Mrs. Hollister, Bitch

The night after the demolition crew finished—Friday, it was—I came home from work, set an easy chair on my patio and had a beer on Mrs. Hollister's behalf. As I drank it, I wondered if with her house gone, had I seen the last of her? My cell rang.

"Hello?"

"Mister Annis? Frank?"

"Yes?"

"This is Amy Hollister."

"Oh, hi." I'm sure I didn't sound that enthused by her call.

"They finish demolishing my house today?"

"Yes. I'm sitting here on my patio drinking a beer and looking at a hole where your house used to be."

"Is it a good hole? I mean one you think won't cause a bitch to come live next to you again?"

I chuckled, although I didn't intend to.

"No, I don't think some bitch is going to come live next to me, so I'm safe." Now I'd shifted to condescending.

"Good. Now, why haven't you come to see me again?"

I lied. I said I'd been busy at work and too tired when I got home. I'm not the kind of guy who would tell someone, even Amy-the-Bitch, I hated the risk of seeing her.

"I'm at Greenfield Meadows, now. Please come see me? I have something important to talk with you about."

I lied again. "Sure, Amy. One of these days when I get caught up at work.

"Please, Frank. Please?" She wasn't quite begging, but close.

"Okay. Next week," I said, hoping something would come up and get me off the hook from that promise. With today being so late in the week I figured that gave me two weeks plus to find an excuse that satisfied me.

But two weeks wasn't long enough. You know how it is? Put it off until the last justifiable minute? Well, just as that minute rolled around, I found Amy Hollister on my back porch one Friday evening waiting for me home from work. Oh, god!

"Hi, Mrs. Hollister," I said, trying to be polite, but wishing I were somewhere else.

"Can I come in? Please?"

"Sure." I stuck my key in the knob and opened the door for her.

As she turned toward the door, she stepped back slightly and picked up a creamish-tan overnight case sitting alongside the door. With that in hand, she stepped into my kitchen and I closed the door behind us.

She didn't stop in the middle of the kitchen as I expected and wait for my invitation into the rest of the house. Without a turn or a word, she went right on into my dining/living room and sat on the couch.

"Come sit with me, please, Frank?"

What the hell was this?

So I did, skirting the coffee table the other way around to avoid the overnight case now at her feet.

I gave her my what's up, look.

"Tomorrow I gotta tell the insurance company what to do about the house."

So what had this to do with me?

"I think we have five options:"

We?

"One: I build the same house I had before. It was okay for just me.

"Two: I take the money and build a nicer house there, bigger—for you and me.

"Three: I move over here with you and let the insurance company sell the lot and pay me off with cash.

"Four: I take the money for my place, you sell this place, and we go build a bigger, better, nicer house, somewhere else.

"Five: We do like four, but build a new house lots bigger so we have room for those six sons I want to give you.

Me? With her? With her and a crowd of kids?

"Well, don't look so shocked, Frank. That's what a man does with a woman who is determined to dedicate her life to him."

Dedicate? Her life? Amy the Bitch? The bitch next door who seemingly never wanted anything for anyone but herself?

As I mentally shook my head without moving it, she bent a little and grasped the handle of her overnight case.

"Can I use your bathroom a minute, Frank? Please?"

Another please from Amy Hollister? Mark that in your diary!

"Sure."

She stood, and for the first time I realized she wore heels—very tall ones. And as she headed for the bathroom I realized, too, how great her thirty year old woman's body looked.

Her time in the bathroom took much longer than I expected—probably her time of the month explained the overnight case. But when the door clicked and creaked open, out stepped Mrs. Hollister wearing only three things: a pair of spike-heeled shoes, and one baby-doll so thin a morning mist was thicker after being cleared by the rising sun. You don't usually realize your jaw has dropped until afterward, but mine dropped so hard I felt it fall, hit—and bounce!

By the fourth bounce she stood in the middle of the room facing me, her faint smile appeared to mix satisfaction, apprehension, and hope. My smile, by contrast I'm sure, looked like an aging movie star's: Painted on. At least, I couldn't move it because my brain refused to work.

"You like the way I look, Frank?"

Dumb question, at least from my point of view, and her being blonde had nothing to do with it. My nod was automatic.

"May I sit with you again?"

