Big Flipping Deal Ch. 02

"I've fucked girls in the ass before. No problem."

So much precum had leaked from my tip that I found I could easily brush its thick lubrication into the dimpled hollow around her sphincter, making it gleam damply.

"Uhh, yes... Nick, that feels so good. Push it in. Push it in me!"

The anus itself had a little bit of a taboo excitement to it, but what I really marveled at was the wonderful bare beauty of her ass-cheeks to either side of it. Lush and clean and feminine...

My cock throbbed fiercely, warning me that it was getting ready to do something.

I pushed.

"Oh God, yes," she moaned.

I pushed harder. Her flesh sunk inward with the pressure of my cockhead, and then...

"Oh, FUCK!"

The tight ring of her asshole opened up around me and took me in. Swallowed me. Clutched me...

"Nick, Nick! Yes, Nick, Jesus!"

"Lindsey... oh, yes - unghh - take it -"

In, and in, and in, all the way in. Snug and deep as far into her as I would go, my hands on her waist pulling me forward with every ounce of strength I had to bury my whole shaft and -

Cum spouted up from my tightly gripped cock with an immense and pulsing glory.

"Oh God - UHH, fuck!"

My eyes opened to see the blurting white streamers, one, two, three - even the third one shooting up over a foot into the air. And then I closed them again.

And leaned forward gasping atop her, kissing her along her neck as she cooed and rotated her hips in satiation, my still-pulsing cock easing slowly down from orgasm.

"Jesus, Lindsey. That was so good."

She smiled at me.

"Sorry about the cock thing."

"It's okay."

I slumped back against the bathroom wall, panting. There was cum everywhere. I'd need a new set of pajamas before I went back to bed.

But I felt curiously peaceful and even... a little proud of myself.

Like I always had after eating Aunt Elise's terrible cookies.

* * *

Thursday morning, Lindsey called me at work.

Oh, shit, I thought, seeing her name on my phone. Something in my brain reflexively assumed that the first thing I said, she'd know I had whacked off thinking about her last night. Don't be an idiot. How's she going to know that?

"Hey, this is Nick," I said. Who else would it be answering my cell phone?

"Nick," she said, her voice the same combination of feminine boldness and allure that it had been before. But... without the visual of her face and body, maybe it rang a little deeper than I would have expected a girl's voice to? Or maybe I was just imagining it. "Is your car fixed yet?"

That ratcheted my defensiveness up more than my jackoff fantasy did. I tried to keep myself from scowling even though she couldn't see me. "Well, no. Why?"

"My afternoon's clear," she said. I could hear now that her phone was picking up wind. Must be on the highway in her convertible. "How about if I save you the bus trip and we can get started a little sooner today? Since we didn't get anywhere last night."

Maybe you didn't get anywhere, but I ... oh goddammit, shut the fuck up!

"Look, I'm really sorry about that. I shouldn't have -"

"Don't worry about it. I didn't mean to bitch you out, just offer you a ride," she said. It sounded impatient, though. "If you want one."

"Uh, sure." As quick as that, my brain had me sitting in the leather passenger seat of that BMW, Lindsey beside me in her sunglasses and skin-tight dress. Instant erection. Fuck. "Yeah, that would be great. I can work through lunch and be off at four-thirty."

"Perfect. Send me the address."

I did, and then proceeded to have the hard-on from hell for an hour after we hung up. The day crawled, slower and slower, until somewhere around three in the afternoon, I swear the clocks just completely stopped. That gave me plenty of time to realize I wasn't dressed for DIY remodeling work, and that Lindsey would have to drop me at my place to change before we got started.

Or stop at my place and come in while I changed.

The hard-on from hell came back. I tried to reason with it. Look, I told it, I know I said we should act like we didn't know, treat her like the hot chick we thought she was... but you're taking this too far.

In kind of a throbbing penile morse code, it replied, Fuck you. I got blown in that car, dude - maybe it'll happen again.

It's not going to happen again!

Could it?

At four-thirty, I shut my computer off, bolted down to the front entrance, and, looking through the revolving glass door, spotted Lindsey already pulled up to the curb and waiting. She had on another t-shirt, hair in the same ponytail as yesterday, sunglasses dark but glinting. As I spun through the door into a hot afternoon breeze, she looked over and tilted her chin up in greeting. Some Katy Perry song was sleazing its dancy way out of her speakers.

