I started Day 3 with a run, just as I had the prior day. I had slept in, and I was sore from the run in the hills I had done the day before, so I elected to take my run through downtown Boise. The stoplights and the downtown traffic were a pain but, when I reached the river, I turned east and ran for a couple of miles along the Greenbelt I had explored on a bicycle. It was a beautiful run beneath the heavy cottonwoods that lined the river. Reaching my limit I worked my way back to the North until I came to an old Penitentiary situated at the base of the hills. I read a sign saying that it had been in use from its early 1870's construction until it was replaced with a new facility in 1973. Criminals had been incarcerated in this hellish looking structure for 100 years. As I stood before the sandstone walls and rusted iron gate looking at the guard towers at the corner, I had this image of a lanky prison guard armed with a rifle, cigarette drooping from a lip, looking down on Paul Newman and the Captain in Cool Hand Luke as the Captain explained to Newman that they were having a "communications problem" and that if Newman didn't start shaping up the consequences would be unpleasant—or some such. That was just before he smacked him and knocked him down a hill. I couldn't remember the precise details of the scene.
The old structure creeped me out a bit. "Crime does not pay, I guess," I told myself and resumed my run. It was beginning to get warm, but the rest of my run was through the tree lined North End. When I arrived, the house was silent, the Christensen's car gone. I assumed they were both gone to work for the day, so I was casual about my shower. I walked naked from my room to the bath, a towel thrown loosely over my shoulder. I left the door open to help the anemic vent in the bathroom do its job. I've always disliked trying to shave after a shower has fogged up the mirror.
I had just stepped into the shower when I looked briefly over my shoulder at the mirror and realized I was not alone. Julia was standing just outside the door looking in at me. I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. Another opportunity to play exhibitionist to Julia's voyeur. I kept my back turned while I thought about how to take advantage of this opportunity. I decided I didn't want her to know I had seen her, but I needed to show her enough so she would keep looking. I repositioned myself in the shower so she could see me directly from her vantage point. Looking at me via the mirror would cut off the body parts I intended to display to her.
My dick was rapidly rising as I considered this opportunity. Why was it that simply being seen naked by Julia caused my dick to swell? Was my dick a pervert, or was it me? Or is there a difference between those two? I turned sideways and begin to stroke it with my already lathered up hands. I was sure she would stay if she thought she was watching me masturbate.
I was in no rush to cum. I just stood there letting the water pour down my back while I stroked my rigid prick with my soapy hands. I was facing her, but I had my head down as though I was watching my masturbation. From time to time, I took a quick glance in the mirror to assure myself she was still there, but I didn't look directly at her.
Julia was wearing the same flimsy robe she had worn at breakfast on second day of the bet. When I took a second glance I saw that she had released the belt and was playing with her tits as she secretly watched me masturbate. Well, she thought she was being secretive, but I knew she was there, and I was getting a rush out of showing off for her benefit.
When I dared to take a third look, she had moved one hand from her breasts to her pussy. She appeared to be slowly rubbing her clit as she watched my hand stroking my cock. I assumed she was so focused on my lathered prick that she wouldn't notice me watching her masturbate.
I was wrong. The next time I looked, she caught me. Now she knew I was watching her. She didn't stop watching, and she didn't stop her own masturbation. She just smiled at me and briefly held one hand up with the thumb and forefinger in a circle while she pushed another finger quickly in and out of the circle symbolizing a man jerking off. She clearly wanted me to continue, and she wasn't going anywhere.
I stepped out of the shower so I could face her directly. I stood there for the next five minutes, ten feet from Julia, both of us naked, and both of us blatantly masturbating to entertain the other. It wasn't clear who was the exhibitionist and who was the voyeur anymore, but I didn't care. This felt so nasty. My cock was like an iron bar.
Eventually I could hold out no longer. I stared directly at Julia as I savored the rush of a couple of strings of cum up my shaft and out into the light of the bathroom. She shook her head and said, "You just don't know what you're missing," before walking away.
After shaving and dressing I walked past her bedroom door before leaving the house. I was sure I could hear the buzz of a vibrator. The door was open a crack. The voyeur in me couldn't resist pushing it open enough to see what she was up to. What I saw held my attention for longer than it should have—Julia lying naked on her back, her eyes closed and her legs spread obscenely as she stroked a large vibrating dildo in and out of her pussy. Her free hand alternated between roughly massaging her large soft tits and rubbing her clit. I couldn't bring myself to leave until she climaxed with a scream. I've always assumed she never realized I was there, but perhaps she knew all along and was just continuing with her masturbation as another step in her exhibitionist efforts to seduce me.