I nodded again. She could sit on my lap, if she wanted. I mean: In that outfit she could sit on my face if she wanted!

When she sat, she might as well have asked if she could sit on me.

"There. Now we can talk."

I wasn't so sure I could.

"So, Frank? What you want to do about my house?"

"What ever you want," was the best I could come up with.

"Honey," she said with a hint of impatience, "It's up to you. I belong to you. Everything I have belongs to you. You earned it by saving my life. Don't you understand?"

I shook my head. No, I didn't. Sure, I'd heard that thing about a rescuer owning whoever or whatever he saved—somewhat like ocean salvage rights to a derelict ship. But this was a woman, a human being—although one with a severe history of bitchiness, I'd admit—and no one could or should ever own another.

For a ship to be derelict, it must be purposely abandoned. Was Mrs. Hollister purposely abandoning claim to herself? Was that what she meant when she said dedicating herself to me? No. No one would do that—ever. No one should.

But then again, if she owned herself, then didn't that mean she had the right to use, sell and/or dispose of herself as she saw fit? Isn't that what ownership meant?

All this rattled around in my head while she put a rush on me that threatened what little remaining sanity my brain could manage.

"There," she said. "I think you're beginning to understand. Why don't we go to your bedroom and get to understand each other better? It will go lots quicker in there, I promise you!"

Yeah, I'll bet! I felt slightly like a lamb being led to the slaughter, not really understanding yet where this was headed. But Amy held onto my hand with no reluctance I could sense, so what the hell? Nothing she could do now could be much worse than her bitch mode I'd endured before.

Amy quickly morphed into an odd combination, the whole combination being a whole lot more pleasant than I'd have ever believed the bitch next door could be. And it turned out, by my normal bedtime, she'd turned into a sex machine I'd not have anticipated in a million years. I learned, with her help, ways to enjoy her I'd have never dreamed possible, let alone tried.

Maybe this having a dedicated woman around wasn't such a bad idea after all!

***

By necessary-get-up-time to make it to work on time, there was little left of me. You've seen those bits in old comedy movies about the new bride wearing out the groom to the point he's begging for mercy? Try Tony Rome or Rear Window if you think I'm kidding.

The only thing that saved me was Nature rationing my penial stamina. Otherwise, I'm sure Mrs. Hollister would have worn me to the condition of having no protrusion left. ... At all.

I was still on a daze as she bounced her naked ass across the bed, strolled around to my side of the bed, dragged her quite nice breasts across my face, and said, "You take your shower, I'll find you something for breakfast."

I'd have moaned, had I had the strength.

She found my hand and pulled it to her. "Come on, now, Frank. Up and at 'em. You can rest up at work."

I sure as hell needed rest right about then. Even with Janette, the office blonde, generally flirting around the place, I'd be safe from all distraction today.

My work day floated past me like a quiet stream, leaving me with nothing but visions of Mrs. Hollister and a completely relaxed—and I'll admit, non-committal attitude—toward the world. Hell, I'll admit it: The universe!

Janette stuck her head into my office and commented. Was I sick or something she wanted to know. I sort of nodded. I'd had a near-fatal exposure to Mrs. Hollister, and no antidote. Good thing I had nothing to do that day that couldn't wait.

Getting home that afternoon resulted in another dose. Amy met me at my kitchen's back door, not so unclothed this time, but just as attractive as before. You ever notice how when a woman wants to, she can look naked with all her clothes on? Real tall heels on a tall woman will help that effect if she's wearing the right stuff. And Amy was.

She held out her hand to me.

"Come on, Frank. Come sit with me so we can talk."

What was this? A we need to talk pep talk coming up?

When I sat on the couch, this time she sat closer to on-me than last time. I squirmed a little, trying to help her get seated.

For that, she bent slightly and kissed me. When she pulled back, she said, "Don't you like me?"

What the hell could I say to that? I don't like you? Although last night you proved to be the best fuck I ever had and probably ever will? Although I want that every night from now on, I don't like you?

My, "I like you fine," was about the weakest confirmation any man had ever come-up with.

"Good. Now, first things first. My house. What you want me to do about that? I talked the bank and insurance company into five more days before I gotta settle."

"I said yesterday, didn't I? Do what you want. It's your house."

