Manning the Yard Sale

[Generously edited by CopyCarver from Literotica.]

*

My wife Susan spent all Friday getting ready for the yard sale. She painted the signs, typed up the Craigslist ad, and alerted her Facebook friends. She has a couple hundred of those, most her age, and a fair number recent mothers or pregnant. I used to give her grief about all the time she spent online, but her network would come in handy for the yard sale.

We both sat in the living room. Susan folded and sorted baby clothes. I watched TV. She had her back to me, and I noticed she'd changed into an old pair of gray, thin, lounge-around pants. No panties. She felt more comfortable walking around like that. Her pert ass, not too big but shapely and compact stood out like a round piece of wood trim, only soft and rubbery.

I got up, put my hands on her waist and went in for a kiss on her neck. She pulled away.

"Come on, Mike, I'm busy." she said.

"Too busy for me? Come on." I looked at her.

"What? Are you going to help?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Please, Mike, you wouldn't know where to start."

I gave up, sat back down, and pretended to watch the commercials.

"I'm going to keep the sentimental stuff," she said, and stroked her short blond hair away from her face. She's very pretty. She had a committed look to her. I felt bad.

We have two girls, eight and ten, from her previous marriage. She was going to sell their baby clothes. She figured, why wait? We'd held off. We weren't going to have any more kids. We dreamed about a boy. We tried. She tracked her female cycles. Fertility nights loomed as an occasion. Lingerie, oral sex, the works. She brought in marital aids: oils, powders, flavored creams. She went out-of-the-way. Something new every month. Where'd she gotten the idea? Probably the Internet. That's what I thought.

Then a month ago she went to the doctor. The doctor ran his tests. She passed with flying colors. Nature made her to have babies. My semen, though, scored poorly. The stupid idiots swam in circles.

Just like that, the sex dried up. The Honeys, and the Dears, too. I cut her some slack. I felt the disappointment, too. But that wasn't enough. Two weeks ago, my sissy boss called me in. He smiled and offered his apologies, anything he could do. All the usual crap. I lost my job. Company right-sizing.

Shame and inadequacy came to live with us. It seeped in. I got it. I couldn't provide. I'd never father kids of my own. I'd never get the chance to get my wife pregnant, see her change before my eyes, see her get rounder and bigger.

Susan's a nurse. To help with the bills, she started working longer hours at the hospital. She came home late into the evenings, sometimes early morning. She said her line of work called for a greater level of commitment than I could understand.

And now we're having this yard-sale. The girls were visiting with their dad. Susan said this was a good time.

"I remember when Caroline wore this." she said. Caroline's our youngest daughter.

"She was so adorable, and this one...Oh, I can't get rid of this one." She wasn't talking to me.

"I want the girls to have these when they have kids of their own," she continued. I turned off the TV, excused myself, and went into my office. I listlessly read some of my books. I couldn't get anything going, so I turned on the computer and watched porn.

"Mike, do you have any books you want to sell?" she yelled. " I only have these pregnancy books."

"No. Nothing. Sorry." I clicked away my porn folders. I turned around to the hundreds of books piled ceiling-high, all around my office.

"Maybe I'll look tomorrow," I said. I'd have to sell them, eventually, if I didn't get a job.

I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, blew the dust off a glass, and started my drinking for the weekend. I thought of all tough breaks, and when things would return to normal. Little did I know.

Late into the night, she continued folding and sorting. On my way to the bedroom, I wrapped my arms around her waist and tilted her head up. My lips rubbed across her unresponsive mouth. She planted a quick kiss, and went back to her business.

"Good night, Mike," she said.

I got into bed and fell asleep before she joined me.

---

Next morning, I woke to the sound of birds and children playing outside. The sun warmed my face. I yawned and turned over. I remembered her coming to bed. I'd put the moves on her, got rebuffed and slunk back. Now, she was gone. I laid in bed, and drifted in and out of sleep. Then I heard Susan speak from just behind the bedroom door.

"Mike, do you know where you keep the big stapler? I'm going to need it to hang the signs," she said from the living room.

"I'll have to look for it," I said into the pillow.

"Hurry," she said. "I have to finish setting up. The yard sale's at nine."

I hung my head over the bed.

"Can you hang the signs?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Mike. Let's move it. Just do this for me. I wont ask for anything else. You can have all day to yourself. I won't bother you, again."

