Guilty Pleasures Ch. 07

Welcome to my latest series, mashing up a few more tropes. This series turned out to be a crazy ride, so get ready for something that ends quite unlike it begins.

One thing you can be sure of, even though this is Literotica, and this story could easy veer off into... THERE, it does not in fact, go THERE. So either don't fear, or don't get your hopes up, whichever your preference.

Also, as we wander through Act Two, there seems to be in the comments a belief that there needs to be some of THAT as well. There is indeed a plausible argument for inflicting a bit of THAT on certain characters, but that ain't going to happen either. At least not the way you think...

Lastly, as always, I am not going for deep truths or gritty realism. The aim for me is a plausibly ridiculous course of events.

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Guilty Pleasures - Seven

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After Wanda walked home, a pep in her step and a gleam in her eyes that told me she was looking forward to still more sex, this time with a waiting Yancey, I collapsed with a large scotch. Ye gods, the woman was amazing.

I for one was done for, and I wandered back to my bedroom to sleep. I didn't bother with my pajamas, just striping bare and crawling into bed. I didn't make the damned thing either. I just grabbed a sheet and a pillow from the floor and cuddled down for about five seconds before sleep took me.

I awoke Sunday feeling far more refreshed than my forty five year-old body had any right to after all the previous day's activities. I looked at the clock and popped out of bed. I took a good shower, during which I thought a good bit about Wanda. Despite the content of those thoughts, I got not a trace of an erection. My guy had done his job superhumanly well the day before, and he deserved a rest. Actually, he was going to take a rest, whether I thought he deserved it or not.

I almost just left my bed for another day, but I realized that Becca and her friends would still quite possibly be over later. My daughter, and sometimes others, would occasionally use my bathroom if the others were all in use, and I did not want to explain to her friends, much less Pumpkin herself, how my bed came to look like it did!

I slid into my backyard hanging out trunks, sunscreened up, and went out to get some work done. I had done zero work on Saturday, and I was behind.

Becca's friends did indeed start showing up at the expected time, in about three carloads.

Mary was back in the crowd, but she still kept her distance from me. So, thank God, did Carol and Anne. The last thing I needed was any of them starting up with me again. Some sins, I needed to put behind me.

The reptilian brain in me also noted that it would be quite awkward if circumstances got to the point where I had to explain to any of them why I was so fucked out as to be suddenly impotent...

No, the only problem I had to deal with, other than more work than I could possibly accomplish before it was time to grill burgers for everyone, was Stephanie. Since she had determined that I would let her have booze the last time she was there, I was now her friend. And being who and what she was, that meant she had to actually full-on flirt with me, at least a little. When she came over for her first White Claw of the day, she had her ID again. This time, she had it tucked into the top of her bikini, nestled against the inner curve of her breast. She even tugged gently at the fabric of the smallish top as she pulled free the driver's license with her other hand. The tug wasn't enough to flash nipple at me or anything, but it was enough to let me know that she could have, had she wanted.

Thank God that this girl, at least, wasn't actually interested. She was just a sexy beast, knew it, and liked to exercise the fact.

"You don't need to keep flashing me your ID, Stephanie," I said drily, regretting my word choice, and trying to look back at my laptop, adjusting it slightly on my legs, because even my exhausted cock had twitched at the show.

"Just wanted to be sure, Mister Howard," she giggled, and popped back up to rejoin her friends. My eyes could not help but follow her ass all the way across the pool deck until she joined a group of two guys and Anne. I sighed as I watched. Even if I wanted to put up with the sarcasm and bluntness I always heard from her to her friends, come on. My self-confidence had taken astronomical boosts lately, but that little Ferrari of a girl? Still far beyond my league.

Unfortunately, I realized that Anne had been following my eyes as they followed Stephanie, and she was looking at me in amusement. I actually blushed tiny bit, but she did nothing but raise one elegant eyebrow at me, then turn away. That girl was one cool customer.

When she turned away and wasn't looking at me, I could not help but shift my gaze to appreciate her backside as well, shameful old goat that I am.