"Jesus, you're dense," she said, even more emphatically than yesterday. "If it belongs to me, it belongs to you. Plain and simple. I belong to you, that house belongs to you. Everything about me belongs to you."

I just shook my head.

"What am I doing wrong?" she said.

I still shook my head.

She leaned toward me and kissed me again before standing and holding her hand out to me.

"Come on, Frank. Bedtime again."

I looked at her, I'm sure disbelief filled my face.

"Come ... on ... Frankie, my boy. Your mistress is going to fuck your brains out again, or give it her best try," she chuckled. "Oohh, I like that idea. Come on. Lets get started. We can worry about supper when I'm finished with you."

My next food came into the bedroom as I tried to find enough energy to get out of bed.

"Here," Amy said. "You need energy, I can see that. Eat this and then I'll give your shower."

She sat on the bed's edge and arranged breakfast on a tray. Buttered toast with a tablespoon of my favorite jam spread on each, two slices of bacon that had obviously been micro-waved, eggs with yokes broken and well done, the way I like them, a big glass of orange juice, and a smaller glass of milk.

"Perfect."

"No coffee, right? I could make some real quick to help you wake up. I did find some instant." The way she said that was more a case of jest than inquiry. The bacon she fed me slice by slice with her fingers, the toast one bite at a time via fingers, eggs bite by bite from a fork, and alternating sips of milk and OJ delivered to my lips by the glass. All the time her attentiveness never wandered. When she dried the last drop of orange juice into my mouth, she smiled.

"There. Get enough?"

I nodded. Just right, just perfect, just ... Amy Hollister.

"So here." She handed me a cloth napkin, likely the only one I owned. I wiped the corners of my mouth, then she took the napkin back an put it alongside the other stuff on the tray. I felt like one of those rich dudes in a movie scene whose butler or maid brings him breakfast in bed, the daily newspaper on the tray next to his meal. I smiled at her.

"Good. I like it when you like what I do for you. Now, how about your shower?"

I certainly needed one. I suspected I smelled like a stud who'd made his female a dozen times the past night. Well, I can dream, can't I? Is it exaggeration if the only one hearing your thoughts is you and you know better? After all, doesn't eight round up to twelve?

Amy was already coaxing me out of bed and into my shower robe. Why I needed a robe I'll never understand. Amy was butt naked as usual, and not at all shy about how her quite nice breasts helped me get my robe into place.

Slippers and robe on, she led me into the bathroom and set about warming up the shower. By the time hot water arrived, I was again naked. She reached around herself, removed the gold chain and fob from around her neck, and put it around mine.

"There," she said. "A man good as you should have a gold chain around his neck. You know why?"

I shook my head.

"Where I come from a gold chain around a man's neck means someone thinks he's worth it."

"Oh?"

"But it only counts if someone puts it there for him. Doesn't count if he puts it there himself. Ya see all those big-shot athletes are just kidding themselves. Most of them bought theirs, you're getting the real thing."

"Then I should get one for you?" I said, not intending the question mark at the end.

"If you put one on me after I put one on you, that makes us married. I could never earn that."

"Why not?"

"I belong to you. Remember?"

I shook my head. By now we were stepping into the shower. She picked up the separate shower head and proceeded to wash and soap me down, fondling everywhere while she did so.

"Like that?" she said.

"Sure do."

"I'd like it if you showered me, too." With that she handed me the head and pressed it and the soap bar into my hand.

I reached the shower behind her, soaped her back and as much of her front as worked being we stood that close.

"Frank?" she said.

"Umm?"

"It's so sweet, you thinking about putting a chain on me. Things like that make it even harder for me to earn myself back from you. Maybe in million years I will, but I hope not. I want to belong to your forever. Now, come on, Sir. Let me rise you off so I can dry you and help you dress."

Maybe those words had to do with getting me out of the shower and into my clothes, but her touch had more to do with what I hoped would happen next Saturday morning when I had no need of going to the office.

What happened before I left the house made me wish even more firmly that today was a weekend, but no luck. The calender hadn't skipped a day or two.

Part 2

"Well, Frank!" Janette said when I strode through the office the third time that morning headed for my desk. "What's that?"

"Huh?"

"I never saw you wear a neck chain before."

