A Discreet Distance

I pulled another mouthful from my Guinness and tried to concentrate on the paperback in front of me. The story was getting good, but how does a healthy straight male concentrate on Clancy with a gorgeous twenty-three-year-old nude doing her laundry in the next room?

Ronni's tits and bright smile popped out of the laundry room. "Brent? Are we out of bleach?"

She owned some real beauties too, genuine works of art, slightly uptilted with deep red areolas topping creamy skin encasing firm and ample flesh. Maybe they weren't as big as those of a centerfold, but they were for damn sure as pretty.

"Brent?" She singsonged with a smile, stroking strawberry-blond locks out of her face.

I scowled and shook my head to clear it. "Yeah, I used it up yesterday. I put it on the shopping list."

Her nose wrinkled up and she did a little frustrated up and down bounce that did bad things to my moral fiber. "I needed it for the next load. Guess I can run down to the store."

"Nah, I'll do it."

It'll get my mind off your tits!

I fished for my keys and slapped to make sure my wallet was there.

"Thanks! You're a pal!"

I'm a blueballed sucker,

I retorted silently as I escaped Nude Hell.

You knew damned well that jiggle would break down any possible resistance.

I could have tolerated a closet nudist as a roommate if she were a dumpy plain broad in her thirties. I'm good at ignoring the unpleasant. Ronni didn't fit any part of that description. She surely knew it too. She had to know why she got all those tips while slinging beer and hot wings, and why cars slowed down while passing her. All girls built that nicely know.

The woman at the supermarket checkout scowled at me until I realized my eyes had been working as hard as a teenager's to deconstruct her uniform and get at the goodies beneath. I escaped the store in considerable embarrassment.

Look, I never try to hide the fact that I like female bodies. Thing is, at my age I'm supposed to know how to do it in a more decent, appreciative manner, so that those who don't mind can enjoy the attention rather than be annoyed. The girls who do mind can go to hell, but I had no idea on which side of that line the cashier was, since any woman who wasn't working at a titty bar at the moment would surely object to the stare she was getting. Living with Ronni was totally screwing up my ability to interact with women normally.

And

that,

to my mind, was my actual problem. Ronni brazenly fucked with my mind daily, and it was beginning to influence me no matter where I went. I had tits on the brain like a fourteen-year-old boy.

When she first moved in, she'd acted completely normal. She made it clear she had no intention of being anything more than my room-mate. We set down strict rules of behavior, and I thought that was that. Two months later, she took a naked stroll through the house, just casually looking for some misplaced item. Why?

"I just felt like it. I like being without clothes but I don't have the guts to go to a nudist club with a bunch of strangers. It's okay here at home, 'cause I know you now."

I thought she might have been coming on to me, but she clarified that quickly when I tested the theory.

"Keep a normal, discreet distance, Brent. I like you, and you have permission to go right ahead and enjoy the view, but I do not want to have sex with you."

Then don't hand out raging hard-ons, dammit!

I drove home in as bad a mood as I'd been in when I left. When I entered the house with my grocery bags, she was standing in the middle of the living room next to the stripper pole, and she was still completely naked except for earrings and navel jewelry. She'd shaved recently too, I noted.

She looked slightly damp... had she been using that thing? I had bought it and an instruction DVD three weeks prior as an attempted counterattack to her nude romps. The first time she saw it, I told her that if she insisted on behaving like a stripper, then she needed a pole. It was nice one, too, with bearings to allow it to spin and everything. I paid three hundred for it.

It was a total failure, of course. She wasn't offended or embarrassed in the least. In fact she smiled and thanked me. The exact same sunny, innocent smile she wore now as she came up to take the bag with the bleach.

"Hi!" She greeted me brightly. "Thanks!"

As she sashayed away, her equally luscious rump now enticing me-- compact, but round and equally firm-- she added, "Don't forget to put the receipt in the box." Meaning the metal box where we kept household receipts marked with who paid for them. We totaled them up at the end of the month and whoever paid less paid half the difference to the other.

