Recovering Ch. 01byjay.palin©
By jay.palin © 2008. All Rights Reserved.
All characters are at least 18 years old.
My 22 year marriage was over, for reasons too numerous to mention. Our two kids were grown, had graduated from college early, and my former wife had naturally gotten the house in the divorce. My dad had died many years before and Mom had passed on more recently, leaving me as trustee of my folks' estate which included my two sisters. Since I was, in effect, property-less, I'd bought a vacation home from the estate to live in: a two-bedroom lakeside cabin that required some work in the northern California mountains not far from the Nevada border.
There were two reasons I'd bought the cabin, other than needing a place to live. First, I had pleasant memories of vacations there with our extended family, the surrounding neighbors and their kids; and second, I hungered for the opportunity to work on projects of my own. Years of deferred maintenance on the cabin, and the boat that Dad had kept in pristine shape when he was alive, beckoned for my attention. Only with such personal accomplishment could I erase the sense of emptiness that seemed to dog me every day.
There's another reason I'd moved to the lake: to get out of the city so I could write a book I'd been planning for years. I was a founding partner of a construction firm that had done well due to landing some large building contracts in the 90s. As a design engineer I'd finally been able to take a year off to write and lick my wounds. Not that I was emotionally shattered; it's just that my confidence with people, especially women, was a bit shaken from the divorce. I honestly believed that, at age 44, I'd never again be close to a female, much less get married again. The image of a solitary writer was therefore appealing to me.
So, I hadn't come to the lake for a social life. If I got lonely I could go to South Lake Tahoe, or roust my elderly neighbor, Buster, next door. In the past he'd always spared the time for a beer and a chat. When Mom had been alive, for years his and our extended families had gotten together for touch football games and picnics on holiday weekends on the large grass field between the two houses. In fact I'd called him the night I'd recently arrived and asked if he knew of a cleaning person to give me a hand with the place. He'd recommended his granddaughter, Jamie, and agreed to send her over. She'd just graduated from high school a couple of months earlier and had become an experienced house cleaner. I remembered Jamie from years before when she'd been a child, then later as an early teen after she'd been adopted by her grandparents and moved in with them.
The following afternoon I was sitting at my desk in my usual uniform of cargo shorts and sandals, leaning back and daydreaming while looking at Buster's two story house next door on the rise of land leading down to the lake shore fifty yards away. A screen door slammed and a young, deeply-tanned brunette woman in a short yellow dress appeared, walking slowly down the stairway along the side of the house to the beach level. Even from a distance it was obvious that she had a curvaceous body with full, luscious breasts and a high, prominent butt. I stood and unashamedly grabbed my binoculars from the desk drawer, focusing on her as she proceeded across Buster's yard onto my property. My Gawd! Could this be Jamie?
Her breasts seemed to defy gravity as she proudly thrust her shoulders back on a torso that narrowed down to a very small, wasp waist. She had a high-hipped bottom that I seemed to remember from years before…about the time when Buster's granddaughter had been studying ballet as a teen. This young woman was clearly an adult, though, and had mastered her movements so that her buttocks rolled sensually forward and backward rather than from side to side each time she took a step. It was Jamie, alright. No doubt the years she'd spent as a ballet student when young had kept her from growing broad hips, while at the same time that experience had done marvelous things for developing her leg muscles. I observed those legs perversely, watching her trip along the path, the daffodils kissing at her shapely ankles, calves and thighs…mmmm, those thighs that could crush…I've got to stop this, now! I thought, putting down the binoculars just before she knocked on the open French doors of my cabin. As she stood in the doorway with the sun behind her, the outline of her muscular pelvis – from waist to mid-thigh – shone through her thin dress, making the blood surge in my groin sexually for the first time in several months.
"Jess?" she called out, straining her eyes to see into the shadows of my living room.
"Yeah! It's Jamie, isn't it?" I said, pulling on a polo shirt as I did so.
"Oh, please don't get dressed on my account," she said. "Gramps…uhhh…Buster said you were lookin' for a house cleaner."
