Tal Dirty to Me

Episode One - https://literotica.com/s/sweat-16

Episode Two - https://literotica.com/s/scrubs-2

Episode Three - https://literotica.com/s/the-party-starter

Episode Four - https://literotica.com/s/oral-4-you-oral-4-me

Episode Five - Talk Dirty To Me

All week long, there were work trucks in and out of Kate's driveway. Carpenters and painters from the conditions of the vehicles and the crappy logos on the sides.

I was fetching my mail Wednesday afternoon when Kate was leaving the house... for work, I guess. My mailbox is down at the street so I'm right there as she pulls out of her driveway next door.

I wave, like always, as she starts down the hill. She usually waves back and smiles. Not today. She stops in the street right where I am, rolling her window down in the process.

I start the conversation.

"Having some work done at the house?" I query, doing my best imitation of Captain Obvious.

"Yeah, re-doing the guest room," Kate answers. "It's the only room that hasn't been redone in the whole house. I've found a different use for it now and I want to freshen it up... rearrange a few things."

Of course, her guest room is where we have our appointments. Our sex sessions. Oh, THAT different use...

She's testing me. I can see the glint in her eyes. And the little curl at the sides of her mouth.

But I can small-talk with the best of 'em.

"Ugh," I respond. "Those re-do projects... they always take longer than you think. But then you're glad with the results when they're over."

"I know, right?" she beams. "They were supposed to be done this weekend but something's on back-order.

"Now it's going to be like the middle of next week"

Another test. I can almost see her gears turning. How is Randy going to react? Why didn't he ask what kind of work is being done? Isn't he curious?? Is he going to ask about Monday? Like... right out here in the street?

Then, maybe because I haven't asked... she delivers the zinger.

"K... gotta get to work," Kate announces. Then, instead of driving off, she turns back to me.

"So..." she begins, and then abruptly interrupts herself. "This is going to sound funny, because I know you've told me before. Please remind me... of your... name?" She finishes with an embarrassed little giggle.

It's the exact thing... the EXACT thing... she said to me on my porch about a month ago... the day she proposed our current fuck buddy arrangement. After our shower encounter. Before the last two weeks of pretty awesome Monday-morning sex. In her guest room. That she's now having re-done.

This girl knows how to play. And she's got a wicked fastball.

I smile. "I'm Randy," I reply. I try to not color my answer at all... to not let her think one thing or another about what *I* might be thinking.

My head voice: ((Low whistle). Wow. Well played, my man...)

She beams a smile that I read as appreciative... that we've played the round to a draw.

"Of course," she coos. "I'm sorry that names are just my worst thing.

"Have a great day, Randy," she chirps as the window goes back up.

And she zooms away, leaving me standing... sort of like a doofus... in the middle of our street.

Fortunately, I haven't gotten my mail yet. So moving to the mailbox is a natural thing to do, in case any of the other neighbors are watching.

Usually, my Head Voice just delivers snarky one-line commentary. Now, he wants a conversation.

(What the hell did THAT mean? "What's your name again?" That's insulting!)

"She's teasing... just playing a game," I reply. "I thought she played it quite well. I thought it was kind of cute, actually."

(Well... what about Monday? What gonna happen concerning Monday?)

"I don't know. It's only Wednesday. Why don't you calm down and not worry about it."

(What do you think she's doing to y'all's room?)

"Okay. First, it's not OUR room. It's her house. I'm just invited in every once in a while.

"Second, I don't know what she's doing... and I'll just have to wait to find out."

(Urrrrrrggghhh!!)

There's talk of rain all weekend, and I need to get some chores done on the outside of the house on Friday.

I'm on a ladder, probably higher than a should be, and I feel the feet slipping and the ladder starting to tilt, with me still on it. I have a choice: Ride the fucking thing to the ground, or jump off and take my chances. I choose the second option.

I land at an angle, perpendicular to the fall line of the slope up to the house. Physics take over and the weakest point is my downhill ankle. It rolls under me as I roll over it.

I know right away that it's at least a sprain. I've felt it before. I wish I could say it was from chasing down a bad guy on the city streets or being the last defender to keep the other team's star running back from the winning score. But, no. They've been wholly pedantic injuries. Like this one.

I drive myself to the quick-care just so they can verify that it's not cracked or broken. Then it's back home to rest it, elevated, and try not to overdose on advil or tylenol.

