The Devils Bargain Ch 03

"You look thin, Daniel. Are you eating enough? Maybe you should come over more often." said Connie's Mother. I was over at her place on a Saturday afternoon, after a morning spent taking her to the cemetery so that she could replace the flowers on her husband's and her daughter's graves.

You can imagine how I felt about the whole thing, given my beliefs, but I never told her. I suppose it was good for her to get out of the house. She had a few old friends who dropped by occasionally, and a few more who phoned regularly, but Mom didn't have many hobbies.

She'd spent a lifetime raising her daughter and waiting on her husband, hand and foot. Now that they were both gone, she watched soap operas, gardened a little, and did crossword puzzles. She was lonely.

As she bustled around the kitchen, preparing to feed me lunch, I could see more signs that her eyesight was failing. Between that and her reduced mobility (she was 79), she didn't do a very good job of cleaning anymore. There were dust bunnies in the corners, and her counter tops needed a thorough cleaning.

I just couldn't do it - not regularly, anyway. I had enough to do with keeping my own house clean. Plus I was trying to free up time for Holly as it was - not find more things to pile onto my own schedule.

- "Have you ever considered a cleaning lady, Mom?" I asked her.

- "I don't need a cleaning lady." she said.

- "You do. And even if you think you don't right now, in a few years you definitely will. In fact, I was thinking of hiring one to do

my

house - maybe I could get a cleaner for both of us." I didn't mention that having someone else for her to talk to from time to time wouldn't hurt, either.

Mom pretended to think about it. She would never admit that she needed help. Even when I came over to cut her grass or clean her pool, she would wave a hand at me dismissively, as if to say 'You didn't have to do that'. This, mind you, despite the fact that I'd been doing those tasks for her for almost a decade.

But now I'd provided her with a face-saving out.

- "Well," she said, "if you're getting one anyway ... maybe ..."

I asked George if he knew of any cleaning ladies in the neighbourhood, or of anybody who might know one.

- "Of course. Sylvia. Just around the corner on Valley road. You know the house with the blue garage door?"

I didn't, but I was prepared to take his word for it. George volunteered to ask her on my behalf.

"I'll give you a good reference." he said. "So - do we get to meet this mystery woman of yours? Not that I'm curious, or anything, but Anna went and hid my old set of binoculars."

I had to laugh. "It's still early, George. And ... she's a co-worker, but she doesn't want people we work with to know that we're seeing each other. For now, anyway."

- "Office politics." he said. "Staffroom gossip. I get it. Still - glad for you, man."

- "Me too".

***

Sylvia was a god-send. She was delighted to have two new clients. Sylvia was conscientious and hard-working. She did good work, but she could talk your ear off. She was also in her early sixties, so there were many things that she and Mom could talk about.

She cleaned Mom's house on Tuesday mornings, and then they sat and had coffee and cake for another hour. On Thursday mornings, Sylvia cleaned my house.

Worth every dollar. I now had some flexibility in my weekend. I could do yard work (mine

and

Mom's) on Saturday or Sunday. That left me several free hours that I could put to much better use.

Holly had only been over once more, on a week night. We sixty-nined on the couch, and then went to bed for a long, slow ride, with equal time on top.

Now I was able to invite her over on a Saturday, and to ask her to spend the night. She was tempted, but still reluctant.

- "I don't know ..." she said. "I have these papers to go over this weekend."

- "Bring them." I suggested. "It's not as crazy as it sounds. Look, as much I would love to have sex with you all day long - and all night - it's just not possible. We'll have interludes to ... recharge our batteries. You do your work, and I'll walk the dog. Do laundry. Cook. Say the word, and I can guarantee several uninterrupted hours."

- "Hmm ..."

- "Give it a try, Holly. Worst-case scenario: if you feel like you're not getting enough done, you can take a rain check on the sleepover, and head back home. I promise that I won't be offended. I know how important your work is."

- "Okay. We can try."

Saturday couldn't come soon enough. Holly showed up in her most casual attire. We were enjoying an Indian summer, with sunshine and high temperatures, so she felt comfortable in track shorts and an oversized football jersey.

- "The Saints?"

- "I had a crush on Drew Brees. My girlfriends got it for me."

- "You look great in it."

