Sexy to Go Volume 5

by Unknown

  Yes, let Shaun design us a site and turn it over to Sondra to manage. Anything to steer her attention away from my sex life. While I had it on the brain… “Would you like to do something tonight?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” He grinned at me. “I wanted to stop by Pottery and Pier and get some candles for my open house on Sunday.”

  Of course. I’d forgotten Anson would be showing a condo on the other side of Archer Beach. This would be his first open house, despite being with the agency for over a month, and the home furnishing shop was always great for room accents.

  “I noticed the bowling alley isn’t far from there. I thought about reserving a lane if we’re not too late,” he continued.

  “Why not? You may get lucky. When the boardwalk amusements open the crowds don’t hang around much in town. I haven’t bowled in years, sounds like fun.” I finished my drink. “I should come with you to Pottery and Pier as well and watch your spending. I tend to go overboard on the aesthetics when prepping an open house.” He’ll go into the store looking for candles and come out with throw pillows, potpourri, wind chimes, and tiny Zen sandboxes. I would know—more than once I’ve gone shopping with the intent to touch up a home for sale and nearly redecorated it.

  “I promise you, I won’t get carried away.”

  “Uh-huh.” This would make a great first photo for our blog after Shaun set it up—a shopping cart full of home décor.

  Anson shrugged. “Anyway, if I go a bit overboard I’ll take the stuff home, and I can write it all off and use for later homes. I was thinking maybe of getting some gift bows, and put one on the front door.” He spread his arms wide. “A symbol for ‘unwrap this gift, your new home.’”

  “Yeah. Who doesn’t love taking apart a ribbon to find something they want?”

  He smiled. “I need to get cookies and water bottles, too.”

  “If you can, get the pre-packaged dough and bake them onsite. Fill the place with the aroma of fresh cookies and people will think they’ve come home.”

  “I should try that trick on dates.” Anson’s hand covered mine for a moment, and our gazes locked. The light dancing in his eyes spoke of hope for more than a taste of cookies. He knew he didn’t have to do anything special to lure me home. I was already hooked.

  A shrill noise interrupted the moment, and Anson cursed while reaching for his phone. “Damn, I should take this.” He pointed to his glass. “Get me another if he comes around?”

  “Sure.” I could use a second drink myself to stop the fluttering in my stomach. The night might begin with bowling and open house planning, but where to go from there? We hadn’t much opportunity to get personal about the course of our non-business relationship, and as I watched Anson walk toward the exit I focused on his body.

  He wore clothes well. He wore nothing better. Ha. During our scant moments of intimacy we’d whispered things to each other. I want you…I want this. We never talked about making love, rather going “all the way.” I’d revealed my sexual history to Anson early on, and he seemed eager to go that next step.

  The waiter appeared, breaking into my thoughts, and I ordered the next round. I needed to relax. Making love isn’t really something to plan or dissect, but thinking about it roiled me. Excited me, too. I’d waited long enough to find passion with the right man. People want to tell you that fifty is the new thirty, or the new black or whatever, but it doesn’t guarantee you’ll live another fifty years and make up for lost time with endless hot sex.

  Anson paced part of the sidewalk on Sylvester Street and I watched from our table. Such a handsome man. A whistle sounding behind me agreed.

  Deacon took the empty chair, sighing away his exhaustion. “You two’ve been seeing quite a bit of each other, I hear.” He slung a bar towel over his shoulder and grinned.

  “We work together, but that’s not what you mean. Actually, we’ve only had one official date so far.”

  “Good. I hope everything works out for you. You’re long overdue for it.” The way Deacon said it, though, implied he thought differently. The smile disappeared, for one, and he glanced out the window at Anson’s pacing form with a furrowed brow.

  “I hope so, too,” I said. “He’s a great guy. We have a lot in common.”

  “Kind of sudden, the two of you getting together,” he said. “Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just…”

  I waited. Deacon and I had been friendly for a number of years—not lifelong pals, but long enough that we felt comfortable to confide in another—and I’d never seen him look so serious. The thought that he was disappointed for not matching me to Anson struck me, as Deacon’s known to pair up couples. Many of them I saw at other tables. Good for business.