Head Voice: (I guess this answers what you'll NOT be doing on Monday.)

Shut up, head voice.

My bedroom is upstairs so I spend most of Saturday and Sunday in bed, getting up only to pee or stretch things out a little. The pain saps my appetite so I force myself to eat at least a little something. Sunday evening I fix a sandwich. I'll wash it down with bourbon.

I'm about to climb back in bed when I think about Kate's signal. I can't NOT check on it. I sit on the side of the bed for a second or two, then rise to limp across to the bonus room and see what I see.

There's only one candle in the window. She wants to see me tomorrow morning.

Sleep doesn't come quickly, nor do I sleep well. It's either pain or anticipation. Probably both.

I follow my regular routine Monday morning. Shit, shower, shave, yada-yada. The ankle feels better, but I still limp like a peg-leg pirate everywhere I go.

I put on more regular clothes - button-front sports shirt and khakis - than I usually wear for my encounters with Kate. I convince myself that today's going to be fun. It's just going to be different kind of fun than our previous encounters, that's all.

When I'm not limping, the trek from my back door, through the gate in Kate's fence, and up to her back door takes four minutes. I've timed it down to the micro-second, it seems. Today, I give it eight.

As I step through the gate into her back yard, I can see Kate standing in her kitchen window. She gives me a little wave and I return it as I pull the gate toward me to close it.

Head Voice: (Why is she in the kitchen instead of upstairs?)

"I don't know," is my silent reply.

Kate's demeanor changes from cheery to concerned as she sees me beginning to limp toward her deck. She's out the deck door and onto the deck in a flash. She moves to lean against the deck rail.

"Randy!" she cries, albeit softly. It's like the loudest whisper she can possibly utter.

"Randy... what on earth??"

Her doctor's instincts kick in and she rushes down the steps and to my right side as I approach.

"Here... let me help you!" Kate cries as she gets to my side.

"No need, sweetie... I'm okay," I reply.

She skips right over me calling her "sweetie." I didn't intend to... it just came out. Truth is, I call lots of people "sweetie." Waitresses, some co-workers (unless they've warned me against that or they're just... you know... bitches).

"What happened?" Kate asks in a worried voice. "Are you okay??"

"I was on a ladder at my house on Friday and the ground beneath it didn't hold," I started. The first part was true, anyway.

"It's just a sprain... it'll be okay. It's still a little hard to walk, that's all."

Kate's a dainty little thing. At first she tries to somehow support me... actually from the wrong side. After a step or two she realizes that. She grips my arm instead. We're almost to the deck steps anyway.

At the bottom step I turn to her. "You go ahead," I instruct. "I've got this."

Kate scurries up the steps, opens the deck door and stands within it to watch me slow-walk... one step at a time... up to the house level of the deck. Thankfully, it's only four steps or so.

The concern on her face is real. Hey, she's a doctor. She hasn't heard the whole story yet, that this kind of injury isn't new to me and that I'm two days on the road to feeling better. I truly don't try to milk her concern. But I don't have to.

Kate's furrowed brow and worried eyes follow me all the way to the deck door where she's waiting. As I get to where she's standing she throws her arms around my neck in a hug. She's starting to replay what she's learned in the last minute or so.

"This happened on Friday?!?" she pulls back and asks with what could be called incredulity. I don't take it that way.

"You've been over in your house... alone... since Friday?? Why didn't you call me??"

It's a perfectly natural thing for her to say. Neighborly. Human-like. Doctor-like.

My response is also a perfectly natural thing to say. With deserved incredulity, if I want to go there. Thankfully, I choose to make a little joke of it.

"Kate," I smile through a chuckle, "I don't have your number."

The realization hits her. Maybe she plays her own voice in her head, what she said to me on the day we forged our agreement: "Randy, this is important. I don't want to leave any kind of a trail that my daughter Amanda could discover. No phone calls. No voice mails. No emails. No texts. Nothing like that... understand?"

Kate's demeanor softens just a little. Her shoulders seem to relax a little. Her hands unwrap from my neck and drop softly down across my chest and off to her side. She lets out a little sigh.

"I wish I could have been there to help you," she whispers. Her beautiful eyes change from worry to compassion.

"I know how you could help me now," I offer.

"What?" she exclaims. "Of course! How?"

I smile with my eyes looking over the top of my glasses. "Could you let me come inside?"

