A Perfect Match

"You sure?" I ask.

"It'll take me a minute to write it up, but it's him," Heath says, and I write that down.

"Did you guys find an oxygen tank?" I ask.

"A small one, but it didn't rupture, it stayed intact in the fire. Frankie was running the inventory evidence portion all day yesterday. They're building a replica of the house on the first floor if you want to see it."

"Which room?" I ask.

"Main conference room," he replies. I end the call and head downstairs and knock on the door before entering.

The table of the conference room is pushed up against the wall and the chairs are stacked on top of it. They have taped off dimensions of the home, to scale, with masking tape on the floor. Sheets of paper are on the floor with utilities written on it, with sticky notes labeling their condition after the fire. Labels like smoke damage, fire damage, and everything in between.

"Weird question," I say after Frankie looks up at me. She has two firemen helping her build it, who stop as well. "Where are the light switches for the hallway?"

"We weren't really concerned with that seeing how it wasn't an electrical fire," Frankie explains.

"Humor me," I say, and she starts looking at pictures of the home before the fire. "Where did you get those?"

"Open source Facebook posts," Frankie says, and I give her a look. "That I should have forwarded you an hour go. Sorry. Why do you need to know where a light switch is?"

"Corroborate a response in her statement," I say, and she starts looking.

"Can't tell, most of the pictures were of the living room," she says, and I look at her scrolling through pictures. Then I see something

"Wait, go back," I say, and she does. Then I point something out. "That's a camera. You find a camera in the house?" In the corner of the living room was a home security camera mounted to the wall.

"We're still trying to identify items found, but that's definitely a camera. I don't see a wire running off it, so battery powered," Frankie says after looking at it for thirty seconds, zooming in a little.

"How doesn't the battery drain itself?"

"Camera like that is motion or noise activated. It starts recording for like fifteen seconds, maybe twenty. Sends an alert on a phone app that the owner can watch. You could watch it continuously, but that like you said, drains the battery quickly," Frankie explains to me.

"I need a phone warrant," I say and leave the model room.

-

Sunday - May 17, 2026

-Shane Watts-

Most of the guys at the station are loafing around, waiting for a call when I hear someone from down the pole say someone was here for me. I leave my office and slide down and am greeted by Sheryl House.

"Lieutenant," she says, holding a clip board and a file under her arm. "Just coming to give you an update. I have an engineer looking over the materials found to determine if there was an issue with the building itself."

"That could give the police a lot to work with," I say, and she smiles.

"That's work, but I was going to get something to eat tonight, not sure where to go," Sheryl says with a grin, and I get her intent immediately. She wants to have dinner with me.

"I know a few places, want some company?" I ask, and she nods.

"That would be great," she says, and I see Midge coming in through the bay doors behind her.

"What's up?" I ask, and Sheryl turns around.

"I'm heading out of town for a while, so you don't need to worry about appointments next week," she says, and Sheryl looks like she's doing long division.

"You couldn't call?" I ask, and she shakes her head with a grin.

"Wanted this part to be in person. First try!" she shouts in glee.

"You serious?" I ask.

"Yup, I am fertile as fuck," she says, and she hugs me. "I'll keep you up to date. I'm setting some referrals out during travel."

"Cool, let me know," I say, and Midge damn near skips on her way out. I turn back to Sheryl, and she's looking at me like I'm a prick. "What?"

"Seriously?" she asks.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Accepting a dinner date, your wife or whatever shows up with news that's she pregnant, and you just keep going like that didn't happen?"

I guess it did look like that.

"It's not what it sounded like," I try to explain.

"Is she pregnant with your kid?" she asks.

"Yes, but..."

"...so what am I missing? You have a ring for fucks sake," Sheryl says.

"What ring?" I ask, showing her my hand.

"A lot of firemen wear their rings around their necks, what's on that chain?" she asks, pointing to my necklace.

"A ring, but..."

"...unbelievable," she says and starts walking away.

"It's not what it looks like," I say, jogging after her and getting in front of her. She curves around me and I let her walk without getting in her way. "You can keep going with this for twenty minutes or give me twenty seconds to explain."

Sheryl stops, turns around, and stops right in front of me.

"Better be good," Sheryl says.

