Small Favors...and Dirty Laundry

I grinned watching her double over in hysterics. "Another good one, Adam," she said after recovering. "Ever consider doing standup? You might have missed your calling."

"Glad I could brighten your day."

She laughed some more and then got serious. "Not to impose, but there's other ways you could brighten my day, if not my life."

The butterflies fluttered again. "Go on."

She swung her left foot forward, the one crossed over her right leg, and began rubbing it against my calve. "By now, I think you should have a pretty good idea," she said. She glanced around the room, checking to see if the few diners here took notice. None did, including bartender Henry who was engaged in conversation with a couple club members. "I turn you on, don't I?" she said, exposing her lower teeth in that sensual manner that women seem to do by instinct.

"A rhetorical question if I ever heard one. Of course you turn me on, Mrs. Sutcliff."

"Rene, Adam, please call me Rene from now on."

"Sure, no problem," I said, not entirely comfortable but undeniably hot with anticipation for what she was suggesting. "Rene it is."

"Good." She slid her chair closer to the table and then wedged her knee between my thighs. "Feel good?"

"Huh huh." I trapped her knee vice-like between my legs.

"Now, let go so I can do this." When I did, she dropped her shoe, extended her leg into my groin, and then wiggled her toes against my cock. "How's that feel?"

My breathing picked up. "It feels like I might shoot a load if you keep doing that."

She chuckled and kept on going, nervously glancing around the room as she speeded up the action. "Wow, you're getting hard," she whispered, her breathing now as labored as mine.

She had that right, especially when I saw her drop her hand under the table and shove it down her shorts. "My god, I'm soaked already," she said, again in a whisper.

Speaking of soaked, much more of this and my clothes would soon be soaked with jizz. Was it worth it? Yes, I decided, and I was off to the races. Less than a minute later, Rene's toes were bringing me to climax, just as I heard a familiar voice calling her name from across the room.

We both jumped, but not soon enough to stop those familiar, blissful waves of excitement to wash over me and the sticky stuff to fill my Fruit of the Loom briefs.

Rene's shoulders quivered as if a cold wind had blown in. "Ohmygod, I never expected this. He must have knocked off work early to play golf."

"He knew you'd be here?"

"Yes, but with Ruth."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, man, we're in trouble now."

"Maybe not. Stay cool."

Dr. Sutcliff walked up to our table. Raising his bushy eyebrows, he said, "Well, if isn't Adam Naylor of all people. What happened to Ruth?"

"Ruth took sick, Vinnie," Rene said, shooting me a jaundiced look. "So I thought that Adam, a tennis player himself, might want to play."

I could barely stifle a laugh watching Vincent Sutcliff's expression of incredulity, looking a bit confused in his dressy work attire, dark pants and a dark blue dress shirt, his colorful tie loosened around his wrinkled neck. He scratched his balding head and nodded. "So, how to you like our club?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "What's there not to like? Mrs. Sutcliff gave me a good game."

"Not surprised, she was quite the athlete back in the day."

"Still am. Tell him, Adam."

"It's true. She kept me on her toes." I blushed and banged my forehead. "I mean, she kept me on MY toes."

My faux pas wasn't intentional. No matter, Rene collapsed on the table.

Vincent laughed too. "We're not laughing at you Adam, just your murdered syntax." Of course, he didn't know the joke was on him, that it wasn't murdered syntax that sent his wife into hysterics.

"By design or not, that was precious, Adam," Rene said after Vincent excused himself to play a round of golf.

We soon finished our drinks and left.

Walking to the parking lot, Rene said, "I'm so horny I could jump your bones right here."

She wasn't the only one. Thinking how sexy she looked in her tennis outfit and now the way she strode across the grounds in her shorts and heels made me yearn for seconds. "Let's at least wait until we get to your car," I said, only half-serious, never thinking she'd go for any hanky panky in her club's parking lot.

She didn't, but she did invite me back to her house. I hesitated. We had just escaped one close call, and I didn't want to push our luck. "Not to worry," she said, "Vinnie won't be home for another couple hours. He plays a very leisurely game." Her kids, of course, were away at school. But I had another concern, a moral one. Hot as I was for this incredibly sexy woman, committing adultery made me uneasy. Presumably, I was on the verge of fucking another man's wife and an ex-friend's mom. And didn't Rene find this "slightly" hypocritical on her part, seducing me after balling me out for my voyeurism?

