Furnished Room Ch. 01byPeter Duncan©
It was May of 2002. I was on a special assignment doing surveys on educational equipment in Denver and Colorado Springs, a project that took four months. I could have stayed in a residential motel but found them sterile and wanted something a little homier. An apartment would have been cheaper but nobody would rent an apartment for less than a year. Pouring through the newspaper at the Waffle House I came across an ad that read, "Furnished room for rent, upscale residential neighborhood, laundry privileges and garage... Rent $400... contact Claire Moore."
Have you ever had one of those nudges that commanded you to do something out of the ordinary? I had never considered a room and there was nothing special about the ad but, it was almost automatic, I made the call to Ms. Moore. She said her office was only minutes away from her house and she could meet me right away. Her voice, one of those syrupy, sultry voices, was a magnet. Being a male, I fantasized that it would be nice to meet a comfortable woman with whom I could spend my lonely nights, someone soft and warm to cuddle up to.
My wife of eight years, a nurse in Los Angeles, couldn't handle my long absences and ended up having an affair with a doctor whom she had since married. That was three years ago. There was no end in sight to the extended travel which interfered with a permanent relationship, so, I'd only been having casual affairs since the divorce.
Even though Claire Moore's voice on the other end of the phone sounded youngish I thought she was probably an older woman. I pictured her as a woman of average height, probably a zaftig body with breasts that were still holding up. But I told myself not to be disappointed if she was old and fat and had false teeth.
Claire had arrived at the house within ten minutes of hanging up the phone. Her husband had been gone for three months and would be away for at least another six. Addicted to gambling, he had run up a fortune in debts and had taken a job as a construction superintendent in Afghanistan, a hazardous, high paying job where the company sent his earnings directly to a New York bank who would hold it in an interest bearing account until he returned. Hopefully the stash would allow him to pay off the debts after which they could get on with their life. Money was getting short for Claire and she reasoned that renting the room on a short term basis would help tremendously. But she wondered if she were doing the right thing.
As I drove passed the graceful Colonial I saw an attractive woman looking out the front window. If she was Claire Moore she was much younger than I envisioned and I wondered what circumstances might have caused a woman liked her to take in a roomer. It was, as she had said, "a nice house in a nice neighborhood." I pulled up in my Porsche Roadster to the house within a half hour of our phone conversation.
Claire pulled back the sheer curtain and looked out the window just as a 1992 black Porsche Roadster passed the house, continued down the street, made a u-turn and pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Watching him get out of the car she thought, He's CUTE. He was wearing dark blue Dockers, a teal Polo shirt and Sperry Topsiders, no socks. Looking into the mirror she primped her hair and waited for him to knock on the door.
The woman I had seen looking out the window opened the door. Wearing khaki pants, a navy silk blouse and a single string of pearls, she was extremely attractive. She was younger than I expected, probably between 35 and 40. Her auburn hair hung slightly below her shoulders and she had fine features. All in all she was a real classy looking woman.
"You must be Mr. Claridge," she said offering her hand. "I'm Claire Moore."
Returning her greeting I said, "I hope the car will be alright in the street Mrs. Moore. It's a classic model Porsche. I've had it since it was new in 92, it's my pet; I keep it in Cherry condition."
"Please call me Claire."
In the living room there was a picture of Claire, a man and a girl somewhere between 15 and 20. "Your family?" I asked, stopping in front of the mantle to examine the picture
"Yes, my husband and my daughter Stacy. Ted's overseas on a project...will be gone for another six months. Stacy's a senior in high school. She's 18. She must have seen me raise my eyebrows and clarified, "Stacy's a December birthday; we held her back in the first grade." She looked out the window and said, "If you take the room there's room for your car in the garage."
The daughter could complicate matters, I thought. Claire saw my sideways glance and asked if something was wrong. "I just feel a bit awkward coming into someone's house to rent a room," I said.
She led the way up the stairs to show me the room. Her behind was at eye level and I couldn't to keep my eyes off it. It was tight in her khaki pants. She was either wearing a thong or no panties at all.
"This is a very nice house, Claire" I said and added, "How old did you say your daughter is?"
"You're not a weirdo are you?" She chuckled. "Eighteen. You'll be sharing a bathroom with her and I have to tell you she can be a bit messy." At the top of the stairs she turned her head sideways and said, "As far as the rest of the house, you can make use of the living room and kitchen as long as we don't get in each other's way."
