Ideal Suburbia Ch. 07a

This is a series of stories that are a sort of sequel to two text-adventure games. Each installment is a complete story on its own, but for a full understanding, the reader may want to start with Chapter 1.

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In the month after my first, disastrously embarrassing round of actual golf with my teaching pro Charlie, I went to the driving range several times each week. I also spent time on various practice greens, learning to use my ridiculously overpriced putter on a course that wasn't Miniature.

At work, things had gotten interesting. The owner Cathy had swept in one morning, and after she teased me about the golf lessons she was making me take, handed me a folder. "I've got an even tougher nut to crack than Gus," she told me. "And I seriously doubt that you could use the same methodology this time...."

She gave me a challenging grin.

"The customer is Gretchen Williams, whose company buys a ton of products in our segment, but none of it from us. Phil threw in the towel on her on Monday and gave up the account." Wow. Phil was the number one performer in the sales force. A real alpha. If he gave up, this really was a tough one. "Read all his notes about her before you call her. And read all MY notes from when I tried selling to her myself before I gave the account to Phil."

"Look," Cathy said, pausing in the doorway as she left my office, "I genuinely do not expect you to close her, not anytime soon, and not unless something changes with her existing supplier." She leaned against the door frame, giving me a better than usual profile view of her magnificent figure. "But I thought I'd let you have a chance. You are creative and you get results. Even if you suck at golf."

I read the file multiple times, over several days, before taking Phil to lunch and picking his brain, for all the good I thought it would do me. I also attempted to take Cathy for a drink to ask her advice after work one day. (Nothing more, CKE has a hyper-strict no fraternizing policy among its workers) but my brain picking was confined to 15 minutes in the corporate lobby because Cathy had a date that night (different guy from the last one she had told us about). She also had another lingerie bag, this time from La Perla, which she eagerly wanted to show me the contents of. I was quiveringly silent as she held it over her regal body, then managed to croak out a "nice." I suspected that was the reaction she was looking for.

At last, I took the plunge and scheduled a meeting at Gretchen's office. She pleasantly agreed, but I could hear in her voice that this was the kind of sales call people like her took in order to leave my card on her desk when her actual preferred supplier next called on her. That sort of move keeps the incumbents on their toes.

When I was shown into Gretchen's office (she made me wait ten minutes past our appointment time--enough to make the point, but not so long as to be terribly inconsiderate), I reflected that at least this dance would be fun. Gretchen was a lot like my boss. She owned and ran a not inconsiderable-sized business at the same young age, and had the same easy grace and confidence in her position that I always found attractive. She also had a similarly alluring body, and dressed, like Cathy, in a conservative fashion, but with those clothes expertly custom tailored to make their ostensibly conservative lines really draw the eye, and please it too. Finally, she truly had an engaging personality and a genuinely funny sense of humor. She laughed easily, and made others laugh easily too. If she was really gong to be as tough to sell as I'd been told, at least the experience would be pleasant.

I didn't expect any magical business to come out of this meeting. I just wanted to extract some questions out of her that I could get back to her with answers on in a follow up call. It was the salesperson equivalent of leaving my sweater at her house. I also played the Young Man in Need of Mentoring card, asking her a few questions about her industry to which I already knew the answers, and a few more that I genuinely wasn't sure about. I got everything that I could have reasonably hoped for from her, actually. I'd had pretty good dates where had I had accomplished fewer of my goals than I did with Gretchen on this sales call.

I calculated that I should wait about 5 days before calling her back to let her know I had the answers to her questions and also had some other follow up on our discussion. I reflected that I should try to take her to dinner as an 'appreciation' for her time. I would research one of the best restaurants in the city, but not a romantic hot spot, of course. On second thought, most everything had been tried with this woman already, there had been no ring on her left hand, and no pictures of a man in her office. Maybe I should really lean into the attractive young man in need of education thing? It had worked for me before in other situations...

I left the "romantic" hot spots on my list for further consideration.

That Saturday, I scheduled myself to hang the new carriage lights that I had bought for my garage and then plant the flat of strawberry plants I had picked up at the same store. I really loved fresh strawberries, and it was my experience the most women did too.