"Hey," she said, hitting the button to pop the lock on my side.

I tried to open the door casually, slide in casually, and casually say, "Hey," back. Something about her smirk made me think I hadn't pulled any of the "casually" part off.

"So anyway," I said, looking into the shiny twin darknesses of her sunglass lenses, "you made things awkward giving me a b.j., and I made things awkward trying to hit on you -"

"You were trying to hit on me?"

My attempt to call the playing field level had been short-circuited. "Well - uh -"

She laughed and turned and put the car in gear. "I'm kidding. I know you were trying to hit on me, that's why I spilled the she-male beans, remember?"

"Look," I said, off balance and feeling my face go the color of a tomato, "all I wanted to say was -"

"I get it, Nick," she said, shoving me back in my seat with a stomp on the accelerator. "You're a nice guy, you embarrassed yourself, and you want to make sure I know you're not a bigot or a creep. Can we be done with this conversation now?"

Duh. Did you think you were the first guy she's had react like that?

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to -"

"Don't be sorry, just say, 'Sure, let's be done with that.'"

"Uh, sure. Let's be done with that."

Spinning us out onto the access road, she seemed to relax a little. "Good. 'Cause we've got other things to talk about, you know?"

"Yeah, of course." For a second, I just held on through three quick lane changes and a swerve through the turnaround. Then my brain started working again. "Are we going somewhere?"

"There's a tile and bathroom design center up in Plano I like," she explained, accelerating onto the northbound access road and then up onto the highway. The wind and engine noise joined forces with Katy Perry, making Lindsey raise her voice. "We're going to pick some stuff out."

Parts of Plano are pretty ritzy. "Is that going to be in our budget?"

"Yeah," she said, throwing me an I-do-this,-remember? look. "They get a lot of business from me and my clients - we won't be paying full retail."

"Oh. Okay."

We got up on the highway, then took the exit to the tollway. Lindsey's head moved with the music in a subtle, unconscious bob. I didn't say anything because so far today, saying things hadn't been my strongpoint, and she seemed distracted anyhow. On either side, the green part of the tollway streamed by, bridges passing over us for Inwood and Mockingbird Lane, until eventually the road rose up and crossed over LBJ freeway with the apex of the overpass spreading Plano and the other north Dallas suburbs out ahead of us. Pretty soon we reached Lindsey's exit, whizzed through the toll lane, and performance-braked smoothly to the light.

"It's a couple blocks over this way," she said, eying the traffic around us and tapping the steering wheel out of sync with both her turn signal and the radio. It occurred to me that maybe she was starting to find me irritating.

Nah, she doesn't know you well enough to be irritated yet, said my inner heckler. Give her a couple more days.

I still kept quiet, just in case.

When we got to the place, I momentarily thought, Well, this isn't so fancy. The building had kind of a plain stone exterior with a not-so-big logo over a horizontal accent over a stretch of window split three ways by vertical steel bands. But by the time the car came to a complete stop in one of the front parking spaces, I realized it was the kind of fancy that doesn't need to be fancy. The front window formed a sort of triptych frame for this classy tile water-sculpture, a stair-stepping set of flat surfaces in about twenty different shades of brown and slate and ivory, with crystal-clear water cascading in fine sheets from one level to the next. Once I got a good look, I realized that everything about the storefront had been placed and proportioned exactly right. The logo wasn't that big, but the natural flow of the building - windows, doors, that accent - all let your eye settle in this way that meant you couldn't help crossing the name with your gaze, and even though the font was simple, it had a bold elegance to it at the same time.

Biting my tongue against asking, Are you sure we can afford this? I looked over at Lindsey and found her putting her sunglasses away in her purse.

And her left eye was black.

"Holy cow, what happened?" I asked, pointing to my own eye before I could stop and think that maybe it was rude to ask.

She grimaced, wrinkling her nose and then wincing as if the movement gave her bruised eye-socket a twinge.

"I got in a fight." Her door opened and she stepped out. I sat blinking for a second - long enough that she turned back and glared at me. "Are you coming or not?"

