Don't Worry About It

The barista slides my iced coffee across the counter and I nod thank you before stepping back and taking a sip. Three straight weeks of teaching summer school to teenagers doesn't have many rewards, so I've created my own. I sigh in relief and Carolyn chuckles before her own name is called for an iced tea. "Was it really that bad of a day?"

"I wouldn't say bad," I tell her, "they kind of bounce off the walls on the last day, especially since they all know they're going to pass and they're really just there at that point to make up the seat time."

"I don't know how you find the patience."

We take a couple of steps back so that we're out of the way of the rest of the customers who are waiting for their drinks. It's about 1:00, the tail end of the lunch rush and everyone behind the counter at this Starbucks looks as tired as I am. Carolyn's got more energy than I do, but I assume that's because she has no other choice--her iced coffee is a mid-day break before showing more houses.

"But that's it?" she asks.

"Yeah. As of Monday morning, I'm officially on break until August."

"Good for you," she says, "Although I have to say I'm going to miss running into you."

Another customer wedges himself between me and the condiment station without a word, and I take a step forward to give him room. She sips her iced tea and I reply, "Well, I live right near here. I'm sure I can stop by every once in a while." Her lips move just a little and I can see approval in her brown eyes.

Truth be told, I was planning on swinging by just about every day even if I don't need the post-work reprieve. A few days into my summer school tenure, she was standing in line behind me and gave me a polite "Hi, Mr. Davis." My "Hi, Mrs. Gibson" was met with a "Please, it's Carolyn" and I responded in kind, telling her to call me Steve. We've actually known one another for five or six years now; Carolyn and her husband Jake had three kids and I was their eleventh grade history teacher. She was in real estate and he ran his family's car dealership, and when I taught their oldest son, Connor, they were regulars at back to school nights and parent-teacher conferences. By the time their youngest daughter, Madison, was in my class, I only saw Carolyn. Not that I was surprised, though. Jake was nice enough to me but I could tell that he reveled in having his last name attached to the Chrylser/Dodge/Jeep dealership up on the highway with its huge American flag and loud radio commercials and that attitude meant treating his son like some sort of heir apparent.

Connor wasn't that much of an asshole; kind of dense, but a nice kid nonetheless. Their daughters were really smart, though, and the minute I met each of them I could definitely tell they were Carolyn's. Both Riley and Madison had her dirty blonde hair, bright smile, and confident attitude. She didn't even need to go to any of the girls' conferences or back to school nights, but she was always at the PTA-sponsored events and always had an appointment to see me. I figure that being a PTA mom had something to do with promoting her business; in fact, she'd asked me a couple of times if I was interested in selling my house. But I also liked to think that she made a point to come to parent-teacher conference nights because she wanted to see me.

Okay, that's presumptuous. A married woman--check that, a married successful woman--interested in me, a guy who has to take on extra work to help pay the bills? Yeah, not likely. Her simply being friendly didn't mean that she was flirting with me. But I don't think she was being nice just to be nice. I like to think that we were friendly acquaintances, especially after seeing one another here every day for the last three weeks.

Another person squeezes by us to get to the creamer and I see Carolyn look at the front door. She waves at the couple who have just walked in and puts her hand on my arm. "Those are my clients, so I have to cut this short. I hope you enjoy your weekend!"

"You too," I say, smiling. She repositions the bag on her shoulder and heads to the front of the store while I take a beat and check my phone before heading to the car. While I drive home, I can't help but think of how she was glad we were going to keep our daily coffee appointment. I won't lie; it kind of turned me on. But I also won't lie; I've been a bit hard up for a while. It's been two years since Mel and I finalized the divorce, and while I've gone out with a couple of women, they were never going to be serious and ended after just a few months. Most of my sex life has been solo, so the thought of a woman like Carolyn--curvy, confident, intelligent, and with a nice smile--paying this much attention to me is good enough to get at least one or two fantasies in my head.

My divorce, by the way, winds up being the topic of conversation the following Wednesday. This time, we've had better timing and managed to snag one of those small tables with the uncomfortable chairs. Carolyn doesn't come right out and ask me about Mel, but in the midst of talking about the couple from Friday--two relatively wealthy clients who are looking for a very nice home in the very nice gated community of Bending Branch and who are being very picky at the moment--I joke, "You should show them my place and maybe they'll be grateful."

