Allure Ch. 02: Testing

Thursday morning brought a flurry of activity at the real estate office of Staggerly Homes. It was not the morning that Caitlyn had anticipated. "You remember that I have a doctor's appointment this morning?" she said to Paul.

"No, I forgot," he answered.

She was not surprised since she had no particular appointment, but wanted to create a window for running a few discreet errands. Chief among them was a trip to the health department for an STD screening. Last night, she had broken a cardinal rule by having unprotected sex with a stranger. With a cup of coffee came the return of clear thinking, she lamented the poor choice of the night before, but made arrangements for a trip to the health department's confidential STD clinic. This was the appointment that was camouflaged by the use of the word doctor's. The second thing she resolved was to look at the list of attendees at Escapade to see if she could identify DeVon. She wanted to know more about him, and, if possible, assure an encore performance.

Visiting the website was not a problem; she could manage that from her smart phone. The difficulty would come if she logged on to the membership page when Paul might be doing the same. It would make him wonder and ask later if he saw her online. The website had a feature for showing who was online and who was available for chatting.

"I have a showing at 9:45," he offered. "That'll put both of us out of the office at the same time. I'll have incoming calls forwarded to my cell. It might annoy my client, but better than during a medical exam."

"Thanks, Paul. That would be sweet." She kissed him on the cheek. Last night she had kissed DeVon and it awakened the memory of real passion and not the dusty imitation that the swinging lifestyle offered. Over the years, their way of couples' swapping had become a sort of playing with someone else's toys rather than lovemaking. On the way home afterwards, there was always a debriefing about their evening's swap mates. It usually helped if the obvious comparisons came off a little lame. Chunky, awkward, too small, and too saggy were repeating labels regardless of how real the initial turn-on or satisfying the encounter. Her reliable standard was by the end I had to fake it, whether she did or didn't. Still, the variety seemed better than the monotony that had become Caitlyn and Paul, real estate brokers, respectable, and boring.

There was nothing lame about DeVon, and she didn't want to explain anything at this point. It didn't seem like cheating with Paul in the next room participating in the spectacle under the alias Pivot_Grl and whom Paul announced was really named Missy. How would he know her name unless they had spoken privately or exchanged email? That thought somehow justified a clandestine contact with her tall, dark mystery man.

When Paul left to meet the client, Caitlyn waited long enough to be sure he was fully occupied before accessing the Internet on her phone. She logged on under their shared identity, House_ParTease which was a dual homage to the fact that they sold houses by day and partied sexually with people who at best were casual acquaintances.

She clicked on the event calendar for the day before and scanned through the profiles of the attendees. DeVon's sharp features did not stand out like the lingerie poses of the wives or single women. There was, however, one clearly identifiable profile. It showed only a cropped photo of a man below the waist. He was wearing tight nylon briefs, and his hands were on his hips. They were DeVon's hands, fingers that had probed her wetness as they made their way through a crowd of onlookers who were only interested in Missy.

It was not the hands that told Caitlyn that Rocket_Man had been her unplanned encounter. The black fabric was distended as if it concealed a rolled up newspaper, but she knew better. She had peeled away that wrapper and questioned whether she could deal with its hefty bulk.

Her fears had been ungrounded. When its girth entered her, the initial shock was quickly replaced by a fullness that she could not now describe. When it was over, she wondered if Paul would ever fit again, but he made no notice of either her tightness or the heavy discharge that he attributed to her arousal. She clicked the send message option under his profile. A text box opened and she wrote:

DeVon, I enjoyed talking with you last night and hope that we can do the same next week. If you agree, answer by email to the address below rather than replying here. Caitlyn.

Once the message was sent, she deleted it from her sent file so that it could not be discovered by Paul. It was this desire for privacy that led her to be so cryptic in the initial note. She could be more graphic and enthusiastic via email. The email address she had given in the note was one that she used when asked by would-be spammers. It was mostly full of junk mail and she rarely checked it except to delete old messages. She would check today, and the thought that he might answer brought a familiar ache to her loins.

The health department visit was, as always, a little off-putting. She sat in an open room and waited for her name to be called, hoping that she did not see anyone she knew. She had a practiced excuse if that were to happen: I cut myself while showing an old barn, so it's tetanus booster time, seemed reasonable. My doctor told me to just come here.

But she didn't see anyone, and the immediate tests for sexually transmitted diseases were negative. The results for tests that took more time to process would be mailed in a day or two. She'd make sure that she would be the one to go to the post office for the next few days.

Back at her car, she phoned her husband. "I'm leaving the doctor's right now," she said after he answered. "Were there any calls?"

"Just yours," said Paul, "and the client wants to keep looking. Do you remember when it was a seller's market and we could say, this one won't last long?"

"I remember," she said. "Those were the days before cash flow problems. See you back at the office, then--love you!"

The fact was that the real estate market sucked, and Cleveland was in the dumpster. In some neighborhoods vacant houses were torn down before they became crack houses. Fortunately, some neighborhoods still nurtured bargains for buyers, and, so far, Staggerly Homes had escaped the bankruptcy fate of many small agencies. Caitlyn did not even consider the parallel between the downturn of the market and the surge in their sexual appetites.

At the moment, her passion was DeVon. She was excited when she opened her spam email account. First up was a message with Rocket_Man in the subject line:

Caitlyn, I am still reeling from last night! (Can next Wednesday come too soon?) DeVon P.S. It was insane to go unprotected. I always use, but you made me crazy. I am clean.

Her fingers flew nervously with a quick reply.

Rocket, I always play clean, too. Went this morning to make sure nothing happened. Glad to hear you are df, too! I like thinking ahead to Wednesday. I can dress to match any fantasy that you might have. Suggestions? Caitlyn

An answer came before she could log off: You are better than any fantasy I ever had!

DeVon's final comment delayed her return to the office. Instead, she moved her car to the furthest space in the nearly empty lot and pulled out the stadium blanket that she kept under the passenger seat of her SUV. Carefully, she pulled it over her shoulders and draped it down over her lap. With her eyes closed she looked like she might have been taking a power nap. In reality her hands were opening buttons and unfastening every closure that kept her fingers from touching her nipples and exploring the inner folds of her labia. Her eyes were closed, but she was seeing her mirror image lifting and falling on a glistening shaft. It was still so very real and fresh in her bodily memory.