"Oh, shit!" she exclaims. "Come, come, come!" She steps back from the door and tries to find a way to pull in me behind her.

I find my own way in and clear the door. She closes it behind me, throws the dead-bolt, and turns back to face me. Another hug follows immediately. It breaks, but Kate remains in the direct proximity to my face and mouth. She smells fantastic. Her soft breath has a soft coffee aroma on it. She pauses... as if she's unsure of her next move.

I solve it for her. With false solemnity, I repeat her question of me last Monday morning.

"So... where's my kiss?" I query.

Kate smiles a sexy little smile and moves slowly to place her soft and voluptuous lips gently on mine. The first kiss breaks and she keeps her head in perfect position. Another smile graces her gorgeous mouth and she kisses me again... still softly, but with intention.

"Good morning," she whispers. "It's so good to have you here... with me."

We both feel that moment break softly. And it should. Now it's time to figure out where I'm going to go next.

I can see right away that Kate has been sitting at the little kitchen table just inside the window. Her phone, her glasses, a partial cup of coffee are all in front of a short straight-back chair that's half-way pushed in at an angle... like it would be if someone got up from it suddenly.

She scurries around behind me and starts to pull out an accompanying chair along the long side of the table.

"Here. Sit here," she commands. Then: "No, wait. Your ankle... you need to keep it raised."

She pushes the empty chair in and scurries behind me the opposite direction, heading to a room that adjoins the kitchen and looks out onto the deck.

"Come in here. Come this way," she calls to me over her shoulder. Then she stops and looks back at me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Kate," I reply. "Here I come."

She collects up papers or mail or something that's sitting in the seat of a somewhat deep leather chair. Then she scoops off more stuff sitting on the ottoman. With all that in her arms she directs me to sit.

"Here. Right here," she titters.

I work my way between the chair and the ottoman and lower myself into the soft seat. I sink into it further than I thought I was going to and my arms end up supporting me at nearly neck level. It's clearly a chair that's been around a while.

"This was Daddy's chair back in Nebraska," Kate explains. "After he died and I had to empty out the house, I just couldn't part with it. I've been meaning to have it redone for years, but... you know..." She punctuates that by finding a place to stow what she has in her arms. She plops it down.

My left foot... my injured foot... takes a spot on the left side of the ottoman. It's raised, all right. Almost chest high.

If I am trying to look anything other than ridiculous, it's going to be a struggle.

Kate drops into hostess mode. "So," she chirps, "what can I get you to drink?"

"Diet Coke?" I answer.

"Coming right up," and she swoops into the kitchen. She calls from the fridge, "Glass? Ice??"

"Just the can is fine," I reply.

Peeking over the elevated arm of the chair, through the chair-backs that are between this room and the fridge in the kitchen, I can get an almost through-the-periscope view of Kate's glorious ass straining against her super-tight work scrubs.

Head Voice: (She's still got her scrubs on? So... what are you guys gonna...)

He's interrupted by Kate swooping in with my diet Coke. She also carries a tall plastic cup with the Nebraska "N" on it that looks full of ice and water. She hands the can to me.

She steps between the chair and the ottoman and sits in a space on the ottoman not occupied by my foot. It's close quarters, but I don't mind.

She lets out a heavy sigh and flashes her dazzling smile. "So... good morning... again," her voice is still chirpy, but softer.

It's time to change the subject.

"So... I'm so sorry about your foot," Kate says.

She looks down and I think she's just about to touch it or examine it in some way. Then it's like she realizes that's not the reason that I'm here.

I'm here because I'm a fuck buddy. I'm HER fuck buddy. And I've showed up for the appointment... that she scheduled.

Kate looks up at me and sighs, softer this time. "So..." she begins, "I *had* something in mind for us to... explore... this morning. But then the guys working on the room upstairs couldn't get it finished in time..."

I interrupt her: "Yeah, I heard something about that the other day."

I punctuate it by opening my diet Coke. Then I try to imitate the look that Kate gave me with a similar speech and scenario at my house a few weeks ago:

"I can't remember who told me that..."

I glance her way with a smile. She gets the joke and smiles back.

"Ha, ha," she declares. "Anyway... I wanted to find an alternative. And one of the nurses was going on and on about something that she does this weekend that I thought would be fun for us to... explore."

