by Asia Marquis
"Mm hmm, that's how they get you," I said. It was a common scam, and not one that was very easy to see through, either. I knew more than one person in my classes who had seen it, and more than one who had gotten caught. "Then all of a sudden it's 'pay us to get the virus off your computer,' right?"
I couldn't see her face, but Mrs. Stewart nodded. Her shoulders slumped; I didn't ask her what was wrong.
"I'm so stupid. I should've known better."
"Nah, you're fine." I wasn't reassuring at all, I knew. Still, I couldn't think of a way that I could explain to her that she hadn't made any sort of earth-shattering mistakes. I was always just going to be a kid trying to reassure her with empty words.
"You don't have to lie to make me feel better, James. I'm a grown woman."
"What did you do after that? Did you pay them?"
"I hung up the phone. Then I texted your mother, and she said you'd be able to help, so I've just been waiting for you to come by."
"Not waiting too long, I hope?"
"Don't worry about it," she said. Not 'no,' but just 'don't worry about it.' I worried about it.
I pulled my laptop out of my bag.
"This is going to be a while. If you want to go get a cup of coffee, or something, I don't need any help or anything."
Mrs. Stewart sat down next to me, close enough that the intoxicating perfume smell was nearly all I could think of.
"I'm okay, James. I'll wait here. Or... did you want any coffee, or soda, or anything like that?"
I tried not to seem churlish in my refusal, shaking my head slightly.
"Do you have an antivirus installed?"
"I have uhh... Norton?"
I ran a diagnostic; it said it was going to take 2 hours. I couldn't just get up, though. That was the frustrating part. I'd have to wait, and if something popped up, I would have to press one stupid key. It was the definition of sitting around doing nothing, next to this gorgeous woman with a figure that you see in magazines, after two kids to boot.
I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything. Stared at the screen, watching filenames scroll by faster than anyone could read. There were a few problems; there always are. But nothing that looked like it was going to ruin her computer. I installed another antivirus to be certain, ran another scan. That one took longer, still. I was seriously regretting not eating breakfast, but I wasn't going to say anything.
Finally that finished, as well. I packed up my stuff, telling Mrs Stewart that she was okay. She seemed relieved, a tired sort of happiness.
Not unlike taking exams, I thought. The stress grinds you down, but it holds you up, too. You can't feel tired, because you have to fix your problems first. I was about to walk out the door, about to grab some food and a nap, when she spoke up behind me.
"Wait." I waited. She'd grabbed her purse, rifling through it. "What should I give you for, you know? Thanks."
"Don't worry about it," I said, trying to put on a convincing smile. I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, tried to get one last sense of her breasts in that sweater without looking at them directly. And then I left.
Well, apparently, at that point she thought she had me on the hook. It seemed like every week it was something new. A new printer, the internet's not working, 'I can't get Netflix to run.' Every time, that same smell, that delicious smell that kept me up at night jerking off.
I almost wondered if she knew that I was interested in her, if she noticed the little glances. I didn't think that I was as sneaky as that, but at the same time, I thought she definitely looked at me like a little kid. It was just playful, not serious, to her. Maybe she did notice, but since I was so much younger, she thought it was just in fun.
Well, I didn't say anything to her about it, either way. It wouldn't have been right; after all, she was married. It took me almost a month to notice, though: she wasn't wearing a wedding band. I couldn't tell what had happened to Mr. Stewart, whether he was at work during the day, or if he was out of the picture, and I wasn't going to ask.
I had just cleaned up Mrs. Stewart's desk, hooked up her speakers (they'd somehow gotten completely disconnected; I was flattering myself to think that she was doing it on purpose, but at the same time I couldn't shake the idea either. Her sheepish look of absolute bewilderment made it easier to believe her, though.
Why would she be creating problems? I had a few ideas, but it was all a bunch of self-congratulatory fantasy. It had fueled more than one jerk-off session, though. The fantasy wasn't set in stone by any means, but neither was it impossibly generic.
