Josie Gets Picked Up

My story starts on a Friday morning. My husband of 16 years and two sons left early that day for a "guys weekend" at a friend's lake cabin, where they would spend the weekend fishing and doing other outdoorsy stuff. I was happy to be left behind. Five minutes after the car backed out of the driveway I was spread out in bed, my phone next to me loudly playing whatever random porn video came up next, my panties around my ankle, draining the last from the batteries in my favorite vibrator and not caring how much noise I was making.

My name is Josie. I'm close enough to 40 that I don't like to say the number. I'm the only female in my house, outnumbered three to one, which means that the house is never as clean as I'd like. I recently learned that I'm what most internet porn sites would classify as a spinner; I'm 4'10 in socks, never topped 94 lbs except when pregnant. I had to stop roughhousing with the boys when they reached third grade and gained the size advantage over me. And, yes, I do occasionally buy clothes in the kids department.

The first question most people ask me when we meet is "how tall are you?" I'm short obviously. Use your eyes. Then they always ask if I was a gymnast when I was younger. It's always creepy when guys ask me that -- I know what they're thinking. See spinner comment above.

The truth is that I was into gymnastics and cheerleading quite a bit. But when I started high school I started to recognize that some of the looks and comments and even touches those same creepy guys were giving me were not something I should be inviting. (Seriously!?! I don't care if you call yourself a coach, I don't want you grabbing me and throwing me around!) So I quit all activities and entered my boxy clothes phase. That lasted well into college, where I was the girl who always carried mace and made sure my friends knew basic self defense and how to throw a punch. When I met my husband and after finishing school, my style went more toward young professional, little skin shown. Then came the kids, and I went into my mom clothes phase. More recently I've started branching out, dressing a little more stylish, even a little more sexy when I could. My husband never had much of a sex drive. I think that's part of what attracted me to him when I was younger; he was always a gentleman, never made me feel uncomfortable. But that was starting to wear thin.

Ok, so enough background. Back to the present. I'm alone in my house, naked in bed, toying myself with one hand and tweaking a nipple with the other. I'd been dragging out one long orgasm when, much to my dismay, the batteries died, the buzzing stopped, and the only noise was my own panting. I tossed the toy to the side and took matters into my own hands, finishing myself with another loud, full-body orgasm. I lay in bed, breathing heavily, my wet fingers slowly moving up my body. I looked around the room, still too paranoid that someone might be watching, before taking my fingers into my mouth and licking them clean. This was a new habit, something I picked up in the last few years when I found my sex drive spiking. As this was inverse to the trajectory of my hubby's sex drive, it manifested primarily in an increase in lingerie purchases, online porn viewing, and random moments alone like this.

I eventually forced myself out of bed and pulled open the curtains. It was a beautiful Friday morning in the fall. The sun was shining and leaves were at peak color. There was a strong wind, which meant that those leaves could all be on the ground by the next morning. That meant no more standing naked in front of the bedroom window until next spring, lest the neighbors get an eyeful. And none of my neighbors were worthy of this view.

I hopped into the shower and lathered up while planning my weekend. Drinks with the girls was out; they all had plans with their families that weekend. I could get a jump on Christmas shopping, but had no ideas what teenage boys wanted, so better to wait for their letters to Santa. I could go shopping for myself, or spoil myself with a trip to the spa. But, sigh... wasn't really in the mood. Maybe tomorrow. This day what I really wanted more than anything was to put on some comfy clothes and bake some cookies and binge the kind of tv that my hubby doesn't ever want to watch with me. I suppose I should clean a little bit too...

After the shower, I hung up the towel and let my skin air dry while drying my hair. I left it in a basic ponytail for the day. Then minimal makeup, no need to impress anyone. I did take a long look at myself in the mirror. Not bad for almost 40. Having kids sure didn't give me the big tits I always wanted, but on the bright side my A-cups stayed high and firm. Another recent change related to my increased sex drive was my habit of keeping my pubic area hair-free. I loved the look, and it made wearing a skirt a lot more fun. Hubby liked it too, even though he hadn't gone down on me in months. I inspected myself in the mirror and found no worrisome stubble that needed to be taken care of.