"Okay."

I needed a shower, if I expected to get anything going. Why did I feel so tired? I slid off the bed and trudged into the bathroom. I slapped my hand against the wall in back of the toilet and whipped out my cock. I shook it, and the piss flowed.

I ran the hot water, stripped off my boxers, and got in the tub. I stood underneath the jets for a while, the water slammed into my tired body. I tried not to think. I squeezed a bottle of bath soap into my hands. It was minty and oily. I stood up straight and spat water out my mouth. I grabbed my cock and squeezed it in a tight grip. The bath could wait. I pulled back on my foreskin and let the hot water flow around.

I quickened my speed and turned my head around my neck. I grabbed my balls with my other hand, and squeezed my genitals together. I slowed the pace. Relaxed into it, moved both hands up and down my eight-inch cock. I stroked myself for a few minutes. Then, I felt it rush forward. I felt the familiar start, the shiver, the tingling all over. I clenched my ass and curled my toes. Muscles behind my stomach tightened, and I fell forward a step. Fluid started from deep within; flowed the length of my cock, shuddering nerves.

"Ah."

Three times. Streams of white ejected into the choppy ankle-deep water. I ran my palm over the purple head. Ecstasy. A final electric shiver jerked my body. I squelched the desire to groan, and, instead, tightened my face and banged the tiled wall.

I stood in that shower for a few more minutes, not washing or anything. I felt the tension flow out of me. It would return, of course, but for now it emptied out with the semen. Things were so different a month ago. I didn't have to cum in the shower.

I dried myself and shook the hair in front of my forehead. I'm forty, going on fifty. I dressed in a pair of jeans, a green t-shirt and sneakers. Then, I went into my office, found my stapler, grabbed the yard sale signs, and walked down a steep hill.

I found the perfect place for the first sign. Anyone driving this way would see it. I pressed my forearm against the tree, and slammed a staple-- WHAP -- right into its bark.

---

When I returned from assignment, Susan was in the process of laying out the merchandise. I looked around, peered inside boxes, underneath tables.

"Don't worry. I'm not selling any of your things," she said.

I walked by her.

She leaned in. "Mike, I need your help with more boxes."

"You're kidding. You don't have any more space out here."

She smiled. "There's more in the bedroom."

"Okay, but then you're on your own."

"You can relax, read a book, sit in your office." She gave me slap on the back.

I found the boxes and pushed them out the door. With nothing else to do, I grabbed a beer and went into my office. I sunk back in my chair, opened a book, flipped on the computer, and did my best to entertain myself. An hour later, around nine, people starting walking up the driveway.

I heard the voices, mostly women, but some husbands and boyfriends, too. My wife sounded cheerful and animated. The yard sale ran right up against my office window. I heard them talk.

How much for this cookie sheet? Five bucks. Will you take one dollar. No. I can sell it for 5. Any boy clothes? No. Just girls. Does this really work? Do you have any tools? Anything you want to get rid of? Anything you want to donate? I'm looking for a drill.

I had a hard time tuning them out. I kept obsessing about Susan selling my tools. What if she thought those were 'ours'? After half an hour of muffled conversations, I went into the kitchen to grab another beer. I counted them. I only had seven to last me until I had a new job. Susan's rules. We didn't have the money, she said and I agreed. But I needed to drink. At my rate, I'd be out by Sunday. And man, Sunday's when you really need it.

I walked out into the yard with my bottle and a book.

My wife turned around. "Mike, come here," she said. "I need to ask you something. Don't get mad."

"What?" I asked.

The flat brim of her gardening hat covered her face.

"Mike, you remember Karen from choir?"

"No."

She cocked her head, hand on her waist. "She invited me to a get together with the girls. It's a last minute thing. I have to go."

"What about the yard sale?"

"Mike, I don't get out much. You know that. This came up. I'll have to leave in a few minutes."

"What? How long does the yard sale run?"

"Not too late. Four."

I stared at her in disbelief.

"You can keep anything you earn," she said.

"How long are you gone?"

"A few hours," she said. "The rest of day, I don't know. You know how these things go. Maybe we'll go out for dinner, perhaps get some drinks. It's just the girls." She arched her eyebrows and curled her top lip between her teeth.

"Susan, this is not a good time for that. I don't know how to run a yard sale."