"Oh stop. I'm sure it's fine," she replies, "Any luck with talking to... Meg?"

"Mel," I say.

"Mel, sorry. She say anything about putting it on the market?"

"Not lately," I reply, "but I might talk to her again, especially if you're interested in helping us sell it."

"Oh, definitely," she smiles, "By the way, what happened there? If you don't mind me getting personal, that is."

"No, I don't. It just... well, we married pretty young and if I'm being honest probably should have split up about three or four years earlier than we did."

"Why?"

"Oh, we just started fighting a lot at that point. Over money, over whether or not to have kids. But when you've known one another since you were 17, I guess it's hard to let go."

She nods and puts her hand on my arm. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I tell her. And it really is. Of course, I don't tell her all of the details, the most important of which is probably that Mel and I would have stayed together if we hadn't cheated on one another, and that's what led to us finally separating. I suppose the divorce was inevitable, especially when we reached the impasse over having kids. But then she came out and told me that she'd met someone else--a guy she worked with named Peter. Instead of taking the mature route and going into couples therapy or something, I hooked up with one of my colleagues, Jessica, who was leaving our school and therefore was safe for me to use as petty revenge. After I confessed to Mel, she was angry but we didn't have one of our shouting matches. We were just both very quiet and I felt really sad because I knew that was it.

Anyway, I try not to talk about it with women because I don't want to feel pitied. I know, it's a dumb guy thing to do but I think I'm allowed at least a little pride here.

I take a sip of my iced coffee and tell Carolyn that I could probably appeal to Mel by telling her the amount of money we can get from the sale. "She knows I want to move into a smaller place that's not as expensive. I guess she's trying to see whether or not she wants to move in herself. In that case, I'll have her buy me out."

"That's a whole other headache," Carolyn says.

"Yeah, I figure it would be."

"Well," she replies, putting her iced tea on the table and rummages through her bag. She hands me a business card, "please reach out."

I take the card and put it in my pocket. "Thanks, I will. But I don't know if she's going to change her mind anytime soon."

"Well, don't worry about it," she says as the time. She frowns a little. "I've gotta go meet the Bending Branch couple."

"Fun."

"I'm sure it will be fine. But it was great seeing you again. And don't forget to reach out. In fact, I don't think I have your number," she says before rummaging through her bag again and producing another business card and a pen. I jot my phone number down on the back and she smiles and thanks me before leaving.

I watch her go--I can't help checking out her ass--and stay in Starbucks for a few minutes more, wondering. Did she really need my number? Was her touching my arm sympathetic or something else? Did she have an extra button on her blouse undone?

Again, it's presumptuous but enough for a fantasy. And enough for me to reach out to Mel. Our relationship has improved a little bit; we're on e-mail terms, or at least I know that she will reply to an email and not make me get someone else to talk to her for me. And she does on Thursday night, saying that she talked to Peter and it sounds like a good idea.

Friggin' Peter. They'd moved in together while we were separated and I'm pretty sure that they are on the road to getting married. When I was married to Mel, she never felt like she had to run things by me for permission, which is what she seemed to be doing here. Or maybe she just wanted his advice and I'm projecting because I hate the guy. I decide not to press the issue, though, and let her know that I'll take care of everything and forward her all of the information.

On Friday, Carolyn is surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," I tell her as we wait for our drink orders, "I guess her knowing that she might get a good amount of money from it convinced her."

"That's as good a motivation as any. I take it she doesn't want the place for herself?" she asks.

I shrug. "I guess Peter has other plans."

"Peter?"

"The guy she's with."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's okay," I reply, "And maybe she saw that I want to move on and it made sense to her. I don't want to sound conceited but I wonder if she was holding onto it because she didn't want to fully let go or something like that?"

"That's not conceited. I've had clients who were very similar to you two."

"I guess you do learn a lot about someone when you have to sell their house," I wonder aloud. She shrugs and they call her name. When she comes back, I shift the conversation a little. "Anyway, I should make an appointment with you, right? So you can see the place and stuff."

