(These chapters will pick up right where the last left off, I recommend reading in order)
*
In the week that followed, several things happened to sweeten an already sweet deal. The first involved me immediately taking Max up on her morning yoga offer, which meant I was now starting each day seeing Max's tight little body in a sports bra and spandex shorts. As much as I looked forward to that view each morning, my favorite part of our daily yoga practice was definitely the moments in which she would break her pose to come adjust my posture. I had taken to practicing shirtless, and just feeling her hands on my naked torso was enough to get my heart racing.
The second thing that happened was thanks to some poor planning when this building was converted into a living space. Max's bathroom was originally a small fourth bedroom or an office, and had been somewhat sloppily reimagined as a bathroom. It was quite spacious but poorly laid out. It was always a project that I figured I would someday turn my attention to, but now with it in constant use, the time had come. I met with a contractor, drew up some plans, and renovation would begin the very next day. The quick start was due, in part, to the length of the project: one week. Normally, having part of your living space uprooted for a week is a nuisance. For me, it was an opportunity. For that week, Max would be sharing my bathroom, and entering and exiting that space through my bedroom. I could only hope that this would lead to more sneak peeks.
While my home life was overcome by my recent tendency to behave like an undersexed, overhorny teenager, my life in town went on as to be expected. The theater was hosting auditions for our annual holiday performance while also preparing for the town's first film festival. I was partnering with the high school's film class as well as the film program from an arts-focused college about 45 minutes away to showcase student work while also accepting submissions from filmmakers within a 50 mile radius. Around town, several of the local businesses were working together to prepare for the upcoming Fall Festival, a tradition dating back decades.
The Fall Festival is what kept me out a bit late one evening, as I sat at a table with several notable folks from town. Jimmy and his wife, Brianne, were there to my left. From the moment I first walked into the Lonely Hearts Club, I've always been amused by them. Brianne is about 5'6" with long, blond hair and striking blue eyes with a body that seemed perfectly suited for modeling swimwear. Brianne was not a model, instead she was an incredibly brilliant lawyer. Her stunning good looks were clearly passed on to her two daughters, who were both spitting images of their mother, albeit taller. The tall genes seem to be the only thing Sadie and Prudence got from their father, who at six feet tall was just a couple of inches shorter than me. Jimmy, with has dad bod and Hulk Hogan mustache is not the guy you'd picture with Brianne upon seeing them. But spend five minutes in their company and you couldn't imagine them with anyone else.
Joining us at the table were Malcolm Ford, owner of Ford's Fitness down the street from the theater and his husband Brenden, the executive chef over at Kitchenette, easily the nicest restaurant in town. Brenden traveled the world honing his culinary skills before coming back to partner with Lane Vernon on reopening the then-shuttered restaurant as a top dining destination. While studying in Colmar, Brenden met Malcolm, who was a statuesque footballer wrapping up his final European club season before returning to his native Haiti in hopes of getting the team to qualify for the World Cup for the first time since 1974. I maintain that had he not met Brenden and moved stateside, he would have given the team the best chance they've had in decades.
Across from the Fords sat Sara Jacobs who, at 70 and with 9 grandchildren, still made it into her diner every morning to whip up a special pie of the day. I wouldn't be surprised if the person who wrote Waitress found themselves at Sara's counter inspired by whatever magical pie she had crafted that day. Next to Sara were LaToya Opare, owner of the market and Claire Clement, who was new in town from Quebec, and planning to open a bakery, much to my delight.
Heading the table was Casey Greenberg. Casey was just a few years older than me, in her very early 30s. She had long, chestnut brown hair that fell wildly to her shoulders where it met a midriff-baring tank top adorned with the logo for the band Garbage. The tank top allowed me to take in the sight of her belly button ring as well as the tattoos that were scattered about her arms, my favorite of which featured a very well-colored and detailed topless mermaid fiercely branding a trident or, more accurately, an octodent as her staff featured a fiery menorah at the end. You would not be surprised to find out that this woman is the owner of the Vinyl Verdict record shop, but even in our progressive little town, you may be surprised to find out that she's the mayor.
Our discussion that evening mostly centered on developing a Fall Festival program that appealed to a younger demographic in an effort to retain some of our best and brightest. Over the years, we've had some amazing kids graduate from our high school or attend the nearby college, but then take their talents elsewhere. Our little coalition had made it our goal to ensure that everything that happens in this town is at least in some part dedicated to student retention.
I walked home with a spring in my step. I always left these meetings feeling energized and hopeful, which is not usually the case with most meetings one might attend. I climbed the stairs to my flat, tossing ideas around in my head about how to best leverage the theater to meet our goals. I opened the door to a once familiar but now strange sight: a dark, empty house.
In the past four weeks I had quickly and happily adjusted to life with a roommate, and I looked forward to seeing Max at the end of my day. While we live our own lives and this is to be expected, this was the first time I had come home to an empty house since she ran into me on the street on that hot August day.