I was just getting down off the ladder after wiring in the second carriage light when a soft voice purred behind me. "Well, hello there!" I turned and saw a mature woman standing in my driveway. Mature in an excellent way. She was about the same age, I guessed, as my 'friend' Samantha the soccer mom, and probably about as attractive, though in a far more extravagant way. "I heard through the grapevine that we had a new neighbor in the area, and here you are," she said, introducing herself. "I'm Blanche. My daughter and I live a few streets down."

That was smooth. She had told me that she had actively been looking for me, and that she had no man in the picture, all without saying any of it out loud. She was dressed in a style that I'd like see more of which I like to call 'casual sexpot'. She had on tight, dark blue jeans, with sequins encrusting the generous round ass, and silver slip-on sneakers. Her top was a long-sleeved wrap around blouse that left just enough bare skin exposed above her low-waisted jeans to show off a smooth, impressively flat belly. Or maybe it just looked flat underneath her impressive rack. Wrap around blouses can show as much or as little cleavage as the wearer desired, and Blanche desired to show a lot. And she had a lot to show. Her breasts were large, full, arrestingly shaped and gravity defying. Even without the evidence of her nipples subtly poking agains the fabric of her blouse, it was clear from the way her blouse fit that she wore no bra. I reflected for an instant that I now was personally acquainted in this city with almost as many neighbors with surgically enhanced chests as strippers who had made similar investments. And the neighbors had employed a much better class of surgeon.

Don't get me wrong, I have zero problem with fake boobs. And less than that with really well done ones. All I ask is that they not be cartoonishly big, or uneven, or hard as a rock if I get lucky enough find out about it.

I realized that I had left my gaze on her chest for far too long and extended my hand to shake hers. She seemed unfazed by my lingering gaze and I supposed that if you spent that kind of money on a luxury, you'd want it to be noticed. The cut of her blouse certainly supported that hypothesis, though you could never tell with women on that subject.

I released her hand and offered, "Want to come in? Can I get you a bottled water or some iced tea? It's hot today for a walk."

"I'd love to," she purred and followed me into the house so closely she was almost touching me. I waved her to the brand new modern chair I was already regretting spending so much money on and headed for the kitchen. However I noted that she took a seat on the sectional sofa instead.

"Lovely home you have," she called out to me as I poured iced teas in the kitchen. The house has a very open floor plan and conversation between the kitchen and great room is simple. "The decor is very different. You can tell this is a man's house." The way she emphasized the word 'man' was sultry. I shook my head and smiled wonderingly to myself. I'd been hit on plenty of times before, but Blanche was setting a new land speed record. What was her game?

I handed her her tea and sat with mine a few feet from her on the couch. She languidly crossed her legs and took a deep, ostentatious pull on the glass. Her legs were displayed nicely by her tight-fitting jeans, and while they were nothing amazing in the length department, they were certainly well-shaped.

We engaged in idle chit-chat for a bit while she made eyes at me. I found myself eyeing her back, a little warily. Hers were outlined in rather extensive dark pencil, and her lips bore dark red lipstick that I could already see was going to take extra effort to get off that iced tea glass. She made a subtle, quiet slurping, no, sucking sound with each sip of tea. I decided to see how this was going to go and just smiled and leaned forward a fraction more each time she put her lips to that tall glass. "Let me see your kitchen," she demanded suddenly, uncoiling herself from the couch and proceeded toward said kitchen, leaving me to follow with a great view of her swaying, rounded ass.

She stopped as we entered and exclaimed, "Wow! That is a great island in here. There is an amazing amount of counter space in this kitchen. It must be so easy to cook in here!" The sultry momentarily departed her voice. Apparently she really was distracted by my kitchen's fairly extravagant design. But not for long. She turned, her gaze once more on me, and moved to stand awfully close by my side. "Do you have anything else impressive to show me?" she cooed.

Jesus, I felt like the hapless but lucky male character in pornos who gets overwhelmed out of nowhere by a stranger. And then it hit me with perfect clarity, no matter how unlikely it seemed. This woman had decided to live out a porno fantasy... with me. Whether she'd done it before or not I didn't know. By 'done it before', I mean seduced a random stranger, not watched a porno. She clearly liked those. She knew all the tropes. But how had she settled on me as the guy to be her porn star? I chuckled to myself that she was right and I had at the very least the minimum qualifications, but how had she known? Whatever, my part at this point was to be confused and a little scared.

