Big Flipping Deal Ch. 02

[The story so far: Nick has inherited one half of a house from a sweet old lady neighbor, the now-deceased Mrs. Pinobscott. In a posthumous attempt at matchmaking, Mrs. P left the house jointly to Nick and her niece, Lindsey, a smoking-hot blonde whom Nick quickly becomes infatuated with, despite Lindsey's insistence that he doesn't want to get involved with her romantically. The will specifies that Lindsey and Nick will get a $20,000 renovation budget if they work to remodel the house together, after which they'll be able to sell it at a handy profit. But so far, Nick has had difficulty keeping his mind on the renovations... ]

I woke up the next morning and went to...

The...

... longest...

... day of work...

Ever.

No overtime or anything like that, and I even got to take a lunch break, but I spent the entire day, lunch included, absolutely steaming for five o'clock to roll around. I made every attempt possible to focus my attention on the job, but my current task provided no help - schematics for an instruction manual, more dead-boring crap with no creativity involved.

So all day long, Lindsey kept popping into my head - her face, her eyes, her lips, those tits, her legs (over and over again, her legs!), her ass, and...

The things she said after having her cry in the bathroom. "I'm sorry... " "I'm a mess... " "You don't want to have anything to do with me... " It surprised me how clearly I remembered it all. And even more surprising than remembering it? Getting just as big a boner from those memories as from thinking about her figure or the way she'd looked going down on me in her car. Lindsey had a tough exterior, but Mrs. P had been right in that letter: there was something sensitive inside this woman, and something really decent and nice, or she wouldn't have been crying in the bathroom and she wouldn't have apologized to me for doing what she saw as the wrong thing.

Late in the day, about the fourth time that memory popped back up, I finally asked myself, So why is sensitive, decent and nice giving me such a fucking hard-on?

The question answered itself pretty easily. Carmella hadn't been any of those things, and she hadn't been nearly as hot as Lindsey, and I'd still invested a year of my life in a relationship that ended up with me being thrown away like a piece of chewed gum, without even a hint of apology or regret. Whatever Lindsey thought was wrong with herself, could it possibly be as bad as what I'd put up with from my ex? I didn't see how.

And that meant that my stupid, schmucky brain went pretty quickly from thinking I might have a shot at fucking Lindsey to thinking I might have a shot at actually being with Lindsey.

Once I realized why "I'm sorry" and "I'm a mess" were giving me such a woody, I tried really hard to throw cold water on the idea: the rest of the day at work, the whole bus-ride home, the whole time I was feeding Mister Whiskerdoodle, changing into shorts and a t-shirt, and walking from my place to Mrs. P's, where we had agreed to meet at 6:30. I could deal with being sexually frustrated by working right next to a girl so hot she could absolutely cremate me - even if she never touched me again, I had a bottle of lotion and a pretty good imagination to let me enjoy the fantasy of plowing Lindsey until we both came, as often as I wanted.

But there wasn't any lotion that would work if I got so caught up in her that I started imagining us together, romantically.

By the time her car pulled into the driveway, I had myself pretty well convinced. She had told me as plain as day she wasn't looking for a relationship and she had no interest in me. Beyond that, she was totally out of my league. Beyond that, I had no money for dating right now, and neither one of us was going to have time, once we got up to our necks in the renovation work. Beyond that...

She got out of the car, and I realized I was totally fucked.

Oh my god, she's hotter in jeans and a t-shirt than she was in that skin-tight dress. They weren't even very tight jeans. If anything, they looked like she'd picked them out purely for comfort and practicality - which, duh, she probably had, since we were supposed to be getting down to work. But the very fact that they showed off nothing made it all the more impressive that her curvy figure could still bug my eyes out, loose jeans or no loose jeans. Same with the t-shirt: no hint of the cleavage that had put my saliva glands in overdrive the day before, but her tits still looked amazing in it. And that face...

She had on makeup, but not much, and its simplicity made me realize how vamped-up she'd been yesterday. And her hair, pulled back in a tail instead of loose and wavy, performed the exact same trick.

