For J.S. You were a great landlady, and much more.
I didn't recognize the email address, but the "re" line caught my eye.
"Your name came up when my mother and I were talking last night."
I was pretty sure, before even opening it, that I knew who wrote it.
It started on a snowy Saturday morning in mid-October, my third year in college. My dormitory roommates the first couple of years were a bad match, and so by my third year I moved off campus, renting a bedroom in a small, tidy, suburban house a few blocks away from the College.
The snow that fell that Saturday morning had been predicted for days, the first for the season. Saturday was the one morning each week when I wasn't working or in class, and I was looking forward to sleeping in as the snow fell.
I awoke that morning under a thick comforter, and as I lay in bed wondered if I might be able to hear the snow falling. As I tried to focus my hearing there was a soft knock on my bedroom door, startling me - it had been so quiet. I had thought the house was empty.
I sat up against the headboard. "Come in."
The door cracked open. It was the landlady.
She was a divorced high school teacher, active in the local theatre, and who had a bit of a drinking problem, something I'd notice when I saw her add a shot or two of vodka to her morning orange juice. She rented out the two extra bedrooms in her house to supplement her modest teacher's salary and the alimony, which was often late.
"Sorry to wake you. I was wondering - instead of the yard this winter, would you want to shovel the snow - for the same discount?"
When I took the room she had knocked $15 a month off the rent if I agreed to cut the grass and rake the leaves one a week. That arrangement helped a lot since I was close to broke all the time.
"Ummm, yeah, sure." I was still a bit groggy from waking up. "But what if it doesn't snow?"
"Well, it's snowing now, that's for sure, and if it doesn't snow - or snows five times - it will be the same, if that's OK with you. No reason for us to make this an accounting project." She smiled. I had once mentioned to her that I absolutely hated my accounting classes.
I thought about it a minute, but the decision was easy. $15 bucks was $15 bucks.
"It is really coming down, you should wait to shovel" she said as she looked out the window, through the partially closed curtains. She came into the room and pushed the curtains back.
She was right, there was about an inch and a half on the pine tree outside the window.
She turned to me casually. "How's school going? Mind if I ask? You seem to be busy, and I hope all that work is paying off."
"Yeah, there is a lot to do, and with my job I don't have time for much else, but I really appreciate being able to live here. You know, the house and room, it is really nice - quiet, and all, and I really appreciate having kitchen privileges - helps with my expenses being able to cook and stuff. Do I clean up OK after I cook?"
She took a step closer. "That's fine, but now that you are asking, there is one thing I wanted to speak to you about." I felt my stomach flop, thinking that I might have broken some house rule.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, and gestured to the bed.
"No, of course." I scooted over a bit towards the wall to make room for her.
"Are you getting along with our other tenant, Simon?"
Simon was a "townie." His parents had thrown him out when he told them he was gay, and he met the landlady through the local theatre group. He was the assistant manager of a restaurant in town and worked long, long hours.
"Yeah, no problem. We don't see each other much - our schedules and all. I'm really sorry, did he say there as a problem between us?"
"No, no, no, not at all. I just want to make sure everyone is getting along. And Diane?"
Diane was the landlady's daughter, who had the other bedroom. She was 19, attending the Community College in town, and working at the mall.
"Yeah, we get along fine. I mean, I don't see too much of her either, you know, being so busy myself."
"She's a pretty girl, don't you think?"
"Oh yes. Very. Your daughter is very pretty."
"Good, glad to see everyone is getting along. I think I told you, I teach high school. You know that, right?" I nodded, and she casually put her hand on my thigh.
"And I know about boys your age."
I wasn't sure where this was going, but all of sudden I became very aware of how close she was to me. I could smell her perfume, or shampoo, or something, like maybe she had just come from the shower, or bathroom, even though she was in a nightgown, with some kind of robe or something over it.
"You know what we say in the teacher's lounge? When we are on break and trying to find the patience we need to keep teaching?"
I shook my head no.
"We say you all have dick brain. That from about the age of oh, 14 until, well, forever, but certainly for the next 15 years, all you boys have 'dick brain'."
Her hand was still on my thigh, and she was now tracing little circles on top of the comforter on my thigh.
"The thing is," she said, "I have big plans for Diane. She's at Community College to get started, but she's going to marry a doctor, or a lawyer, and get out of this dying steel town - and I'll go with her. And your major is what again, remind me? Pre-med? Pre-law?"
"Ummm, no, English with a minor in Business." She started to stroke my thigh over the comforter, slowly, but firmly. I couldn't help myself - I looked down at her breasts, and noticed that I could see her cleavage and half of one of her breasts, looking plump and soft.
