Thursday morning brought a flurry of activity at the real estate office of Staggerly Homes. It was not the morning that Caitlyn had anticipated. "You remember that I have a doctor's appointment this morning?" she said to Paul.
"No, I forgot," he answered.
She was not surprised since she had no particular appointment, but wanted to create a window for running a few discreet errands. Chief among them was a trip to the health department for an STD screening. Last night, she had broken a cardinal rule by having unprotected sex with a stranger. With a cup of coffee came the return of clear thinking, she lamented the poor choice of the night before, but made arrangements for a trip to the health department's confidential STD clinic. This was the appointment that was camouflaged by the use of the word doctor's. The second thing she resolved was to look at the list of attendees at Escapade to see if she could identify DeVon. She wanted to know more about him, and, if possible, assure an encore performance.
Visiting the website was not a problem; she could manage that from her smart phone. The difficulty would come if she logged on to the membership page when Paul might be doing the same. It would make him wonder and ask later if he saw her online. The website had a feature for showing who was online and who was available for chatting.
"I have a showing at 9:45," he offered. "That'll put both of us out of the office at the same time. I'll have incoming calls forwarded to my cell. It might annoy my client, but better than during a medical exam."
"Thanks, Paul. That would be sweet." She kissed him on the cheek. Last night she had kissed DeVon and it awakened the memory of real passion and not the dusty imitation that the swinging lifestyle offered. Over the years, their way of couples' swapping had become a sort of playing with someone else's toys rather than lovemaking. On the way home afterwards, there was always a debriefing about their evening's swap mates. It usually helped if the obvious comparisons came off a little lame. Chunky, awkward, too small, and too saggy were repeating labels regardless of how real the initial turn-on or satisfying the encounter. Her reliable standard was by the end I had to fake it, whether she did or didn't. Still, the variety seemed better than the monotony that had become Caitlyn and Paul, real estate brokers, respectable, and boring.
There was nothing lame about DeVon, and she didn't want to explain anything at this point. It didn't seem like cheating with Paul in the next room participating in the spectacle under the alias Pivot_Grl and whom Paul announced was really named Missy. How would he know her name unless they had spoken privately or exchanged email? That thought somehow justified a clandestine contact with her tall, dark mystery man.
When Paul left to meet the client, Caitlyn waited long enough to be sure he was fully occupied before accessing the Internet on her phone. She logged on under their shared identity, House_ParTease which was a dual homage to the fact that they sold houses by day and partied sexually with people who at best were casual acquaintances.
She clicked on the event calendar for the day before and scanned through the profiles of the attendees. DeVon's sharp features did not stand out like the lingerie poses of the wives or single women. There was, however, one clearly identifiable profile. It showed only a cropped photo of a man below the waist. He was wearing tight nylon briefs, and his hands were on his hips. They were DeVon's hands, fingers that had probed her wetness as they made their way through a crowd of onlookers who were only interested in Missy.
It was not the hands that told Caitlyn that Rocket_Man had been her unplanned encounter. The black fabric was distended as if it concealed a rolled up newspaper, but she knew better. She had peeled away that wrapper and questioned whether she could deal with its hefty bulk.
Her fears had been ungrounded. When its girth entered her, the initial shock was quickly replaced by a fullness that she could not now describe. When it was over, she wondered if Paul would ever fit again, but he made no notice of either her tightness or the heavy discharge that he attributed to her arousal. She clicked the send message option under his profile. A text box opened and she wrote:
DeVon, I enjoyed talking with you last night and hope that we can do the same next week. If you agree, answer by email to the address below rather than replying here. Caitlyn.