  “You don’t think you’re rushing things with Anson?” he asked. “Yeah, he is a nice guy, but he’s new in town, and what do you really know about him?”

  “That’s…why we’re dating, Deacon, so I can learn more about him and vice versa.” Anson’s second drink turned dewy on the table, with condensation streaking down and soaking the napkin underneath the glass. I intended to wait for him, but Deacon’s obvious suspicions got me hot around the collar. I downed my cocktail in two gulps. “If you have something to say, get it out. I’ve waited long enough for certain things, and if you’re stretching this out before getting to the point I don’t have the patience.”

  I hated to sound rude, but something in Deacon clicked. He looked contrite. “I’m sorry. It’s your business,” he said, “but you’re a friend and I don’t want you hurt.”

  “I’m a big boy, Deacon.” I could imagine what flowed through his head. What if Anson and I didn’t hit it off? What about the ensuing awkward moments at work? We weren’t teenagers, and I’m certainly mature enough to move forward. Thinking out this scenario bothered me, too, because we weren’t at that point yet. Why would I want to make mental provisions for a break-up when Anson and I hadn’t had our second date?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Adrian. Second round’s on the house.” With a pat on my shoulder he stood and retreated to the bar before I could thank him. Anson rejoined me seconds later.

  “That was Mrs. Isner.” One half of the couple selling the condo. “I had to talk her down from the ledge.”

  “Oh, dear. They having second thoughts about selling?”

  Anson sipped his drink, shaking his head all the while. “Nerves, is more like it. They left this morning for an Atlantic City weekend and she’s worried the place isn’t clean enough, good enough, won’t sell, yada-yada.” He chuckled. “Honestly, if they don’t get an offer right off the bat I’ll be shocked. It’s gonna show gorgeous.”

  “It should. I’ve sold quite a few units in her building. The view alone is worth it,” I said. “I hope you were able to allay her fears.”

  Anson sighed and set down his glass. “Yeah, that’s the thing. I promised I’d go over there give it a once-over.”

  “Now?” Mrs. Isner wasn’t our first high-maintenance client, but really. “You’re going there early Sunday, right? What does she think is going to happen to the place?”

  He cast me an apologetic smile. “You should have heard her on the phone, Ade. I don’t want to not go and say I did. I’d rather she enjoy her weekend and not give her husband grief.”

  True. Mrs. Isner seemed the type to drive straight home if she suspected the fringe on her area rugs weren’t neatly combed out, and that one mishap stood to negate any offers.

  “And let you get through the open house in peace?” I added.

  “Hope you didn’t have your heart set on bowling.”

  I’d survive. I wasn’t in the mood to wear somebody else’s shoes anyway.

  ****

  We made quick work of Pottery and Pier. I could spend hours in the store, strolling aisle after aisle of so-called “exotic” goods. All these knickknacks are designed to look like they come from the remotest regions of Africa or Greenland, but turn them all over and you’ll find they came from the same
factory in Taiwan. Still, the paintings and cat statues provide plenty of color to contrast plain condo walls. I convinced Anson to use a handheld basket rather than a shopping cart and he got out of there under thirty dollars.

  “You know where to go?” he asked, tossing the bag of candles and potpourri in his trunk. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, just come on in.”

  “Right.” We’d parked next to each other, and I was about to suggest maybe one of us drop off a car but he was already in the driver’s seat and shifting into reverse before I could get out my key fob. Odd behavior for him. Either he wanted to get this pop inspection of the Isners’ condo done quickly, or he wanted an early night altogether. He hadn’t given me that impression earlier, but Deacon’s words nettled at me on the drive.

  Were we rushing things? We’d known each other little more than a month, and we’d been to bed once. No full-on, grand slam sex, but we’ve done more than most couples…perhaps in a shorter amount of time. It’s not for me to appoint the proper time to make love, though. If I had to adhere to the schedule Deacon implied, I’d be waiting a while longer.