A woman who can be gorgeous without trying does something to you that all the tight dresses and makeup in the world can't do. I found my heart suddenly beating like crazy and my mouth dry and an idiotic idea bouncing back-and-forth in my head: that when Lindsey wasn't trying, she was probably just as gorgeous inside, as a person, as she was on the outside. And, even more idiotic: that maybe she didn't know it.

So when she came up the walk and said "Hi," with a smile, and I said, "Hi," back with a dopier smile, and we started up the stairs, I was thinking ninety miles an hour and also not thinking at all.

And when she put her key in the door and turned the knob, this is what came out of my mouth:

"Hey, Lindsey, listen," I said, managing to speak very casually while a freaked-out interior voice begged me to shut up before I made a complete fool of myself, "I know you're not looking for anything, and I'm not trying to push it, but you kept saying yesterday that you're a mess and a wreck, and I just want to tell you, if that's all you're worried about, then you shouldn't be worried at all. You wouldn't have apologized to me if you weren't a good person, and that's all that really ought to matter. And when you blew me yesterday, are you really sure it wasn't at least partly because you wanted to be nice to me? I don't think that makes you a mess."

She stood there looking at me the whole time I was talking, and midway through I saw her breathing speed up, but then by the end it slowed back down again, and her face went from unreadable and blank to... calm. Or settled. Or maybe resigned? But then it looked a little pinched or pained as she gathered herself up to speak.

"Nick," she said, taking a deep breath after my name, "I'm transgender."

"What?"

"You know, transgender. My boobs are implants, and I've got a dick just like you."

Blinking, I flashed back to that incredibly bizarre conversation I'd had with my mom fifteen years ago. Then I hurried on to keep from thinking too much about that. "No, uh, I know what it means. I mean, when I was a kid, I had this aunt - not that I knew at the time, but... anyway, that was more of a reflex 'what' than a question."

She looked at me, waiting.

"Really?" I asked, stupidly. I tried to see it in the shape of her face, tried to call up a memory of dowdy, odd-looking Aunt Elise and figure out what was the same about them, but the answer was, nothing at all. "That's not just a line you use to get rid of guys who want inside your pants?"

Nodding at the door with one eyebrow up, she reached for her belt buckle. "You want to see? Let's go inside."

"No, I trust you - sorry," I said, raising both hands. "It's just... you're really good looking. I'd never have... "

Shit. So last night I really did fuck up my only chance to fantasize about getting into her pussy.

She shrugged. "I've had some work done, and I always had kind of girly bone structure. People who know say I'm lucky, but sometimes I almost wish the truth was more obvious. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing -" She waved a finger from me to herself and back again. "- or at least, not as often."

"Sorry," I said. I could feel my face burning. What a crap situation to put someone in - especially when I knew what people's assumptions and stereotypes had ended up doing to Elise.

Lindsey shook her head, though. "No, it's what I deserve for giving you head. That was really wrong, and I knew it, and I did it anyway. I told you you didn't want to have anything to do with me, right? And now I've got to be extra sorry because you probably feel like you got blown by a guy. A guy who was lying to you."

Actually, I didn't feel like that at all. I just felt... let down. Of course that fantasy wasn't really going to happen.

Why in the world would I think it might? I mean, the first second I laid eyes on her, I knew she was out of my class. And my first thought when Mrs. P's letter talked about matchmaking was that she couldn't possibly be talking about Lindsey. And when it turned out she was talking about Lindsey, my next thought was that the old lady was bonkers. And when Lindsey told me nothing was going to happen between us, I totally believed her. Even while she was blowing me, I still believed her. Mostly.

So why did her crying and apologizing and repeating that she wasn't relationship material somehow make me think I might have a chance with her?

Because I was an idiot. An idiot who thought something beautiful might just drop in his lap like that, despite a crapload of prior experience to the contrary.

Really it made total sense that Lindsey had a dick. Some incredibly sexy girl who was willing to suck the orgasm of my life out of me an hour after we met - and whose aunt called her "shy" and "nice" - why would she ever be interested in a guy like me? There had to be something wrong with that picture.

"Nick?" she asked, bringing me back to Mrs. P's porch. "Are you all right?"

I shook my head. "No. I think I need to go home and get my head straight. Is that okay? Can we skip tonight? I'll be fine tomorrow, I promise."

