The gym was crowded and sweaty girls milled around after Zumba class, but I moved around the Nautilus machines, finishing my workout in good time. I showered and afterwards looked at my body in the mirror that I work hard to maintain. Women love me. And I love them. That's why I make good money.
"Good bye, Ross," said the girl at reception with big adoring eyes. "Have a nice day."
"You too."
I had just put the key in the ignition when my phone alerted me to a message. It was from Mrs. McTavish.
'Are you free tonight? 7?'
I smirked. Mrs. McTavish. Her husband must be out of town. I texted back,'Yes. See you then.'
That evening, I pulled my car into the McTavish drive, rounding a sprawled limbed oak to park in front of their mansion.
Mrs. McTavish opened the door dressed in designer slacks and a sleeveless silk blouse. I felt underdressed in black sweat pants and sweat shirt but that's what she likes. She looked good for 55; a trim lady with shoulder length ash blonde hair. She's definitely fuckable which helps. I hate using Viagra, though I keep the ones I stole from my dad in my glove compartment just in case.
"Good evening," she said, letting me in.
"Good evening, Dee."
Her two Pomeranians yapped at my heels as we walked across her foyer into her family room. She stopped at the bar and pulled a bottle of white wine from the mini-fridge.
"How have you been doing," she asked, making herself a white wine spritzer.