"Uh, well, uh," I stuttered. "I, uh, I think that the kitchen should be an indoor/outdoor thing. Let's, uh, let's go out back. I can show you that!" I rushed outside to the brand new high-end grill I had fortunately just purchased. She followed and looked dutifully impressed, before saying, "I guess all REAL men do love their cooking with fire, don't you think?" She stepped toward me and I stepped backwards to fall on the seat of the patio bench. She flowed down to sit right beside me, her hand finding its way to rest on my thigh... high on my thigh. Blanche leaned across me to point at the privacy fence, her firm breasts pressing against me as she did so. "That is the most impressive privacy fencing I've seen on any street in this area," she exclaimed. I allowed that it was indeed effective (if the neighbors didn't climb the trees), and she sat back to purr, "Good!" Meanwhile her hand on my thigh slid right onto my lap. She looked around, then back to me, starting to massage my swelling bulge. "That way people can wear whatever they want to when they hop in your pool!"

Blanche idly tugged at the neckline of her already clevalicious blouse for a moment. I let my gaze plunge down her front, but then started and jumped up from the frankly, uncomfortable seat. I backed away onto the grass and she followed me with leonine implacability. But I could tell she was getting impatient. My running away could veer away from being my expected part in this little play into a disastrous over-reach. Her next words confirmed my analysis.

"Tell me," she purred, her hand reaching straight out to cup my now near fully swollen bulge, "What does a girl have to do around here to get laid in this house?"

I laughed with a little panic still in my voice, and pretended to make a joke out of it. "Well, you certainly are making a good start!"

"Am I? Good. I guess I'll just have to keep going then," she smiled predatorily, Whatever kind of pornos she watched, they clearly had Cougar in the title. She reached up to pull my head down so she could kiss me deeply and pressed her luxuriant body against mine. I slowly let my hands grasp her ass, pulling her against me hesitantly. "Oh yeah," she sighed. She tugged on my t-shirt and pulled it off over my head, then ran her hands down over my pecs, stroking them hungrily. "You have such a nice chest," she murmured. "Do you like mine?"

I slowly lifted my hands to her impressive archworks and caressed them, squeezed them, admired them. Then, as if giving in, I pulled her neckline open, exposing her tits fully and bent to devour them. She threw her head back and laughed as I suckled at those sizable artifices. Her nipples were dark and large and eagerly erect. I tried to reply, "I like your chest very, very much," without removing her nipple from my mouth and it came out garbled. She got the gist though, and pressed her nipple harder into my mouth.

I reluctantly slipped my hands from her breasts and reached behind her to unfasten the wrap around blouse, eagerly pulling it open and off of her body. Her delicious tits bounced free, thrusting out at me aggressively, just the way a good MILF-porn cougar's should. I briefly wished I had gone ahead and set up the surveillance cameras the guy at Best Buy had tried to sell me, and resolved to do so in short order. I reached behind her to grab her ass, then slid my fingers down and under her to massage the very damp crotch of her jeans.

Blanche muttered happily, but was almost immediately fumbling at the fly of my own jeans. They were button fly and when she tugged hard, they all popped open in quick series. As usual with these jeans, I wore no underwear. When you wear button fly, that is safe enough, after all. All nearly eight inches of me sprang forth and she gasped. I was fascinated to perceive that it wasn't surprise at my size, but in satisfaction about it. She knelt before me and caressed my length as she pushed my jeans down further and I kicked them aside. "So the gossip is true," she muttered to herself almost involuntarily, but I heard her quiet comment.

My mind worked fast. Gossip? How had she heard? Which of the women had I made love to in this town had started the rumor? How many women in these parts were walking around with the thought in their head that a new young, single guy in town was well-hung and DTF? How could...

