I guess we all walk around with a lot of preconceived notions about things and, I suppose, for most of them, we carry them with us throughout our life.
But there are a few that, in living our lives, we run dead up against an exception to these firmly-implanted ideas and they have to change. That happened to me last year when Olivia and I were looking for a house to buy.
Olivia is my girlfriend, we'd been together nearly five years and felt really good with each other and had decided to do what many couples do, buy a house together.
We're both established in our careers, Olivia is in marketing with a consumer food company, one you've heard of and I'm a financial advisor with a division of a regional bank. She's twenty-six and I'm twenty-eight. So, we're not kids and we're not middle-agers, either.
Now to the idea that I'd been carrying around that got blown out of the water. I know you've been waiting for it.
Older women. Mature women.
I had heard guys talk, sure. But, well, there were just so many women around near my own age, right? So, I never paid them any mind. That is, until I met our real estate agent, Brooke Davies. Well.
Olivia and I, like any modern-day real estate shoppers, had scoured the computer listings over and over looking for just the right combination of all the features we had listed. And there were a lot. But there was one house in particular that rang just the right note with us and we called the agent.
She sounded nice and was immediately helpful answering some additional questions that whetted our appetite to see the property. I did see her picture on the website and really didn't think much of it.
She arranged to meet us that afternoon at the property and when we drove up, she was there in her shiny black Mercedes.
As I was getting out of my Honda, I looked over and saw a beautiful pair of legs tapering out of the Mercedes shoed in black high heels as my eyes followed up to the short black skirt straining to remain closed as she came out into the sunlight. She was wearing a black knit top and crowned with bright, platinum-blonde hair falling in curls.
Statuesque. That was the perfect word for Brook Davies. Tall, blond, curvy and, yes, no doubt almost twice my age. A few pounds too many but they got lost on all the curves. She was sexy. Oh, for sure.
After our introductions and the enlightening house tour, especially following her up the stairs to the second floor, we stood back outside discussing the various aspects and features that we were looking for comparing them with those we had just seen. Well, Olivia and Brooke were discussing them, I was more captivated by the lovely and generous cleavage presented for my entertainment by our new real estate agent.
I'm sure I heard some of what was said, I know I remember her saying she'd been married thirty-five years so I figured she must be mid-fifties anyway, maybe more.
We did go back to the house two days later to look it over again, though I was really, at that stage, more interested in looking over our real estate agent. I think she might have gotten the idea but I don't think Olivia did.
We later decided to scratch that particular house off our list, it was just too far from where we worked but I kept thinking about Brooke Davies and how sexy she was.
I had her card in my wallet and called her the next morning to see if she could meet me there so I could check out a few more aspects of the property.
As I pulled up, she started getting out of her car again, all the time looking over at me, taking her time, stretching her long, beautiful legs out as I watched.
"Where's Olivia?" she asked.
"Oh, couldn't come. Just me today."
"Well, I'll just have to control myself, then won't I?" she purred as she twisted the key in the door. "Where do you want to start, today?"