"Midge is not my wife, or my girlfriend, or anything like that. She's my best friend, who is in a committed, lesbian marriage with her wife," I say, and I see her figure it out on her own in real time.

"You're her sperm donor?" she asks, and I nod. "The ring?"

"I was married. Ask why a man keeps a ring if he used to be married," I say, and she figures that out too.

"You're a widower," she says, and I nod again. "I am so sorry. I understand if you don't want to have dinner anymore. I went straight woman logic there."

"It's fine, and I still want to," I say, and she slowly smiles. "Where you staying?"

"Holiday Inn downtown, room six-seventeen," she says.

"I'll pick you up at a little after seven," I say, and she agrees before leaving.

-

Sunday - May 17, 2026

-Sheryl House-

I have this awful tendency to sleep with men on a first date. One sure fire trick I have learned that helps me keep my will is to masturbate before the date. It calms me down and keeps me from getting too antsy during it.

At ten minutes to six, I shimmy out of my pants and panties, take off my blouse and remove my bra from under my shirt. I pull out my trusty vibrator and dildo and spread out on the hotel bed for a quick orgasm that should tide me over till the end of the date. My right hand is extended under my right knee, holding the dildo that I begin to slide in and out of my pussy. My left hand is over my left leg and holds the vibrator I place directly on my clit.

I lose my breath as my orgasm comes close and gasp it out a minute later. I remove the dildo to focus on my clit and use my free hand to massage my breasts. The climax washes over my body, and I fall back to the pillow and close my eyes for a moment. A knock on the door wakes me up, and I turn to the alarm clock. I was out for nearly an hour, and it's ten minutes to seven.

"Give me a minute," I say, and start scrambling to get dressed. I feel like I need to explain it, so I pull on a pair of shorts and answer the door. "Sorry, I kind of fell asleep."

"Not a problem, I'm early," Shane says, and I open the door.

"You can come in for a minute, I'll just change in the bathroom really quick," I say and walk to my suitcase to grab a few items. I turn around and see his eyes on the bed, then snap back to me in what looks like embarrassment. I turn to the bed myself and see my dildo and vibrator in full view.

"It's why I fell asleep," I say, and he laughs a little. I'm not even going to put them away. We're adults, fuck it.

"I get it, travel sucks," he says, and I enter the bathroom.

"I actually like the travel," I say, pushing the door nearly shut, but not all the way. I want to see if he peeks. When he doesn't, I don't know if I'm disappointed or happy he appears to be a gentleman. "Where are you taking us?"

"Do you like steak?" he asks, and I inform him I do. "A steakhouse I go to once in a while. They age the steaks on Himalayan salt." That sounds amazing.

I didn't pack evening wear for this trip because I rarely go out on dates, but I have a feeling Shane doesn't date much either. He's wearing jeans and blazer, so I don't feel pressured to dress up for the night. I feel adequate in jeans and a blouse. I realize I didn't grab a bra, so ask him to grab one from my suitcase. He's not awkward or anything when he returns and hands it through the door to me. The one he grabbed is black with some lace. I don't wear it for the appearance, it just happens to hold my breasts up the best. It is however, the most risqué bra I own.

"You picked the lacey one I see," I say as clasp it behind my back.

"I got an eye for fashion," he says, and I chuckle a little.

"You got an eye for something, that's for sure," I say, and throw the blouse on over it. I leave the bathroom and place on my sandals while Shane is leaning against the wall waiting patiently. "Ready."

-

The steakhouse is as advertised. The steaks are excellent. It has a country vibe that I always appreciate with a few mounted long horns and the general smell of sawdust.

We spent the first twenty minutes talking about work. It worked to prime the conversation before we get into something I really want to talk about. Shane so far is professional at work, a gentleman when not at work, cleft chin handsome, genuinely charming, and can hold an intelligent conversation. I want to know more about him. I don't recall the last time I went on a date and I wanted more than a dick.

"So," I begin, preparing myself for the response. "Earlier you said you were a widower."

"I am," he says, his demeanor visibly changing, but not to such a level I considering abandoning the discussion.

"How long ago?" I ask.

"About seven years," he says.

"What was her name?" I ask.

"Sierra," he says, and I smile.

"Beautiful name."

"Beautiful woman," he says with a smile. The smile fades a little just remembering her, but the smile holds out in the end.