Why did it have to have been Anne who put the moves on me first? She was not stacked like Mary or Carol, although she was still amazing looking, as my eyes' magnetic hold testified at the moment. But Anne had that extra something, that extra measure of grace, and a knowing nature that had been lethal to my self-restraint on the cruise.

Had Mary or Carol made their move on me first, I really think I might have been able to say no. And if I had said no to the first of them, I'd have been able to say no to the rest. I would have had to. But Anne had been first to decide to 'help me', and I had not been able to say no. Not to her.

I sighed and dove back into work.

*

Monday was a good day at the office. My team seemed more interested in working than usual. My email bin was full of less crap.

Or maybe I just was still on a post-orgasmic high from Saturday.

Then at 3:30, a new email popped up. Sigh.

It was a message from the Human Resources department. One of the nice perks offered by the start-up where I worked was extensive vacation time. The kids we mostly employ especially like to see that during the recruitment process. One of the realities of start-ups however, is that people seldom actually take much vacation. We tend to hire workaholics who then reinforce that in each other, and it always seems like things are just slightly on fire anyway. But HR was upset that too much vacation time was being accrued and it was a problem. Would employees please consider scheduling some?

Then I got another email for a management all-hands meeting the next day, and it was signed by both Trevor our founder and CEO, and Thalia, the new President. That meant that whatever the meeting would concern was about something the two of them were fighting about.

We had recently gotten a second round of venture capital funding, and with that money had come Thalia, an experienced tech executive who was there to help 'professionalize' our management practices. The two Ts were a great team, but not a smoothly cooperative one. Trevor was frankly brilliant, and immensely creative. He was crazy hard-working and intensely motivational to those around him. Thalia was experienced and conventional. She was every bit as smart as Trevor was brilliant, and was a 'write the book, then live by that book' kind of stickler. And she nurtured, rather than inspired. Trevor was intensely gay, and while Thalia seemed moderately attractive, she hid even that under frumpy clothes. At least the rest of us did not have to deal with the kind of shit-show there would have been, had there been even the slightest romantic chemistry between those two.

More importantly from my perspective, I was confident that the two of them were going to make me far more of a millionaire than I already was. Enough of a millionaire for that word to actually matter. But until then, they were a pain in the ass whenever they got cross-wise of each other. They usually ended up with both getting their way, and the rest of us getting a lot of new requirements.

This time, it was the vacation thing.

"The accrued vacation labor account is becoming a significant liability on the balance sheet," Thalia started right in. "We want to target a situation where the average employee has no more than a week, at the most two, of as yet unscheduled vacation at any time. Right now, the average is almost four."

"It shouldn't be a problem," put in Gary from Accounting. "I had one person already email me after the HR email earlier to request a week this November."

"Yeah," added Reggie, who managed the rest of the designers that I did not. "I had one of my guys ask to extend a weekend two days in August."

"Anybody else?" Thalia asked drily. "Exactly. We are talking about a drop in the bucket, people. We need leadership and management from you guys. But we also need you to set a goddamned example. You are collectively averaging more than a year's vacation time in arrears yourselves. Linda, you have almost two!" I saw Trevor smile approvingly at Linda. He seemed to feel that vacations were for useless layabouts and corpses. "I'm asking all of you to take visible, mid-week vacations and use up some time. Take a week, if you can."

"Let's not get crazy, Thalia," Trevor said. "A Tuesday through Thursday will make the point."

"But make it soon," Thalia said, backing down on the week thing, having made her own point.

"I don't know," Reggie said slowly. "The way things are right now, I'm not sure I want to leave my team alone with the current design."

Thalia frowned. "If you can't leave your team on their own for two or three scheduled days, Reggie, that is a problem."

Trevor leaned in, equally frowning, and addressed us all. "Absolutely. Any manager whose team can't run smoothly on their own for a few days... even a week," he added, as a concession toward Thalia, "needs to be repurposed. Do I need to call Harry about any of your positions?" Harry was our headhunter.

Okay then. When the two of them were suddenly in agreement on something...

We all needed to take vacation.

"Clark already got in a good start," Trevor added, suddenly pointing the spotlight at me, exactly where I hated it in meetings. "He took a whole week's cruise!"