I went to put the groceries away and returned to the kitchen table and my Clancy novel, wondering if my Guinness had gone flat. An experimental sip told me it was tolerable. The washing machine started up and she reappeared, now standing in the kitchen, getting a glass from the cupboard.

Do women have any idea how sexy they are when they're nude in the kitchen? It's like man's two greatest desires wrapped up in one beautiful package.

Fuck me while I make your dinner, darling!

While she pulled the filter pitcher out and poured a glass of water, she asked. "Brent, I'm thinking the carpet in the living room needs vacuuming. Will it bother you?"

Hell, yeah it'll bother me!

"Go ahead."

I had hardwood floors, but I had an oriental rug in the half of the oversized living room where I actually had furniture. It was under a heavy coffee table and too big to easily haul out and beat, so we used a vacuum cleaner on it. The kitchen table sat in a nook that extended from the living room, so I would have a full view of the action.

She flashed her bright smile and went to haul out the vacuum. I struggled vainly to get my mind back into the book, but once she turned it on, her body swaying back and forth in front of me, it was a lost cause. Within moments, I once again had an alert crewman on duty and coming to attention.

I sighed, put the book down, took a drink of my beer and decided, what the hell, I'll just watch the show.

Of course I'd tried this before, hoping it would make her uncomfortable enough to go put something on. It seemed to encourage her instead. She smiled at me and kept going about her business. But since I couldn't read anyway, why not?

Forgetting about how bothersome it was, I could sit back and just appreciate her. In the final analysis, she was simply a thing of beauty. With her clothes on, she didn't seem terribly remarkable, but that was because she wore frumpy clothes and rarely wore make-up. It kept her from standing out. I figured this out once I saw her on the job, where she painted herself up just like any other girl on staff and transformed from unremarkable to unbelievable. I had never really thought before about how much our eyes are trained to expect cosmetics as part of the woman. We don't know what a beautiful woman looks like without it, so Ronni looked 'plain.'

Her body had no need of enhancement, by cosmetics or anything else. She had a strong way of moving, but not like a guy. More like a gymnast. Everything about her seemed to start from this core within her flat tummy and flow out from there, spreading gently down into medium hips and thighs that tapered into dancer's legs, strong but feminine. Upwards that core flared into a taut chest and regal shoulders, with those gorgeous globes somehow blending perfectly with athletic arms. Top that with a completely uncomplicated smile and red-gold ringlets of hair cascading everywhere, and Ronni became nothing short of spectacular.

After a few moments, she noticed me watching and smiled. She also added a little extra sway to her moves. Because of the location of the electric socket, she ended up with the cord around the stripper pole, which would have leave her unable to reach the remained of the carpet. Normally, she would just pick the vacuum up and walk around it, but this time she grabbed the pole, lifted herself one-handed carrying the vacuum, and did a lazy circle just like in a titty bar. She dropped back down after one turn, having now successfully routed the cord to the other side of the pole.

I sputtered Guinness through my nose.

The hell?

That looked as if she'd been practicing... I shouted, "Have you been using that thing?"

So she didn't have to shout, she turned the vacuum off, then gave me a impish grin. "I watched that DVD and tried it out. It's fun, actually."

The vacuum went back on and she continued, her lovely rear continuing to dance for me and her tits swaying with the motion. My cock fought to rip seams out of the crotch of my jeans. It was actually starting to hurt. Only my stubborn determination not to let her force me into permanent hiding in my bedroom kept me from fleeing. Those beautiful, nearly cellulite-free cheeks kept beckoning me and persuading me, and the pain kept getting worse.

Unable to stand it anymore, I undid my belt and fly. Just getting the thing free hurt, but finally it stood tall, nine inches of pure man ready for action.

Of which there was none to be had in this room, of course. Still, I could relax and sigh in relief. I couldn't leave it out like this, though. I had to figure out something before she looked...

Naturally, she spotted it at once. Her sparkling eyes gave my proud crewman an approving gaze. She raised a thumb and shouted, "Nice!"

Her attention went back to working around the end of the couch, the last bit of the job. Her simple smiling appraisal hadn't helped one bit, of course. Made things worse, really.

