F.R.O.G.

"I know, hon, I feel you."

And it felt like she felt me. This was getting even more dangerous: Barb was turning out to be a sympathetic ear.

"That first year," she went on, "your relationship with your, you know, your spouse, it just evaporates. There's a whole list of things that come first before you get to pay attention to it, if you ever do."

That hung in the air between us for a few seconds, and we both seemed to understand what she meant, whether she'd meant to say it or not.

Then I said, "I know what you mean."

Invisible currents exist between people. I could be wrong on the exact nature of it, maybe it's electricity, electromagnetism, thought vibrations, but whatever it is, it's fundamental to how we relate to each other. It's how we tap into our instincts, our sixth sense, pick up unspoken information about people. I guess you could just call it vibes. Most of the time it's a neutral exchange, a low current between people, consisting of polite attention and cautious goodwill. What happens during any interaction depends on how far from neutral either participant is willing or wishes to go. In the nonphysical dimension, our power derives from thought or, more specifically, from attention. Attention paid is the degree of intensity of our thoughts as we interact with others. As our individual fields interact, the combination is enhanced or diminished.

In effect, Barb had just put her hand on the rheostat and turned up the current. She could feel it and I could feel it. It was a kind of dizziness for me, almost like nausea. My mouth went dry. But as with all interactions, there has to be rhythm, a tidal inflow and outflow. And here in a speeding car--despite the echoes of Mrs. McKeldron--I couldn't just reach over and put my hand on Barb's thigh. Instead I dialed down the rheostat. For now.

"This next house," I said, clearing my throat and lifting the stack of listings from my lap. "It looks like all the others, but there's this one thing. It says 'frog,' and nothing else."

Barb let out a sigh, like a valve letting off some pressure.

"Ugh," she said. "Frog. F.R.O.G. 'Fun Room Over Garage.'"

"Huh. Never heard of it. Is that a thing?"

"Unfortunately, yes, it's a thing. Or at least it was for a while around here."

"So what's fun about it?"

"Ha! Good question. All it is, the little attic space above an attached garage is finished with some drywall and a door in off the main house. Oh and there has to be a window to count as a frog. How much fun it is I guess is up to the owner and the limits of his imagination, starting with whether or not you can imagine an attic space over a garage is worth an extra fifteen or twenty on the asking price."

"I take it you're not sold on frogs?"

"This crazy market we're in right now has come along after a real sluggish period in the nineties. Back then, to sell your property you needed to have an edge over the competition, and there was boo-coo competition. People came up with all kinds of things to set them apart, most of it nonsense, like frogs. They couldn't count it as another bedroom by code, so they came up with a cute little frog. It's a junk room, is what it is."

As she spoke, I took the opportunity to look Barb's way and enjoy her profile. Her seatbelt cut deep between her breasts. She stuck out almost as far in front as she did to the rear, as though God had doubled down to say, This, this is what I mean by woman.

Her jaw was particularly prominent viewed from the side. Long and straight, widening all the way to the turn below her ear, where the bone was pronounced, like a knuckle. Tiny fine blonde hairs dusted with face powder stood out faintly when the light caught them just right.

"How's this one we're going to see?"

"Actually this is my first time viewing the place. It hasn't been on the market more than a few days. Most homes are selling fast round here, but owners are getting the message that now's a great time to cash in if they've been sitting it out up to now. It helps keep a little downward pressure on prices." She glanced over. "But not much."

"The asking prices make my eyes water."

"I know, hon. It's the low interest rates. Money's cheap to borrow so the payments are lower and people think they can afford to pay more. And as long as property keeps going up in price it's hard to argue with the logic. I have a feeling it'll end badly but, hey, I said that two years ago and look where we are."

"I just keep telling myself it's time to buy or get left behind. It's not like we can wait five years."

"That's the way to look at it. And remember, even if there's a bust in the market, if you're sticking around for a few years you probably won't lose out. It's the folks who are borrowing against all this brand new equity who'll get hurt."

"Yeah. And I'd be a fool not to take this job."

"You're on the right track, hon. When it's time, it's time. Life has a way of leading you to the right doors. You just have to be brave enough to open them."

