Open House (Full Version)

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Prelude – This is a story about secret lives, sacrifices, denial and the emotional destruction that can result when all come into play. How often do we pretend to be something or someone that we’re not, only to realize way too late that our true selves – although thought to be long dead and buried – will always find a way to resurface, and usually at the most inopportune time?

The main characters – Robert and Andrea (aka “Easy Andi”) are both guilty of hiding their true nature in an effort to please the other. Each has expertly assumed their individual facades for far too long. The question is, when will they admit it – not only to each other but also to themselves – and if they do, will it be too late?

You may ask yourself as you read through this short story, what façade are you hiding behind? I hope you enjoy “Open House.”

CHAPTER ONE – Robert adjusts to his new “single life”

And to think he used to enjoy doing this – getting brief glimpses into peoples’ lives by parading from open house to open house in a futile search for the perfect home. It was kind of fun in the beginning, seeing ranges of taste in decorating – good or bad, and getting different perspectives on colors, layouts and styles ranging from traditional and Victorian to contemporary or country.

He was often surprised at the things they would leave out in the open for the influx of strangers, and sometimes he wondered if it was intentional. The teenagers’ rooms were usually interesting to say the least, and in an effort not to be swayed one way or the other, he tended to avoid them, especially after one of his early home searches uncovered a goth-style teenager’s room with a collection of skulls on a home-made bookcase. Some were obviously human, hopefully plastic replicas and several were clearly animals, but they were collectively creepy.

He imagined the proud father in his workshop, instruction manual in hand, clumsily crafting a bookshelf for his newborn son, filling the completed project with classics like Goodnight Moon and The Cat in the Hat. Later on, replacing them with short novels, mysteries and Harry Potter books, only to eventually see the bookcase littered with remnants of animals. THAT certainly wasn’t going to help to sell the home, that is of course unless another couple with an equally disturbed teenager was looking to buy.

Having endured somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 or 40 open houses in the past few months, there was – of course – the other side of it. The master bedrooms were generally immaculate and often appeared to be professionally staged; however, at times – likely in those homes where the sale was prompted by impending divorce – things were sometimes carelessly left out in the open, ranging from porn dvds on end tables to condoms in trash containers. Some people just didn’t care, or maybe they were making a statement. And he thought HE was screwed up, he laughed to himself.

The realtors were also an interesting lot. For as long as he could remember, he had a weakness – or some may consider it a fetish – for a sexy full ass, calves and thighs in a skirt or form-fitting dress. Other than in church or the airport, what better place to enjoy that kind of view than at an open house? During last week’s round of visits, he actually spent more time observing the realtors than he did exploring the homes. In fact, there was one agent in particular, Kate, who – he convinced himself – was actually almost flirting with him during his tour of the second home on his list, most likely to interest him in the home, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t above that type of treatment. Clearly out of practice, he sheepishly tried to reciprocate the banter. Snapping back to reality, he completed the tour, noting to himself that the home was nothing special, but she made the trip well worth his while despite his awkwardness. He wondered where her next open house would be, but conceded that it would probably border on stalkerish behavior if he actually showed up there.

The following week, he found himself looking at the classifieds once again to see if Kate was on the docket, but unfortunately she wasn’t on the list. After grabbing a large coffee with cream and a breakfast sandwich from the local convenience store, he mapped out the weekend’s open houses. He became a logistical master at navigating the county and stuffing as many visits as possible into a 2-3 hour window. Although he would have preferred the view of the rolling hills of Chancellor from the deck of a 3,000 square foot colonial, his budget was more in line with a trailer park in Parkerville, or – worse yet – a modest duplex “fixer upper” in an inner-city neighborhood. Still, that didn’t stop him from putting on the act, dressing like someone who cared about his appearance – typically in stylish jeans and a sport coat over an oxford shirt – & driving his decades-old Toyota to the homes that were clearly well beyond his price range, always being sure to park his rusted out Camry far enough away so as not to ruin the façade.