It was much too large for her, of course, so that it was easy to slip my hands underneath it. My fingertips came into contact with smooth, warm, bare skin.

- "Really?" she said.

Holly wasn't serious: she was seated at my dining room table, with her work papers in front of her, but the folders were still closed, and her reading glasses were still in their case.

- "You haven't started yet." I said. "And did you really think that I could resist those shorts?"

I led her to the couch, got her out of the aforementioned shorts, and went down on her. She pulled on my hair as she came. Then we fucked in the missionary position (I realized that the cushions were going to have to be steam-cleaned).

With our first urges satisfied, I led her back to the table.

- "Now you can work uninterrupted. I'll be back in an hour and a half - maybe two. And you can give me a signal to let me know if you're making progress." I picked up her glass case, and removed the glasses. Then I put the case back on the table.

"Case closed - you're hard at work. Do not disturb. But case open ... the door is open."

- "You're a bad influence." she pouted.

- "And you're my inspiration." I kissed her, and left her to it.

I took Freya for an extended walk, followed by a session in the backyard with the obstacle course I'd been putting together so that she could work out without needing me to drive her somewhere. Truth be told, Freya might have been good enough to enter competitions, but I just didn't have that much time to devote to the dog's athletic career.

It wasn't Freya's fault, so I gave her a good bit of time and attention. Then I hopped into the car, and went to pick up the fresh seafood I'd ordered.

When I got back home, it was little over two hours since we'd coupled on the couch. Holly was pretending to be absorbed in her documents, but I was happy to see that her glass case was open. She'd also moved it to a more prominent position, so that I couldn't miss it.

- "How's the work going?" I asked.

- "Good so far. Still lots to do."

- "Okay. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Would you like something to drink?"

- "Just a glass of water, please."

I put my purchases in the fridge, and poured a glass of water for Holly. As I carried it out to her, I saw something I hadn't expected.

Holly still had her glasses on, but she'd removed the Saints jersey. She was reading a piece of paper. Wow ... she had a great body, and the way she was leaning forward a bit, with her breasts dangling beneath her .... she looked great in glasses, too.

- "You're a terrible tease." she complained. "After an hour and a half, I was finding it hard to concentrate. And then I knew that you'd be coming back, and I started thinking about it."

- "And you got too warm, so you had to take off the jersey?"

- "No. My ... my nipples got hard, and the jersey was chafing them. I only put it back on again when I heard you get out of the car."

- "Ready for a break?"

- "Is the glass case open? You saw it - you're just teasing me."

- "A little."

- "Then you'd better make it up to me." she said.

I carried her to the bedroom. We were both a little carried away; we ended up in doggy style, with her face and shoulders pressed into the bed. Her knees were wobbling, so that I had to support her up as I slammed into her.

An hour later, I suggested that she do a little more work while I prepared the food.

- "You think that I can concentrate on that stuff? My knees are still weak. And now I'm curious: what are we having?"

- "It's a surprise. Go read a couple of pages while I get started."

Holly grumbled, but she went. I put the potatoes on, and shucked the corn. Then I put on a big pot of water, and checked all of my food before I finally took the main course out of the fridge.

Holly lasted almost thirty minutes. I don't know if the paperwork was just that boring, or if it was her curiosity getting the better of her. She came into the kitchen.

- "You didn't!"

I had. Holly's family were originally Maritimers. They'd had to come to Ontario for jobs, but they maintained many of the differences that set them apart. Maritimers are hyper-social: family, friends, and shared food are very important. And by food, of course I mean seafood.

"You got lobster? For me?" Holly's lips was quivering, and I thought for a moment that she was going to cry. I stepped over to her, and took her in my arms.

- "Hey. You're worth it."

She did cry. I didn't know all of her history; maybe she hadn't had a boyfriend who spoiled her before. Not that I was her boyfriend, of course ... but I think that she genuinely liked me. Being Holly, though, I wasn't quite prominent enough for her. I was just a humble engineer. Connecting with me wasn't going to help her career. I was older, too. Maybe the age difference was on her mind. And yet the sex was amazing for both of us, because I'd made Tansa include it in our arrangement.

She was enjoying the time we spent together, and perhaps feeling a little guilty that she wasn't acknowledging me in public. And here I was going out of my way to make her happy.