And God damn if she didn't reach out then, over the expensive wood-trimmed central console of the Audi, and squeeze my left thigh. And not a timid squeeze; this was firm and confident, as one might when taking rightful possession, free and clear.

She continued breezily, "And I guess I shouldn't talk this place down before we see it. It could be a darling little fun room for all I know. I don't want to give you a...what is it? A jaundiced view."

"No problem," I said, my vocal cords temporarily tight. "I take it as it comes."

"That's the idea," Barb said.

*

I followed Barb up the concrete walkway to the front door, again taking the opportunity to admire her form. There was a natural stoop to her gait, both top- and bottom-heavy, nature having found the right balance for her frame, giving the impression of a sturdy animal, somewhat equine, like a draft horse.

"Not a whole lot different from the others," she said as she pushed open the door. "Four beds, two and a half baths."

"It's almost identical to a couple we've already seen."

The only difference I noticed was that the double garage was side-loading (a new term I'd learned on this trip) rather than facing the street. The gable roof was a small-scale copy of the main house. Presumably this configuration enabled the creation of the F.R.O.G.

"I just need to find a bathroom," Barb said, and she clattered away across the tile foyer in search of the powder room (first-floor half-bath).

I glanced in at the living room, the dining room, the den at the back off the kitchen, if only to confirm my impression that this was more of the same. Nothing wrong with it, and all appeared to be in good repair, but I was curious about the upstairs and this frog. At the top of the stairs I turned right, in the direction of the garage. I heard the faint flush of a toilet downstairs.

The master bedroom and bathroom took up this side of the house, and access to the frog was via a door in the bedroom wall to one side of a king-size bed that looked much too big for the room.

"Straight to the heart of the mystery, huh?"

Barb was right behind me suddenly, too quick to have made it all the way from downstairs, or so it seemed. She seemed a little out of breath.

"Yeah, I guess I was curious. Downstairs plumbing in working order?"

"You know it. I like to make my mark everywhere I go. Maybe you noticed?"

I smiled, unsure of her meaning.

"I mark my territory, Freddie. So any bitches that come through after me will know they've got a fight on their hands."

My smile broadened. "You pee in every house you visit?"

"I guess you didn't notice. But yeah, it's like a little ritual for me. I mark it as my territory, so they have to take it from me if they want it."

I found this notion powerfully attractive. This woman, this woman, was our advocate in the gator-infested swamp. She guided us through hostile territory, pointing out the pitfalls, kicking tires on our behalf, and on top of that she invoked some kind of animalistic physical magic, throwing an invisible lasso around the grounds until her young charges had decided their course. I began to feel dizzy again, the pull was so strong.

"I bet it works," I said, weak as a kitten, incapable of coming up with anything better. That was not how the momentum was rolling, however, and I knew I needed to do better. I could sense Barb was looking for at least an equal--and if possible a dominant--animal force to rise to her expectations. Young and naïve as I was at the time, there was much to learn from the dynamics Barb was displaying. I'd be a fool not to take lessons from her.

What a contrast with Kelly, with whom I'd shared an almost excruciatingly equitable relationship for so long. Not that I thought it was wrong...at the time.

Barb said, "So, I guess we better take a look, huh, now that we're here."

"Let's do it," I said, recognizing a cue when I heard one.

I let out a long low breath and pulled open the door to the frog.

"Damn," she said, walking ahead of me through the doorway. "Stuffy in here. No AC. And what's that smell?"

"Stale smoke?"

"Something like that. Maybe this is their marijuana-den, a refuge from the kids, or something."

"It's not much of a room."

The pitched roof of the garage ran lengthwise away from the door, leaving only a third of the width of the space available to stand upright. At the far end, in the gable wall, was a small sash window. Down the center, on the carpeted floor, there was a long mat of some kind, maybe an inch thick, flanked by cheap big-box-store shelving and low tables. There was stuff on the shelves and tables: a CD player with attached speakers; a collection of baby-dolls clustered together and staring blankly; books, photographs in frames; wooden bowls, ceramic bowls, filled with fake flowers. At the end of the mat was another low table with some kind of figurine sitting in yet another bowl, metal this time.

"I think it might be incense," I said. "It looks like a shrine or something."

