Open House

How often did she lie there on the bed alone masturbating while he was away at work? He imagined that, based on the indentations in the padding on the window bench, she had been taken from behind while looking out the window, maybe even waving to an unsuspecting neighbor across the street. He wondered, did she have a nice ass? Did he ever kiss that butt? Did she let him fuck it afterward, shaking it as she waited to feel him to penetrate her?

The more he fantasized, the hornier he got. Was she hairy or shaved? Did he go down on her? He stood near the bed, unconsciously pulling his hard dick from his jeans and wrapping his left hand around it... eyes closed, feeling so good! Damn, picturing a trimmed dark triangle, matted from sex – he was lost in a myriad of fantasies. He stopped worrying about getting caught, and concentrated instead on jerking in the stranger's bedroom. Hearing a creaking, he panicked and opened his eyes. Maybe just the house settling, he hoped.

As he continued to stroke, he thought he saw movement in the reflection from the TV screen. A figure – barely perceptible – mirrored in the corner of the TV screen... was someone really there or was his mind playing tricks on him? He realized that if he moved just a few feet to the left he could see around the corner through the dresser mirror, and as he did his heart skipped a beat when he saw...her!

Leaning against the wall just inside the walk-in closet at a forty-five degree angle from where he stood masturbating was Rosa/Valerie, eyes closed, jeans unsnapped, with one hand cupping her mound while the other played inside a few opened buttons of her flannel top. He should have been petrified, but instead he was even more turned on, knowing that she was possibly watching – or at least listening to him.

He had never seen anything so erotic – it really WAS her. He went back to the task at hand (so to speak), eyes half closed but watching her through the mirror. She parted her legs slightly as her hand worked inside of her jeans, under her panties. Opening her eyes, she gasped as she saw him in the mirror, but she was too far along to stop now. So wet from watching – and hearing him, knowing that he had no clue that he was being spied on until now.

This was so out of character for her, and for some reason it started a few homes ago when they almost collided on the stairway. As she left that home nearly two hours before, her mind raced, wondering what his story was. Was he single? Was his wife somewhere else in the home? The look that he gave her in that brief instance in the hallway somehow told her everything she needed to know about him. Kind – but pained – eyes, a smile and an awkwardness all combined to trigger her fantasies. When she felt him watching her leave, it sparked something inside of her. How long had it been since she had a man who actually desired her, and whom she may have actually welcomed inside of her? Years maybe.

And here they were, upstairs – in a stranger's home, playing separately, maybe eight or ten feet apart, each nearly oblivious to each other yet totally connected in a strangely erotic way. She rubbed her wet pussy, legs parted, backed against the doorjamb of the walk-in closet. Hips moving now against her hand, she struggled to keep quiet. Opening her eyes, she realized that he was watching her as he continued to fuck his own hand near her, and it turned her on even more – if that was possible.

She remembered how embarrassed she was and how small her husband made her feel when just once, she got up the nerve to ask him to masturbate in front of her, a fantasy that she held for as long as she could remember. It took three glasses of wine for her to get up the nerve to ask, only to have him belittle her and laugh in her face, calling her a sick pervert. Yet here she was with a total stranger accommodating her, allowing her into his private fantasy and she doing the same for him. Normally it took her way too long to make herself cum, but now she worried that it would be over too soon. He pumped harder against his hand as she struggled and failed to control herself, moaning now as she played, SO close to cumming for him, with him.

Her hips bucked against her moist fingers now, as her other hand reached back inside to touch her breasts. Opening her eyes, she saw him reaching for a tissue box on the nightstand and knew he was also close to releasing. She couldn't stop, knowing that even though they were apart, they were going to cum together. She felt the familiar build-up knowing that she was very close. He let out a moan and with his spare hand tried but failed to capture the release, most of it shooting over the tissue in his hand and onto the freshly vacuumed carpet. She could tell already that hers was going to be an intense climax, shaking against her own hand as her fingers rolled over her clit. She tried to suppress her moan, instead blurting out, "Que Rica!" (how fine!) as she came against her hand. Taking a deep breath, she looked up to see him watching her. They had connected in a way that she had never felt before, without ever touching.