I'd finish up with my morning of looking at her out of the corner of my eye when she'd ask me, just like she always did, what I thought was fair for my services. It varied, whether I was bold enough to make my move, or whether she'd insist. We'd have our bodies pressed together before long, looking into each other's eyes.
She would whisper that it was okay, that she wanted me to do it. Then I'd wake up. It never went any further than that. In my waking hours, of course, I'd imagine it, but it wasn't as vivid. I would take her top off -- she'd be bashful about her breasts. After two kids, she'd say, they're not as good as they were when she was my age. But to me, they'd be incredible. They were incredible, just imagining them.
Then I'd take a nipple into my mouth while she rubbed me through my jeans. Then she'd jerk me off, sucking her like a baby. Of course the next step was off-limits, but I imagined begging, almost pathetically for her to let me have her, and she'd relent.
'Just this once,' I imagined her saying. Then she'd lay back, spreading her legs and letting me inside. I couldn't imagine what it felt like, except that it would be incredible. Just remembering it, I could feel myself hardening.
Suddenly I came back to reality. I was in someone else's house, fantasizing about fucking his wife. I was getting hard just thinking about it.
She was bound to notice, and suddenly I'm not a little kid who grew up a little, who shows a little interest now and then. I knew that I couldn't get caught with this erection, that I'd get thrown out on my ass if she noticed me.
I guess in a certain sense, it didn't matter that much that I'd be thrown out. It would be easier for me to get through my day, by a lot. I wouldn't have to do all this menial work. But somehow, I guess I felt like it gave me a certain sense of purpose to be doing it.
I felt like I was helping. More and moer, I felt like Mrs. Stewart was treating me like, I suppose, a friend. She smiled when I pulled up into the driveway... I don't know if she did it because she knew I was coming, but she wore her hair up. She dressed pretty well, like I was a guest.
Maybe that doesn't make sense. I guess it's kind-of an old fashioned way to approach the idea. I know that most of the people I knew in school, they didn't tidy up when I was coming to their dorm. It wasn't really that I was offended, but I noticed the difference when Mrs. Stewart started doing it.
So I guess I wanted to seem like I deserved the treatment she was giving me, and that was why I went over to the restroom. Mrs. Stewart -- she'd asked me to call her Jennifer, but it was still foreign -- had gone into the other room, grabbing a drink for herself. She was never far, always watching me do whatever it was she'd called me over for, but at the same time she was finally letting me out of her sight.
I looked in the mirror at myself. I had to get myself under control, now, but I wasn't going down. I had hoped that out of that cloud of scent, I'd be okay, my imagination would get over its moment, but I was rock hard.
I debated what to do, in my head. I want that to be understood, with what I did next. I didn't just think it would be fine, okay? I thought it was an acceptable risk.
I gave myself another moment to calm down, and then I decided that it was going to have to be dealt with.
I checked the lock on the door. I'd been walked in on enough times that I knew it was important to check. Then I sat down on the toilet, and I took my cock out. I rubbed myself, hoping to cum as quickly and quietly as possible, and then I'd be able to
go back in, calm and back to normal. I didn't need much encouragement. I imagined Jennifer between my knees, jerking me off. The image was almost easy to imagine.
Maybe she'd let me fuck her tits. I was so close, that when Mrs. Stewart called out to me, I thought I'd be fine. But instead I heard her knock, and before I could answer, the door opened. I pulled my pants up, but the image didn't leave much un-said. My boxers tented out through my open fly, and I was getting up from a toilet with the lid down. There wouldn't be any excuses about using it.
I didn't know what to do. So I didn't do much. Or, I suppose I did one thing: I shouted.
"Shit! Mrs. Stewart!"