As fixbet for Robert, he was quite sure that his story was no different than thousands of others before him. Middle-aged and suddenly finding himself separated and unattached, his life changed dramatically almost overnight, and he actually felt indifferent toward it. Although he loved being married, he was the type of person who equally enjoyed the solitude of the single life – not for the potential of dating or meeting other women, but primarily for the independence that it affords – being able to spontaneously jump in a car and head to the shore or hop on a plane and fly across country, or simply waking up on a Saturday and lounging in pjs, watching old movies and sipping coffee uninterrupted by chores or responsibilities. Truth be told, of those three options, he never expected to actually DO the first two, but the point was that he COULD if he really wanted to.

The first two homes on the Sunday route were impressive as expected, based on the listing prices and locations. One of his trademarks was the creation of phony contact information for those agents who requested them upon entry into the home. Although he was tempted to list some adolescent names such as Hugh G. Rection or Jack Meoff, usually he was simply Jeff Jantzen, Dirk Dugan or Rex Rymshaw – all masculine-sounding and cool names. On Sundays, he was no longer “Bob Smith” – at least not to the realtors. Silly but fun – and what harm was there in pretending?

Clearly out of his price range, he feigned interest with the real estate agent in the second home and engaged in the usual casual banter as he did the walk-through. He found that during football season the male realtors were more apt to have the television on, and they tended to allow visitors free reign of the homes, while the female realtors often lingered nearby, just close enough to hear the various comments made by potential buyers and making mental notes along the way.

Bob preferred unimpeded access, so he tended to stay longer in the homes where the realtors were more disconnected. This was the case in home number two. Signing in, he realized that there were already several people who had come and gone. They usually signed in as couples, but the name just above his, written in beautiful cursive, intrigued him for some reason. Valerie Velez – It almost looked like a “pretend” name he would have created.

A creature of habit, he tended to start downstairs and work his way up, spending most of his time upstairs on the second or third floors, often not even bothering to finish the tour if it didn’t really interest him. Laughing as he thought of this, it was the total opposite of his approach with women in his “dating” days of long ago, when he delighted in starting “high” with passionate kisses and nibbling on necks, slowly working his way down and spending as much time as she liked/allowed below the panty line.

That darker side of him, of course, was a well-kept secret from his ultra-conservative Christian wife, a supposedly wholesome woman whom – he was sure – would never understand or allow that type of sinful behavior. How many times over the course of his marriage was he tempted to show her true pleasure, resisting the urge to slide down under the sheets as she slept soundly, kissing her tummy and ultimately working his way to that dark triangle between her legs, kissing her until she tensed up and bucked against his tongue, experiencing a rare climax? Regrettably, he never dared to offer that “skill” to her through the course of their marriage.

Likewise, along with the loss of independence, with marriage to Andrea he realized that he was also likely forfeiting the chance to ever receive oral sex. Had he not experienced such incredible blowjobs prior to meeting Andrea, he probably wouldn’t have missed them nearly as much. He thought back to that single time in the car on a drive home when Andrea almost kissed him down there while he was driving. Knowing that her desire was clouded by alcohol, he gently stopped her from doing the wrong thing, but how many times did he use that experience to fuel his fantasy in the privacy of the shower or while away on business trips? Be careful, he thought to himself, “You don’t want to get a hard-on alone in this house!”

He continued his home tour as he roamed the “man cave” downstairs. Impressive to say the least. He envisioned lots of shots and beers being tossed back while hanging out with the guys. Moving upstairs to the main floor, he breezed through the family room, dining room, kitchen and glanced into the powder room. Finding the stairway to the second floor, he nearly bumped into another “guest” descending the steps at the same time. He apologized and stepped aside as the woman smiled shyly and passed him. Trying not to be the typical “guy,” he nonetheless couldn’t help but glance back at her as she slowly walked through the family room. There was something about her, conservative yet sexy, classy with a hint of seductiveness, he felt an incredible range of emotions in those fixbet giriş few seconds that passed.