"Well, I'm actually free now," she replies.

The barista calls my order and I pick it up. Carolyn is mid-sip and I ask, "Are you sure? My house isn't really clean. I mean, it's not a complete mess but it's not ready for company."

"Don't worry about it," she chuckles, "You should see some of the places I've seen. I've got a 2:30 appointment but that's a 10-minute drive, so... yeah, that gives us a good 45 minutes?"

"Are you sure? That's not a lot of time."

"I'm going on vacation next week. This way, I can get everything taken care of before I leave and you and Mel have a week to look it over."

"Okay. You just want to follow me?" I ask. She nods and I lead her out to the parking lot.

When we get to my house, I'm nervous. Maybe it's because I'm finally going through with this, or maybe it's because I didn't expect Carolyn to actually be with me anywhere but Starbucks. Whatever it is, it shows as we're walking through the yard and she's taking notes.

"You okay?" she asks as we walk up the front steps and I shakily enter the key code to the door.

"Yeah," I say, "Just a little nervous."

"Well, don't worry about it. You're just giving a tour. Nothing's set in stone," she replies. I take a deep breath and we head inside.

The tour takes about 20 minutes. While Carolyn takes notes, I point out all of the features, improvements we made since buying the place 10 years ago, and flaws that are still there but we never had the money to fix. She's a little hard to read at times, but is nice and asks questions when she needs to. In all, it's actually not as nervewracking as I thought it would be.

We finish in the kitchen. After taking some last notes, Carolyn closes her notepad and places it on the counter next to her bag. "Well, I definitely see potential and what we can do. I'll type these notes up when I get back to the office and I'll have someone look at comps in the area for me and send you all the details on Monday or Tuesday."

I lean up against the counter. "Thanks."

"Sure," she says. She tucks some hair behind her ear and smiles. "I'm just glad you thought of me."

"Of course," I say.

She smiles again and takes a step forward. It's deliberate and she's very close. My nerves return and I grip the counter. She slides her hands around my waist and kisses me. We pause. I take my hands off the counter and place them on her back as we kiss again, our lips parting. Her tongue feels soft at first, but then I hear her breathe deeply through her nose and she presses into me. I respond just as forcefully and slide one hand down to her ass.

We're like this for about a minute but when we part, I come to my senses. I start to speak, but she stops me, whispering, "Don't worry about it." She kisses my neck as her hand feels my dick through my shorts. I'm already hard, and when she realizes that, she smiles and reaches for the button and the zipper. We kiss again as she undoes them, and when she reaches into my underwear, I break it off and moan.

She wraps her hand around my shaft and kisses my neck, then pauses and slides my shorts and underwear down to the floor. I step out of them and a moment later, she is on her knees on the tile holding my cock in her hand while she slowly licks her way up and down the shaft. I grip the counter and moan again, and feel her hand slide toward the head while her tongue swirls around the tip. She squeezes and I feel the tip of her tongue taste the precum that's coming out of my slit.

"Fuck," I say. She takes the head of my cock in her mouth and sucks on it for a moment. Her hand slides down to the base of my shaft, holding me steady before she moves her lips further down. Her mouth is warm and tight as she sucks me slowly, sliding all the way up and all the way down. I moan again and look down, watching her head as she takes me deeper and deeper each time. "Fuck, that feels good."

I feel the palm of her other hand on my balls and she gives them a squeeze for a moment. My cock twitches in her mouth, but she continues her slow pace, her tongue feeling like silk or velvet along the veins of my shaft. She keeps my balls on her palm and reaches out with her finger. I feel it press against my taint and that causes me to squeeze the counter even harder. I let out a huge breath and feel her mouth start to move faster, still sucking hard.

The feeling of her mouth as she moves quickly up and down my cock while swirling the tip of her finger around my taint is overwhelming and I feel my balls start to tighten and my cock twitch again. She feels it too and gives it a little more, pressing and sucking harder. Finally, I feel every muscle in my body stiffen and thrust my hips forward as I come, my cock pulsing as I shoot streams of it into her mouth. She takes her hand off my balls, but continues to suck on me, moving her other hand up and down my shaft, so she can milk every last drop.