After switching off the vacuum, she stooped to reel the cord up, facing me with her tits swinging tauntingly to the motion. I watched the display, in my opinion one of the sexiest positions a woman can assume, and something just clicked inside me.

"Fuck it," I said, and started stroking as I watched.

She looked up to the sound of my voice and saw what I was doing. A slightly mysterious smile formed on her bow-shaped lips, a mix of her normal pleasure at my watching her and something else. Since it seemed like a question somehow, I answered, "If you're going to insist on giving me hard-ons and blue balls, I'll just go ahead and jack off when you do it. That okay with you?"

This was it, I told myself. I had found the thing that would be too much for her. She had to finally give up and finally start behaving with more modesty now. At least wear underwear or something...

"Sure," she chirped simply, looking honestly charmed by the man who wanted to masturbate while watching her. She continued reeling up the cord and unplugged the vacuum, then added with a twinkle, "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Starting to get into it, with my pulse rate rising and my breath unsteady, I answered, "You fucking well know there's something you can do to help!"

What I meant was

You can wear clothes!

but she took it a different way. "Brent, I mean anything that I can do from a discreet distance. Remember my rule."

After a moment, something did occur to me. "Show me what you learned on that pole."

Her eyes flicked over to it, then she grew a delighted grin and practically skipped over to the stereo. To my surprise, one of my Cars albums was already in the CD player. Reaching down beside the cabinet, she extracted a pair of clear plastic stilettos which she quickly slipped on. She began strutting around to 'Let's Go', a song as old as I am, and way older than her. She was really doing it justice, too.

When she grabbed onto that pole, it turned magical. She whirled and backed into it, ass facing me, pressed into the pole. Her hips rocked, slinking up and down as she did knee bends. Spinning on the ball of her foot, she faced me, pole between her tits and her slender hands stroked it sensuously, as if she were jacking it off. She ended that with a stroke of her tongue, then began turning around it gracefully, reversing hands and direction from time to time, using different steps and moves to vary how she moved. This ended with her pressed against the pole, both hands gripping it above her head, as her eyes fixed on me in a bold, seductive gaze. My hand increased to full speed.

Once she began moving again, she leaned backward slowly and fluidly, her foot slipping out as her hand slid down the pole and she arched her back. Her hair pooled gracefully on the floor, then her head touched. She slipped onto her back from there, taking a moment then to do a couple ripples of her abs and pelvic thrusts. Her lips parted and her face tightened as she did this, making her look for all the world like an invisible lover was thrusting into her as she laid there. I was stroking at the same rhythm, imagining being that lover for her.

She rolled sideways so she could run the toe of her shoe up the pole as she raised her leg. I watched that beautiful gate open up and jerked while the tongue in my mind slid down that leg to find the treasure. She then grasped the pole and with catlike motions hand-over-handed her way up it until she was on her feet once more, then kept climbing, pulling herself several feet off the floor. My living room has a vaulted ceiling, so she had a full twelve feet to work with.

After a spiral back down with her breast crushed against the pole, she repeated the backward lean and slide down the pole, but starting with her back toward me this time, so that I watched those beautiful breasts appear over the top as she arched her back. Once she'd repeated the simulated sex, she spun around on her butt and I was staring right into a mouthwatering, spread-legged view of her smooth-shaven sex with one leg hooked on the pole and her back on the floor, as if she were waiting for me to take her. I was a millimeter away from acting on it when I realized she was waiting for the next song to start.

"Since I held you" began, and she slowly pulled herself up, staring straight at me the entire time with come-on eyes of a power level I've never encountered anywhere outside a gentleman's club. Once up on her feet again she went into a hip-rocking sway and occasionally threw in another pole move, but she seemed mostly interested in just displaying herself and dancing at this point. By that time I didn't give a damn. My crewman was prepared to do his duty and the cannon was locked and loaded. The temptress gaze stayed fixed on me until I came, when it dissolved into a look of almost childlike delight at what she'd accomplished.

As I recovered to the tune "It's all I can do", she stood leaning against the pole, one arm gripping it over her head and the other toying with her hair. She gave me a playful smile and bit her lower lip. "How'd I do?"

