This is the last chapter in this story. It's come full circle and would have to branch out in ways that don't seem to me to fit the characters. So, good luck to them all!
Tom Is Launched
It's four o'clock on a late September afternoon and I'm lying on the massage table in Karen Wollinski's just-finished basement suite waiting for the massage that Karen had promised me a few weeks ago. She's in the bathroom getting changed. I'm naked on the table, face down, with a towel over my butt.
The remodeling went really well. Karen turned out to be quite the designer and she is very proud of the way it turned out. Even Walter likes it. He took a tour once when we were finishing the laminate flooring and said it looked good. He seemed relieved not to have to be concerned about what she was doing. From now on she could be downstairs in her own space and he could go about his business of watching the golf channel on TV or reading golf magazines uninterrupted.
During the two weeks it took us to do the finishing work Karen and I got to know each other a lot better. We took several trips to the local Lowe's and Home Depot to check on bath fixtures and paint, laminate, window coverings, ceiling tiles, and furniture, bringing back samples to lay on the floor or color swatches to hold up to the walls.
I got to like her a lot. She is, as I'm happy to notice every time I'm with her, easy to look at with her pretty face and quick smile that she has relaxed enough around me to show regularly, a signal of trust, it seemed to me. She has a full mouth and short brown hair that always has a luster to it, and attentive hazel eyes whose color appears to vary slightly depending on the clothes she has on. And her medium height easily carries her great figure with her full tits and terrific ass. She seemed eager to have a friend she could share her real thoughts with and I was happy to have her as one. She told me some about her past and a little bit about her marriage to Walter. I was careful not to be pushy but she told me enough to conclude that their lives are now pretty much separate.
That's also what I came to understand from remarks Karen would make occasionally whenever Walter would ask for something, usually calling down the stairs for her to make him something or get him something or tell him where something was that he had misplaced. I was surprised that she always seemed to know where he should look, and that, she said, was because through the years she had been the observant one and had learned Walter's habits so well that she knew him better than he knew himself.
Karen said with a tone of resignation that she realized that the ties that keep many married couples close at the beginning come almost completely unraveled over time but a lot of these couples, for whatever reasons, stay married and adopt a brother/sister kind of limited-affection relationship without anything else. She made it sound as if this had happened to her and Walter and, without the will to fight it anymore, by degrees they let the marriage settle into a companionship of convenience--someone to go with to parties with their equally bored friends (as Karen put it) or to spend a weekend at one of Walter's golf course destinations. It was an arrangement she didn't seem happy about but it made it easier for her to put up with him, to make him his lunch or tell him where his reading glasses were. I didn't say anything but it seemed to me that settling for that kind of a boring grind was a scary compromise, one I hoped would never happen to me.
"Did you know, Tommy, that there are golf novels--novels that revolve around the golf scene?" Karen was telling me this as we were driving to Lowe's one day. "I should know. I scour book sites searching for them. I never would have imagined that. But they turn out to be the usual stuff. They just happen at golf clubs to golfers who talk about golf while they are playing golf or not playing golf, sitting in the restaurant or at the bar, drinking and talking about the round of golf they just played or are waiting to play when their tee time comes up, and these people are screwing their wives or each other's wives or girlfriends, or robbing or being robbed, or cheating at golf, or murdering, or blackmailing, or whatever the plot calls for. They keep Walter happy."
"I didn't know he was a reader."
"Right now he's planning a European trip. He wants to play the famous courses in Ireland, then Britain and then the continent. That won't happen until spring but Walter is already busy planning. I'm still undecided whether to go with him. I really don't want to."
There was some touching, just casual at first, in the car. For example, if she wanted to point something out or if she was emphasizing something she was talking about she would reach over to touch my arm, and then, gradually, it became more explicit and intentional on my part as well as hers when it became clear to both of us that there was a mutual attraction and our polite and respectful caution began to fade. We could both relax and feel comfortable about letting our interest show. Once when she had, at last, decided on the laminate color and wall paint shade she yelled "Hooray!" and put her arms around me and hugged me tight. Right there in the aisle at Lowe's. I held her close and even lifted her off the ground and twirled her around. We were both laughing and relieved that the choosing was over.
And there is always that knowledge that she has seen me fucking mom, mom bent over the breakfast table, naked, and me behind her, holding her hips, thrusting in and out, then looking up and seeing Karen watching from her deck, and I didn't stop because I couldn't stop. And later she saw me smiling and waggling my cock at her after mom had gone upstairs and I had come back to the table to finish clearing it. Showing off. I was still embarrassed about that. We talked about that whole scene once a while back, but, still, the images linger and I just imagine it is always more or less in her mind as her awareness of it is in mine.