Content with how I looked, I went back to the bedroom, slowly walking past the window, and started to get dressed. Just basic cotton panties and sports bra today, gray yoga pants, an old red tshirt that was at the perfect level of fade and ware. I picked the vibrator off the bed and tried it one more time, still no buzz. I popped out the batteries and made a mental note to replace those ASAP, then washed the toy in the bathroom sink and re-hid it in the back of my lingerie drawer.

After a cup of coffee and phone scrolling, I started the cleaning, focusing on the kitchen, living room and hallways, so that I wouldn't have to see anyone else's mess for the rest of the weekend. I then made a list of what I needed at the store. I had most everything I needed for my favorite cookie recipe, except for honey and vanilla. And I couldn't find any more AA batteries sitting around, so would definitely need to buy more of those. Eventually, with nothing better to do, I slipped on my furry boots, put on a denim jacket, and drove to the store.

I picked up a basket when I walked into the store, and, out of habit, slowly wandered around instead of just going to the three things I needed. Enough time wasted, I found a 10 pack of AA batteries and put them in my basket, then made my way to the baking goods section.

I found the honey I needed, but, as was my curse in life, it was on the top shelf, out of my reach. Sometimes I was able to step up onto the bottom shelf to reach, but the bottom shelf was full with plastic barriers that would snap if I stepped on them. I thought about hopping, and looked around to see how many people would have to endure that embarrassing site. When I turned to my left I nearly headbutted another customer.

Well, maybe headbutted isn't the right word, as my head would have struck him just below his ribs. We both sputtered out apologies as he took a half step back. He was older than me, I'd guess mid 40's, stubble, short hair. He was wearing a black sweater and jeans. What stood out was that he was about 6'2" or 6'3" and he had amazing shoulders. They seemed broad enough to plow a field if the ox needed a day off. Behind him was a cart filled with various baking supplies.

"I'm sorry, I just need to grab this honey and I'll get out of your way." He easily reached up and plucked a bear-shaped plastic container from the top shelf and dropped it into his cart. From my vantage point I couldn't see another behind it, and panic quickly set in.

"That's what I needed too. And I was here first." Oh, god, the words snuck out before I could stop myself. I only heard my mother, or maybe one of those women who go viral with a filmed public meltdown. I tried to soften it with some playful mockery. "Ugh, just my luck. They always put it on the top shelf where any freakishly tall person can just snipe it from me." That at least elicited a smile.

"Normally I'd hand it over, but as weird as it sounds, I actually need this for a work project today. But I guess I only need a few table spoons. Maybe we could reach... some kind of... honey sharing arrangement?" He smirked and chuckled, but in a way that made me feel like I was in on the joke too.

Comfortable that there wouldn't be a viral Karen situation ensuing, I cocked my head to the side and gave him a once over, then examined his cart, then asked incredulously "A work emergency needing honey? So do you, like, have a hungry bear outside in your car? Or," I motioned to his cart, "are you a professional baker. Because if you are, I may demand proof."

"How much time do you have?" he asked.

"It's 10 AM on a Friday, I'm here instead of my job, and I'm home alone for the weekend. I've got all the time in the world for a story that might involve a hungry pet bear." Nooo!!! Why did I say I was home alone for the weekend?!? Sure, maybe he isn't a psycho who will follow me home, but still, coming off as sooo desperate!!!

He smiled and scanned my basket, containing only the AA batteries and hopefully soon a bottle of honey. My basket was in my left hand, and I swear that I could follow his gaze directly from the batteries to my wedding ring. I nervously shifted the basket to my right hand. I noticed his dimples. Surely no psycho killer has ever had cute dimples?

"So, I don't have a pet bear, and I'm not a professional baker. I'm a technical writer who lately has been editing celebrity cook books. They send me the recipe and I recreate it as the chef writes, then I edit it to make it more clear for readers. Usually the publisher send me the ingredients I need, but they left out stuff for one recipe in particular, a root beer float cake, and my deadline is tomorrow. So..."

I gave him my cutest squint. Obviously it's been so long since I flirted -- can a squint be cute? I could feel myself getting warmer. "Celebrity cook books? Anyone whose name I'd recognize?"