"You did very, very well," I assured her, my pulse rate still pounding and my breath still ragged. I wondered what I should do about the mess but before I could decide, she was already headed to the kitchen. Those exquisite hips again passed within mere feet of me.

After returning with the paper towels and handing them over, she leaned on the side-chair opposite me and watched me clean up.

"You learned all that in three weeks? Just from a DVD?" I needed to put things away, so to speak, but I was too amazed with what she had just done to worry about it. I was also starting to harden up again, seeing those very moist lovelies hanging just a few feet away.

"That was all just basic stuff. There's a lot I can't do yet. The butterfly, the inverted stuff..." She leaned across to take the roll back and collect the soiled towels. The way she handled my cum without hesitation was strangely erotic. Did she just not care about what was on the towels, or was she purposefully continuing the titillation?

"I've been practicing every day while you're at work. I figured if you spent that much money on me, I oughta use it. I actually completed the DVD in a week, then I found a school that teaches it. I've taken five lessons so far. The instructor says I'm a fast learner. All that ballet I did is probably helping." She giggled as she tossed the soiled towels in the trash. "She says I should consider a change of careers."

I nodded, "She's right. You're good. I hear it pays a lot better than a sports bar, too."

She smirked, clearly not able to take the idea seriously. Well, I suppose most girls wouldn't.

"How'd you end up with the Cars? Kind of before your time."

"My instructor gave me a list of albums, stuff she had in the studio, so I could pick one and buy a home copy. I recognized the title from your collection."

After setting the towels back in their place, she sailed past me again, grabbing the vacuum to carry it back to the hall closet. Then she paused and gave me a very honest, frank look.

"Brent? Next time you jack off, get naked for me, okay? I would like that. Plus you won't mess up your clothes."

And thus, yet another of my attempts to change her strange household habit went badly awry.

She left for work soon after. Her job ran four to close Wednesday through Sunday . I spent my Saturday evening in relative peace, watching some half-assed basketball on TV as performed by our sorry excuse for a franchise. I piddled around on the web after that, until she came home. One of the cooks had a thing for her, so as usual a takeout box chock full of leftover hot wings slid onto the coffee table.

She kicked off her shoes and collapsed with her head ending up next to the computer desk looking up at me, strawberry-blond curls draped over the arm of the couch.. A finger hooked some of it behind her ear, and her voice took on a flirty tone. "I wanted to dance again when I got home... but I'm beat, sorry. Forgot it was Saturday night."

I looked over at her and twisted my lip, trying to find some way to figure out what was going on behind those hazel eyes. "You really enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Well yeah," she answered. She stretched her arms upward lacing her fingers together above her and held the pose for a few seconds. After release, she added. "It really is a blast. It's like a mixture of ballet, clubbing and climbing around on a jungle gym. Makes me feel like a kid."

Not exactly what I meant. "Mm. I meant having a guy watching you and jacking off."

She considered me for a second, then said, "Yeah. It's a compliment, if you think about it, you know? Besides, I saw you enjoy something for a change. You're always scowling."

I guess the whole thing relocated me to a completely different moral standard. The next thing that came out of my mouth was something I never would have said to a woman before that moment.

"I wish I could do something to make you masturbate. I would love to return the favor somehow."

"You just want to see me masturbate," she decided with a smirk. "Guys love watching us do that, right?"

Honesty being the best policy, I answered, "It's true. I would absolutely love to watch you masturbate."

That would have pretty much ended the conversation, one would think. Instead, she gazed at me steadily for several seconds, contemplating.

Then she pointed her finger at my easy chair across the room and said, "We're too close. Discreet distance rule. Over there."

That caught me completely off-guard. Too surprised to do anything else, I stood and obeyed. Before I made it, she added, "Wait. Put on some music."

"Cars again?"

She giggled. "No, that's my dancing music. Pick out something you'd like for this."

I put on Jon Hopkins

Opalescence.

It just seemed like good music to make love to. She closed her eyes as the slow dreamy synthesizer sounds began and her fingertips drew lazy circles on her "Max's Sports Bar & Grill" tank top. When the jazz beat kicked in, she grew an indulgent smile and tipped her head back.