"Was it Racy Tracy?" I inquire, if only to demonstrate to Kate that I remember things that she tells me previously.

"No," Kate replies. If there was recognition of my memory, it didn't show. "This is a new hire. We needed to expand. This girl is named Hannah."

I stay in the lets-identify-the-nurses lane. It apparently matters to someone else.

Head Voice: (Hey, Watch it! But, oh hey... thanks!)

"Does... Hannah... have a nickname?" I inquire.

Kate smiles, rolls her eyes, and breathes kind of a breathy laugh. "Actually... uhh... she does. The other girls call her "Hannah Wants A Banana."

I have just taken my first sip of diet Coke... thankfully, a small one. I'm barely able to keep it from shooting out my nose.

I look down, get it swallowed, and finish the laugh. When I look back to Kate, my eyes are watering.

Kate is laughing along with me. Her eyes might be watering too.

"There's GOT to be a story behind that," I manage to say through my lingering laugh. "Do tell!"

Kate finishes her laugh and sighs again. It's like I need to know more.

"Randy," she begins, and then she goes to a seemingly less-funny place.

"In many ways the night shift at any hospital -- especially mine -- is like... a battleship. It's like an aircraft carrier.

"It's incredibly busy. Everyone there has a very important job to do. It's life and death stuff... you know?"

Kate looks up at me. Her eyes allow me to get a tiny glimpse into what must be a very, very, very deep part of her soul.

She realizes she in the middle of a story... a story that's supposed to be about something... and she continues.

"Somewhere down the line, the idea of "watching your language" fell off the list of the jillion-and-one things that we have to worry about every day. Shit, every minute of every day."

Kate glances at me because she realizes she just said "shit" to me in talking about her work. Doesn't matter to me. I leave it alone.

"I mean, obviously," she continues, "we can't say "fuck" or "shit" in front of patients or their families... although sometimes it's... called for.

"But when it's just us, when it's just the doctors and the nurses and the staff..." Kate pauses to find the words. "The filters come down. They... they just disappear."

She emits a single chuckle. "And if you don't like it..." another word pause, this one to bring the aircraft carrier analogy all the way around... "you joined the wrong Navy."

Jesus, I like this woman! For all the reasons I've already talked about. And then... then just she keeps giving me more reasons to like her. To... want to spend more time... with her. To...

Head Voice: (Uh,,, aaaHEMM.)

Oh, yeah... right.

I bring Kate back to the starting line of her story.

"So..." I begin. "Hannah wants a banana..." It works.

"Ah!..." Kate snaps back with a short, deep laugh. "Hannah... oh, Hannah...

"We all fell in love with her right away," Kate continues. "She totally knows her shit... she's cute as a button... really... she's like this little angel...

"... and she has the potty-est mouth any of us have EVER heard!"

She finishes her laugh, takes a breath, and then takes a giant sip from her giant Nebraska cup.

Kate fans her hand in front of her face. "Lord, the things this girl talks about with the other nurses!!..."

I'm enjoying this. This is a different side of Kate than what I know. A deeper side.

But I keep the story on track. "So, does Hannah have a man? Is she married?" I ask.

"Oh, Lord, no," Kate responds. "She just graduated." I remember that Kate told me previously that she - Kate - was married... and pregnant... while she was still in med school. I let that one go.

"Well... she apparently has a guy," Kate continues. "They might be just dating... I don't think they're engaged. But I do know that she works him... for EVERYthing that he's worth!"

Kate starts to laugh from deep within her... from a place I haven't seen before.

"And from how she talks," Kate continues and then doubles over her knees. "...he's apparently worth a fucking FORTUNE!!"

Kate literally bends over laughing about something that she's remembering from Hannah. Something that I, obviously, don't know. It doesn't matter. I know it's funny for her. Clearly.

I can't help but laugh... at Kate's laughing. Shit, she has a beautiful laugh. Like I should be surprised.

It's a really nice moment.

In her position, her head is face down on her legs, right at a position within reach of my right hand. I lean forward slightly, and gently stroke her hair and the side of her head. Not to be sexy... just to connect with her in a happy moment.

It works. She leans her cheek into my hand... sort of like a hug.

Kate finishes her laugh, and lifts her head to smile at me. Jesus... after that genuine laughter... then I get that SMILE! She sits up and takes another sip of water. That disguises the shift I have to make because my cock is twitching.