Apparently not, because the first thing she did when we entered her white-carpeted, expensively appointed living room was kick off her heels, drop her Louis Vuitton bag and throw her arms around me. Then she said, "We haven't kissed yet, and this is a good place to start." Admittedly, Rene's passion—and mine—pushed my moral qualms into the ether. Her intoxicating scent alone, enhanced by whatever body soap she used and perfume she wore, was enough to sway the tug-of-war between my carnal desires and morality in favor of the former. Grinding her pelvis against mine as we smooched, then shoving her hand down my shorts and grabbing my raging hard-on sealed the deal.

She led me upstairs into Gary's room, where as kids we once played, where I stayed during sleepovers. In fact, the two single beds remained. "It's too risky in there," she said, pointing down the hall to the master bedroom. "The incriminating scent of sex, you know."

Man did I know! When she peeled off her blouse and bra, I buried my face between her smallish but firm boobs, inhaling her delicious scent, rubbing my lips against her velvety skin. Standing by the beds, I held her while sucking on her nipples. She threw her head back. "Ooo, you do that so well, Adam. Keep going, please."

I did as she slipped off her headband, then snapped open her shorts and stepped out of them. "Red panties, huh?" I said, admiring the way the color blended with her lightly tanned skin.

"You like?"

"I like." I kicked off my sticky sweats and underwear and threw off my t-shirt.

We were both in the buff by the time we crawled under the sheets. As noted, I had been to third base, experienced in the ways of oral sex. Thus, I had no qualms about wedging myself between her legs to tongue her pussy, wet and shaved. I asked if she had prepared herself for me. "Maybe," she chuckled.

"Oh, my, Adam, no one's done this to me in ages," she gushed. By no one, I surmised she meant Vincent.

"Oh, my, ohmygod," she cried, her back arched and her legs draped over my shoulders. She no doubt prepared herself for me, I thought, for why else would her pussy smell so pleasant, a soapy, tangy scent I could more than tolerate—not the norm in my experience with women. Even her white gloss lipstick tasted good, what was left of it at this point.

"Don't worry, very few women get pregnant at my age," she said, getting up on all fours. It appeared that my virginity would end humping Rene from behind. She instructed me to stand while she stooped doggy style across the bed. She had a lovely curve to her back and a sexy round butt with just a trace of cellulite. "In my pussy, Adam, not the other thing," she said, aware that this was my first time.

"Right," I said, feeling somewhat insulted at her implication that I didn't know the difference.

I faced the window, its blinds open, while I humped away, affording me a view of the houses on a block that dropped in a gentle decline. Nineteen-fifties ranchers and split-levels mixed with a few older homes dating from the Gatsby era. I saw Mrs. Ritzer in her driveway, three houses down. The Ritzers and the Sutcliffs mixed socially, and I couldn't help but chuckle to myself wondering what Mrs. Ritzer would think about this situation. No doubt, she'd gasp in disbelief, though I suspect her reaction would be mild compared to Gary's if he ever learned about me banging his mom—in his own room yet.

The view changed when Rene rolled to her back and we commenced with missionary. "Make love to me, Adam," she whispered. She guided me in and then clasped her legs around me. She looked so vulnerable with her eyes half-closed, so cute even. I bent down and started kissing her as if she was a steady girlfriend, someone I loved, not just made love to. She met my passion, losing herself in the moment, pouring out body and soul the way she must have done with Vincent at one time. "Come, baby, come," she cried, sensing I was on the precipice. She was right. Once struggling to hold back, I acquiesced and let it fly. Grabbing my arms tightly during my release, she said, "If you can hold on, baby, for just a few more seconds...just a few..." And that's when her body started to quiver and her words melted into noises of pure pleasure. I managed to stay hard through her orgasm, despite the tingling, innervating "aftershocks" of my own climax.

"I love you, Adam," she said as we stretched out next to each other. She then turned and kissed me as if she meant it, soft, tender, loving. "You were wonderful. Your first time, really? I find that hard to believe."

"Thanks" is all I could think to say. She couldn't love me, I thought; she's merely reacting to the euphoria of the moment. Still, it was nice to hear from this woman who until recently barely spoke to me.

We both wanted another go-around and then time to hold each other until we fell asleep in each other's arms. However, because Vincent would soon be home, time was a luxury we lacked. She did insist on leaving my green sweats and underwear for her to wash. "After all, it was my doing," she quipped.

