Laura Stevenson listened to the message on the school's main line that she had dialed into from her home phone.
"Hello, I am considering relocating to the area for a professional opportunity. I am the single parent of an eleven-year-old boy who will be entering sixth grade next month. I've researched your school on-line, and it seems to be exactly what I'd be looking for, and close to my prospective office. I was wondering if someone would be able to show me around when I have a window of opportunity in between my interviews. Say, one o'clock Thursday? Thank you very much."
Laura scrawled down the man's name and number that he left at the end of the message. There was something in his voice that she found immediately arousing. Deep, but kind. Commanding, yet respectful.
Or maybe it was the fact that her husband had taken their own two sons away on a week-long camping trip and Laura would be alone until Sunday evening without any contact with them. Laura had the rarest of pleasures, a few blissful days to herself. After many years of marriage, this was very much like a vacation of her own, albeit without leaving the area.
It was the second week of August, and the faculty would not be gathering back until the following week, so Laura knew the school would be empty when she returned the man's call and confirmed that she could meet him there at the requested time.
Laura felt a surprising tingle on her skin as she considered a wardrobe choice for the appointment. As school secretary/receptionist/administrative assistant extraordinaire for the parochial school, she was usually attired in fairly conservative fashion. Today, however, given the circumstances, she decided she would dress more like a woman and less like an administrator.
Laura was in her mid-forties, slender, almost petite at five-foot-three. She had a mane of curly blonde hair that cascaded down below her shoulders that gave her the appearance of a woman a decade younger without even really working at it. Emerging from the shower, she primped up her hair in an almost wild, "freshly fucked" look, even though, Laura thought so herself with a wry smile, that she hadn't been fucked in any manner by her husband in well over a month. And that was hardly fresh.
She slipped on a matching satin cranberry-colored bra and thong set that she had been saving for a special occasion that hadn't presented itself in the months since she bought the sexy lingerie.
"Today's the day for these," Laura mused silently, pulling the tiny thong tight against the puffy lips of her trimmed pussy, which was already glistening with a slight dew of desire. "I'm just feeling frisky."
She hummed the words to Billy Joel's classic, "Only the Good Die Young", as she eased her tight frame into a charcoal gray skirt which stopped about four inches above the knee, much higher than she would normally dare.
"Don't make me wait. You Catholic girls start much too late. Ah, but sooner or later, it comes down to fate. I might as well be the one..."
She then chose a maroon button-down silk blouse that fit her upper torso snugly enough that the soft fabric of the blouse served to stimulate her erect nipples through the confines of the bra. She left the top two buttons undone, and placed a small strand of opaque pearls around her neck which hung down seductively into the small amount of cleavage that she had.
Completing the wardrobe with two-inch black heels, she started the car in her garage so the neighbors would not even be given the chance to see her, so self-conscious was Laura today. It wasn't so much that her clothing was overtly provocative, but, well, she just had this mindset today that she might be about to do something that she should feel guilty about.
For the strangest reason, she squirmed in the seat, and fluffed her thick hair one last time in the rear view mirror. She was acutely aware of the humidity building in her loins as she drove to the school on this typically sultry August day in the upper Midwest.
She saw him outside the school's main entrance, leisurely pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. Laura stopped and examined him for a moment, taking inventory in the way that only a woman can.
"Nice shoes," she thought. "Always a good sign." (What is it about women and their judgement of a man's shoes?)
Though she started below the ankles, Laura's eyes worked their way up his torso, admiring his physique. Perhaps a bit stocky, but well-preserved, the body of a former athlete. Hockey player, maybe, she mused? He wore a starched white Oxford shirt and a red tie with a blue pin-striped suit. The prototypical interview suit. His hair was salt-and-pepper, and his eyes were a bright coral green.
Those eyes of his bore into Laura's legs like a laser as he saw her swing her body out of her car, her skirt bunching up well above mid-thigh. It made a very memorable first impression for the man.
"Mister O'Hara?", Laura greeted him, flicking her Simba-like lioness mane off of the front of her blouse, unwittingly displaying a pair of erect nipples through the maroon silk material of her blouse. "I'm Laura Stevenson. Welcome to St. Ambrose." She grandly gestured to the stately old building. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think you're every bit as hot as the picture I saw of you on the school's website," the man thought to himself silently, walking towards Laura slowly, extending his hand.
But he certainly knew better than to verbalize his inner thoughts, instead saying, "Very impressive, Mrs. Stevenson. Very impressive indeed." His eyes ran the length of Laura's body, and she blushed slightly at what she hoped was a double-entendre. It was.
"It is, Missus Stevenson, I presume?" the man asked, casually turning her wrist as she shook his hand in greeting with both of hers, noticing the small diamond and gold band on her left ring finger.
Laura quickly tried to downplay her matrimonial status. "Yes, although my husband is out of town for the week," she blurted out quickly, wondering almost instantaneously why she had volunteered that information. The man wondered as well, but quickly filed away the revelation as a good sign. An icebreaker that avoided future questions. Valuable information gathered in the first fifteen seconds.
Realizing that somewhat awkward disclosure, Laura tried to recover by deflecting the topic. "So, your son will be entering sixth grade? Then he would be in my youngest son's class, I'm sure."
"Well, isn't that a coincidence? Then, we would be seeing a lot more of each other than usual. And, please, Mrs. Stevenson, if you don't mind, I would prefer you call me John." Laura gazed into his eyes as she reluctantly released the handshake that had become something more.
She smiled. "John, it is then. But only if you call me Laura. Missus makes me sound so formal, like a school marm, or something." Laura giggled at her own categorization, and again tossed her hair back off of her chest, turning to face him directly. "So, would you like the executive tour? Or would you settle for me?" she asked, laughing at her own self-deprecation.
John bent at the waist in a mock bow. "Please, lead the way. I will gladly follow you anywhere," he said, while thinking to himself, "So I can get a good look at that tight little ass of yours, Mrs. Stevenson, whose husband is away...."
The fact that the grand old building was completely empty only added to the sexual tension as the two toured the classrooms, gym, and cafeteria, trading small talk like two old friends catching up on their lives.
Laura learned that John had primary custody of his son, whose mother had re-married and moved out of state. Although the boy spent most of the summer with his mother, he spent the school year with his father as per the order of the judge.