"Right! Come in and make yourself comfortable. It's been years since I've seen you…now you're all…uuh…grown up. I can't believe how…how…". Try as I might, I couldn't find the right word. Instead, I just collapsed in my reclining leather desk chair and, leaning back in it, somehow felt comforted by its creaking noise, as I'd been for so many years in my office at work. I was comfortable, that is, until Jamie slowly ambled over – in a slow, sensuous, hip-thrusting walk – and perched in front of me on the edge of my desk.
Her dark brown – almost black – hair was done up in a bun on the back of her head, like a ballerina. Her hazel eyes blazed brightly – inherited from her Anglo mother; her father, whom she'd never seen, had been from Mexico – and her light tan lips seemed reluctant to close on anything except a moistening tongue. Her yellow mini-dress was held up by spaghetti straps and seemed molded to her breasts, which appeared as if they were about to leap out of their confinement.
She placed both hands stiff-armed on either side of her thighs and scooted backward, crossing her legs, which gave me a straight-on view of what I judged to be two of the finest limbs in the State of California. "Yes? You were sayin'?" she said, looking at me with a flicker of female self-knowledge in her eyes as I began breathing again. "Gramps also said you got a divorce. I'm so sorry. Your wife was beautiful – like a model or somethin' – but not at all like you. For the past eight or ten years I've been watchin' your marriage…wonderin' if it would last."
I couldn't believe what she'd just said. She was so young…couldn't be more than eighteen, nineteen at the most. Looking up from her luscious crossed legs I broke the silence. "Well, the last time you and I spent any time together was when you were about ten years old, playing football. Remember when we faced one another on opposite sides of the ball?"
"O' course!" she said. "I also remember that rather than knock me down you picked me up and carried me all over the field while you were chasin' whoever had the ball…you were so strong…then we fell into a pile. I followed you around the rest of the day, remember? That's when I was first in love with you."
"A harmless, childhood crush, Jamie," I said, dismissively. Actually, she'd fawned over me during her childhood years 'til I'd become embarrassed.
"Remember, Jess, I didn't grow up with a father. I carried that memory with me 'til I was a teen, when you broke my heart."
"How did I do that?" I asked.
"You were up here with your family on Halloween a few years ago and I watched you from my bedroom window 'til your Mom, wife and kids went out. It was in the evening and I was in my trick or treat costume…a princess. I knocked on the door and did a hot, sexy dance for you – even flashin' my titties – but all you said was, 'Here's some candy, neighbor kid'. I went home and cried."
"Well what'd you expect? I was a married family man and you were underage. Besides, your mother had just gone to prison and my wife…".
"How did you know that?" she interrupted. "Nobody outside my family was supposed to know!" she said, her voice cracking slightly as she looked away.
Things grew awkwardly quiet suddenly and I was afraid she was about to cry. "I heard it from my wife. Relax, honey! Your secret's safe with me," I assured her. I realized I'd ventured into forbidden territory, admitting that I knew her mother had been convicted of murder. Honestly contrite, I leaned forward and put both hands tenderly on her silken knee and patted it a couple of times. She turned her head back to me, suddenly uncrossed her legs, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled herself onto me so that both of my hands slipped between the smooth tan hardness of her thighs. The only thing that stopped me was that my fingers jammed into her moist crotch.
For just a second or two she ground her vulva against me and gasped, "Ooh, Jess, I've been so afraid you'd hate me cuz my mom went to jail, 'n' I've been hot for you for so long. You're so… . Please! I know I'd be good for you!"
I froze, momentarily confused by the soap-opera dramatics of her sudden confession. I knew what I wanted to do, but of course I hesitated because of everything I'd ever been taught was proper. In addition, my former wife had lectured me about Jamie's worship of me when she'd been a young teen. Now I tried to make my refusal as painless – and sound as credible – as possible. "Whoa, Jamie, I can't! I'm old enough to be your father and…besides, I'd hate to lose you as a friend by complicating things."
That appeared to make her think. As if a switch had been flipped in her brain, she said, coolly, "Maybe we ought to look at your cleaning supplies." Then, suddenly, she turned professional, pushing herself away from me. "I'll make a list, then – if you have time – we'll go to the store and pick 'em up so I can get started tomorrow. Okay with you?"
The melodramatic moment was over. I agreed, we did our shopping at the nearby general store and returned. The next morning Jamie was at my door bright and early, with two sponge mops of her own.