"I'm sorry. How did she die?" I ask. I almost didn't ask, but my instincts tell me he is emotionally strong enough to talk about it.

"Car crash," he says.

"Did you have any kids?" I ask, and he shakes his head. Then I watch him choke up a little, and for the first time not answer a question verbally. Why that question? Why this reaction when he didn't have kids. Then I realize why. "She was pregnant."

Shane nods, picks up a napkin to wipe his mouth, and tries to discretely dry his eyes, but I see everything. I'm an investigator, I notice things for a living.

"I'm sorry," I say for the second time in the last few minutes.

"Your lesbian friend? Is that for her, or for you?" I ask. He laughs a little and tries to clean the tears the laughing forces out.

"Both," he says, and I smile. There is a history there, I know it. Not just best friends, there is something else. Something sexual.

"You two ever tried making a baby the old-fashioned way?" I ask, and he blushes then awkwardly chuckles. I knew it. "That's a yes."

"We've never had sex," he says, though a little too quick.

"Depends on what the definition of is, is?" I ask with my worst Arkansas accent, and he relents.

"We've done...things," he says, and I laugh. He's cute when he's on the defensive.

"You might not want to let my imagination fill in the gaps," I say.

"We've gone down on each other, more than few times, after my wife died. She helped me through that, I helped her through some shit going on in her life. At one point, I guess it was possible, us being a thing, doing it the old-fashioned way. It just didn't happen that way," he says, and I can tell he wants to end that part of the conversation. I want to know the things he helped her get over, but that's not his business to share. I have an idea of what it could be though.

The table is stuffy for a second, and I'm worried I pressed too much, while giving too little. I need to even the scales out some.

"Seeing how I've picked apart your past, fair is fair," I say to give an invitation to tear into mine. "What do you want to know?"

"Ever married?" he asks.

"No."

"Kids?"

"Yes. One, but with an asterisk," I reply, and his eyebrows raise. "Long story."

"We have time," he says. "Boy or girl."

"Boy. Julian," I reply.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-two. He's a senior at Northwestern," I say, and he looks like he's doing math. I look my age, so he is subtracting twenty-two from it. "I'm forty-two."

"You had him when you were twenty?"

"Right before my sophomore year of college. I spent the back half of freshman year pregnant," I say, picking up my wine glass and taking a sip.

"The asterisk has me intrigued," he says, and I sigh into my drink.

"He's my son, in the sense I gave birth to him. I haven't had any contact with him since he was born," I say, and he's quiet. "Hence the asterisk."

"What happened?" he asks.

"I was nineteen. I was dating an older guy, twenty-four. Graduate student. Had his own apartment, his own car, we could fuck loud and anywhere. We fucked a little too much and he fucked a baby right into me. I wasn't ready to be a mother, not then. Not right in the middle of college. I was going to get an abortion, but his father begged me not to. When I say beg, I mean beg. Tears streaming down his face, on his knees, the whole nine yards. I relented, but with conditions. It wouldn't be my baby. It would be his. He was ready to be a dad, and he said he'd take full responsibility, and he did. He asked for nothing in return. I relinquished custody after he was born."

Shane is trying to process everything I just told him, and it is admittedly a lot to digest. In truth, Shane reminds me of Julian's father Cameron, and even twenty-two years later I hate how it ended. I loved Cameron, I really did. I just think we met each other at the wrong time in our lives.

"If you have no contact, why do you know where he is?" I ask.

"Cameron. His father, for the first few years would send me a picture out of the blue, until I told him to stop. I didn't want to know. It was easier that way," I say, and he's too quiet in reply. "A few years ago, though, I just couldn't not know anymore. I still haven't seen him, but I know how he's doing. He's a computer engineering student."

"It's never too late," he says, and I sigh again.

"It is," I say.

"No..."

"...Yes. Twenty-two years is too long," I say, and he just blinks. I can't tell if he agrees or not. "I don't even know how to start that conversation in a healthy way."

We both just look at each other. This conversation has left us stripped bare. There are no secrets, and I don't remember the last time anyone knew this much about me so soon. I can't tell if it's a relief or terrifying.

"You want to get out here?" he asks.

"Depends on what you mean by get out of here," I reply. Yes, it is exactly what I think he means.

