I still remember the first day I saw Cheryl.
The only reason why I noticed her at all that day was because her car was in "our" parking space. There was an old, grey Nissan in front of our house. My wife, Theresa, had driven our car to her office, and our neighbor commutes and leaves his car behind.
We live in a gated townhouse community in the DC Metro Area. There are no garages or assigned parking spaces, so it's a general "agreement" by most of the residents that the space in front of your house is "yours". On more than a few occasions, neighbors have almost come to blows over parking spots.
I was a little annoyed, so I'd periodically peak through the curtains like some "little old woman" to see who the Nissan owner was. An hour or so later, Cheryl came out of our neighbor's place loaded down with cleaning products and a vacuum cleaner.
Apparently, Jeff (our neighbor) had hired a cleaning lady.
The first thing I noticed was that she's black (Theresa and I are one of less than 20 black households in this community). Cheryl wore a Baltimore Ravens ball cap, sweats and flip-flops, and seemed to be around our age (mid-40s) or not much younger.
Jeff told us about her a few weeks later. Cheryl did good work and her rates were reasonable. Theresa immediately wanted to give her a try - she hates my inept and infrequent house cleaning attempts.
We contacted Cheryl and scheduled for her to come by every other Thursday. Thursdays and Fridays were also the days that I'd most likely to go in to the office. I usually only briefly saw Cheryl as I was leaving or she was leaving as I was returning. As promised, she did a good job (which made Theresa happy) and wasn't too expensive (which made me happy).
One Friday afternoon, I came back earlier than expected. A client had reneged on a contract so there was no need for me to stick around (I'm a graphic designer).
It was just after 2:00PM and Cheryl's car was still there.
"Cheryl...!" I called out when I walked in, "it's Kevin..."
There was no answer.
"Maybe she's in the back..." I thought to myself. I went to my office/studio to drop my portfolio case then proceeded up the rear staircase to our bedroom. I wanted to change into some shorts.
I stripped down to my boxers and looked for my favorite hoops shorts, didn't find them and walked down the hall to check the laundry room. We'd just recently purchased a new washer and dryer, with all the latest features and improvements, including how "quietly" they operate. So I didn't notice that the washing machine was running before I opened the door.
On the day that we met her in person, I'd noticed that Cheryl was BWB - "blessed with booty". THAT ASS was exquisitely and naturally PHAT! Cheryl has a hardcore, Ghetto-hip-hop-video-'badunkadunk'. Nikki Minaj would be both proud and put to shame...
PS: ALL heterosexual black men notice BWB. My wife also KNEW that I'd noticed.
Cheryl was in the laundry room pressed against the washing machine as it went through the spin cycle. Her back was facing me. She wore her usual Ravens cap, turned, a white lace thong and white ankle socks. Standing on her toes, with feet slightly apart, and both hands firmly gripping the top edges of the machine, the vibrations made her thick thighs and THAT ASS jiggle and shake.
"What the fuck..." I gasped out loud.
Cheryl abruptly turned to face me. Her mouth and eyes went wide, her C-cup breasts, jiggled and swayed. Sweat ran down her face, neck and belly. There was a damp spot at the crotch of her thong.
"Oh shit...oh shit...I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry...!" she cried out mortified, covering her fully erect, dark-chocolate nipples.
I just stood there for a long pause, taking it all in - the virtually naked cleaning lady, in our house, masturbating against our new washing machine - surreal.
Cheryl's tearing eyes dropped to the "tent" in my boxers from the almost instantaneous hard-on I'd grown. The thought of my wife suddenly walking in on this scene flashed across my mind so I composed myself. Suddenly I was as mortified and frightened as Cheryl.
"I'll...I'll be downstairs..." I blurted out as I backed out of the room and closed the door behind me.
I grabbed some sweats and a t-shirt and went down to the kitchen. My heart was racing - THAT ASS was still in my head. My first instinct was to go to the bathroom and jerk one out into the toilet, but this had to be dealt with first.
I got a beer from the fridge and waited in the living room as the hard-on slowly faded.
What should I do? Fire Cheryl? Call Theresa and tell her what happened?
I was just about to dial Theresa's office when Cheryl came down wearing one of Theresa's robes that she must have found in the laundry room. My wife is petite, so the robe didn't exactly fit. Cheryl's thick, almost muscular thighs and THAT ASS were barely covered.
"Oh...my...God, Kevin!" Cheryl started, teary-eyed and still mortified, "I am so, so sorry..."