"Ah! I think you're right. And you know what I think this is? It's a yoga room. That's a yoga mat on the floor. I guess the rest of this stuff is for atmosphere."

She walked a few paces along the mat, and I noticed for the first time that she'd already taken off her shoes.

"Humid in here, too," she said, turning to face me, and while she held me in her steady gaze she slipped off her blue blazer and laid it across a pile of books on a table.

"Do you know any poses?" I said.

"I'm more flexible than you might think."

Still standing by the threshold, I kicked off my own shoes, crappy slip-on canvas deck shoes, and was thankful not to have to tussle with shoelaces at that moment.

"Show me," I said, walking towards her down the spongy mat."

"I'm not dressed for it, hon. I have a whole spandex get-up I wear for my workouts. You might mistake me for a wrestler."

She flashed a grin at me when she said 'wrestler,' and by this time I was right in front of her, feeling her body heat radiate out to me through her thin blouse. Her breasts were heaving as her breathing was still a little labored. It dawned on me (at last) that she must have taken off her shoes downstairs and then run upstairs to catch up to me. The realization made my heart thump powerfully in my chest and the resulting current pulsed through my body.

"We'll compromise," I said, and reached out to her top button.

"Uh-uh. Not before you kiss me with that mouth."

And since my hands were already reaching for her, I simply reached higher and placed my fingers along her jaw as she leaned her head towards me. Our lips touched, just lightly, but we lingered for a few seconds, frozen in the moment now that we were both certain of what was to come.

"Mmm, so soft," she said. Then she bit my lower lip and held it between her teeth for a second.

My elbows were resting on the downslope of her breasts...

...I say breasts because I still felt slightly deferential to this older woman who so clearly had her business well and truly in hand, confident and determined. But now that the jacket had been set aside, what I was confronted with was a perfect pair of honest-to-God tits of a magnitude and shape I'd never encountered so close-up. They deserved to be in an art gallery, documented in medical textbooks, referenced in journals of anthropology.

...So my elbows were resting on her magnificent tits, my fingers lightly holding her jaw, and when she bit me I involuntarily grabbed at the pronounced corner-bones where her jawline turned up towards her ears. I felt her body stiffen against me, just as mine had a second earlier, and we were locked in a kind of mutual spasm, tense and coiled, expectant.

My fingertips crept beyond her jaw and found the soft skin below her ears. I rubbed there, and after a moment she let out a long snort, finally releasing my lower lip and reengaging my mouth in a deep kiss.

It went on for many seconds. I ran my tongue behind her upper teeth, all ridges and edges. She sucked my tongue deeper into her mouth. Our lips pressed together hard and slid across and inside and outside, then softened into a more tender caress where every nerve tingled with electric charge.

I don't know what it is, physiologically, about kissing, but what began as pure lust was now vaulting into the higher reaches where passion is found. I could almost believe it's possible to fall in love just through kissing. Maybe it's why hookers refuse to do it.

Eventually, Barb pulled away and let out an impatient sigh.

"Mmm, lover. My God, I could do this all day, but we only have a thirty-minute slot at this place."

She raked her right hand down my chest right across my left nipple, which was like squirting lighter fluid on a barbecue. I reached for her blouse buttons again.

Her hand continued south and found my cock hard and straining against my jeans, pointing left. I think she'd meant to give me just a playful tweak but her hand hesitated and then lingered, and her fingers spread to explore the find.

"Jesus, hon," she said in a low voice, "that's so fine. It's been such a long time."

"For me, too," I said. "You don't know how good that feels."

She fumbled with my belt-buckle and I scrabbled at her blouse buttons until it was obvious we were wasting time. We separated and undressed quickly, which for me took barely five seconds--jeans, socks, T-shirt, underwear--giving me some time to watch Barb reveal her curves. The blouse came off and there was her substantial bra, the straps sunk into her shoulders, straining under the load. She reached behind her back with both hands and a second later there were the tits I'd been so preoccupied with for the last two days: hanging a little lower on her chest, now, but proud, forward, and vital. Stretch marks had appeared higher up on her chest, which along with the big pink areolas made the sight much more visceral than my imagination had been able to conjure. These tits of hers were shaped like cartoon teardrops, long and narrow at the top, flaring out into big bulbs down below that seemed to test the limits of physics. The slightly darker-pink nipples pointed left and right in a wanton, disorderly way that was inexplicably arousing to me.