  Why did I let his words bother me? Never since our first acquaintance had Deacon shown a romantic interest in me. He’s the town matchmaker, though, so maybe he wants to meddle and introduce me to somebody else? Or, he simply doesn’t trust people who aren’t “local.” Never mind that Anson lives in Archer Beach, he’s from Virginia. To some, he’ll always be a visitor.

  Horrible way to think. All the people living and working on Sylvester Street surely have suffered discrimination because of the way they’re wired. We shouldn’t act awful toward each other.

  I plodded through the weekend traffic and circled a block until I found a space reasonably close to the Isners’ condo complex. Anson had a temporary pass for the building’s lot. I had one, too, in the office for work, but no matter. It’s like cheating to take advantage. The doorman recognized me, anyway, so I had no trouble getting through the lobby to the right floor.

  “Anson?” I called out to the empty foyer, locking up behind me. From this vantage point, the place looked wonderful. Bright carpets, no clutter, and a fresh clean scent greeted me. On Sundays dozens of people—the majority being curious onlookers with no intention to offer a price—would tramp through here and touch everything. Mrs. Isner should worry about the aftermath.

  “Back here.” Anson sounded muffled, and seeing as it wasn’t a large condo I went straight for the hallway. Three open doors granted me entrance: an office, a bathroom…but I chose the obvious. Where else would he wait for me but in the master bedroom?

  The notion that Mrs. Isner could have cared less about the condition of this place struck me, more so when I paused at the threshold to find Anson lying naked atop the comforter with a big smile and a large red bow covering his groin.

  “You’re this confident we’ll have no surprise visitors?” I wanted to look cool leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and smirking, but my hardening cock betrayed my excitement. Anson reclined as though on a photo shoot with one hand tucked behind his neck and the other toying with one frayed end of the bow. The candles he’d purchased and Pottery and Pier flickered on the night tables situated on either side of the bed, the faintest hint of cinnamon and vanilla tickling my senses.

  Never before had I arrived at a planned seduction, not even when I was married. “Thank you, for this.”

  “Have I ever told you how incredibly sexy you look in a suit?” he asked me. “You come in every morning with your pants all pleated and your ties…” He squirmed, presumably to wriggle the bow and entice me closer. Eh, it worked.

  “You cut a nice figure yourself. That doesn’t mean I want you to get dressed.” I stepped away from the door and out of my shoes as I approached. The jacket slid off and I folded it on the dresser, then loosened my green tie and pulled it free. I perched beside him on the bed, fingering the bow. “So this is for me, huh?”

  He nodded, and I nudged him to turn over. The bow crinkled and I saw him toss it to the floor. “Very nice, but I want this more,” I said, palming his ass. He looked incredible, browned by the sun with no tan lines. I didn’t have to guess where he spent his beach time—people had annexed a stretch of shore outside of Archer Beach for clothing optional sunbathing. Leaning closer, I detected the sweet, lingering tang of tanning lotion.

  I pressed my lips where his ass met the small of his back, and kissed up his right flank to his shoulder. Anson hugged a pillow and lifted his head to meet mine, and our mouths and tongues tangled for a minute or so while I straddled him. My suit against his bare flesh made for an arousing sensation, and he must have enjoyed it as well. I caressed every inch possible without losing balance, feeling the eruption of goosebumps everywhere my fingers slid. Under his arm to a hardened nipple, then down to cup his balls. Anson raised his hips in response, nearly knocking me off of him.

  He broke free of our kiss and winced. “Ade, I kept telling myself I’d wait until you were ready, but damn…I want you so bad. I’m sorry if I’m pushing.”

  “It’s okay.” My nose traced the outer shell of his ear. “I spent too many years standing still. I needed somebody to push me a long time ago.”

  “You can have me, right now.”

  “I would in a heartbeat.” Already I deflated. “If I’d thought to bring—”

  Anson shifted under me, reaching for the floor. Up came his hand clutching a string of condoms and a travel-sized bottle of lube.