"Uh, yeah -" I said, but she'd already started walking for the entrance. "Wait -"

Lindsey stopped and put her hands on her hips and looked at me as I fumbled open my door and scurried to catch up. "I totally didn't mean to pry - it just took me by surprise and I couldn't help -"

She sighed and held up both hands to me, eyes floating skyward just a second. "Okay... for fuck's sake, is our entire relationship going to be one or the other of us apologizing for something? It's not a big deal. Can we just go in and figure out what we're going to do with these bathrooms?"

"Sure, sure," I said. "But - I mean - you're okay, right? It's just the eye?"

"I'm fine."

I was ready for that to be it. Whatever happened, it wasn't my business. She'd apparently even forgotten about it until she took off the sunglasses and I pointed it out. Getting in a fight seemed like a big deal to me, but maybe it wasn't to her. Or maybe she didn't get in a fight, she's just putting you on or covering for tripping and banging into a wall. Anyway, it wasn't my business, and I made myself drop it.

But right before we got to the door, she turned again.

"Okay," she said in an exasperated tone. "Last night once I finished up some measuring and sketching in Neena's place -" After I abandoned you by being an insensitive cowardly shit, I thought. "- I went to this bar I know, and I ran into my semi-ex. I broke up with him a couple months ago, but we keep showing up at each other's apartments and fucking. Twice his fault, once mine. Anyway, I'm sitting at the bar nursing my drink and he sneaks up behind me and gets a hand around on one of my tits and gets his lips in my ear and says how much he needs me. Specifically, how much he needs a certain part of me. I could smell on his breath that he'd already been drinking more than I had, and I didn't have any patience for his shit, and I certainly wasn't in any mood to fuck, so I told him to screw off and tried to pull loose. But he keeps groping me and begging me to go back to his place, and I say, 'You know what, Max? We're done. Yesterday I blew a straight guy in my car just because I could. And it really made it clear to me: I am so over your cock.' And he looked all crushed but also mad, and he grabbed me by both arms and was squeezing hard enough with his fingers that it hurt, saying I couldn't do this to him, et cetera, et cetera, and I flipped and shoved him away and got in his face yelling what a shit he was, and then he said something really, really ugly, and I slapped him, and he slugged me. Totally dropped me back against the bar, I don't know if I was that stunned from the punch or just because I didn't think he had it in him - I've got about three inches and twenty pounds on him. Anyway, his face fell for a second and his fist loosened up, and I could see he knew he'd just fucked any chance he ever had of getting back with me, and then he went all steamed again and stomped off. End of story."

She stood there looking at me, almost like she was daring me to form an opinion.

"Well, I mean, he started it, right? Groping you and then grabbing you and not letting go, and then squeezing your arms - I think you were pretty justified, the way he -"

Her eyes rolled and she waved my lame consolation away. "Who gives a fuck if I was justified? It got rid of him, and this -" pointing at her eye "- was a cheap price to pay. He was a dick, and he wasn't even that good in bed."

Somebody came out of the tile place and skirted past us on the sidewalk, a middle-aged guy who checked out Lindsey's ass as he went by.

"Now can we go in and pick out our bathrooms?"

"Yeah," I said, shrugging. "Sure."

Inside, the place had aisles and aisles of tiles and tiles, and more aisles of sinks and toilets, faucets, showerheads, tubs and towel racks and I'm sure somewhere a bidet or two. But before we got to all that, the central display room made my eyes pop out with a polychromatic landscape of mock bathrooms in color combinations that ranged from hip, sunny orange-and-blue to classic marble to baroque cherry with renaissance accent patterns running around it in a color that was probably called "parchment" or something like that.

"Wow," I said.

Lindsey acknowledged me with a nod and headed through the warren of displays. "They've got nice stuff here."

"No kidding," I said as I followed her, for once looking up and down something other than her ridiculously shapely figure. "I'm not even sure why you brought me along - It's not like I'm going to say anything here sucks."

"Duh, Nick," she said, opening her purse as she walked. "You're not here to give me a thumbs-down. They've only got good stuff here, and I only have good ideas in my notebook."

She pulled out a little spiral-bound pad a little larger than a paperback book, tucked the purse back under her arm, and started flipping through the note-pad's pages. We'd passed through the displays now and were on one of the tile aisles.