"It's easy," she said and smiled.

She showed me the money jar and gave me a few pointers. Keep the money in the house. Let them browse. Don't talk too much.

She went inside. When she came out, for no good reason that I could see, she'd changed her clothes. She put on a tight, form revealing yellow summer dress. I'd never seen her wear that. She'd imposed a moratorium on spending. How'd she buy it, and how'd she keep it hidden?

She rushed into the car, and without another word, drove away.

Crap.

I had a good mind to wrap it up. But then I'd have to deal with angry pregnant women, and with Susan. I refilled my beer and sat out under the shade of a large avocado tree.

It wasn't long before I had my first customer.

A tall brunette rummaged through a rack of clothes at the edge of the driveway. I'd missed her coming over. Probably a neighbor.

She had on a white tank top and a pair of tight butt-cut lemon yellow shorts. They barely contained her ass. I kept looking. She stood a little taller than my wife, not quite so thin, and her legs were fuller. I stared at her muscular, bronzed legs.

Then she turned around. She wore a pair of expensive looking brown sunglasses. She held a hanger with a pair of draped pants next to her red neck.

"How much are these capris?" she asked. Her glossy lips pressed into a hard smirk.

I knew the ones. I looked at her shapely legs and back at her face.

"Those aren't going to fit you," I said.

She looked at me hard. "They're not for me. They're for my daughter."

My face pulled back in embarrassment. I looked along the fence for prices. Surely, Susan had written down prices somewhere.

Women's tops and bottoms, five dollars. "They're five," I said.

She lifted the hanger above her head. "They're a little frayed. I don't know, I'll give you three."

"I don't know," I said.

She arched her eyebrows above her glasses.

I rubbed my head and smiled. "Okay, three."

She gave me a bunch of crumpled bills, and didn't say a thank you or anything, just pranced away. Her ass slammed up and down. Another happy customer. Her sandals shuffled vigorously across the driveway. I heard a door shut, the engine start and a gold plated, late model BMW speed away.

I drank down my whole beer after that.

Pretty soon, I had more customers come over. After my incident with Ms. Capri, most of the women were either pregnant or had young kids. Word must have gotten around. They came by themselves, sometimes with their families or a kid or two. Then they started coming in droves. I don't know. They looked like a herd, full of chatter and constantly moving. Big round happy women.

I peeped behind my book. I admired their bellies, their enlarged breasts. Most of them were a little older, more than thirty. They didn't dress like it, though. If anything, they dressed up, wore more revealing clothes, tops and stretch pants that accentuated their conditions. It was like a parade.

Some of them hung around quite a while. I brought out some lawn chairs I offered them something to eat, graham crackers and water. I was getting the hang of this. The hours went by. The money jar filled with dollars. I sold a lot of our knickknacks, as well as some stuff from Susan's previous life, photo frames, kitchen appliances, things I'd never seen.

This was easier than I thought. Eventually, the time came to shut it down.

Just as I was about to take down the signs and move the remaining merchandise up against the house, I had my last customer.

She must have been in her early twenties. She wore a pair of designer sunglasses and a blue sweat outfit-- in this heat. She was a brunette, petite, and small featured. Her stomach showed a small bump, like a small beach ball. She drifted from table to table. She kept rubbing her stomach and smiling. When she spoke to me, her speech was slow and deliberate.

"Where are the newborn?" She wasn't from around here.

I asked her where she was from.

She smiled and told me she was Armenian. She flitted her tongue against her top teeth when she spoke. She had a smooth curvy face, the slightest roundness under her chin. She was beautiful. I imagined Susan like this. She would have looked just like her, same build, different hair color, but just as trim and slight, like her. Her name was Lucine. I told her it was a pretty name. She smiled a wide unselfconscious smile, full of teeth and pink cheeks.

She built a little pile of clothes. She asked me a few questions. How many girls I had. How long I'd lived here, what my wife was doing. I told her. She half smirked. Shook her head.

Lucine had married a young man from her country. This was her first child. But her husband wasn't around. His mother had died and he'd gone back home. He was supposed to have returned after two weeks, long enough for a service and to spend time with the family. Two weeks turned into two months. She called his mother's home. Emailed him. She hadn't heard a word since he'd left.