In either case, I left the house with an image in mind of Julia lying on her back, her eyes closed and her legs spread obscenely while she pumped a large, vibrating dildo in and out of her pussy. I was sure she was fantasizing about being fucked by the big dick she had watched squirt cum on her bathroom floor a few minutes earlier.
My day was off to another good start.
* * * * * * *
I walked back to the little coffee shop I had been at a couple of days before. Breakfast was a coffee and a pastry. After enjoying my light meal, I got a refill on the coffee, and I opened my lap top and began to search for home rental offerings. Staying with Jared and Julia was entertaining, but if I was really going to make Boise my new home, I had to establish my own address. Much as I wanted to disassociate myself from my Palo Alto past, I needed an address of my own where mail could be sent to me, my bankers, investment advisers, accountants, and lawyers could contact me, and all the other responsibilities of being a citizen in our modern economy could be centered. When you have as much money as I had, you can't completely run away. The detritus of my prior life had to be dealt with, and these were the people who were doing it for me. I had to be available to them.
Almost everyone I met in Boise complained bitterly about the high cost of housing and its rapid recent increases. I had to work to refrain from laughing. Boise was a bargain compared to Palo Alto. But having been in town for only a few days, I didn't feel ready to buy a house yet, even though I had plenty of money to do so after the sale of my company. So I focused on rentals. After finishing my second cup of coffee, I made an appointment for after lunch with a realtor to drag me around to some rentals in the North End. Although I might eventually find some portion of Boise I liked better, I found the North End just fine for my current purposes. By the end of the afternoon, I had a found a house that was suitable and committed to a one year lease. It would not be available for another few days, but I figured I could stay with Jared that long, as long as I didn't have to resist succumbing to his wife's seduction efforts for the whole time. That was getting more difficult each day.
Having addressed my housing needs I felt I had earned a beer, so I went back to the brew pub I had been at the day before. The same chatty barkeep was happy to sell me another IPA and at 4:30 the bar was pretty empty. The after work crowd had not arrived, so she had time to talk. I learned her name was Kat. "Katherine actually," she said, "but only my mother calls me that and then only when I've done something wrong."
"So you probably don't like being called Katherine then?"
She laughed and said, "You're very perceptive."
I worked the subject around to the Reverend and Mrs. Christensen. "He runs something called the First Reform Church of the Rockies," she told me. "It was a Baptist church but it splintered off from the national organization a year or two after they got to town. My parents used to attend there, but they left. They said, preacher Christensen was too liberal for them."
"And you?" I asked.
She laughed. "I don't go to church much, but I know the Christensens pretty well. Sunday church service isn't where I see them."
"Oh," I said, trying to get her to tell me more, without asking but just leaving the issue hanging with a silence. It worked.
"I had a boyfriend who took me to one of their parties."
"And?"
She smiled. "Not anymore."
"No more boyfriend, or no more parties?"
She laughed again. "The boyfriend's long gone. Went to North Dakota to work the oil rigs and never came back."
"And the Christensens' parties?" I asked.
"Yeah, I still go to some of those. They're kind of an 'acquired taste'."
"Oh?" I said raising an eyebrow.
"Well they're not quite what you would expect from a preacher and his wife."
Now it was my turn to chuckle. "I suspect I know what you mean," I said. "I've only been living with them for a few days and they do have a . . . how shall I put it—an unorthodox life style."
Now it was Kat's turn to laugh. "Unorthodox? Well, I would describe them as just about the horniest couple I've ever met."
I laughed in agreement. "So," I asked. "Did you and your boyfriend start out with couples therapy at their church?"
"No, it was actually his parents who went through the church's couples therapy. They were having troubles with their marriage and the Reverend convinced them it could all be cured with a better sex life. They didn't tell their son, Evan, anything about it of course, but when he found them on a Thursday afternoon, naked and screwing their brains out in the backyard he grew up in, they had to break down and tell him about how their life had changed, even about the Christensen's parties. They must have given Evan quite a sales pitch because he insisted that he and I should go to one with them. But, I don't think he was quite ready for it."
"Why, what happened," I asked.
Kat laughed and leaned toward me across the bar so she could speak softly, "Let's just say, he wasn't quite ready to see his naked mother bent over the back of a lawn chair while the Reverend was ferociously fucking her from behind in front of twenty people. That's when he decided to go to North Dakota to work the oil fields."
"How about you?"
She smiled, "Well as you can see I haven't run off to North Dakota."
"And your parents?"
"Do you mean do they go to the Christensen's parties?" she laughed and shook her head. "My god, no. They couldn't even handle his regular Sunday sermons. Mom would have a stroke if she ever saw what goes on at their parties."
"But you still go to their parties?"
She smiled, "Yeah, sometimes." She paused for a moment and looked at me. "Do they have one coming up?"
"I don't know. We haven't talked about it."