Slowly gaining control of herself, she snapped her jeans, buttoned her top and sheepishly entered the bedroom from the closet. He was just as embarrassed, down on his knees trying to clean up the small puddle that he caused. Looking up at her with a warm smile, he asked, "Sorry but who in the hell is Kay Reeka anyway?" She couldn't help but laugh aloud as he looked at her, smiling but confused.

CHAPTER TWO

"No, it's not 'Kay Reeka'," she blushed while giggling. With a slight accent, she explained, "It's 'que rica,' a Spanish expression meaning 'oh my God' or 'how good'." "I'm sorry that I just blurted it out. I feel so.. juvenile, so...silly."

Bob was red-faced as he turned away to zip up, suddenly totally embarrassed at the situation, despite how erotic it felt just moments before. Here he was, wiping the expensive carpet with a total stranger standing behind him in a room that was off-limits. He stood, awkwardly extending his hand to her, with a tissue still in it. She looked down, rolled her eyes and started to ease past him. Realizing what was in his hand, he asked her to wait. Explaining that he never did anything like that before, he apologized for the lewdness, thinking that he was alone and worrying that she would think of him as some kind of sexual deviant.

"Well, I guess that makes two of us then," she replied as she looked back at him before opening the door and hurrying down the hall to the staircase without a goodbye.

Knowing that he couldn't leave things like this, a moment of panic overcame him. He raced down the hallway, bounded down the steps and past the realtor, who reached for his arm in a feeble attempt to slow him down. "So, what did you think about the...?" Shrugging him off, Bob reached the front door and saw her fumbling for her keys next to the Lexus across the street. Composing himself, he trotted down the pathway as she looked up.

"Um, I'm Bob," he said sheepishly.

"Wow," she smiled. "How can the women resist a line as witty and deep as that?"

She laughed as she felt herself letting her guard down just a bit, shifting her balance as she looked into his eyes. From the other side of the car, he recovered and deadpanned, "Well, my strict policy is to provide complimentary coffee to each and every one of my anonymous mutual masturbation partners, so...um... I'm afraid you're obligated to accept. Sorry – it's just the rules."

"Oh, really? Well, that contradicts my long-held stance of quickly escaping horribly embarrassing situations as soon as possible, so I guess we have a little problem," she smiled. The ice was broken, and with a five-minute conversation, they each sensed a surprising comfort level, eventually agreeing to meet for coffee at a quaint corner shop nearby.

Over the years, Bob prided himself on gauging a person by their choice of beverages, including not only what they chose to drink, but also the way in which they ordered it, and his highly subjective observation skills rarely failed him. Apart from the obvious ones such as a morning coffee overloaded with Kahlua or Bailey's, he became quite good at gauging the degree of maintenance that would ultimately be required to satisfy the person. In more than thirty years, the only time that he felt that he was clearly wrong was with his ex-wife. He vividly remembered the first time she ordered a "mochachino, heavy on the cream with a hint of cinnamon" on one of their earlier dates, and it totally defied her conservative, simple Christian appearance. Although, come to think of it, now that he knew the "real" Andrea, he supposed that his first impression was right after all.

Today, however, his "date" opted for a basic iced coffee – not quite as simple as his order – a Columbian blend with half-and-half, but a good sign nonetheless. He learned that her name was in fact a mix of the two that she listed in the open house logs. Earlier she was both Valerie Perez and Rosa Rodriguez, and in each case she was half right. She claimed to be Rosa Perez. Bob wasn't quite sure that he believed her, but in the grand scheme of things, did her name really matter?

Over the next ninety minutes they spent two refills sharing caffeine-induced portions of their life stories, essentially providing "cliffs notes" versions as they attempted in a sense to accelerate their emotional connection in an effort to catch up to their brief physical encounter of just a couple of hours before. Although it was foreign territory for Bob, they compared sexual notes at her prompting, at times drawing raised eyebrows from patrons who happened to be within earshot. Bob learned that Rosa was visiting from the west coast, was also recently divorced and a mother of two girls. With family in the area, and an unstable ex-husband, this location clearly offered the best combination of safe distance and family support.

