The Real Estate Agent

This is the second installment in my series of Sultry SoCal Stories -- stories of encounters inspired by events that have taken place over the years I've lived in SoCal and traveled around the country. Some of these may have happened as described, others may have happened somewhat differently from how I narrate them, and others took place only in my vivid imagination. When an actual encounter is the subject of a story, some details may have been changed either to protect the innocent, or to make the story more interesting. Nonetheless, I hope they are all enjoyable to the reader.

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Other than sex (the obsession with which takes up an undue amount of my time), my three passions are cooking, writing and investing in real estate. Through the years I have bought many more houses than I have sold, which means that I now own quite of lot of rental properties. A few of these I've lived in myself, though the majority of them have been acquired solely as income property. Given this interest of mine, the most recent depression in the economy served me quite well; I could buy homes in decent areas at rock bottom prices, finance them with mortgages that had rock bottom interest rates, and still rent them out for a decent chunk of change as the SoCal rental market remained strong.

Most of these houses I bought without the aid of a real estate agent; however when, at the very bottom of the recession I started taking an interest in foreclosure properties and REOs, I realized I'd be well served to have a professional at my side. Not only is the offer and purchase process different, the seller's disclosures are nonexistent and the importance of a thorough pre-buy inspection becomes paramount.

I had this naive idea that one real estate agent would be as good as the next, and it took me a couple of rounds of hired and fired agents to realize how wrong I was. The first agent I contacted got fired within a week. He was absolutely clueless about the foreclosure process, from how to find suitable properties to how to prepare an offer. Well, I thought, he was young and inexperienced and I'm doing him a favor by giving him a lesson in the hard knocks of life.

Next I engaged a seasoned veteran who not only turned out to be equally inept at the foreclosure process, buy who also was fundamentally unable to analyze whether a particular home was a good investment, or even appropriate as a rental property. The first home he brought to my attention had five bedrooms "for all the kids" (no landlord wants five kids, and the house is must likely going to be used by five beer drinking and pot smoking college students), and it was in a neighborhood where all other houses only had three bedrooms (it turned out two rooms came from a cheap backyard addition -- there goes the resale value). I didn't give him the chance to bring me another.

After having re-evaluated the importance of finding a good real estate agent, I did my research and narrowed down my choice to two candidates, a man and a woman, both of whom specialized in foreclosure transactions, and both of whom were active in the general area where I intended to purchase most properties. I decided to interview the woman first, yes, because she is a woman and judging from her picture a very attractive one at that. I shamelessly admit to being shallow that way.

We made an appointment to meet at her office, and I emailed her a list of what I was looking for and a request for a list of suitable properties to discuss. As I drove over I hoped that she was competent in her field so that my faith in the real estate profession can be restored. I was also hoping that she looked like she did in the picture. In the service industries people all too often use professional photographs taken ten or more years ago, and when you finally meet them face to face you feel like you must have been stuck in a time capsule while this person aged (some not too gracefully, which may explain the never changing photograph).

The agent's office is located in a small business park, and as I walk into the reception I am pleased with the quiet, efficient look of the place. There are a few desks around main office areas, and offices towards the back. There are several people working in the office, a couple of them meeting with clients and most of the others working the phones. This does not appear to be an office that is suffering from the recession in the real estate market.

I introduce myself to the pretty young receptionist and let her know I have an appointment with Bree. She picks up the phone and announces my arrival, and then invites me to take a seat in the visitor's area just to the side of the reception. Less than a minute later I look up to see Bree approaching -- there is no doubt it is her, the striking face and big, blonde hair gives her away. I smile, pleased to see her and even more pleased that no time travel will be necessary - she looks exactly like her picture if not better! As I stand up to shake hands, I notice that she is a little bit taller than me.

"Hello I'm Bree, nice to finally meet you." She has a deeper, husky voice that goes really well with her appearance. Her eyes meet mine as we shake hands, and we let the touch linger for what seems to be a few moments too long.

There are a few occasions in life when you meet someone whom you immediately know is going to become special in your life. As I was touching Bree's hand and looking into her eyes, I knew that she was going to be very special in my life, and I could see it in her eyes that she felt the same. It was both a feeling of excitement and attraction, along with a confidence, bordering on certainty, that before long I will be in a relationship with this woman. Looking into her eyes was like reading an invitation: you are the one I've been waiting for, let's throw all caution to the wind and just give in to our most basic desires. Or to put it more simply: I want to fuck you.

She lets go of my hand with a little embarrassed smile, and we head back towards her office. I let her take the lead so that I can check out the real estate, figuratively speaking. She is dressed in a conservative black suit with a knee-length skirt and a light blue blouse underneath the jacket. From the look of her legs I can tell she tries to keep in shape, and from the curves in the fabric of her skirt I can tell she has been very successful at it. I raise my glance just in time to catch her eyes as she turns around.

"Please come inside, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something?" Hmmm, how about a cold shower?

"Thanks I'm fine. I had one of those two gallon Starbucks servings on the way over here."

"Not one of the 2,500 calorie heart attack inducers, I hope?"