"See, that's what I mean. Dick brain. You were just looking at my boobs, weren't you."
"Well, I'm sorry, no, I mean yes - I didn't mean anything by it."
"I know. You can't help yourself, like all men. So here's the thing we need to talk about."
She leaned towards me, and her nightgown shifted to reveal more of her breasts. I was wondering if I could see her nipples, though I didn't dare look down. But it was about all I could think of, other than that she was stroking my thigh a bit harder, and between her warmth, her fragrance, her breasts, and my normal tendency towards casual morning erections, I felt my cock growing.
"An 'English-Business' major or whatever. If you're lucky you're going to end up at a newspaper with ink stains on your shirts, or teaching Shakespeare to 10
th
graders. God forbid. But with the two of you in this house...there's no telling what could happen. And Diane is NOT going to get tangled up with an English major. So here's a simple question."
My cock was growing more.
"Why do you think I rented a room to Simon?"
I shook my head and shrugged. "I don't know, because he needed a place to stay, right?"
"Noooo...Mr. English Major...because he's gay, and unless he wants her opinion on a mani-pedi, he isn't going to look sideways at my daughter. But you...what I'm telling you is that I don't want you changing my plans for my daughter."
"No, of course not" I said. And now I knew I was hard, full-on, and despite the heavy comforter, there was a definite bulge that was obvious.
"See, that's the problem. You are telling me one thing, but it looks like your little friend has his own opinions."
And with that she reached under the covers. I always slept naked - I left pajamas behind when I left home. Before I could react I felt her hand on my thigh, as if she was getting her orientation under the covers, and then I felt her hand on my cock, her fingers lightly encircling my shaft.
"See, this is that thing we call 'dick brain' in the teacher's lounge. Now tell me the truth" she asked, as she slowly, gently stroked my cock with her fingernails. "Are you thinking about my daughter? Or are you thinking about my hand and my breasts?" And with that she squeezed my cock, and without realizing it I let out a little sound, a kind of moany-groan.
"I'm just thinking about this" I said, and I was, and I looked down at her breasts again. I couldn't help it.
"Would you like a better look?" she asked - and with her free hand she reached up and pulled the front of her nightgown down, fully exposing her left breast. "But touching is better than looking."
She took my hand in hers and put it on her bare breast - I saw her close her eyes for a moment and almost shudder, and I suddenly felt her nipple growing hard against the palm of my hand, and the incredible softness, and the full weight, of her breast in my hand.
"So I am going to help you" she said, as she stroked. "If I catch you looking even cross-eyed at Diane, you will need a new place to live so fast you won't have time to pack your things. But I want to help you...since boys at your age are so impressionable...and undisciplined...I'm going to make it easy for you to think about something else. Like this."
And with that she took her hand away for a moment, to push back the covers. My cock was jutting up at the ceiling - she looked down and smiled, and started to stroke me again. "You think about me...and think about keeping your room under my roof...and think about shoveling the snow, OK?"
And then she started stroking faster, trying to finish me off - and she did. With a groan and thrust of my hips I came, shooting streaks of jizz into the air, onto the comforter, onto the arm of her nightgown, over and over, the release of a horny college kid with blue balls.
She laughed. "Wow, I guess you needed that. That's a lot...nice and thick and white, just like the snow! So do we have a deal? Our secret deal, just the two of us?" And as she said "just the two of us" she raised her hand, that one-finger thing on the lips that is a sign for "Shhhh," and as she did she licked a bit of my cum off her fingers, so incredibly erotic that I felt my cock twitch even as it was deflating.
I wasn't sure what the full "deal" was, but I could feel my heart pounding, my mouth was dry, and I could feel my jizz dripping down my thighs. The only answer was "Yes, we do, oh yes."
She smiled, and looked down at the sleeve of her nightgown, where a gob of my cum had landed. "Looks like I'll be doing the wash today. If you strip the bed and leave the sheets and comforter cover when you go, I'll do yours too. OK?"
I nodded. On the way out of the room she stopped for a moment - "I hear it might snow next Saturday too" - and went back to the bathroom.
I had trouble sleeping the following Friday. I was young, naïve - and a bit confused. As I tossed and turned that night, I wondered if she really thought it was going to snow - or if she was telling me she would be back in my room Saturday morning.
That Saturday I woke up early, much earlier than usual. I could tell by looking out the window that it wasn't snowing. I heard the shower running, the refrigerator opening, could smell coffee being made downstairs. I heard Simon leave, his heavy footsteps giving him away, then Diane as she left, her big keychain jangling.