In nearly fifteen years of marriage, she confided that she had strayed "a few times," more out of boredom and a hint of revenge than an actual need for the physical act. Bob summarized his experience quickly – more than twenty-one years of total faithfulness ending with his wife in a compromising position in front of a stranger, carefully choosing his words when describing the act so as not to offend her. As he spoke of that, Rosa shifted in her seat, imagining the scene and surprisingly feeling a tinge of desire down below.

Glancing around, she leaned in and whispered, "In other words, you caught her sucking his hard cock?"

With that, Bob felt an instant erection, as if a switch was suddenly turned on with those crude, yet incredibly exciting words coming from this outwardly classy woman in front of him. After yet another dirty look from the snooty barista, Bob suggested that they drive down to the public park to continue the conversation. Her hand lightly came to rest on his as she surprisingly offered a more exciting choice of destinations with a mischievous smile.

She giggled as he confided that he needed a few minutes to "compose" himself, glancing down at his lap. Taking a pen and paper from her purse, she hesitated just for a moment, then referred to a handwritten page from her pocket before jotting down the address in the same cursive that he saw on the open house logs.

"Promise me you're not a serial killer," he whispered, as his hand shakily reached out for the post-it.

"You know I can't make promises that I won't keep," she smiled, looking into his eyes. "Besides, I could ask you the same thing."

Very true, he thought. Clouded by lust, there was no turning back now, and he – with his raging hard-on - could only hope that she was kidding.

Caught up in a tornado of desire, fear and excitement, Bob fingered the post-it as the old Camry rumbled back to life. After a quick stop at his apartment to freshen up and change, he ventured back out. As he navigated through his seedy neighborhood en route to the rendezvous location, he envisioned the scene. Rosa had that rare combination of classiness, yet mischievous and discreet sluttiness that was an incredible turn-on, but was she too good to be true? After all, he had seen many murder mysteries that were rooted in chance seductions that were not altogether different from this one. Still, he drove on, guided more by carnal instinct than common sense.

Vaguely familiar with the area, he vacillated between guilt and potential pleasure. Why feel guilty? Could he actually go through with it? For the first time in years, he was a free man, but he hoped and prayed that it was like riding a bike. Although he – like millions of other post-pubescent men – indulged in occasional pornography in the privacy of his home, the fact was that his experience with Andrea over the last twenty-plus years involved a grand total of two different sexual positions, and was nearly as infrequent as the change in seasons. Did he have it in him? Slowing down as he approached the modest neighborhood, he fought the urge to simply reverse course and drive home, but he knew that he had to see it through, reaching down to tug at his bulge as he drove.

Nearly dusk now, a CVS Pharmacy sign around the corner brought him back to reality. Damn, he probably needed condoms. How long had it been since he made that type of purchase? Smiling, he remembered the first time he ventured in as a teen, scared to death and hoping that he didn't run into anyone that he knew as he made his first purchase – a dozen Trojan condoms, "specially ribbed for her pleasure." To mask the fact that he was making the embarrassing purchase back then, he loaded up his basket with other unneeded items, probably spending more on those than the condoms themselves.

The clerk was indifferent as she robotically rung up the purchase. He recalled that years later he finally forced himself to toss the remaining six or eight unused ones in the trash, hiding them discreetly within a milk carton to avoid further embarrassment. Today, however, was different. With horniness that was off the charts, Bob quickly bee-lined to the birth control section and barely broke stride as he grabbed the pack, narrowly beating a geriatric couple to the self-checkout line, and picking up a Snickers bar along the way. He was impressed with his time – from start to finish in less than five minutes. Beat that, Mario Andretti!

Finally, he approached the destination. Pulling up to the mailbox and double-checking the address, he was both relieved and a bit panicked to see the secluded home, roughly fifty yards from the main road. Naturally, there was a long gravel drive leading up to the home. Now pitch black, the night was like a blanket out here in the countryside, and as he pulled into the driveway, he envisioned masked goons appearing from the shadows and holding chain saws, blocking his escape. He had seen way too many horror movies, he realized, but trumping that was the fact that he probably watched twice as much pornography.