  “I know you didn’t get these at Pottery and Pier,” I said, taking them.

  “You gotta be prepared at an open house.” Anson laughed.

  ****

  We made love slowly. Languidly would be the better word. With the Isners in Atlantic City spending money they hadn’t made yet from the condo, we had no reason to leave. Anson undressed, flinging my Oxford shirt, slacks, undergarments and socks to all corners of the room. I guided him to his stomach again and made sure to leave no patch of skin unkissed. All the way down his back to his rounded ass, he warmed to my touch.

  I did things I’d never done to another man. He turned to one side so I could take his cock into my mouth. I lubed up my hand and fucked him, adding until I had three fingers searching for that spot. I sucked his balls into my mouth and stroked his cock to orgasm, and watched his cum splatter over my knuckles and on his belly before tasting him. All things new to me, yet I took to each one so naturally.

  No jitters when I pressed my sticky lips to his, sharing his passion. No qualms when I rolled on a condom and lowered myself over Anson’s body, his knees drawn up for a moment before his feet slid past my shoulders. No regrets when I pushed the tip of my cock into him, and moved all the way in.

  “You all right?” His voice sounded hoarse.

  More than that. I’d fallen over the moon, fireworks exploding behind my fluttering eyes, heart beating wildly into joy. I hadn’t expected Anson to feel so snug around me, and it took a moment to get comfortable. After a minute of holding myself inside him, I thrust forward and back, fucking Anson in a smooth rhythm that left me gasping for air.

  No, not fucking. Using that word implied nothing lingered between us. Indeed, I wanted to close the gaps and hold him to me. Kiss him for hours without breaking free. I watched him laying back, the bed shifting beneath us, his eyes glazed over to match his smile.

  In a second, it all changed. His face darkened. “Ade, are you okay?” He reached up, brushing the corner of my eye with his thumb, and I realized I’d started to cry.

  “I’m fine. This is…too wonderful for words.” The moment caught up with me. How long…thirty years? More? I’d let so much time pass denying my true self, until here I am losing my damn virginity in middle age. Not technically, no, but the idea of what I could have enjoyed overwhelmed me and formed these tears.

  Of course, I couldn’t say if making love with a man at eighteen would have been as special. I pivoted and pushed balls deep into Anson and he closed his eyes. Beautiful.
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  “Let’s switch,” he said, “I want to ride you.” He guided me away from him and onto my back. After a new condom and more lube, he straddled me and settled back on my cock, stroking his back to full hardness. He rocked slowly against me, each push downward a shock to my overloaded system.

  His free hand raked through my chest hair. “How about I come all over this, mess you up good?” he teased.

  Mrs. Isner would surely object to such a mess before the open house, but Anson’s next words trumped my thoughts. “Before you say anything, these aren’t her sheets, and I brought towels from home. She said to make sure we use the bed set that matches the curtains when we’re done here.”

  “You planned this all along.” I laughed.

  “Hey, it was your bucket list, making love at a home for sale.” We could have argued longer, but Anson bucked against me in the just the right spot and I couldn’t hold back. I came hard and so did he, spurting on my stomach.

  He fell into my arms and we kissed until I nearly faded into sleep. The call of the shower gave me enough strength to leave bed.

  “Have I shown you the features of the master bath?” Anson asked, leading me toward the stall.

  A demonstration never hurts.

  ****

  The condo received two offers on Sunday. If the Isners were aware of the recent history of hanky panky they didn’t let on to me. By Friday the new owners had closed and Anson and I celebrated with Sondra at our usual table overlooking Sylvester Street.

  Deacon served our martinis, averting his eyes from Anson with obvious disdain. “Congrats on another sale,” he told me. “Pretty soon you’ll have all of Archer Beach leased out.”

  “It was Anson’s listing, but thanks.” I tipped my glass toward my newfound love. Deacon muttered something before returning to the bar.

  “Rough day?” Anson asked, indicating him with a crick of the neck.

  Sondra let out a derisive noise. “He’s jealous, but he’ll get over it.”