"True," Thalia acknowledged. Then she smiled at me almost pityingly. "But was that a vacation, really? You were stuck on a boat with your daughter and her friends, Clark." She turned to Trevor, "That was more childcare than vacation!" That got a laugh, which I joined in. "He came back looking more worn out than refreshed!"

If you only knew, woman, I thought, considering what little I knew about the body beneath her business suit. If I did everything I did on that boat with you, you'd be worn out too!

Jesus!

Now I was fantasizing about Thalia Fucking Williams? Fuck that noise! I valued my life, professionally and literally. The woman scared me a little.

She was still going to make me legit rich...

"Fine. Clark, you need to take a short vacation, too. No kids this time," Trevor said firmly.

*

Wednesday, Yancey and I had drinks after work. We had used to do that all the time, back when we first became friends. After a while, the practice had dwindled. That probably had to do with the fact that it dwindled about the same time that Yancey started fucking my not-yet-ex-wife and had been feeling guilty about having done it. Had I known about that at the time, I imagine I would have reduced the buddy-buddy act just a tad more than Yancey had...

But now, I felt like that cloud that I had been unaware of over our friendship was lifting, and Wednesdays were looking like a renewed ritual.

I told him about the meeting, and my amusement at the looks on some peoples' faces when Trevor made his comment about headhunting their positions if they couldn't take a vacation. Yancey laughed. He worked for a big, established corporation, and never had any trouble taking whatever vacation they gave him.

"You know," he said, taking a big slug of beer, "you should take Wanda on a trip somewhere for a few days. Somewhere like Vegas."

"What the fuck?" I asked, jaw slack in astonishment.

"Sure," he said, matter of factly. "She gets a shit-ton more vacation days than I do, and usually wastes them just hanging around the house. Spend a hall pass on a little getaway."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me, Yancey! This is supposed to be evening things up, not going crazy and leaving us in your debt!"

"Uh," Yancey said, suddenly uncomfortable. "I think it is a good idea." He hemmed and hawed and I got that queasy feeling in my gizzard. "Rebecca and I did spend those three days in Tahoe."

"What three days in Tahoe?" I asked, after taking a very large slug of beer. "Rebecca's never been to Tahoe in her life--certainly not while we were married, absolutely not without me!"

"Remember that Reno convention she went to?"

I wracked my brain... "Yeah. I think so. But that was Reno, not Tahoe. She even spoke at a seminar one of those nights!"

"That was actually just a one-day event. The rest of the time she was gone, the two of us spent shacking up in a condo by Lake Tahoe, while I was supposed to be in Sacramento," Yancey said with increasing courage. "I'm sorry man, but I think something like Vegas is actually a really good idea."

"Christ!"

And that, kiddies, is how I ended up spending the next two days making plane reservations and reserving a suite for two nights at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas for myself and my friend's wife, only three weeks hence.

*

That Friday, it was my turn to host our neighborhood group of friends. Since it was summer, and at my place, it was a pool party.

Now listen: No, when I hosted my adult neighbors around that pool, it was not some crazy, skinny-dipping festival of middle-aged, suburban debauchery. There were several wives among us that made that fact a crying shame, but in our neighborhood, we were just not that kind of people. No, we hung outside, a few people sat on the edge of the pool and dipped their lower legs in the water. Mostly, we just got together, ate, drank, socialized, and engaged in a little, low-key flirting.

It had been that way since before my ex and I had divorced, though I had probably done a lot more flirting back when I was married. Once I was single, I had dialed that back.

The flirting parameters were kind of skewed with Wanda, at least currently. For the time being.

I was at the grill, trying to replenish the bratwurst. I had bought a new brand and... demand was exceeding supply. I had sufficient in reserve, but I had not cooked enough of them at the start and had been playing catch-up all night. Wanda appeared at my side and murmured in my ear, "Such delicious-looking sausage..."

"I'll give you some sausage," I growled back.

"Yes you will," she chuckled. "Here, there, and everywhere in Vegas."

"I'm going All In," I parried.

"Take your vitamins," she laughed.

And just like that, we segued back onto the subject of gardening. We both were starting to find Canada Thistle in our yards, and getting rid of that was a very important discussion.