"Absolutely, yes. But I'm always required to sign an NDA. Which is too bad, because I have some stories about work I did for this one Guy last year. I can't say the Guy's name, but you'd definitely recognize this Guy. His recipes were practically written in crayon, that Guy. Wink Wink."

He actually said wink. My heart melted. Before I could catch myself I snorted out a laugh, then quickly covered my face, flashing that wedding ring at him again. Did he have a ring? I tried to look without being too obvious, but somehow couldn't tell right from left at that moment.

"Ok, I'll let you off the hook," he said. I expected him to hand over the bottle of honey, but instead he reached up to the top of the shelf and pulled down a second bottle of honey. "It had fallen over, so... here you go." He handed it to me with his left hand, making it clear to me that he too had a ring.

I took the bottle from him and put it next to the batteries. "You know, you could have done that a minute earlier and saved the storytelling."

He shrugged. "I work from home and sometimes miss the company." He winked and rolled his cart past me to the next aisle. What?!? That's it?!? He didn't even ask for my name or number or anything. Did my ring scare him away? Was it my demeanor. Ugh, I guess I'm really rusty when it comes to flirting...

When I was done kicking myself, I took a breath and went for the last item on my list, the vanilla extract. I went to the next aisle, and there he was, standing in front of the extracts, closely examining the options. I had another chance.

"Let me guess, you know that I need valilla, so you're gonna take all of those too?"

Without looking at me, he waved to the top shelf and said "Nope, plenty of vanilla right there, help yourself." He was closely examining labels on two different bottles of root beer extract, no doubt an important ingredient for the cake he needed to bake.

Sigh, the top shelf. I looked around for something to step up on, but was again without options. I stood still for a moment, waiting to see if he'd pick up on it or if I'd need to ask. Eventually I caved.

"So, um, could I ask you a favor?"

He turned to me and feigned shock. "Don't tell me you need both bottles of honey. Am I gonna have to get store security involved?"

I laughed and playfully swatted his arm, not just once but twice, stepping toward him and making contact with his chest. I realized what I did and quickly stepped back again. "I think it's pretty clear that I can't reach the vanilla. And since you're just standing there..."

"Ok, say no more." He dropped one of the bottles of extract into his cart and put the other back on the shelf. Then he stepped behind me and without hesitation put a hand on each hip and lifted me in the air. He lifted me up! Like it was nothing! Like we were two old friends recreating our days on the cheer squad!!!

But, I wasn't terrified. It was thrilling. It was so unlike all those unwanted touches from my gymnast days. When he lifted me, my tshirt raised up a little and his fingers touched the skin above the waistband of my yoga pants. It was as if that direct skin to skin contact completed the circuit and I could feel the electricity shoot through my body. I became instantly warm and giggly and I wanted to melt...

After what was probably only a few seconds, I plucked the bottle of vanilla extract from the top shelf and he lowered me to the floor. He released me and took a step back. There was a beat of silence, then a soft response. "Too much?"

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond, then settled on the truth. "Actually, no... not too much."

There was another beat of awkward silence. Then he said in a quieter voice, "You know, I'd be happy to follow you around and help you reach anything else on your list." He looked at me for a response and actually nervously bit his lip. That might have been what convinced me he wasn't a psycho.

"I'd like that, I mean, having my own man servant and all, but this is actually everything on my list."

He looked into my basket and smirked, unable to help himself. "You're home alone for the weekend and buying only baking supplies and batteries. Not too subtle..."

I felt myself flush, could feel my face go up in flames. He saw the same reddening and responded by blushing too. I stifled the urge to give him another less playful swat.

He turned back to his cart and tore a piece off the bottom of his list. He took a pen from his cart and quickly scribbled his phone number on the paper and handed it to me. "So if you're in the mood for some cake tonight, a second opinion is always welcome, and my usual helper is also out of town for the weekend. I'm Ryan."

I took the paper from him, folded it and tucked it into my jacket pocket. "I'm Josie." Now it was my turn to be cool. I turned and walked away from him, toward the registers, wiggling my ass and knowing that he was staring at it and salivating.

A few minutes later I was home. I dropped the honey and vanilla on the kitchen counter and brought the batteries straight to my bedroom.