Guessing that she was somewhere in her early to mid-forties, he was struck by her big brown eyes, shy smile and her gorgeous dark hair, lying slightly below her shoulders. Maybe 5’3 or so, she was in flats, stylish jeans and a flannel blouse, not tucked in. Wow, he thought – if he ever DID get back into dating, he wondered if he would be lucky enough to be noticed by someone like her. He never really was a breast man – in fact, for some reason he was actually more attracted to women who were smaller up top. His true weakness was a cute butt and legs – both attributes that she clearly possessed.

Was that Valerie, he wondered? He found himself mildly disappointed that he didn’t start his tour upstairs when he could have gotten a better look at her. Down boy, he thought and smiled to himself. Then, as quickly as she appeared into his life, she was gone. Out the front door and down the walkway. The second floor wasn’t going to be nearly as interesting now, he realized.

Eventually saying his obligatory goodbye, he left the home and walked around the corner to his old car. He mouthed a silent prayer that it would start this time, knowing that he was overdue to replace the battery. Turning the key, he breathed a sigh of relief when the engine slowly came alive. Looking down at his clipping, he was ahead of his planned pace and figured that he could probably get three more visits in. The third home was immediately disappointing with overgrown bushes and weeds in the front yard, and he only spent a token amount of time politely but quickly walking through the rancher and back out. What a waste of time, he thought. He found the fourth home to be even more disappointing, and unbelievably there was an old stained toilet lying on its side in front of the detached garage. Really? He thought – no thanks. He didn’t even bother to venture in.

Debating whether it was even worth going to the final open house, he decided that it was too late to turn back now. Turning onto the tree-lined street, he saw the home just ahead, white picket fence and all. He passed a silver Lexus in front of the home, went around the corner and parked. Entering, he waved to the realtor who only briefly glanced at him as he focused on the football game. He mumbled that he can answer any questions but was going to leave me to explore.

Not planning to sign in, Bob glanced down at the sheet and saw a familiar cursive, but this time the final name on the log was Rosa Rodriguez. Looking back at the disinterested realtor, he decided that this time he would start the tour upstairs instead. Feeling his heart racing, he wondered if he would be lucky enough to run into “Valerie” (or was it “Rosa”?) again. That would totally contradict the notoriously bad timing that dogged him for most of his adult life, he thought.

He briefly flashed back to that early return from his work trip nearly a year ago, which – coincidentally – was the reason for his house hunting. He should have just gone straight into the office, but wanted to quickly swing by their home to pick up a charger for his cell phone. Normally he gave Andrea – his wife – a courtesy call before coming home, but this time without a charged phone he was unable to provide her with a “warning,” never actually considering that she would need one.

Rounding the corner, he saw the cable truck in the driveway and wondered if they were finally addressing the issues with their spotty internet service. Entering through the garage, he passed through the kitchen and turned into the family room, where he froze in his tracks. In front of him were two scrambling figures, including his “conservative” wife, fumbling to pull her T down over her exposed breasts while at the same time trying to get up from her kneeling position between the technician’s legs in front of their big screen tv.

Panicking, the cable guy was stuffing his still-hard (and rather impressive) cock into his work pants and in Tourette’s-like fashion, muttering, “Oh Shit, Oh Shit!” repeatedly. Bob’s first thought was, the cable guy? How cliché! Not knowing what else to say, he just stupidly muttered, “You damn well better not charge us for this service call!” and watched the guy as he grabbed his tools and scampered out of the house, while at the same time trying to hold his pants up.

Fast forward to ten months later, and Bob was alone, banished on the other side of town in a tiny studio apartment, with only a few pieces of used furniture, an old guitar and two carnival fish that he didn’t even want in the first place. Funny double standard, he thought. Even though he was faithful for his entire marriage, somehow he felt that he was about to be royally screwed in the end. Anyway, life goes on, and at least he still had his health.