"Adam, please understand that this is no one night stand," she said before I left in my tennis clothes. "I'm looking forward to more as I hope you are. I enjoy your company, and not just because of what you can do for me in bed."

We indulged each other twice more at a motel before the semester ended and her kids returned home from school. It wasn't all about sex. We developed a strong emotional bond that translated into great kissing, warm and long, kissing that lingered in bed and out of it, including over a few romantic lunches. Then we went into hiatus with the understanding that we'd pick up again when school started.

Gary, meanwhile, decided to let me back into his life. In early June, a few days after he returned home, while his parents were at the shore, we sat in his room and talked. Like his mom, he did a mea culpa.

"I woke up and realized that good friends like you don't grow on trees," he said. "Forgive me for being such a fucking jerk." Rene had told him about how I had helped her with packages and our tennis game at Silver Burch, leaving out the rest, of course. "As you found out, she can still move, spreads herself around the court like a much younger woman. And her backhand is awesome, don't you think?"

"Yes, she can definitely spread herself around," I said, grinning inside. "And if you think her backhand is awesome, you ought to see her forehand."

"Right, well, I'm surprised she even invited you," he continued. "I mean, with all the acrimony she once felt. Now she speaks very highly of you, thinks you're hilarious. Even dad can't believe it. It's as if she's talking about someone else."

"It's amazing what small favors will do," I said, referring to my helping her at Giant. "Small favors can lead to big things."

He chuckled. "Like what, being invited to Silver Burch?"

"A big deal in my book," I said. "She also bought me a beer."

He smiled. "You always were a grateful guy, grateful for the little things." He paused. "But there is one thing I can't figure out."

"What's that?"

"How your sweat pants and underwear ended up in my clothes drawer." His smile vanished. "My mom looked spooked when I asked her, like she had just seen a ghost. Then she groped and stuttered her way through some long-winded explanation, telling me that you must have left them here months ago, so she decided to wash them." He opened his drawer and threw them on the bed.

Suddenly it dawned on me that I had forgotten to pick them up. And Rene hadn't said a thing since I left her house that day. Nervously, I inspected them, trying to be discrete as I focused on the crotch. At least the cum stains were gone. Whew!

I hemmed and hawed. "Um, you're sure they're mine, that they don't belong to someone else?"

"You're the only one I know who wears extra-large green sweats stenciled with Northeast High on them. And I wear Perry Ellis briefs, not Fruit of the Loom. Yes, I'm sure they're yours, Adam."

"Maybe I left them during our last sleepover."

"Come on, dude, we haven't had a sleepover since middle school. Now you sound like my mom."

"Well, I'm not sure but I'll gladly take them off your hands."

He gave me a long, suspicious look. "Mind if I ask you something?"

Uh-oh. "Go ahead."

After another long look, he said, "Are you and my mom more than just friends? I mean, do you two have something going on?"

"Going on?"

"Dude, don't play naïve with me. You know damn well what I'm asking." His dark brown eyes bore into me and the veins in his arms, still sinewy from his wrestling days, swelled.

"Are we having an affair? Is that what you're getting at?" Nodding slightly, he crossed his arms against his chest. I forced a laugh. "Absolutely not! Sure, I might be off her shit list. And I'll admit, she's a very attractive lady. But come on, man, can you really picture your prim and proper mom in that way? Absurd."

"Prim and proper..." He shook his head. "That's the image she likes to project. The reality might be something else. She and my dad, they no longer...well, never mind. Look, if you had seen her horrified expression when I asked her about the sweats and underwear and the way she groped for an answer...and the stuttering..." His voice trailed off.

"That doesn't mean we're having an affair. I hope you didn't ask her what you just asked me."

He bristled. "Hardly."

After more back and forth, he agreed to drop the subject. Not me. When Rene returned, I called and asked for an explanation. "I put your clothes in Gary's drawer with the intention of giving them back the next time we met," she said. "I got sidetracked and then forgot. Sorry."

June passed without further incident. Gary and I hung out until July. He then overcame enough of his shyness to meet some lass he fell in love with; she monopolized most of his free time. I spoke to him the day before he left for Princeton. He talked about his new relationship and wished me luck in school. Then, before clicking off, he said, "And next time, Adam, make sure you wash your own dirty laundry."