She stayed in the doorway as I entered the room. It was spacious with an easy chair in the corner and a large desk in front of the window. The closet was empty as were the drawers in the large dresser. Testing the bed I looked at Claire and my thoughts made me feel guilty. As if reading my mind her cheeks tinged pink.
"What did you say your husband is doing overseas?"
"He's an engineer...in charge of building a bridge. Stacy's a senior in high school. It wouldn't have been fair to pull her out of school and move her across the world. So I stayed here with her." She chuckled and said, "Besides, Afghanistan's not exactly a tourist attraction"
"Might you have a hook-up for my computer?"
"My husband put in wifi last year." She bent down under the desk and pointed. "There's an additional phone jack right here and you can order phone service."
She worked out... was proud of the shape she was in and knew he was looking at her tight butt. While coming up the stairs she had felt a little brazen, knowing that her behind was right in front of his eyes. And, she was swinging it quite a bit more than usual.
She was bending over, pointing under the desk, and her ass looked even tighter. I felt a swelling in my groin. "I, I'll take the room Claire. I work late into the night on my computer, is that a problem?"
"We're sound sleepers, you won't bother us."
I followed her into the bathroom and she said, "Shoot," bent down to pick up a black thong and bra and dropped them into the hamper. I knew I would be in for a treat when I would rummage in the hamper, a slight perversion of mine, and savor her daughter's aroma.
A downstairs door slammed and a girl's voice called, "Mom?" I could hear her coming up the stairs. When she got to the landing she looked at Claire with pouting lips but her demeanor changed when she saw me. I recognized her from her picture. She had her mother's shapely legs which were nicely displayed by her short jeans skirt. Her spaghetti strap top was tight, showing off her attractive breasts.
"Stacy, this is Mr. Claridge. He's going to take the room."
The girl looked me up and down, smiled and said, "So, the Porsche outside belongs to you?" When I answered yes she looked into my eyes, quickly diverted hers to my crotch, offered her hand and said, "Cool." Maybe I was imagining it but her nipples appeared to firm and tent her thin top.
"Stacy," Claire said, "Why don't you help Mr. Claridge bring his things in?"
On the way out to the car I asked Stacy if she liked school. She tossed her hair and told me she couldn't wait to get out. "If you don't mind me saying so Stacy, you are a very attractive girl." Putting her tongue in her cheek she smiled coyly. It was clear she knew that she was hot and appeared thrilled that I thought so too.
"Do you have a boyfriend Stacy?" I asked.
"No, not now," she said. "He was a jerk. I'm not interested in boys my age any more." In front of the car she said, "This is such a cool car. Will you take me for a ride?"
I sensed the tension between us and didn't want to chance getting her mother upset with me. "Not now Stacy. I have to take my things in. Opening the trunk I told her that I would take the suitcase and brief case. "You take my laptop and my tennis racquet." Shit, I thought looking at the open file box. One of my magazines was on top, emblazoned with a gorgeous blonde down on her knees sucking a handsome stud's humungous cock.
Incredibly cool Stacy smirked and said, "Um, Mr. Claridge...Lance... you might not want Mom to see this magazine."
Trying to gain my equilibrium I said, "Maybe this can be a secret between you and me Stacy, OK?"
She gave me a knowledgeable smirk and said, "There are dirtier pictures on the internet...Mr...Lance... and I bet you know where to look."
Back in my room she set the briefcase and tennis racket down, then leaned against the doorjamb and looked at me seductively. She licked her lips then tossed her hair and wiggled her ass to her room, closing the door behind her.
Needing to pee I went to the bathroom, closed the door and stood at the toilet. I was somewhat swollen as a result of the interchange with Stacy and couldn't go. The hamper caught my eye and I opened it. Picking up the black thong I spread the crotch and held the panties to my nose. The faint smell of dried urine didn't cover the scent of Stacy's feminine essence. She must have masturbated in them to have left such a strong residual smell. The image of the girl writhing on her bed, wetting her panties with her excitement excited me and I wrapped the fabric around my bulk and masturbated. It didn't take long until my knees buckled. When I spurted my semen over the black fabric I thought, I'm such a fucking pervert.