"Here," she said, turning the notebook around and showing me two facing pages. "Your job is to tell me how you feel about what I show you here. Not good or bad, but what it reminds you of - who you think would like it and who wouldn't. And to play eye doctor with me... 'Better like this? Or better like this.'"

I kind of swallowed a little at the idea of playing doctor with Lindsey. I'm not sure whether she caught that or not, because I wasn't looking at her face. The sketches she put in front of me had my full attention.

"Damn, Lindsey," I said, taking the pad and staring. "This is amazing."

"Thanks."

On the left-hand page, she had sketched the layout of the guest bathroom, the one in the hall (where she'd had her crying jag the night she blew me), both as a two-dimensional floor-plan and as a 3-D illustration. It was done in pencil, with an incredible amount of detail considering the tiny space she had to work in. Facing it, drawn with some vivid colored pens, were two completely different reworkings of the same space, one conservative and solid in wine-colored walls and ivory tiling, the other airy and fun, in gentle oranges and whites and yellows and pale greens that she'd used to build different-sized splashes of color that looked at once random and coherent.

"Holy cow."

"Those are the front bath. I did a couple more ideas on the next page, but I think these ones are grabbier."

I turned the page and found two looser, rougher sketches, one in a variety of large light- and medium-blue tiles, another primarily white with red diamond accents and borders.

"Jeez, I'd rather live in any of these bathrooms than my house."

She laughed. It was a really nice sound.

"So look, you're a guest visiting somebody's house. You've got to take a leak. You go into the front bathroom and it looks like one of these. Whose house are you in?"

I honestly had no answer, so I just kept flipping back and forth between the four bathroom drawings and said, "Not Mrs. P's, that's for sure."

Lindsey scowled. "No shit. Nobody wants to buy Neena's little-old-lady house, not for good money. That's what we're trying to fix."

"Sorry," I said. Trying harder, I pointed at the red-and-white one and said, "This is some tightly wound chick who wants people to know she doesn't take anybody's shit. Or - if they put in some blue towels on the racks, maybe some patriotic military retirees."

"Better," she said. "What about that one?"

The sketch in all the different blues didn't do much for me. "Someone boring or depressed."

"Okay. So let's definitely scratch both of those. How about the first page?"

I flipped back. "These people either have money," I said, pointing at the wine-and-ivory room, "or they want people to think they have money."

"Do they have kids?"

"Huh. I dunno... probably not?"

"And that one?" she tapped the last one, the one that made me think of dandelions and cantaloupe and honeydew.

"That one's really hard," I said. "It could be all kinds of people. A couple with kids, some older folks who like to garden. Hell, I'd like my bathroom to look like that - it's cheerful."

"Perfect." She pulled the notebook away and shut it, making me blink. When I looked up, I saw her grinning. "We're trying to move the place, right? So it needs to appeal to everybody and his dog. Let's find the right tiles to put that one together."

Following her down the aisle, still half-stunned by her talent and creativity, I thought, Who the hell hits a woman like this?

Not that I get hitting women in general, but it seemed like it would take a special kind of asshole to lay hands on someone responsible for so much beauty.

Why would she be with an asshole like that?

The questions bugged me, and every time I looked at her and saw her black eye, I got a searing anger at this Max guy. But one thing was for sure...

The whole rest of the time we were in the store, I pretty much forgot about the fact that she had a cock.

* * *

After two more stops, we had all the interior paint and most of the stuff for both bathrooms and the kitchen. That is, we didn't have it all, since no way in hell would even half of it fit in Lindsey's little sports car. But we'd ordered it, to the tune of more than ten grand. The tile place let her have everything on account; the paint and appliances she put on a card. When my jaw dropped at the appliance store, she waved the expense away. "I'll stop by the lawyer's tomorrow and have them cut me a check out of the trust fund."

"But... should we really be buying all this stuff before we're ready to use it?"

"It's motivational. The appliances get delivered in three weeks, that means we have to get the kitchen painted, floored, cabinets redone and countertops in by then. Otherwise the new stove and fridge and dishwasher have to go in the garage and we end up hauling them in and doing the hookups ourselves instead of having the delivery guys do it."