Two hours later, I slid out of bed and into a hot bubble bath.

I held my phone above the bubbles and lazily watched online porn, seeing where today's rabbit hole would lead. When I needed a break from the stimulation, I returned to reality and considered my options. My first thought was to text my girlfriend Kate for advice. She'd been open about cheating on her husband in the past, and would definitely not judge me. Of course, she'd also be guaranteed to tell me to fuck him. Unfortunately she was traveling with her husband and family that weekend, so wouldn't be able to address this particular subject.

And it was clear that I was looking for just that answer only. I wanted someone to give me the ok to text him and go to his house and fuck him; to do anything that I could imagine and that he was physically able to do, without worry or judgement. Telling a guy to spank your ass or pull your hair on the first date might raise an eyebrow at most. But telling your husband of 16 years that you have a new craving that you've never talked about before would only elicit many questions. How did you decide that you like that now? Does someone else do that to you? Have I not been satisfying you before? Etc.

I opened an app on my phone that had resolved many disagreements between my two kids. Coin flip. I decided, heads and I text him. Tails and I drop the phone number in the fireplace.

And the coin flip comes up.... Tails. Well fuck that. I'm gonna text him. I climbed out of the tub and thought about what I was going to wear.

I took my time crafting what I thought would be a good text. I was going for a good blend of playful and flirty and sexy and casual. I sought assistance from some newly legalized THC gummies that I had bought a few weeks earlier and hid in the same drawer as my vibrator. It was just before sunset (so, considering the time of year and northern latitude, like 5:30) when I hit send.

"Hey tall guy. Josie here. I hope you got your work done, because I could use some cake and some company. Just let me know where to go."

A few minutes later I got a response. "Waiting to cut into it until I heard from you. Bring some of the cookies you baked and we can compare. Here's my address."

I recognized the street name and plugged the address into Google Maps. He was literally 5 minutes away. I responded. "Be there in 15." Then I went all in with a kissy face emoji. No turning back now. I couldn't wait to tell him why I never got around to baking those cookies.

I had ditched the comfy clothes in favor of something that matched the playful and flirty and sexy and casual tone of my perfect text. I settled on a seasonally appropriate flowy brown skirt that stopped short of my knees (a kids department purchase actually, but don't tell him that), an off-white sleeveless, formfitting tshirt (very tight!) and my favorite red leather boots. I topped it with the same jean jacket as earlier (casual...) and red mesh panties. At the last minute I made the decision to go braless. It may make my nipples a little more prominent, but I didn't see an issue with that.

His neighborhood was older construction. That meant that there was good space between the houses and large trees offering some privacy. He didn't put any conditions on my visit regarding discretion, so rather than park a block away and walk to his house (a requirement from one of Kate's married boyfriends that she told me all about), I pulled right into the driveway and marched up to the front door. I rang the doorbell (no Ring camera, thankfully) and he quickly let me in.

He guided me in with his large hand taking up most of my upper back. I might have to rethink any spanking requests. "So glad you could make it," he said, looking me over. Then, just "Wow..."

I feigned a curtsy and took him by the hand. "Less talk, more cake." I playfully pulled him down the hallway toward the only lit up room I could see.

When we reached the kitchen, the suburb dwelling mother in me took over. I scanned the kitchen; large floorplan and high ceilings, plenty of counter top space, new appliances, tile backsplash. But what really hit me was that it was so clean, so well organized. Where was the usual clutter? The large island held only the newly frosted cake, a wine bottle and two glasses. Ryan's laptop was open on the island, next to a hightop chair. He had apparently been working right up to when I arrived. He was wearing the same clothes as when I saw him that morning, just with a few streaks of flour or powdered sugar on his sleeves. There was no other clutter in the kitchen, except, oddly enough, for the honey bottle he had bought that morning, which stood alone on the countertop next to a pantry.

The immaculate kitchen flowed into an informal dining room that contained a small table with just two chairs, and that all joined in one open space with a large living room, featuring two large cozy looking couches and a fireplace. To the left were stairs that lead up, likely where the bedrooms were. As it was now dark outside, I wasn't able to see into the back yard, but couldn't see any lights from any neighbors houses through the backyard either.