I don't know why she chose to tell me all this. I couldn't guess. Maybe she didn't have any friends. Maybe she was all alone.

She bought a small bundle of clothes. She handed me the money. Her fingers rubbed my palm. I looked at her, she smiled. She turned and walked away. Her ass was pert, her legs tight, and a fair amount of baby fat rolled under her legs. My eyes glued to her backside. She looked behind her. She saw that I was watching her. I smiled and nodded. She winked, stuck her ass out, slowed down, and with a few steps, she gave me the best walk I'd ever seen.

She drove away. I walked to the fence and gazed into the end of the street.

"Nice girl, Mike. Do you want to follow her?"

Misty.

"Hi, Misty. A guy can look, can't he?"

She walked from across the street. Misty's my neighbor, also a very good friend of mine.

"Sure, looking's okay," she said.

Misty's pregnant, with two girls in her belly, as it turned out. She was huge.

"I was wondering when you were coming over," I said.

She wore a black polyester outfit with thin white stripes that ran down the sides of the jacket and pants. Somehow she'd managed to zip the jacket in front of her stomach. She draped the elastic hem just below her navel.

"You looking for some clothes? We got a few. I can cut you a deal. Good neighbor discount."

"Got any pants that'll fit me?" She brushed her hair with her hands. Her wavy brown hair fell halfway down her back.

I looked her over. "Maybe," I said. "How much longer, Misty? When are you done?"

She laid her hands on her stomach and rubbed the sides. "I'm nine months, so any time. It could happen right here in your driveway."

"Wow. Should you even be walking?"

"I could sit down, if you have a chair." She walked up to the gate and I noticed she had two black bricks dangling by some wires like dead rats. "Can I ask you something? This should be easy for you."

"Sure," I said.

"Thanks, Mike. Hopefully, this won't take long." She sat down.

She told me about her problems replacing some old fluorescent lights.

"Yeah, you got the right one. You just need to wire them differently. This one's the old style. Have Tim come over. I'll make sure to explain it right."

I handed her the transformer.

My dull eyes went straight to her tits. Her white shirt bunched and creased obscenely at her large breasts. I followed her legs. They were shapely below her hips, just rounder, fatter. Her legs had gotten thicker around her thighs. Sitting down, her thighs spread out like dough. The rest of her was plump, too. She looked hot and ready.

"My husband can't understand what to do," she said.

"I'll talk to him. It's not that hard, but I know how awkward these get."

"You can tell me, Mike. Tim's not home right now. He's going to be out for a while. Probably won't return for another few hours. In the meantime, I have a dark kitchen, and no way to feed me and the baby." She fluttered her eyes.

I smiled back. "Come inside the house. Yard sale's done. You can make yourself a sandwich. Eat anything you want."

I pushed open the door. She walked in. Her ass rolled under the tight pants.

"I hope you're not climbing ladders on your own, Misty."

She didn't answer. She sat down on the nearest sofa seat in the living room. I realized she was doing this work by herself.

I said, "I'll wait for Tim to come back. Misty. I wouldn't feel right if you fell, hurt yourself."

She smiled, shook her head and once the act was done, she frowned weekly. That's when she started to cry.

"Misty, Misty," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She looked down at her stomach, hair in front of her face, and avoided my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mike. It's nothing you said. I understand. I'm sorry." She turned and started to get up.

"Misty, wait. I'll do the wiring for you. Just flip off the breaker for the kitchen and I'll be right over."

She looked at me with streams of water pouring down her red face. She smiled and shook her head. "It's not that." She looked at me with a pained look.

"This isn't about the lights, Mike. Can I tell you something?" she asked. "I don't know who else to talk to."

She laid into me about her problems with Tim.

"I shouldn't be saying anything, Mike. I'm just so alone. No one to talk to. What would my girlfriends say? That I was crazy. A man will do these things." She opened her huge brown eyes at me. Her forehead creased. "He's cheating on me, Mike."

She paused.

"I'm so sorry, Misty."

"Can I talk to you, Mike? Do you mind?"

"Go ahead. Get it out."

"He has another woman. He's visiting her, right now. I know it. I've read some of their emails. He knows that I know. Her name's Heidi. They work together." She breathed out. "I even think I've met her, shook her hand. She's young, tall, pretty. He'll stay with her all night. He doesn't even excuse himself. Just comes back whenever he feels like it."