"I'm gonna use these," she informed me. "It's a lot easier than scrubbin' floors by hand. Unless, o' course, you wanna see me on my hands and knees all mornin'." She hesitated. "Well, do you?" Sexually suggestive as she'd been the day before, now she looked at me to see how I'd react to the image of her butt sticking up in the air, but I ignored her.
Frankly, I couldn't think of a more pleasant sight, since she was dressed in a pair of skin-tight gray sweat pants and a gray sports bra that barely covered her fulsome rack, and made the most of her midriff and shoulders. Her hair was again up in a bun, this time covered with a small blue bandana. On her feet were white canvas tennis shoes and no socks.
"I'm going to do a little paper work at my desk for a while, okay?" I said.
"That's fine. I'll start on the bathroom, then work my way into the kitchen. The fridge and dishwasher have mold in 'em and I'll be kinda noisy, so if you have work you can do outside, you might wanna do it then," she warned.
After a while I grabbed some beers and went down to the dock clad only in shorts, unlocking the boathouse that Buster and I share for our boats. It was still cool out and I figured sanding and replacing some of my cruiser's old varnish would keep me out of Jamie's way for the rest of the day. For the next few hours I breathed varnish-remover fumes, drank beer, and sweat as the temperature rose to the point where I needed a siesta. Grabbing an old beach towel, I lay down on my back on the dock outside in the shade of the boathouse and soon fell asleep.
I don't know how long I was out, but my nap was disturbed by continuous sexual dreams of Jamie. There was a recurring dream scene with my ex-wife talking with me with the girl in the same room, though she was standing behind my wife where only I could see her. In the dream Jamie had stripped naked and was dancing obscenely while I masturbated, much to the chagrin of my former spouse, who stood there berating me as I tugged on my dick.
Finally something made me snap awake. In a second I wished that I hadn't because my right hand was stuffed into my shorts, tightly gripping my swollen cock, and apparently had been there for some time. As if that weren't enough, not six feet away lay the succulent Jamie in the sun, stripped of her sweat pants and wearing a very brief pair of gray bikini bottoms as well as her sports bra, watching me. Embarrassed, I quickly groaned and turned over, pressing my hard-on into the rough planks of the dock.
"Oh, don't turn over on my account," she said, with bemused innocence. "I was enjoying watchin' you sleep…your big, muscular body…an' I even matched you stroke for stroke there for a while." I gave her a look of doubt and she spread her legs brazenly, showing me a good-sized wet spot on the narrow strip of gray material covering her pussy.
"A girl your age should have enough boyfriends so she shouldn't need to masturbate," said I, trying to sound as sagacious as I could while trying to get my prick to soften.
"Oh, come on, Jess, I diddle myself all the time. An' don't try an' sell me on all these redneck dudes up here. Their idea of a good conversation is about this season's best buy on snow tires, an' a big Saturday night to them is twelve beers down at the roadhouse, then ten minutes o' humpin' in a pick-up truck!"
"You're being kind of unfair," I cautioned.
"I'm a snob!" she admitted. "I got these clowns out o' my system years ago, with their wife beater shirts 'n' bad tattoos. You can hardly blame me for settin' my sights higher! Now, d'you wanna see what I did to your place today or can you walk yet?" she grinned, looking at my crotch.
"I can walk…smartass," I grumbled, getting up and snapping at her sumptuous ass with my towel, at which she yelped and giggled, jumping out of the way.
She led the way along the path from the dock to the cabin, once again in that forward-backward, hip-thrusting stroll. I imagined that – were her body able to speak – that strolling movement would be a sensuous whispering of: fuck me…fuck me. Walking behind her, it was all I could do to keep my hands to myself as the top of her bathing suit bottom was pushed out by her prominent butt cheeks. As we neared my front door, I wracked my brain to remember a female backside as perfect as the one before me: with the deeply-inset spinal indentation leading to an impossibly-small waist, punctuated with two deeply-articulated gluteal dimples over her butt cheeks which were bisected by a deeply-set anal crack.
The bathroom and kitchen were spotless – cleaner than they'd ever been. When I raved about her work I suggested that she expand her housecleaning business, which she received coolly.