It was less than the graceful appeal I knew I would need to get out of trouble, to say the least. I bolted. The work was done anyways, I was just there for the conversation and because I liked being there. I just had to hope beyond all hope that she would put it out of her mind and she wouldn't tell my mother what I'd been caught doing. It was hardly likely, though. I didn't expect her to keep my secret, either. Why would she, after all? I'd put my foot in it, and it was all my own fault.
The thing that surprised me, though, was that I got a call again the next morning. Elizabeth Stewart, the caller ID said. I'd given her my number, but usually she talked to my mother, and then my mother would call me.
So it was a surprise, even without the events of the day before. With them, I cringed and felt like shrinking into the corner. I answered the phone, though.
"Hello?" I could hear the timidness in my own voice. I just waited for her to tell me what she wanted. That way, I could at least avoid as much trouble as possible.
"Hi, is this James?"
"Yes, this is James."
"Hello, James. I was wondering if you could stop by later, I'm having trouble with my television."
To say that I was dubious was putting it mildly. I knew she had a TV, but in the entire time I'd spent in the house, maybe a hundred hours, I'd never once seen her sit down on the couch in front of it. It looked more like decoration than anything.
Of course I was also still more than a little worried about how everything was going to play out with my indiscretion the morning before. My highest hope was that we would go our separate ways. My worst fear was that she'd tell someone. The idea of her acting like nothing had happened at all... hadn't crossed my mind.
"I have to shower, but I can come by in forty five minutes."
"That sounds great. Do you want me to put a cup of coffee on?"
"No, thank you. I don't prefer it." I've never preferred it. She has asked every time I have come over, and every time I have refused it.
"I'll see you in a little while then. Thanks for your help."
I jerked off in the shower, in a vain attempt to stop the incident of the previous day from repeating itself. Twice. I could feel the orgasm hit me in the stomach like a boot, nearly losing my balance. Then I got dressed, and I left for Mrs. Stewart's. It was almost becoming like a job, in a sense. I went more days than I didn't, though she didn't pay me per se.
She wasn't waiting for me outside. It was odd, the sort of thing I noticed. I could see her through the window, saw her look outside. I know she saw my car, but she didn't move, either. I walked up to the door and knocked. No answer. I knocked again, and my phone rang. It was a text.
"Come in," it read.
I was more than just suspicious. Visions of why she was being so secretive danced through my mind. Perhaps she couldn't move? She'd hurt herself? Maybe, the darker reaches of my mind speculated, she'd had some sort of criminal break in, and he was holding her hostage. I was going to be a second hostage, perhaps. The slow development of a burglary gone wrong.
Another part of my mind, though, went a totally different way. Maybe she had some sort of surprise. Something that I needed to be inside for. She couldn't come out if she were nude, could she? I laughed at my own perverted thoughts. Of course they were absurd, but it was a nice fantasy. I could feel my cock twitch, and I realized that maybe twice wasn't enough, if my mind were going to go this far.
I took a deep breath to steady myself and my rapidly-escaping thoughts. Then I opened the door. I suppose it had been a bit absurd, all of those thoughts. She had a big bowl of noodles in her lap, half-eaten.
Her hair was down again, like it had been the first day. Except, on her face wasn't the panic she'd worn then. It was just surprise.
"Um," she started. She looked down at the food, and smiled sheepishly. It was the first time that I'd seen her acting more like a woman than a well-oiled machine, in all the time we'd spent together over the last few weeks.
It always seemed like she was the perfect homemaker, rather than a person. In some ways it had been a little weird, but in other ways it was hot, too. I was surprised to find how much I liked this version of her. "Hi. Sorry."
I tried not to laugh. I laughed anyways.
"Hi!" The tension that I'd been worrying about, the stress of how everything was going to go over, it all seemed to melt away. Whether or not she was upset, I didn't know, but here we were. I was where I had grown accustomed to being, I suppose. She was on her couch, sitting there in an undershirt and sweatpants, her hair not even tied back. I smiled at her in spite of myself, a goofy grin.