Though a month had passed since that day, it was still quite hot, even in mid-September, and I figured I'd grab a quick, cool down shower before Max got home. I was trying to be as respectful as possible with bathroom sharing and did my best to keep the bathroom available when we were both home. Though I had come to miss soaking in my sizeable tub after a long day, I figured I could go a week without that particular form of pampering.
Sharing the bathroom definitely came with its perks. I had already been treated to the sight of Max, her red hair darkened by wetness and clinging to her back as she clutched a towel at her breasts. Her shoulders and the tops of her cute little boobs were dotted with the same freckles that disappeared into the scrunches of her nose when she laughed. I found myself daydreaming about how far down those freckles went as I disrobed in my room, lit only from the moon outside my window.
Earlier that morning I got a particularly exciting treat as I had overslept, and Max ducked into the shower while I was still asleep. The sound of the water shutting off is what finally stirred me, and I glance through a half open eyelid to the bathroom and saw something I had been dying to see for the last four weeks. Well, longer than that if you go back to our college days. I looked through the closet to the bathroom and I saw Max wrapping her hair up in a towel, fully nude. Her back was to me, but I was still treated to an incredible sight.
Her legs were thin yet toned, owed to her yoga practice and years as a swimmer. Max's back was a sight to behold, just as toned as her legs and as freckled as her face. Her legs and back met in stunning fashion, culminating in what was by far the single most perfect ass I had ever seen. Her butt was tight and toned like the rest of her, but you could still see a pleasant amount of cushion that dipped down just the right amount. It was behind wanting to grab a hold of her and squeeze her cute little peach, I wanted a bite.
She slipped on a robe, ending my show, and collected her things. I feigned sleep as she sashayed by, catching the quickest glimpse of her poky nipple standing tall against the damp, clingy fabric of her summery robe. By the time I heard her reach her room, my hand had reached my cock.
My cock now began rising to the occasion once more as I daydreamed about that morning's show. It bobbed and nodded as I strolled naked into the bathroom, smiling as I remembered that gorgeous ass that stood here just hours before.
"Oh, HELLO!"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Max was in the tub at the back of the shower stall, luxuriating in the bath that I had forgone for the week. She had a few candles lit along the ledge and between that and the moonlight, clearly didn't see the need to turn on the light. Of course, she had opted for bubble bath, once again obstructing my view of what had quickly become my holy grail. That said, she had clearly been in the bath for quite some time as the bubbles were only just barely concealing her more intimate areas.
"Fuck! I'm sorry, I had no idea you were home," I sputtered out as I snatched a towel from the rack.
"No, it's cool, I'm sorry for staring," she apologized, moving to the edge of the tub and leaning forward in such a way that her breasts were out of the water but still hidden by the side of the tub.
"It's fine, I..." Wait, what? Staring? Did she just say she was staring?
"You..." she trailed off.
"Huh?"
"You said, it's fine, I - and then you stopped talking," she pointed out.
"Ah, yeah, sorry," I blushed, "I was daydreaming a bit and totally didn't notice you were there."
"In your defense, I was taking a bath in your bathtub in the dark."
"Touche."
"Listen, give me a sec and it's all yours," she began as she sank back into the tub and yanked out the drain stopper, "I'm getting all pruny and should get out anyway. Just turn around for a sec while I get out."
I turned, making it about three quarters of the way around when the splashy sounds of her standing up in the tub froze me in place. I strained my eye as far to the side as possible, desperately hoping that she'd slip into my periphery. Unfortunately, the splashing sounds had waned and I gave up on catching a flash.
"Look alive, daydreamer!" Max yelled from much closer than expected. Before I could turn, I felt her hand at my waist, tearing off my towel. I quickly grabbed it from the floor and brought it back to cover by half-masted dick as I looked up and saw that glorious butt bouncing away from me as Max streaked out of my room and down the hall to hers, cackling all the way.
---
The following night, we had Malcolm and Brenden over, along with our friends Raul and Kareena Gonzalez. Originally from El Paso, Raul teaches Spanish at the high school and coaches the football team, having played in college and one year in the CFL before taking a teaching job here. One look at his stocky frame and you could easily imagine him sweeping past the line to maul some poor, unsuspecting quarterback. Kareena moved here from India when she was in fourth grade, growing up in the city nearby before meeting Raul and moving here when they married. She is my theater manager, a role she has served very well for just over a year, and more than once in that year she has been mistaken for Bollywood star Alia Bhatt. The six of us had gathered that evening to unwind over dinner and a few drinks.
"Hey Bren, where's Lane been hiding?" I asked. "I feel like I haven't seen them in awhile?"
"Yeah, they've been scouting locations for a new restaurant in the city," Brenden replied,
"Oh, brilliant!" Kareena perked up, "I'd always hoped you two would add another!"