When we were in the basement doing the work she would dress in shorts and a shirt, sometimes with the tails tied at her belly, and no bra. She looked awfully good with her full tits moving easily under the fabric. I was usually in a t-shirt and shorts. At first we were eyeing and circling each other, getting this thing or that while we worked, always conscious of where the other one was. Then, when we were installing the ceiling tiles, instead of continuing with the ladder that she was using and having to move it around all the time she asked if she could just sit on my shoulders, a leg on each one, and I said sure. It was a sensible way to go about it.
She would climb the ladder a few steps and I would step up to it, right behind her. I would bend my head down between her legs and she would sit on my shoulders and then, with both of us laughing and joking, I would stand and maneuver myself underneath her, pushing up on her bottom so that I could turn to get her where we wanted, with my head facing her, almost in her crotch.
She said this position would make it easier for me to look up and get her to the right spot since I could tip my head back without bumping into her stomach. It also gave me a good look at her tits, her full braless tits, through the gaps in her shirt where sometimes buttons had come undone. She put a supply of tiles in a bag that she had me wear on my back so I could walk from place to place without having to let her down quite so often to get more.
When she was reaching for them her breasts would press against my face and my mouth was actually at her crotch, my hands on her bottom, steadying her. Sometimes she had to reach a little to set the tiles in place and when she did it made her sort of rub her front against my face. And one time when her front was actually brushing my face I noticed that not one but two buttons on her shorts had come open and, feeling bold, I stuck my tongue in there, on her pussy, over her panties. I could feel the slight spring of her patch through the thin fabric.
"Tommy, stop it!" She said, laughing, slapping my head playfully with one hand. "I mean, don't you think that is a just a little bit flagrant?" Her other hand was on the back of my head, steadying herself. She was still laughing. "I have never had a man go down on me while I was installing ceiling tiles," she said. "I think that is just really very, very forward of you, Tommy. I mean, I can hardly think of anything MORE forward than that." But she didn't pull away and was rocking a little into me, as if I was a camel, pretending the work made her do it.
"I admit it," I said. "I am very, very forward. It just seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do" My hands were on her cheeks, and I was moving them around, pretending to get a more secure grip, trying to be helpful, to stabilize her. I could feel the soft flesh through the thin cotton shorts and I could smell her musk.
"Gentlemanly!" She huffed, but she was still laughing.
When she needed to get down she would swing one leg off my shoulder and then with awkward grappling movements I would hold her while she swung the other off, but I pretended to be overly clumsy getting her down and my hands went everywhere, on her arms and sides, her thighs, under her, cupping her pussy, and once when I went to put her down my hands ended up over her breasts and I let them stay there, and even gave them a small squeeze and she didn't pull away.
Karen was still getting ready in her new bathroom. It has the soaking tub she wanted. She also has a nice bedroom with two windows, one added on the side and one that looks out to the patio and back yard. The massage table, a substantial one, is in the main room that she painted a cool shade of soft yellow with a honey-brown laminate for the floor. She added a propane fireplace in the corner between the side window that faced our property and the slider that opened to the patio, something that just about broke the budget but not quite. There was room for a cabinet in one corner that held a microwave and mini-refrigerator. A few small area rugs, a comfortable chair, an oval coffee table, and a two-person sofa with end tables, all nicely coordinated in gray with blue cushions for the sofa, combined to pull everything together and create a relaxing room for her and her customers. She is thinking of adding a TV but hasn't yet. There is even a rack, foldable, for their clothes. It was holding mine now.
I was listening to the soft music from one of those Bose radio/cd players that can fill a room, making it seem like there are speakers everywhere. Amazing the quality of sound that comes out of something so small, I was thinking, when Karen came out of the bathroom.
I lifted my head from the doughnut cushion and looked up at her. She was dressed in a white terry-cloth bathrobe and slippers and she had a big smile on her face. "So.....ready, Tom?" she asked. I smiled back and told her I was.
"This is going to be fun," she said, as she poured some of the oil she had already warmed in the microwave on my back and got right to it, her hands going up and down from my neck to the small of my back in slow, leisurely strokes. "Your skin feels good, Tom. I'm glad we're doing this. Getting your first massage from me. A windup to all the work we've done. I haven't had so much fun in a long time."
"I'm a little nervous. My first time, but it feels great," was all I could manage, my head back down in the doughnut.