When I'm done, she slides her mouth off and swallows, then stands up, getting one last drop from the corner of her mouth with her finger. I don't know what to do or say, so I just stand there, blissed out and stunned as Carolyn grabs her purse and notepad from the counter, gives me a smile, and leaves.

For the next week, I can't stop thinking about it. I do enough to distract myself, but it enters my mind at some of the most inappropriate times, especially as I get closer to Monday when I know I'm going to have the chance to see her again. I don't text her or anything, even when the secretary at her office sends me all the details about selling the house; she made it clear that she is on vacation, so I wouldn't want to interrupt. But I will say that waiting to hear from her is agonizing.

I finally do on Sunday afternoon. It's been way too hot to do anything all weekend aside from household chores, so I've spent most of Saturday and Sunday sitting on my ass watching TV. I've been dozing off during the middle innings of a pretty boring baseball game when my phone buzzes. It's Carolyn, texting me that she's back from vacation and wanted to see if I got all of the stuff for the house.

"Yes. I looked over it and forwarded it to Mel," I reply.

"And...?"

"She seems on board."

"Seems?"

"Well," I text, "I think she wants us all to sit down and work this out."

"That makes sense. She's getting half of the sale."

"She'll have to sign off on stuff, too, I guess."

"If the house is in both of your names, yes."

I reply with a thumbs-up.

"But it looks good to you?"

I pause for a moment and then reply, "Yes, but I think I might have a couple of questions."

"Anything I can answer now?" she asks.

"I'm not sure," I say.

"Well, how about I swing by tomorrow and we'll take a look at it."

"Sure. What time?"

"I'm free from 12:00-4:00."

"How about 1:00?" I ask, "At Starbucks like usual?"

"I can come by the house."

My heart jumps. "Sure," I reply.

"See you then."

Damn. It was a silly thing, but I didn't think that she was going to go for the "I have questions" line. And I don't think that I'm being presumptuous, especially since there is literally nothing in what she sent me that seems strange or hard to understand. Plus, I don't think that she would have mentioned having three hours free on Monday afternoon if she wasn't thinking what I'm thinking.

I put my phone aside, take a deep breath, and head to the bathroom. I jerk off the next morning as well, because Carolyn apparently has me feeling like I'm back in high school or college and I don't want to disappoint the improbably hot girl who has just said "yes". Even so, I'm a bundle of nervous energy in the hour before she gets here, making sure everything is clean, including me, and that I've got condoms and whatever else we might need.

Carolyn shows up a couple of minutes before 1:00. I take a moment after the doorbell rings to collect myself, and to also not make it seem like I was waiting right there. When I open it, she's dressed in what she usually wears on the weekdays: a white blouse with navy pinstriping and a navy skirt with brown heels. She's not popping out of it at all--in fact, a client wouldn't notice anything--but I can see how the skirt hugs her hips and notice that she's undone a couple of buttons on the blouse so that I can see her generous cleavage. My hormones start to stir as I shut the door and say hello.

"Hi," she says, placing her bag on the floor. I notice that she's not carrying her notepad or a binder or anything--clearly, another signal that I was right--and decide to go for it by taking a step forward and sliding my arm around her back. I kiss her hard and she responds the same way, shoving her tongue into my mouth. I take another step forward and push her against the wall of the foyer, sliding my hand down her back to her thigh, which I grab and pull up. She stops kissing me and I suck on her neck a little. She sighs and grabs my ass with one hand, my neck with the other. We start kissing again.

I'm grinding my crotch into her--my cock is raging hard and she's pressing on my ass so I keep doing it--and when I'm again kissing and sucking on her neck while she sighs and breathes heavily, she manages to say, "Take me upstairs."

A few moments later, we're taking each other's clothes off in my bedroom while kissing and pawing at one another. Once we're both naked, she throws the covers off the bed and lays down with her legs spread. I take a moment to look at her: dirty blonde hair already a mess, cheeks pink, big round breasts whose pink nipples are pointing straight up, and a patch of neatly trimmed bush above a shaven pussy. I want every fucking inch of her.