"Sure. Sure, no problem. We can just... yeah, that's no problem."

"But look," I went on, seeing the concerned look still on her face, "don't worry about feeling bad. I do this kind of shit to myself all the time. I mean, not this kind of shit, but stupid shit."

Lindsey rolled her eyes and gave a single nod. "You and me both."

* * *

I had more beers than I should have. Then I sat on the bed watching more TV than I should have, with Mister Whiskerdoodle in a lump on my lap cleaning himself - or, as I thought of it, reloading himself for the next hairball. I don't think I could have told you the plot of a single show I watched, but periodically the cat would purr and add to the numbing effect of the beer and the television.

Eventually, bedtime showed up. I didn't think it was going to work, but I got myself ready and lay down and turned off the light anyway.

The lameness of thinking I had a shot with Lindsey settled over me as thick as the comforter and as heavy as Mister Whiskerdoodle, curled in the center of my abdomen. Even worse, pretty quickly some bonus lameness joined it: not only had I raised my sights higher than I had any business doing, but I hadn't even kept it together enough afterwards to stick around and treat Lindsey like a person.

As I lay there under the covers, my fists started clenching, because I thought of Aunt Elise, who was probably the only reason I hadn't totally wigged about my dream girl turning out to be a she-male.

People doing shit like you did tonight killed her, I told myself. It was melodramatic and a piece of pointless self-bullying, but it was sort of true.

Elise had been my favorite aunt when I was a kid. She was sweet and kind and always brought me candy when she visited or baked me cookies when I went to her place. She sucked at baking cookies, but I always pretended to like them. I was super sad when she moved away my freshman year, and even sadder two years later when she died. How could that have happened? I asked my mom what it was, an accident, or cancer, or...? And she sat me down and told me Elise killed herself. She'd always had really bad depression, Mom said, partly because people treated her like crap. That confused the hell out of me - Elise was the nicest person I knew.

But... she had been born male.

I always figured she was just kind of a funny looking lady. Funny looking runs in my family, sometimes. But no, Mom said she'd had hormone therapy and operations because she felt like it would make her into the person she ought to be. The problem is... it did. And then a lot of people started treating her like a freak because of it. Turning into who she wanted to be got her shunned in her church and banned from my grandparents' house. Eventually, she decided the problem was Texas, and she moved. But I guess there were plenty of assholes in Maryland too, and after two years there, she decided she'd had enough.

So congratulations, dickweed. You just added another straw to Lindsey's back. How many will it take to break her like Elise got broken?

I got up and went to the bathroom to wash my face. Mister Whiskerdoodle bitched at me for making him move, but I was obviously not falling asleep, and somewhere in there I'd started crying about Elise, and my face felt all puffy and sticky. So I splashed cold water on it and scrubbed it dry with a towel and looked myself in the eye in the mirror and said,

"Tomorrow, you're going to do better, Nick." The guy in the mirror didn't look like he entirely believed it, so I went on. "You're going to be totally cool with it. You're going to treat her like she's just a person, not a she-male, and not a female firecracker whose pants you want to get into. You're going to treat her like it doesn't make any difference at all."

Except I realized that those last two didn't even faintly go together.

If I didn't know, if I still thought she was a chick, I'd be eyeing her the whole time. Yeah, I'd be sneaky, but she'd get it. She'd know I was hot for her.

Fuck.

If I really wanted to do right by Lindsey, I was going to have to figure out how to be a drooling pig over her. Because that's what would have happened if she'd never told me. Maybe not a total pig... a shy, embarrassed pig who didn't want to get caught ogling but did it anyway when the chance showed up. My fantasy from the night before came back to me. I looked at myself in the mirror.

"You know what, Nick?" I asked. "Stupid as it sounds, the right thing to do is to whack off right now, fantasizing about plowing into her cunt."

I definitely thought I now sounded like I'd had way too many beers. But I still scowled at myself in the mirror and dropped my pajama bottoms and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the toilet.

Remember, I told myself, you don't know.

The house. The torn-up carpet. The two of us chipping at the walls with whatever those tools were. Heat. Sweat.

Lindsey stripping off her gloves and saying she was going to the kitchen for water. Me following her.

That ass.

Oh my God, that ass.

