desk, the fake-cheery young lady asked, “Did you enjoy your stay, sir?”
“It was very good, thank you.”
“Was it business or pleasure?” she chirped.
The girl gave me a strange look when I chuckled and said, “Both.”