"No, plain old java and fully caffeinated. That must be why everything is looking fuzzy in here." That gives her a laugh. The walls of her office are filled with reprints of famous impressionist paintings; I recognize some of the more well known ones -- Monet, Matisse and Pissaro, but there are plenty I've never seen before.

"My secret passion. One day I hope to take a tour through Europe and go see all of these for real. A few years ago I was in New York for a large impressionist exhibition at the Met, and saw a few of these." She indicates the famous water lily painting by Monet.

"I think I may have seen some of them when visiting Paris and London after college" I tell her. "At least I think I did. I never stopped drinking while I was there."

"So are you not interested in art?"

"I am somewhat, but more in photography than painting. I took a few classes in college, but it never amounted to anything. For the paintings I never got past the realists, as my mind is not properly wired to be able to interpret the abstract. Or the fuzzy for that matter."

"Perhaps you're approaching it wrong. It's about the feeling you get from watching it, not about your rational interpretation of the artist's intent."

"Well, I always feel hungry when watching a Ruben." I say the latter with a smile, but she just shakes her head and sits down behind her desk. I'm apparently a lost cause.

"So you asked me to put together a list of suitable properties in a few zip codes... the criteria were undervalued in the current market, relatively easy bank approval process after acceptance of the offer, suitable as a rental for the next five to fifteen years and market appreciation potential in a healthy real estate market. Truth be told there are really not a lot of properties in the area meeting these criteria, primarily because the school districts are not all that good. If you're willing to go further west there are several additional properties available, but they are significantly higher priced."

"I know, and that's why I was asking for this limitation. Real estate investment is a side business of mine and I don't have unlimited funds to spend. I also don't want to put my entire available capital into only one or two properties, I want to allocate risk. So I'm looking for a couple of diamonds in the rough."

"Alright, let's take a look." She comes over to my side of the desk and sits down in the other visitor chair. We look at her print-outs, but I have a hard time concentrating as our elbows touch, and I get the first whiff of her perfume. Too sweet for my taste, but right now I don't care, the hormones have temporarily shut down any olfactory objections.

We go though her list which is indeed short, only five properties, but all of them actually do meet my criteria and I'm impressed with the thought and analysis she has put into it. Beauty, body and a brain! We rank them in order of interest, and after consulting her papers she lets me know that my number one ranked property is scheduled to be on open house that following weekend. She takes a quick look at her calendar and confirms that she indeed is available to meet me there at 3 pm.

"Thank you for your time and all the work you put in. I'm impressed, and I don't use that word very often."

"My pleasure. It wasn't very hard given the data points you gave me to work with. Just a matter of plugging them into the computers."

"You'd be surprised at how many people have a hard time plugging it in." I smile again. "The data points, that is."

"If you don't, it's hard to get a satisfying result." We look at each other for a long time, and the magic is creeping back in. If I were to lean over ten inches and kiss her right now, I have better than even odds she will kiss me back. I can see it in her eyes, on her lips, the desire boiling just below the surface, just waiting for the right moment to come out. Her office with the door open behind her is not the right moment, however. We both stand up, not breaking eye contact, and shake hands. Not like business people would do, but like lovers would in the earliest stages of foreplay...soft, lingering, sensuous, with the bodies too close and just waiting to come together.

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In the next few days I had a really hard time concentrating on my business or any other aspect of my life. Calls and emails went unanswered as I was daydreaming about Bree, her body and brains. When Sunday comes rolling around I'm up by dawn, unable to sleep, and decide to go for an early morning run to calm down. My wife departs on her customary brunch and shopping spree around ten, and I'm seriously considering spending the next four hours underneath a very cold shower.

I dress with some care and jump in my car. In a rare moment of vanity I invested in a pre-owned certified Porsche 911 Turbo Convertible, which is my one and only extravagant expenditure. I know it puts me squarely in the asshole category in some minds, but it's a highly select group of assholes and a cheap price to pay for driving a vehicle of this caliber.

I pull up outside the house a few minutes before 3, and start inspecting the front yard. It's pretty run down and in need of some new grass, but with a minimal investment the house could have some real curb appeal. Bree arrives shortly after, wearing a very thin and somewhat short summer dress; not exactly the image of the professional real estate agent, but then again she has a client to please. And please him she does! I again notice the shapely legs of a frequent runner, the thin waist and what looks like a phenomenal set of breasts. Experience has taught me not to trust first impressions in that department, however, as recent advances in bra technology has made me disappointed on several occasions in the past. Fool me twice, and I can become president!

I am greeted with a handshake and a little peck on the cheek that is delivered with a hand around my back. I wrap an arm around her and hold her tight for just a short moment...I can feel her tense and then relax, and give me a little squeeze back. So far so good...even the perfume seems to smell a lot better today. She compliments me on the car, and seems sincere about it. One day I may take her for a ride in it!

We go inside, and Bree introduces herself to the agent hosting the open house. After the obligatory exchange of business cards we begin the tour in the back yard, and work ourselves towards the front of the house through the family room, kitchen, dining room and finally the one bedroom suite on the bottom floor. There are several other couples and families touring the place, and we are walking closely together as Bree is providing her analyses and comments in a low voice. Our arms frequently touch, and we almost make a point of bumping into each other when a room gets crowded.