I started getting hard. It was surprisingly easy, considering that I knew that ass was following along behind a crotch that had a -

Shut up. You don't know, remember?

The cooler, with Lindsey bending over, those long, strong, flawless legs straight and mouth-watering.

"Shit, that's so fucking hot." I pumped my cock in one fist now, skin sliding over rigid, erect flesh.

She gave me the last bottled water. Not that I was supposed to know it was the last one. I opened it and drank, my eyes locked on her perfect round bottom as she dug in the ice. I started thinking about what it would feel like to step up behind the straining cloth of her shorts and grind myself against the soft swells of that ass.

"Here's what it would feel like," I muttered, jacking myself faster. The rhythmic back and forth of my hand obviously felt nothing like rubbing into a woman's glutes, but it felt pretty damn good. Precum started leaking out of the tip of my cock.

"That's the last one. Can we share?"

"Sure. Is there anything in it for me, though?"

She took the bottle, drank, licked her lips. "No. I mean, unless you can think of some other fluid I'd like better than this water."

"Um... "

"Mm-hmm, yeah... " I had a really tight grip on my dick now, rolling my wrist to work more of that glistening, viscous flow up and out of my glands. With stroke after stroke, more precum followed the first, to drool down my shaft and wet my fingers thickly.

Lindsey knelt again. Unzipped me again. Gripped me again.

"Oh God." I tightened my fist as if it were her taking hold. Then I made a circle of my thumb, index, and middle finger and rolled them around the throbbing, sensitive, precum-slicked head of my cock as I willed it to stiffen further, then let it relax, again and again, so that as much gleaming fluid as possible would leak out and lubricate things. And when I'd gotten everything as wet as I could...

She took me in her mouth again.

Heaven.

Slippery, sucked-in cheeks. Masterful serpentine tongue along the bottom of my shaft. The back of her throat, angling, opening up, taking me all the way in.

"Fuck, I'm getting close already... "

"Do you want to come in me?" she asked, her head pulled back, mouth right in front of my pulsating tip, hand on my spit-wet joystick.

"Are you kidding?"

"No, you've got me totally hot for it. Come on, let's go in the other room."

The roll of replacement carpet. Lindsey shucking her top and sports bra, those wonderful, pale breasts bouncing free, beckoning me. Deep, tongue-dueling kisses. My hands clutching the soft wonder of her tits. Both of us edging to the flattened-out carpet roll. Lindsey lying back, legs parted, chest bare. I kissed my way down her form, stopping to suckle at each nipple, pulling gasps from her with my tongue running circles about the areolas.

"Oh, God, Nick. That feels so good... ooh!" A louder gasp as I suck one soft brown nub up into my mouth. "So good, but... so horny - get my shorts off and fuck me... God, Nick, I need you to fuck me so bad... "

Tonguing my way down to her navel as my hands undid her belt. The button underneath. The zipper. My cock waved with each beat of my heart, my hands trembling as I got hold of her waistband and pulled down, down...

"Yes, get them off me and hammer my cunt!"

My hand flew up and down with an absolutely magical rhythm. The burgeoning heat at the low end of my pelvis said it wasn't going to take much of this soon-to-be-revealed, glorious vagina to make me explode.

I licked my lips and gave the final tug. And there it was!

Her cock.

My eyes jumped open, and I grimaced and almost let out a curse the neighbors would have heard. And then I thought, Damn it, you're supposed to treat her like it doesn't matter, right?

Lindsey pushed up on her elbows, looking embarrassed. "Oh shit. I would have sworn I had a cunt. I'm really sorry about this... "

Her hands went down to cover the small, pale worm of her penis, but I told my own cock it was going to have to do the right thing.

"No, don't worry, we'll just - we'll have to make do. It's not a problem. Could you... I don't know, roll over?"

"Okay, sure, if you don't mind... "

Somehow, my cock hadn't gone limp. In fact, it still felt really good, tugged and massaged by my precum-slicked hand.

She slid her legs from the carpet roll and rotated around to present that ass to me. With her face glowing red, she reached down and covered her cock and scrotum with one hand, pulling them forward, cupping them into invisibility so that I saw only her beautifully painted nails pointing up to her asshole.