Tom Brody's the name but you already know that. I came home one night after attending a ballgame with the fellas; going extra innings along with a twenty minute rain delay. The longest day spent and I couldn't wait to get home. Turns out when I got there I wasn't alone. I turned on the lights and noticed some clothes on the carpeted floor that were not my own.
There were a pair of jeans, sandals, lace undies, and a pink shirt. Definitely not mine but I had a good idea who they did belong to. Sandy Tate. The Landlady. A while back I was late with the rent; made a little deal which led to doing things in the bedroom. That was over a month ago.
"It's about time," said a familiar and seductive voice.
There she was curled up on the couch wearing nothing but my black leather jacket with her right shoulder sticking out; toe nails decorated in pink nail polish. I didn't know what the occasion was but I would find out soon enough.
"Mrs. Tate?," I said. "What are you doing here?"
"Dropping by," she said. "Hope you don't mind it got a little chilly in here."
I had to admit she looked hot and sexy in that jacket. Despite her age she was perfect and for a granny that says a whole lot. To this day I still feel sorry for her living alone without a man. Since our first encounter I reminded her how it felt to be loved and desired all in one night. The following morning got interesting; eating her alive while she was on the phone with her daughter.
"What are you doing here?," I asked. "I paid the rent on time as promised."
"I know," she said. "I'm not here about the rent. I'm here about you."
"Me? Now hold on I thought we had a deal? I was late with the rent and we had some fun. End of story."
"I know but why stop there? There's no reason why we shouldn't be fuck friends."
"You mean fuck buddies."
"That's the word. Come on Mr. Brody show me that young dick of yours and do what you do best. And please don't make me beg because I'm too old for that charade."
Being her tenant was one thing but being her boy toy was another. Right now she was in the mood for some young beef.
"Can't we do this another time?," I said. "I mean it is kind of late."
"What's wrong, Mr. Brody, you can't get it up today?"