The upstairs is next, with the master bedroom and two additional bedrooms. We are alone here, and the air is hot and humid from lack of proper air conditioning. I come out of the master bath and see Bree standing in front of the two main bedroom windows...the light makes her dress almost transparent, and I have no problem making out the contours of her body or the lingerie worn underneath. I can't help but stare.

"So what do you think?"

My voice is hoarse. "Very attractive. A keeper. How difficult do you think it will be to get an offer accepted?"

"Depends on the offer. Do you want to put one in today?"

"Yes, I don't want to lose the opportunity." I go up to her, and we start kissing in front of the window. Not hesitantly or tentatively, but passionately,almost violently. There is a lot of pent-up excitement just waiting to get out, and as I move my hand from her waist to her buttock, she presses herself against me and lets out a groan. Left undisturbed, we would have fucked then and there, right in front of the window. Unfortunately, we hear the unmistakable sound of another couple coming up the stairs, and we have to disengage. It takes an act of willpower to let her go.

We go back down, meeting the other couple in the doorway. They have been in the house since before we arrived, and are discussing putting an offer in. Bree and I exchange a quick glance.

"Let's make some calls" I say to her. "We need to find out how much it will be to fix the mold damage in the master bath. They probably need to remove the bathtub and floor, so it can't be cheap. Also get an estimate for the fumigation, the termites did one bang-up job here." Bree almost starts to laugh and the couple looks at me with eyes wide open.

"Buyer beware." I tell them as we head down the stairs.

We say our thanks to the seller's agent, and tell her we'll be putting in an offer in the next few days. As we leave the house I put my arm around Bree, and she leans into me. My mind is racing overtime, thinking about a place we can go to consummate what we started in the bedroom upstairs.

"Follow me, I have another house I want to show you." Bree says.

"I thought there was only one open house today."

"This is not on open house. It should be empty." We both smile and hurry to our cars.

I follow her BMW to the vacant house, which turns out to be a long 20 minute drive away. All the time I'm a danger to the traffic around me, as I cannot focus on anything except the contours of her body I saw in the light, and the feeling of her lips and tongue as we were kissing. I can't believe that in a matter of minutes, I will have that body all to myself.

We arrive at the house and find that it is unfortunately not empty, but another couple of cars are parked outside and the front door is open. We go inside, and find another agent showing the house to his clients. I figure we'll stick around for a little while and find some mold damage, and the other couple should leave soon enough. Bree puts her card on the kitchen counter top, where a collection of business cards identify all the agents who have visited the home, and we start to explore.

Explore each other, that is. For every room we visit, when alone and out of sight we kiss and touch and make each other crazy with excitement. At one point I press her up facing the wall, her hands above her head, my hands on her hips. I have a huge erection in my pants, and she eagerly presses her bottom against it, giving it a good grind. I kiss her along the neck, and nibble on her ear lobe, and am rewarded with a long, lustful moan.

We go back to the kitchen and find that the other agent and his clients have left. I walk to the front door and confirm the cars are gone, and then close the door behind me. I Find Bree in the kitchen, leaning against the counter top, and expectant look on her face. In two steps I'm there, kissing her, pressing her body against the counter. I feel the buttons at the back of her dress, and deftly with one hand start to unbutton them. It falls easily off her shoulders, exposing what looks like a regular, D-cup bra in white lace. I unhook it with one hand, a skill I picked up on early on in life, and let it slide off.

No kids, I think to myself, this is a pair of low mile perky D-cups, all original and in pristine condition. The pink nipples are already hard and are just begging me to be sucked. I grab one of the fabulous breasts and start sucking on her nipple, taking the entire areola in my mouth, and letting my tongue do its magic little circle. Bree is breathing heavily, running her fingers through my hair.

I reach down and let a hand slip under her dress...I slowly let it slide up her thigh and she stops breathing for a second before letting out a moan. As my hand reaches her panties she spreads her legs a little, giving easy access. She is wet. Really really wet, and shivers as soon as I let a finger slide through the crevice, ending where I can lightly touch her clit.

I pull of her panties, but she does not want me to take off the dress in case other interested buyers show up and she needs to get decent in a hurry. I lift her up on the counter top, dress around her waist, and tell her to lean back, relax. She is in good hands and even better mouth and tongue. I lean in, and let the tip of my tongue trace the inside of her thigh until I reach her pussy. She is very neatly trimmed, waxed, not shaved, and I wonder if she had that done in case I came to pay a visit.

I lean in and start eating with great appetite...there is nothing I want more right now than to bring her a rip-roaring orgasm right here on the counter in somebody else's house. My fingers easily slide in and out of her as I start focusing my attention on her clit. Up and down, sideways, round and round and finally, when her breathing is getting shallow and her moaning reaches another level in frequency and volume, I suck it into my mouth and let my tongue drive her to a sensory crescendo. She arches her back, and lets out a long, satisfying sound, a mixture between a moan and scream, as her hips violently move. My hand instantly turns wet and warm as she squirts a little on my fingers. For some reason this turns me on even more.