She noticed me watching and smiled, and glanced down to look at my cock, which had swung out front like the yard from a ship's mast ready to set sail. She turned around then and said, "Help me with this, babe?" She pointed to the fastener on the waist of her blue skirt.

I stepped toward her and placed my hands on her ass for the first time. Once again I was struck by the scale of this woman: her broad back and shoulders, naked and pale, vulnerable somehow despite her stature; and then the compounded, amplified, maximized buttocks below, sticking out a foot or more to meet my erection. I could have laid out some paperwork and used her as a desk.

I released the fastener and drew down the short zipper below it, then stepped back to watch Barb wriggle her way out of the skirt. The silky slip underneath helped to reduce the friction, and after an interesting maneuver involving a forward thrust of her hips Barb dropped the skirt and slip in a heap around her ankles. Her underwear was white cotton and modest, necessarily so since there was so much ground to cover, but the right side had mostly disappeared into her crevice. She reached in and plucked it out before rolling them down her thighs and stepping out of them, turning to face me at the same time.

"No," I said. "Show me more."

She smiled and turned again, this time looking over her shoulder to watch me admire her. Her ass was expansive, as promised, high wide and deep, with barely any excess beyond a slight sag at the lowest points of her cheeks. Her sturdy thighs were complementary pillars to the gigantic flesh lintel above, like a living Stonehenge megalith.

"How about I show you one of my poses," Barb said. "Since you seem to like my ass so much I'll do the downward dog."

She crouched on the mat, facing the little statue in the metal bowl (which I now recognized as a serene Buddha), and went through a series of intermediate poses--reaching forward so she was on hands and knees; raising her knees and stepping back, left then right; lowering her head towards her swaying breasts while simultaneously straightening her legs. Her ass popped up again at waist level, her feet roughly shoulder-width apart.

"You can tell I'm doing it right," she said from far away and below, "because my heels are flat on the mat."

I stepped to one side to appreciate the pose. Barb's blonde hair was down around her face, her elbows were locked, and her tits were bumping her nose and chin like a pair of boxer's punch-bags. Her belly sagged from her midriff in an endearing way that emphasized her femininity.

I returned to her rear and stood between her legs then dropped to my knees, in part from the accelerating surge of blood to my cock and balls inducing more of the dizziness and patchy vision, in part as a simple act of appreciation for the spectacle in front of me. Also, I just wanted to bury my face in that big beautiful middle-aged ass.

I contemplated the deep valley of her cleft and appreciated Barb's vulnerability (and therefore her boldness) in presenting herself to me this way. I sensed a deep need in her, coming off her in waves, synchronized with my own throbbing desire. I parted her butt-cheeks with a hand on each and dipped my nose to run the length of her crevice, inhaling the warm salty fragrance that rose in an invisible mist from the fissure like a stirring volcano. I trailed the middle finger of my right hand down the canyon and felt the slickness of her perspiration, built up over a busy morning's activities, including the intimate friction of all that time in the driver's seat. My fingertip paused at her butthole, where the skin was swarthier as it bunched together to plunge into the void. I circled the ring with my fingertip, lubricated with her sweat, which had the consistency of baby oil. I felt her body twitch at the sensation, her ass-cheeks rippling slowly as at the shore of a lagoon, while her asshole briefly tightened around my digit.

I moved my right hand lower while lifting her left cheek out of the way, such was the overhang of firm flesh. Her labia were a riot of folded skin which I separated by bunching my fingertips, dipping in until I felt resistance, then spreading to make her flower bloom. The heat from her pussy was tremendous, emanating like a sigh from within her, while at the same time I heard a distant corresponding "Ohhhh" from far away, in what seemed like another time zone.

My fingers strummed and plucked as through playing arpeggios on Spanish guitar until I cleared the way to her clitoris. The biggest, stiffest clit I've ever encountered, it strained within its monk's hood as if it couldn't wait to meet me. As soon as I began to work it from the base, Barb's thighs began to quiver like the pillars of the temple of Dagon and I heard noises of protest coming from the north.