She noticed? The first day I wore it?

"Oh, this. A friend gave it to me," I said, fishing it out from behind my shirt's lapels. Its fob came out after hanging up on my top button.

"Nice," Janette said. "Nice and heavy. Very manly, and ... ohhh ... expensive, too."

I hadn't noticed. A shower with Amy like when she gave that chain to me would distract any guy.

"Whoever gave you this planned it that way. That is no woman's chain given in a rush."

There was a difference? Oh, I supposed there was. Most women wanted dainty; this chain certainly was not.

Janette took my arm and led me toward the back of the office area. When she stopped at my desk and released my arm, she motioned me to sit. She smiled down at me.

"Now," she said. "If whoever gave you that chain ever takes it back, you let me know. I got just the chain for you, and I've had it quite a while. It used to be my grandfather's. I know he'd approve if I put it on you."

What was this all about?

"Well, don't look so shocked, Frank," she said. "I been hoping since the first week you worked here you'd ask me out. I finally decided you liked boys better, or something like that."

I shook my head.

"Then why couldn't I get you interested? I sure as hell tried. She must be a real beauty to do what I couldn't. Older? Younger? Richer? Higher class? Better looking? What?"

"Just persistent."

"Guess I should have been more persistent, too."

"Sorry."

"Well, you keep me in mind, just in case."

"Sorry, not much hope in that direction."

With that she bent and kissed me hard on the lips, fondled me quickly through my slacks, stood, and put on her best flirt posture as she went away up the aisle. Jeeze! Was I that obvious? Maybe I shouldn't wear that chain to work.

***

"Amy?"

"Yes?" Her reply had Yes, Master? firmly imbedded in it. She sat almost on my lap again once I got home, and every once in a while she tightened her embrace around me and pecked me on the cheek.

"This chain," I said, fishing it out. "Is it good manners to wear it at work? Around other people? Or should I just wear it when I'm with you?"

"Where I come from, all the time. Why?"

"At work, a girl mentioned it, that's all."

"And she's wishing she had put it on you, right?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Well, why didn't she. She ugly or not too smart or something else?"

I shook my head. Janette was not ugly. In fact the reason I'd never asked her out was I figured I had about as much chance with her as an ice cube floating in a Hawaiian volcano. Why did guys have to risk embarrassment to get something started with a girl? Why couldn't Janette have just come up and said, 'Frank? I think I'd like to go out with you.' Why was it so tough for me to go up and say, 'Janette, I don't know much about you except you're pretty and seem like you'd be enjoyable to go out with. How about it?'

Wasn't that just what Mrs. Hollister had done, once the falling-tree crisis played out?

"Take her out, Frank, if that's what you want."

"I ... uh ... no ... I ... uh ... ."

"You like her, you want her, you ... Christ, Frank, you're dense! How long you had this girl panting after you? And you just now figured that out?"

I shook my head.

"You can wear more than one gold chain you know. I don't expect—can't even hope—to be the only woman you like and want in your bed. Go get her, bring her back, ball her lights out, make babies with her if that's what you both want—make babies with her even if only you want them. I'll be doing my best to make sure you never have an erection that doesn't end up giving you all the pleasure I can. I belong to you and I love that fact. Got it?"

I guess I really was dense. I'd worked in that office four years, now, so had Janette. Yes, I must be dense, or maybe just lazy or chicken. When thought of that way, Janette deserved someone better than me. Probably, so did Mrs. Hollister!

***

After supper, Mrs. Hollister—she kept reminding me to call her Amy—corralled me and led me to the livingroom sofa, sat me down, and made it, as one of my highschool teachers used to say: abundantly clear, that I was to listen to what she said.

"Since you keep avoiding our house question, I went ahead without your agreement. Hate me if you want, but I had to do something."

"Our house?"

"Really, your house."

"I said ..."

She gently put two fingers on the front of my lips.

"Now listen. We can always change later if you don't like what I did, okay?"

I nodded.

"Good.

"I decided on option five."

"And that was?"

"Well, sort of option five. We take my insurance money and build a big house where I can raise all the children you should want. Seems to me we should wreck this house too—it's really not what your deserve—combine both lots, and build one big house on the combined property. I checked with a realtor; we can combine the lots that way."