“He was sitting at a table while you were at the paydesk – you said ‘Hi’ to him.”
“Oh – that was just Donald – the laundry man,” said Joan. This time, there was no hint of embarrassment – but the guy’s name hit me like a thunderbolt, and I recalled where, and when, I had seen him before. He had turned up on moving-in day – he was the one Joan had been talking to when I was listening to the removal men discussing her.
And – his name was the one Joan had cried out when she was on the point of orgasm, imagining herself being well and truly fucked by some one other than me!
I remembered how he had been gazing down her cleavage, then admiring the sway of her sexy bottom as she walked back to the house. I felt my cock begin to stiffen and I was glad we were sitting at the table. But I tried to remain ‘cool’.
“Oh,” I said. “I thought I recognised him. Wasn’t he the guy who came the day we moved in?”
Joan’s cheeks coloured, but they always did that when one of us mentioned that day. I’m sure, like me, she couldn’t think of it without calling to mind our mind-blowing sex on the couch in the den.
“Yes,” she replied. “That was him.”
“I didn’t know you used a laundry service,” I commented, in surprise. She certainly hadn’t, before, in NY.
“Well, I didn’t really mean to,” answered Joan, “but, what with all that had to be done in the house, after the move, I thought I’d use him for a week or two, just until I got into a routine, but he does such a good job – and he’s not expensive – well, I thought I’d just keep him on – for a while, anyway.”
Her face was still a little pink, though, and her eyes were kind of downcast, as she spoke. My mouth was drying and my hands shaking a little as I thought this over. This guy – Donald – would be calling to pick up, and deliver, during the day, while I was in the city and the boys were at school. It went without saying that, unless he was gay, he would want to get into Joan’s panties – and I had seen enough, that first time, to know he was a true blue heterosexual, at least where my wife was concerned!
And how about Joan? It couldn’t be just coincidence that she had called out his name that same afternoon – the afternoon she had learned of my arousal at the thought of her…
“So – how often does he come?” I asked. Too late, I realised what I had said. Joan picked up on it, right away, and giggled.
“I don’t know him that well!” she laughed. “Would you like me to ask him, next time?”
“You know what I mean,” I said, laughing in turn. The atmosphere lightened.
“He picks up on a Monday morning, and delivers Thursday,” said Joan.
“Delivers, huh?” I sneered – and she leaned over the table and punched my arm. I grabbed her hand and pulled her over towards me. Her blouse was gaping as she leant over the table, and I leered in at the view of her appealing 34C bust.
“Like the view?” breathed Joan, latching on, right away, to what I was doing.
“Sure,” I said. “Who wouldn’t? I noticed ‘he’ did – that first day.”
“Who? Donald?” asked Joan, her dark eyes flashing, but contriving to look innocent and surprised, as well.