My wandering thoughts were cut off by the entry of my cock between her lips. I sighed happily as she began to suck on me. I was interested to perceive that Blanche, for all her earthy forwardness, did not in fact know a lot about sucking cock. She simply held the base of my cock like a tea cup handle and was choking on little more than a couple of inches of me in her mouth. But she was game, and that counts for a lot. She pulled my cock from her lips, licked it all over and rubbed it on her face, looking up at me like she was smiling for a point of view camera. She bent to suck my dick some more, plenty wet and sloppy at least. Going with the genre, I pulled my cock from her mouth and bent my knees to slap it against her beautiful tits with my hand, first one, then the other. My dick bounced off their wonderful elasticity. Then I rubbed the head against her eagerly hard nipples and she bit her lip and looked at me.

"You want to fuck my titties?" she asked breathlessly, quoting dialog from hundreds of porn flicks. "You want to fuck my big, beautiful tits?" I nodded breathlessly and truthfully and laid my cock between her breasts. She started to clamp them together around me, then paused and spit a big ball of saliva down on my already sopping wet cock for additional lubrication, then squeezed her tits together around me. I gasped as they entrapped me and I began to thrust in and out of her warm embrace.

"You like my big tits, don't you?" she demanded, and I gasped that yes I did, very very much. "My husband bought them for me... after the divorce. He didn't know he was going to buy them for me, and boy was he mad when he found out, but he bought them." She laughed, departing the porno script for a moment. "And he's never going to touch them!" she almost sang, and began to to shake them up and down around my cock.

Alright, my familiarity shows that I like a porno or two myself, and this scenario that I was suddenly living had my engine going full blast. I reflected that my schedule was free and I had all day to fuck this magnificent cougar, so I let my cock run away with the pleasure. I gasped that I was going to come soon, and replaced her grasp on her tits with my own hands, squeezing them hard together around my sliding shaft.

"Already?" she asked in something like alarm.

"Take all you want," I grunted though the effort. "I'll make more!" My cock was buried deep between her tits as I poured out my jizz. I gasped with release. What perfectly fuckable tits. I made a few spasmodic thrusts more but quickly released her bounteous chest and sank to my knees on the grass before her. She looked down with a bemused smile at her cum-soaked cleavage and wiped at it with a finger. Almost hesitantly, she licked the finger clean.

I lost track of how she wanted to clean herself up. I was moving on. My hands went to the fly of her fashion jeans and tugged it open, revealing a leopard print thong underneath. I tugged hungrily down on her jeans and she stood, wriggling her hips to help them slide downward. I gently lifted one leg, then the other to remove the jeans from her completely. My hands slid up the freshly shaven sides of her firm legs and grasped her round, bounteous ass. I bent to kiss her navel, then slid my lips down, around and over the minimal fabric still covering her. I lifted a leg, and she balanced easily on the other. I planted wet kisses on her inner thigh, moving up to her groin. I audibly inhaled her aroma and let her leg down slowly so I could slide my hand between her legs and slip the fabric of her thong to one side. My fingers probed her pussy gently but deeply, and she uttered a simple, eloquent, "Oh!" I slipped my fingers from the moist interior and with both hands slid the interfering thong to the ground.

Then I pulled Blanche down to the ground as well and lost myself between her legs, my tongue probing her, exploring her depths and the shape of her clit. "Oh, yes!" she breathed, "That! That! That right fucking there! Please don't stop." She kept begging me to keep going, and of course I did. Happily. I did come up for air once, and she wailed for me to continue. She even pressed my head back between her legs. She was obviously close.

I considered torturing her with a longer wait, but this lovely MILF had gone to a lot of trouble to get me to make her come. I am a considerate gentleman, after all. Besides, I could not make her come all day if I didn't start now...

And start I did. I set to licking her with purpose. Pushing every button my tongue could reach. I spread her legs out wide and above my shoulders. She was no gymnast, but she was limber enough. I tickled the spread inner surfaces of her thighs as I licked. Soon, she drew up her knees involuntarily and actually shrieked, loudly, as she came.

I kept licking her to draw another spasm or two from her, but I did stop a little sooner than I might otherwise have. I rose and looked at her with a big, satisfied grin on my soaking wet face. But I raised a finger to my lips and whispered, "Shhh! That was so satisfying, but... While these privacy fences are effective, they won't stop that volume!" Blanche put her hands over her mouth and giggled silently in response. Then she collapsed back against the grass.