Then Wanda decided to get weird.

"So Clark," she suddenly asked, "when are you going to move on and start finding a woman or women for your life?"

"I happen to be enjoying one woman in particular right now," I answered with a smile.

"Yeah sure, but... limited time offer, remember?" Wanda said earnestly, touching her chest. "You need to be working on the future, Mister."

"Um, again, in the middle of a situation, remember?" I said uncertainly.

"You and I are not a situation. And we sure aren't a relationship. We have a project, remember?" Wanda nearly snapped. "Clark, you were a fucking monk for years. You finally broke out of your shell, in not my favorite manner I'll admit, but I was glad in principal to see the breaking out. I don't want to be holding you back. Go out and get laid a little."

"What? Now?"

"Not tonight! There are only married women here. Let's not go down that road. But have a fling or too," Wanda said.

"Now? I mean, before..."

"Yes. Of course." The woman I was currently fucking, on and off, was practically badgering me to go fuck someone else in between...

"Clark, if you like them younger, maybe try that Stephanie dish who is always hanging around Mary and Becca. She's a doll, and she's a dear."

"Stephanie? The bitch?" I asked. My mind began processing Stephanie in her various bikinis again...

"She is not a bitch!" Wanda said sharply. "That's horrible!" I looked at her. "Okay, her sense of humor's a little rough, but she has a heart of gold."

"Really?"

"All the girls love her. She's always willing, usually even happy to help out, with big things or small. It isn't really my story to tell, but ask Mary some time about what Stephanie did for her."

Why was Wanda inviting me to have conversations with her daughter? Conversations of an apparently intimate nature? My mind came back to the weird way she carefully refused to say that I needed to stay away from Mary in the future.

"Well, she's out of my league," I said firmly.

Wanda laughed. "I don't know about that. But I will give you that she is Becca's best-looking friend."

I made a face and rocked my head side to side to indicate that that was debatable.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or outraged that you are talking about my daughter."

"Flattered, of course, since she looks so much like you," I said. "But..." I made the same face and gesture of ambivalence.

"Oh ho! Well, I guess our daughters do hang out with their fair share of hotties," Wanda smiled. "So do you sit around and rank them during those pool parties?"

"I do not!" I exclaimed, totally truthful and totally indignant. I never ranked them. They were all tens.

And I had indeed already been down the very young women road. I did not need to widen that road any further, no matter how attractive a parkway that would make. "I'd just like to find a woman a little closer to my age, please," I added.

"Trying to wean him off you already, dear?" Yancey asked, from right behind me. I jumped. I had had no idea that he had snuck up behind me. "Don't be so ready to be done with Wanda yet, Clark. There are two more hall passes to go."

My startlement had me momentarily crabby. "I'd think that you might be eager for this whole thing to be done and behind you."

"Oh, I don't know," Yancey said. "Don't get me wrong," he added hastily, as much to Wanda as to me, "when it is done, I want it to be done. But... I'm kind of having fun with it while it lasts."

"Really?" I asked, half sarcastically, half in wonder.

"Yeah," Yancey said, almost wondering himself. "I mean, I expected it to feel weirdly good. Like it was healing. Cleansing maybe. And it does that. I'm already jumping at a lot fewer shadows these days..." He paused, as if not sure he wanted to go on. "But Clark? I also like that Wanda is having some genuine fun. That's weird but true. What's really weird is, she and I are having more fun as well. Every time she comes home? The feeling of taking her back, making her mine once more, all over again? Best sex ever," he said firmly, moving to put his arm around Wanda. She snuggled under his arm happily.

I smiled at Yancey, and grinned at Wanda. "Oh yeah," she said in confirmation. "Sex when I'm not always just a little mad at him in the background? Forgot how good that was." She paused visibly. "This is working, Clark."

I opened my mouth. What I wanted to say was, 'Any time in the future, Yancey, when you want someone to bone your totally hot wife for you so that you can Reclaim her, I'm available.' But I just closed my mouth, because that was utterly untrue. I hoped they never needed anyone else, and if they did, it was not going to be me, no matter how appealing the idea was.

Wanda disengaged herself from Yancey's casually emphatic embrace and went in search of wine.