"Honey," my wife says, slipping her shoes off, hanging her coat in the entry closet, "I'm going upstairs to go check on the kids. Would you take care of the babysitter?"
I glance in the direction of our living room. Helene's gone there to gather her stuff. "Are we really paying her twenty bucks an hour?" I whisper.
"I know she's expensive, but all our regulars were busy. Helene was recommended by the college. I'm just happy I could get anyone." My wife dismisses me with a shake of her head and starts walking up the stairs, but pauses. "Oh, and walk her to her car, would you? It's dark out there."
I'm in the midst of slipping off my left loafer, but I sigh and start putting it back on. "Sure, babe."
"I know you think it's silly, but..." My wife whisks away upstairs without finishing her sentence.
Rounding the corner past our kitchen, I pause at the threshold into the next room. Helene's leaning over the couch that's facing our TV, bag in her hand, packing away her stuff. In yoga pants and a t-shirt that are practical if a touch snug, I brace for the guilt I get from checking her out, but I do it anyway. She's slender, tight, toned, and I drink it in while I can. Goddam do I need to get laid. When her eye catches mine, I grin and say, "The kids weren't any trouble, were they?"
Her nose ring flashes in the subdued lighting, matching the studs running up the lobe of her ear, the bar piercing across it. Her hair is dark and short, making her all the more the sexy pixie. She reminds me of the type of hot girl I was too intimidated to talk to back when I was her age. "Kids were great, Mark," she says, "Happy to watch them again, any time." Her words are innocuous but the way she says them, the way they purr out of her, the way her dark eyes linger on mine...
My hands go clammy. I didn't expect her to flirt back. "So, um, sixty bucks, right?"
Helene laughs, tosses her bag over her shoulder, and walks right up to me. She's a head shorter than me but so intimidating. "You and your wife have a good time?"
"Uh, it was fine. Dinner for a friend's birthday. This nice steakhouse."
"Sounds fascinating. Well, I'll be taking off so you can go upstairs and get laid."
I gasp.
She shrugs. "Oh, don't act all prudish now. Pay me, and I'll get out of your way."
"I'm-- I'm-- I'm supposed to walk you to your car!" I stammer. I know, it's barely coherent, but it's what I say.
Helene's lips curl back before she chuckles. "What?"
"She said-- she said I was supposed to. That it's dark outside."
Helene descends into full and mocking laughter. "Uhhh... ok." She gives me coquettish little flip of her head. "Let's go then, shall we?" She doesn't wait, just turns and walks out, her slender ass swinging side to side as she goes.
I follow behind her, feeling like a fool. It's night, sure, but we live on a quiet suburban street and there's nothing outside but the buzz of crickets and the distant rush of the expressway. Helene's compact sedan is parked right in front of our house. A dense hedge shields it from view, but there's not a soul around. The car's lights turn on as she unlocks it with her remote, and she sets her bag into the backseat.
"Uh, here's eighty," I say, handing her four twenties from my wallet.
Helene turns and looks at my money suspiciously. "Why eighty? You said sixty inside."
"Err, tip?"
"'Tip,'" she repeats, like she's never heard of anything so preposterous. "Throw in another twenty and I'll show you my tits."
I suck a breath. "What?!"
"Get over it, Mark. You're so horny I can smell it. I may be young but I'm not naive. I know you're wondering what my tits're like. That you may be about to go fuck your wife but it'll be me you're thinking about when you cum. And what's another twenty bucks to a guy like you? You're loaded, and you're paying with cash, your wife will never find out that you tipped the babysitter a little too generously."
Why is what she's saying sounding so logical? But I'm not a total idiot, I know bait when I hear it. My hands are still clean here. So why is that twenty in my wallet is calling out to me, clamoring to be spent?
As I'm busy vacillating Helene is reaching up with both arms over her head and pulling off her t-shirt, tossing it casually inside her car.
I whimper and stare at her sports bra, so tight, so unexpectedly curvy. Girl's got tits for ages tucked snugly against her chest, tits that need so desperately to be set free from their prison of fabric, tits that push out the stretchy material into two big and tempting bulging hemispheres.
Helene arches her back a little and giggles. "You're not a cheater, are you, Mark?"