Of course, he realized that he had to stop reminiscing. After all, what was done was done. Snapping out of it, he continued his tour. Upstairs, he walked down the carpeted hallway, starting with the first open door on the left. A cute but small bedroom, ideal for a young child or an office. He detected a feint smell of fresh paint, and figured that most of the rooms were recently redone in the warm yet impersonal neutral tones in an effort to make the home more sellable. The second room was similar but slightly larger, nicely decorated as a guest room, obviously by someone with a feminine touch. Floral patterns, laminated wood flooring and coordinated area rugs made it feel warm and inviting – just the opposite of Bob’s idea of a guest bedroom. After all, the last thing he wanted was to have guests over – worse yet, to make them feel comfortable enough to stick around!

Disappointed that he was alone, and Rosa (or Valerie) was probably long gone, he turned to the last room and – defying open house courtesy – reached for the knob of the closed door. Opening it, he realized that it was clearly the master bedroom, maybe twice as large as the other rooms, with a private bathroom to the back right. Seeing the television facing the king bed brought him back to that scene back at his former home, and he realized that he was already hard thinking about his ex like that.

What’s wrong with me, he thought? He should have been repulsed, but the thought of his prudish wife actually ENJOYING sucking a cock – even though it wasn’t his – continued to be an intense turn-on, even ten months later. He almost wished he could have watched her complete the job to see if she would spit it out or swallow. If she did either, it would have been the first time, as far as he knew. She NEVER went that far with him, not even in the first few years of their marriage when they were fairly active sexually.

It was totally crazy, but he suddenly felt like he needed a release. Knowing it was the last room at the end of the hallway, he was sure that he could hear the realtor if he would actually pry himself away from the football game and come looking for him. Why not just touch a little? He positioned himself near the window to make sure he could see if others were showing up for the open house. It didn’t take long for him to feel the outline of his hard-on through his jeans. Did he dare open them here? Looking around, he wondered how many times the couple had fucked in this very room. What positions did they try?

How often did she lie there on the bed alone masturbating while he was away at work? He imagined that, based on the indentations in the padding on the window bench, she had been taken from behind while looking out the window, maybe even waving to an unsuspecting neighbor across the street. He wondered, did she have a nice ass? Did he ever kiss that butt? Did she let him fuck it afterward, shaking it as she waited to feel him to penetrate her?

The more he fantasized, the hornier he got. Was she hairy or shaved? Did he go down on her? He stood near the bed, unconsciously pulling his hard dick from his jeans and wrapping his left hand around it… eyes closed, feeling so good! Damn, picturing a trimmed dark triangle, matted from sex – he was lost in a myriad of fantasies. He stopped worrying about getting caught, and concentrated instead on jerking in the stranger’s bedroom. Hearing a creaking, he panicked and opened his eyes. Maybe just the house settling, he hoped.

As he continued to stroke, he thought he saw movement in the reflection from the TV screen. A figure – barely perceptible – mirrored in the corner of the TV screen… was someone really there or was his mind playing tricks on him? He realized that if he moved just a few feet to the left he could see around the corner through the dresser mirror, and as he did his heart skipped a beat when he saw…her!

Leaning against the wall just inside the walk-in closet at a forty-five degree angle from where he stood masturbating was Rosa/Valerie, eyes closed, jeans unsnapped, with one hand cupping her mound while the other played inside a few opened buttons of her flannel top. He should have been petrified, but instead he was even more turned on, knowing that she was possibly watching – or at least listening to him.

He had never seen anything so erotic – it really WAS her. He went back to the task at hand (so to speak), eyes half closed but watching her through the mirror. She parted her legs slightly as her hand worked inside of her jeans, under her panties. Opening her eyes, she gasped as she saw him in the mirror, but she was too far along to stop now. So wet from watching – and hearing him, knowing that he had no clue that he was being spied on until now.

This was so out of character for her, and for some reason it started a few homes ago when they almost collided on the stairway. As she left that home nearly two hours before, her mind raced, wondering what his story was. Was he single? Was his wife somewhere else in the home? The look that he gave her in that brief instance in the hallway somehow told her everything she needed to know about him. Kind – but pained – eyes, a smile and an awkwardness all combined to trigger her fantasies. When she felt him watching her leave, it sparked something inside of her. How long had it been since she had a man who actually desired her, and whom she may have actually welcomed inside of her? Years maybe.

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