I dried her tears, kissed her, and let her help me. Lobster, baked potatoes, corn on the cob, and a pasta salad.

- "I can't possibly eat all of this." she said.

- "Leftovers won't go to waste."

We made a wonderful meal of it. Holly was effusive in her praise. She told me stories of her grandfather, who was from Nova Scotia, and of the natural beauty of Cape Breton Island. She ended up eating a lot more than she'd expected to.

- "I'm stuffed." she said.

- "Good. You can just relax, or if you have the energy, you can read another couple of pages. I'll just clean up, and give Freya a quick turn around the neighbourhood."

- "I'll do the dishes." she said. "You walk the dog."

I protested, but she put her foot down. By the time I got back, the kitchen was perfect, except for a few utensils and the big pot.

"I didn't know where to put them." she said.

I took her in my arms, and kissed her. "Thank you."

- "Thank you, Dan. This was a wonderful treat. The whole day has been perfect." She kissed me back.

- "Can you stay?" I asked.

She laughed. "You think I'm going anywhere?"

Men in their forties - or at least,

this

man in his forties - may need time to recover between bouts of sexual activity. We're not hard again five minutes after coming (that's for eighteen year olds), but with the proper inspiration (Holly), we're still capable of getting it up several times a night.

Twice more, to be exact.

Holly stayed for breakfast.

***

That was an exceptional day and night. The sex was phenomenal, but I honestly enjoyed Holly's company, and doing nice things for her. I think that she felt the same, but she had the pressures of her job to worry about.

I only saw her once the following week, and she wasn't able to come over the next weekend. Then she was away for three days during the week after that, and I didn't see her until Saturday night - and she wasn't able to stay over.

I don't know if this makes sense, but the more sex you have, the more you want to have sex. When we were first married, and for several years thereafter, Connie and I had sex every day. Sometimes it was more than once a day.

My libido had been re-awakened. I wanted Holly every day. Now, I understood that I might not be able to keep up that kind of pace. But two or three encounters every two weeks wasn't enough. That's four to six times a month, if you're counting.

Do the math: that's sex every five or six days. Yes, a few months ago, that would have sounded wonderful to me. But I hadn't forgotten my bargain with Tansa. Nor had I forgotten Monica.

Three times a week, I went to the fitness centre, and worked out. I ran on a treadmill, rode a stationary bike, and used a few of the machines, or the free weights. It's true that I walked a lot with Freya, but that wasn't going to improve my stamina, or my muscle tone, especially in the upper body.

Evenings at the gym could be crowded, but the regulars learn to recognize each other. There were also some attractive women who showed up. Yeah - I looked. When you haven't had sex for a few years, you don't feel so guilty about checking out the hotties.

There was one girl who was there two or three times a week. She was hard to miss. For one thing, she had a very attractive face. She could have changed her expression - she looked a bit vain, and far too aware of all the guys checking her out. She was also a little too short to be a model, but her face was certainly pretty enough.

She also had an exceptional body. Hard. Super toned. A perpetual tan, too, so she was using tanning beds during the winter. From my perspective, she was the Queen of the gym. She was so hot that you could practically see the steam coming off her. When she was glistening with sweat after a workout ... whew! And she loved to wear these short t-shirts that left most of her midriff bare.

I couldn't help but watch her, because she had a routine that ran oddly parallel to mine. She liked to use a particular machine which was directly across from the stationary bikes. She often ran the treadmill when I was there, and always on the opposite side of the room, so that she was in my line of sight.

I don't know if she had favourite machines. And I don't believe for a minute that she was doing it on purpose. I'd never spoken a word for her. I suspect that I was just one member of her 'audience'.

She had a few girlfriends, who came in to work out with her from time to time. There were also the cocky guys, the lifters and the musclemen, who hung around and tried to chat her up. She sure made them work for it.

Way out of my league. So what? I had something that all of the muscle boys didn't: three little phrases.

It was a quiet Wednesday evening. The hottie was there, without her girlfriends. There were no Neanderthals present, either. I gathered my courage, and walked over to her. She looked up as I approached. She smirked.

I could tell what she was thinking: what does this asshole want?

- "You use this machine quite a bit." I said.

- "Yeah." she said, making it sound like 'Duh'.

I wasn't listening. I was looking at her hand. No rings, but no tan lines, either.