I realized, then. I might not have known it, but I wasn't just worried about having been rude, I wasn't worried about getting read the riot act by my mother, or even getting the cops called on me for some kind of harrassment. I was worried that I'd upset her, and I didn't like it because she was a woman I cared about.
It felt a little weird, to me. In college, I hadn't given anyone the time of day. I couldn't be bothered. Nobody was all that interesting, nobody that nice or pretty or smart. Yet here I was with this woman who was twice my age, and I was worried that when she wasn't a part of my day, I'd miss her. The relief of realizing that I might be able to stick around, even if just for a little while, was palpable, and it washed over me like a wave.
"What's the problem you were having with the TV, Mrs... Elizabeth?"
"James," she said between bites. It was almost childish, a thing of beauty. I felt my smile widening. I don't know if she thought of it that way, but I felt like this was what intimate was. "I haven't been arguing with you about it, seeing as I had imagined you thought of me as some old lady--"
"No way--"
"Don't cut me off, now. I'm not 'Mrs. Stewart.' My husband's living in California with a girl not much older than you are. We've been divorced since you were in high school."
I blinked. The clues had been there, of course I'd suspected. But it seemed like it was an odd time to tell me that. She could have gone on without telling me and it wouldn't have made a lick of difference.
"But after yesterday--" I cut her off again without thinking.
"I'm sorry about that, I don't know what I was thinking."
"James, did you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me? I was nineteen once, too. I know exactly what you were thinking." She giggled, had an almost feral grin on her face.
"I don't know what to say."
"Good. That's what every girl hopes for, if she's smart." The look she gave me was childish and full of spiteful glee. Then she set the bowl down.
She got up, then. I could see she wasn't wearing a bra, either. These were pajamas, then, without a doubt. Her full breasts swayed as she walked up to me. I caught myself staring and snapped my eyes back to her face. Replacing the gleeful, teasing jabs was a look of almost-pride.
"You know, James, nobody's given me that look in a long time. When I was younger, I thought it was trouble. Now that I'm a mother, it seems like the more they dry up, the more I wish I was being looked at like that."
"So that's why--"
"You don't have to explain it, James. I just told you that's why."
Then she pulled my lips to hers. Her lips were soft and full, more than I had imagined in my wildest fantasies. My mind was whirling, a mile a minute. I didn't know what to say, didn'
t know what to do.
"Mrs. Stewart?"
"James, I'm almost forty. If I'm going to have another child, it's not going to wait long."
"Another child?" I was parroting by that point. Things were moving awfully fast. I had a thousand guesses of where I thought this all might be going, and almost all of them scared me.
"I'm not asking you to be a father, James."
"Can we slow down for a second?"
Elizabeth pressed herself against me. I relished the feeling of her against me, though my head was spinning. I was too young for children, I thought. If that was where this was going, then I was going to have to politely bow out, and that would be that.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to..." Elizabeth blushed and widened her eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this."
I couldn't believe it either. But at the same time, I could tell that whatever was happening, she was backing out of it, and I realized that I couldn't let that happen. If I ever wanted to have any sort of relationship with her, it would have to push past this moment.
"It's okay, take your time."
She sat down and took a drink of water.
"I want another child." She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I know you're too young for that kind of responsibility, James, but I don't have a lot of men lining up for it, and I never could bring myself to do the whole sperm donor thing."
"So... ?"
"So I'm going to be fertile in a day or two. I didn't want to spring this on you, but I wasn't sure it was... I wasn't sure you'd be interested. You are interested, aren't you?"
I closed my eyes.
"I don't know, Elizabeth. I don't know what to think. It's... it's awfully sudden, you know. And it's a big leap of faith."
"You wouldn't have to hear from me again if you didn't want to."
I sat down next to her. I had a strong sense of attraction to her, but more than that, I felt an affection for her that ran deeper than I had thought possible.
"I would never want that." I kissed her forehead. "I just don't know if I can provide in any way, I'd just be trouble."