After I hung up the phone I hustled up-stairs to get the kids squared away and thinking about bed. They had already managed to plug a movie into the DVD player and were both lying there watching it, half asleep in their sleeping bags.
"Wish me luck, guys. I have a perspective buyer coming over in a few minutes that the real estate agent feels might be the one to make a deal and take the house. If it works out, we might be on our way to see your Dad soon!"
"Whatever, Mom," said Michael, ever the pessimist. "This is like just another deal that will go south on us. We'll be starting school HERE in a couple of months!"
"Shut up, Michael, you're so negative!" Mindy said, giving him a punch in the arm through his sleeping bag. "This could be it. This is the one. I just know it. Go for it, Mom!"
"Thanks, honey, I will. You stay up here with Mr. Optimistic. I'll come up after the buyer is gone and let you know how it went." I closed the door and went back down stairs.
I changed into a thin black sweater that Tom always said clung to my body and accentuated my breasts and some loose tan slacks. I had just enough time to throw one of the pre-made bread loaves I had thawed in the refrigerator into the oven when I heard the door bell ring. The real estate agent had insisted we put a loaf of bread into the oven before every showing to give the house a 'homey' smell.
I opened the front door and saw a well-dressed man in a blue shirt and red striped tie, wearing a navy blazer with brass buttons and gray slacks. He was slender and his dark hair was graying at the temples. He had a five o'clock shadow. I could smell a faint scent of cologne on the breeze that blew into the door. I sensed he was sizing me up as well. I was wondering if the clingy sweater was the right choice. I noticed that his gaze lingered for a moment on my chest.
"Hi, I'm Jim Davis," he said with the same deep voice I had heard on the phone earlier. I extended my hand to him and, like a gentleman, he took my hand into his and shook it lightly.
"Hello, Mr. Davis, my name is Mary Thomas. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Please, call me Jim," he said with a smile.
"Sure. If you'll call me 'Mary,' it's a deal." I motioned him into the house and closed the door behind him. "Can I get you anything? We don't have much – bottled water, or bottled water?"
"Let me see . . . I'll have bottled water," he said. I directed him into the living room to take a seat on one of the two remaining chairs while I got his water from the refrigerator. As he opened his water I sat down opposite him.
"Well, here's the thing," he began. "As you real estate agent probably told you already, I like your house. It has the room I need, I like the layout and the neighborhood is great. Nice and quiet. I have to ask, though, what is with the attic fan?" We talked for the next few minutes about the need for the fan to keep the air circulating in the attic to prevent mildew and a couple of other little oddities in the house.
As we talked I found myself looking deeply into his eyes, and felt him doing the same to me. Or maybe I was imagining it. Damn, Tom had been gone so long I was being hyper-sexual, I thought to myself. As I shifted my legs to adjust my position in the chair I realized that my sex was moistening; I was getting wet just talking with this man in my nearly-empty living room. As I answered his questions I was thinking more about my flowing pussy and that I would need to finger myself after this man left the house.
"That all sounds good," Jim said. "I think that I can probably meet your asking price with a few stipulations."