He laughed nervously to himself as he continued along the dark path until he reached the home, parking behind the Silver Lexus. In front of him was a modest two-story home, with a wrap-around porch, and in the darkness he barely noticed the obligatory hanging glider swinging in the shadows to the right of the front door. Checking his appearance in the door's reflection and adjusting his bulge one final time, he rang the bell.

A voice to his right nearly scared him out of his shoes. From the dark corner, he recognized the outline of Rosa, sitting cross-legged on the glider.

"Was it leaning to the side?" she giggled, obviously referring to his last-minute adjustment.

As he turned toward her, she lit a candle, allowing him to see glimpses of her as it flickered. "Stay there, ok?"

Nervously, he stopped in his tracks, half expecting someone to sneak up behind him and slit his throat. Now roughly ten feet from her, he watched her as she swayed seductively on the glider, wine glass in hand. Mesmerized, no words were spoken. She now had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her contacts were replaced with black-framed glasses. As she sipped her wine, she bit her lip and boldly looked at his crotch, unfurling one leg and now sitting with her right leg tucked under her while her left leg dangled from the glider.

Despite the darkness, he could see the rise and fall of her chest, her small breasts pressing against the thin T. Although it was oversized, the T-shirt was bunched up just enough below her waist to reveal her tiny canary yellow panties between toned thighs, and nothing else. Looking around, Bob knew that they were alone – no neighbors, no traffic – just them and the soothing sound of crickets and cicadas in the background, along with the occasional lightning bug revealing itself briefly.

"I never... played in front of a man before today," she said calmly. "And I never saw a man... touching himself like that before."

Taking another sip, one hand dropped to her inner thigh as she watched him through half-closed eyes. Her finger traced its way along her thigh as he watched intently, slowly leaning back against the porch post.

"What were you thinking about back at that open house," she asked, "that made you so nice and hard?"

As she spoke, her hand gently cupped her mound through her panties, clearly aroused at the memory. Glad she couldn't see him blushing in the darkness, Bob shared the thoughts that were going through his head in that master bedroom, this time not sparing the graphic detail, realizing that the dirtier he talked, the more excited she became.

Finishing with "... and when I thought of her on her knees near the window, shaking her tight ass and waving to the unassuming neighbors across the street while he slid into her from behind, I couldn't help myself."

As he spoke, she moaned and her hand found its way under the panties, fingers now working together, as turned on by having him watch her as she was at hearing the nasty fantasy.

"In your mind, was he in her sexy ass or her tight wet pussy," she asked, fingers working even faster under the panties.

"Her ass."

"Oh God!" She moaned even more loudly, taking her hand out of her panties and bringing her moist fingers to her lips, sliding each one in, one at a time, savoring the taste. "How... Was she kneeling at the window? Kind of...like this?" Shifting her leg out from under her, she stood for a second, turning around and putting her knees up on the glider, facing away from him. Turning around to look at him, she lifted her t-shirt with one hand, exposing her lower back, moist with perspiration. The canary yellow panties were just low enough to show perhaps an inch of her butt crack.

Bob couldn't help but unzip his pants to release his throbbing dick as he watched what was unfolding before him. As she watched him, he was astonished to see the outline of her hand once again working on her pussy under the waistband of the panties. Hips moving in rhythm to her touch, her ass began swaying just a bit from side to side.

"Are you sure it was her ass and not her tight wet pussy?"

With one hand stroking his cock, he fumbled in his pocket for his newly purchased condoms, finding a single packet and tearing it open with his mouth, all the while watching her playing just a few feet in front of him." It had been years since he slid one of these damned things on, and naturally he struggled to focus on it as he watched her hand moving across her mound. Finally getting it on, he took a step toward her, pausing to watch her as her back arched and her hips moved.

It had been SO long since he experienced anything close to this excitement – no, who was he kidding? He had NEVER experienced anything like this before. Still closer, just a foot or so away from her, he reached out to touch her soft butt, and couldn't resist moving his hand lower outside of her panties to feel her fingers through the fabric. She moaned even louder as she felt his hand against her, boldly running her fingers across her clit under the canary yellow canvas.