- "You're not married."

- "What?"

- ""I want you - One." I said.

- "Hey -

everybody

wants me." she said, with a smile.

- "I want you - Two."

- "I know. You already said that." She didn't blush, or turn red. She did look mildly annoyed, though. It wasn't quite 'resting bitch-face'' - but close.

Did I really need to think this over? I'd been lusting over this little hardbody for the better part of a year. I liked Holly, but I wasn't sure that 'likes' mattered. She might be somewhere between a fuck buddy and a friend with benefits.

This

girl I just wanted to fuck.

- "I want you - Three." I said.

- "Holy shit." she said. Obviously, she'd felt

something

.

- "My name's Dan. What's yours?"

- "Monica."

- "Well, Monica, why don't we both shower, and meet up at the pub across the street? The Queen's Arms?"

- "Uhh ...okay. Yeah."

I could have just met her in the fitness centre canteen, but I didn't want to be interrupted by any of her friends or admirers. The pub wasn't very far to walk, and it would be considerably more private for our first conversation.

She kept me waiting, just as I'd expected. She had makeup to put on, a look to get just right. When she walked into the pub, though, I was quite pleased. Monica had dark brown hair, full lips, and very attractive eyes.

She saw me at my table. Monica hesitated for a moment. She must have been wondering what she was doing; I wasn't the type of guy she usually allowed to approach her. Too old, probably, and not buff enough. But if the phrases were working, then she wanted to have sex with me, and she didn't have a major objection, like a vow of chastity or a monogamous relationship.

I stood up and held out a chair for her. She smiled at that.

- "Old school, are you?" she said, a little mockingly.

- "Good manners never go out of style."

Now she was really confused. I was definitely not her usual type of companion. But she sat down, and let me push her chair in.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

- "Vodka tonic." she said. Apparently she wasn't used to saying thank you, either. No problem. I wasn't looking for another girl like Holly. I ordered her drink, and a pint of lager for myself.

- "You seem a little ... surprised, Monica." I said.

- "Well ...

yeah

." There it was again - that thinly-veiled 'Duh'. "I mean, no offence, but you're not exactly the type of guy I usually go for."

- "Older?"

At that point, her phone went off. She immediately reached for it, looked at the caller ... hesitated for a full two seconds ... and then turned it off.

"How old are you, Monica?" I asked.

- "Twenty-six."

- "And not married. Or in a serious relationship?"

- "No. I mean, I go out n' stuff, but nobody regular."

- "You and I may become regular." I told her. "I'm forty-two, widowed, and I think that you'll really enjoy being with me."

She grinned at me. "You're pretty cocky."

- "Confident. It's not quite the same thing."

- "Well now I'm getting ... curious."

- "Anticipation. I can understand that; I've been watching you at the gym for about a year now. Watching - not staring."

- "I know." she said. "I can tell the difference. You're not the perviest one there - not by a long shot. So ... if you've been watching me, then you must like what you see."

- "I'm not blind, Monica. And you know exactly how attractive you are."

- "Attractive." she repeated, with a little smirk.

- "I'm sure that you have plenty of guys who tell you you're 'hot'. I prefer not to be one of the crowd."

- "Huh. Well -" Her phone went off again. Another quick glance, another dropped call. Then she smiled at me. "Dunno ... I might get to like 'attractive'."

I was just messing around, of course. It wasn't a seduction. It was a sure thing, and I was just dragging it out a little. This was the closest I was ever going to come to being James Bond, or Casanova.

But I was also testing the waters. Was Monica what she appeared to be? So far, the answer was a resounding 'yes'. She might have hidden depths, but they hardly mattered tonight - to her least of all.

I finished my pint. "Next drink at my house."

- "Where do you live?"

- "Right around the corner. Walking distance. But we'll take your car."

- "Okay."

I was glad to see that Monica was somewhat careful. Before coming into my house, she'd used her phone to take a picture of me, and then sent it to a friend, followed by a text with my address.

She also smiled when she saw Freya.

- "Oh! Hey, Buster!" She bent over to offer her hands for inspection.

- "Freya. She." I corrected.

- "Well, she's a cutie!"

Monica's phone buzzed again. This time, she replied with a text. A minute later, there was another buzz. Monica made a face, typed a furious reply, and then put her phone away.