"There are things I'd rather do than be someone's Latina maid," she said, caustically. I'd forgotten about her father's Mexican lineage, but – after reflecting on her rant about rednecks, etc. – it was obvious that she was comfortable with ethnic and class stereotypes.
"Such as?" I questioned, honestly interested in her future plans.
"I'm gonna enter cooking school in the city in six months or so…whenever I get enough money saved up. I've already got a sponsor, and I'm in a training program," she said, proudly.
"Every night I make dinner for Gramps and Gramma. I have an idea! Tomorrow I'll bring you a dessert surprise in the morning, since I've gotta finish cleaning here! Okay?"
"Okay, Jamie." I was suddenly moved by her youthful enthusiasm, which took my mind off her extraordinary body for a moment.
"Oh…there's one thing…" she said, as she walked to my desk, picking up my binoculars and looking through them at Buster's house. "These are really powerful, huh! You can see right in my bedroom window. Wow! I can see the stuffed animals on my bed! Look…through the two big sliding doors on the second floor!"
She came to me and stopped only when the bulging, tan slopes atop her full breasts pushed against my bare upper abs. Her limpid hazel eyes looked up at me in feigned innocence as her tongue moistened her full lips, seemingly daring me to kiss them, now that she'd made clear where she slept.
Finally, I stammered, "Y-Y-You'd better go now, Jamie," anxious to be rid of the little tease before I did something crazy.
After a makeshift dinner I worked on the book until about 9:30. It was a hot night and the doors were open for what little breeze was coming off the lake. Soon my attention was attracted by lights coming from the second floor of Buster's house, and movement from inside Jamie's bedroom. Like the easily-led fool that I was, I grabbed my binoculars and switched off the desk lamp, plunging my house in darkness, which allowed me to easily fall into my new role of Jamie's Peeping Tom.
Apparently she'd just showered, since she was wearing a towel and combing through her long hair while using an electric dryer. After several minutes she put down the dryer and began brushing, causing the towel to drop to her waist as she sat on the end of her bed facing the windows. My breath caught in my lungs as her firm breasts – measuring at least 34-C – rose with each movement of her arms, their budding nipples taut and salmon-colored as fresh Spring raspberries. My gaze panned southward, down her abdominal crease – past her navel – hungering for a glimpse of more, when I realized that I was being greedy…and I was already erect.
Suddenly she got up and moved out of sight…or nearly out of sight. A cheval mirror next to her bed was set up just so that I could see into it and the reflected image showed her getting some stuff from a chest. She'd let the towel drop to the floor, revealing her magnificent naked ass, which she caressed a few times, no doubt for my benefit. Then, back she came to the bed, smiling out the window as she fixed her hair into a ponytail while I breathlessly viewed her stark naked form.
Like some sneaky pervert I propped my elbow on the desk and held the binoculars with my left hand, while with the other hand I unzipped my fly to free my stiff cock and began slowly stroking it. As if she knew what I was doing, Jamie then raised one foot and placed it flat on her bed. While she rubbed lotion onto her arms, I focused closely on her pussy. It was almost completely denuded except for an inverted "buzz-cut" triangle, the point of which began just at the point where her plump labia came together at the top.
Satisfied that her arms had enough lotion, she began slowly massaging it into her breasts, cupping them and raising her face with half-closed eyes – again for my benefit – while she plucked her excited nipples until they pointed skyward. For a moment I lost myself in the fantasy of running my prick between those two golden tan orbs – moist with sweet-smelling lotion – and cumming all over Jamie's gorgeous face. So moving was the image that I unbuckled my shorts and pulled them to my knees to make my voyeuristic masturbation easier, just in time to see her turn around and bend over.
My vision was once-again filled with her magnificent ass…perfectly round, fleshy, tan, so beautiful it seemed impossible to believe that she shit out of it. On her hands and knees facing away from me, her butt cheeks were so muscular that they remained tautly closed, not revealing her rectum. I was hardly disappointed, however. My jerking hand sped up as the two perfect opposed crescents of her pink pussy winked at me like one big eye turned sideways. Then, when she dropped her head to the bedspread and reached back with both hands to spread her cheeks and slather lotion on her asshole, I got a hint of what she might do next.