A conversation like that tends to wind you up, and I am wound. My hand is on his leg as he's driving me back to the hotel and glides up the closer we get. Five minutes after leaving the restaurant, it's directly on his crotch, and five minutes after that it's in his jeans. Luckily the drive was ten minutes because if it had lasted another five minutes, I'd be giving him road head. So much for masturbating to relieve the tension.

I start kissing him hot and heavy in the elevator, but we compose ourselves as it opens and proceed to my room. The door does not shut all the way before we resume where we left off. Only this time the removal of clothing is part of the fun. My blouse comes flying off, and I'm glad he picked the right bra for the occasion. His shirt hits the ground, then he reaches around my body to unhook my bra. The bra lands on the lamp shade as I fall back to the bed with his mouth alternating between my nipples.

I love a man who takes his time. Works on the tits while undoing the belt and pants. Keeps the nipples firm while a hand works the pussy to start getting it moist. Kisses down my body, pulling off the rest and starts kissing the inner legs before going in with the tongue on the clit. Not a half assed tongue lashing either. Shane completely vanishes between my legs until I grunt an orgasm and tell him to come up for air.

As I lean up, I push him off the bed and to his feet. I undo his belt and his jeans and underwear hit the floor. I direct his dick straight into my mouth, and finger myself as I suck him. I want to finish him off, but I also don't want to take the chance of it ending here. I climb back up the bed and present myself to him.

Shane is ready to go and doesn't let a conversation about protection get in his way. He is a guy who knows how to maintain momentum. The only thing better than a long and hard dick, is when it's attached to a hard body.

I don't remember the last time I got fucked this good. His dick has an upward curl to it that rubs the g spot with every thrust. I can't remember the last time I had an orgasm in missionary. After I come, we roll over, and I start riding him hard. He grunts a little, and I pause to see what's up. Shane then reaches under his back and pulls out my dildo. I laugh, and he reaches under again and pulls out the vibrator.

"I'll take that," I say, and start the vibrator on my clit as I grind him. I come again in less than a minute. While I'm exclaiming my satisfaction, he grips my ass cheeks, and rams his dick straight up into me as hard as he can. My body goes numb from his rhythm, and when he stops, I'm quaking.

"Too hard?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"As hard as you want," I say. I can handle a dick. "However you want."

Shane pulls me off his dick and props me against the side of the bed. He stands next to it, and starts railing me from behind. He when picks up my leg and uses my hips to drill me. I underestimated his mileage. I don't come again, but he flips me over, grabs my legs, and uses them to leverage the hardest fucking yet. I can't stop from screaming, and he stops, but I tell him not to. How long can he go?

"You getting close?" I ask when stops to rest for a moment.

"Not even a tingle," he says, and I'm stunned.

"Maybe slow it down for a minute," I relent, and he crawls back into the bed with me. We return to missionary, and he starts kissing me. I don't usually like kissing during sex, but right now it helps the pace. It gives me time to handle the pussy trauma.

"Deep," I say, grabbing the pillow from behind my head, and push him off to slide it under my lower back. "Give it to me deep."

Shane inserts himself back in, grabs me at the ankles, and sinks his dick so deep it feels like it's in my stomach. I don't think I can handle deep and hard, but I tell him to try. He's faster, but not the same level of pounding he was giving me earlier. The depth and the curl give me another orgasm.

"You getting there?" I ask.

"I'm getting there," he says.

Shane is getting there, for another ten minutes and two more orgasms. I'm back on top when he finally says he's close.

"In me or on me?" I ask, and he says he has no preference. "Every man has a preference. You gave me plenty, you earned anything you want."

Shane hesitates his response, and I push my pussy down on his dick hard.

"What do you want?" I ask again.

"Come inside. After it is all out, you suck me limp," he says, and my lips curl into a grin. That's it?

"I was hoping you would say that," I say, and start riding him harder, and when he comes, god damn do I feel it. His dick pulsates, pressing the spot hard, nearly making me come again. When the jizz shoots up, the warm fluid adds to the pleasure and I come once more. He thrusts up to milk himself with me, and the orgasm peaks higher with every spurt.

When the pulsations stop, I climb off of him, and put his dick in my mouth. I suck him as he groans, squirms, and clenches. I don't feel his dick getting softer after a minute of sucking him. After another minute, I know his stiffness isn't going anywhere.