A Quiet but Promising Morning

I'm going to be honest with you: Everything changed when Charissa moved in. That first night, I could hardly sleep knowing that this unbelievably hot 22-year-old woman was lying in a bed in my basement. At about 3 am, I snuck downstairs and simply listened at the closed door to the guest room. Of course there wasn't any sound, but I convinced myself that I could hear the sheets slipping against her bare arms and legs. I imagined her lying there wearing .... what? I don't know, of course. I must have stood there for twenty minutes before finally forcing myself back to my lonely bedroom and trying to get some sleep.

Around 6 am, I stirred from my uneasy sleep to hear the front door open and close. Charissa and I had chatted before about running; she loved to run a couple miles every day, while I myself to do it a couple times a week to try to keep up my middle-aged "dad bod." It occurred to me that she'd quietly slipped out of the house to go for a jog through our suburban neighborhood and would be gone for a half-hour or so.

I threw on my bathrobe and snuck downstairs. My kids were still sleeping--enjoying the freedom of their summer schedule--while I made my way to the basement. The guest room door was closed. Of course, I opened it.

It still smelled like a guest room, but I anticipated the day when it would take on the fresh scent of a young woman. I looked around. The bed was unmade, reminding me of those sheets I had imagined last night. Charissa's laptop was sitting, closed, on the small desk I sometimes used when I was grading papers or attending online faculty meetings. Cell phone charger by the bed, some shoes on the floor, and a glass of water half-empty (or, as I prefer to see it, half-full!) on the dresser. On the bedside table were a Kindle and a Holy Bible, sitting next to a silver ring I knew her mother had given her when she was confirmed and the cross necklace she wore every day. In the corner was a laundry basket.

If you can't tell already, I'll come out and say it: I'm a closeted pervert. I keep thing under wraps at school and with my family, but I have a wild and active imagination and some dark fantasies that, to be honest, had their part to play in my splitting up with my wife. So you won't be surprised that I made a bee line for that laundry basket, which only had a pair of socks and yesterday's used underwear.

Charissa's panties were stylish. Not a thong--I'd be shocked if they were--but not granny panties either. I knew she had a boyfriend; did he get to see her wear these? I fished them out of the basket and took a smell. Nothing. Damn, she's a clean girl! Maybe that'll be nice, though, in the end... I pulled my cock out of my boxers, slid it through the hole in the panties, and slowly gave it a few strokes. Nothing too dramatic; it's only the first day! But just a little hello to the damsel under my roof.

Unwilling to push any further boundaries at this point, I left everything the way I found it, left the guest room, and closed the door. I headed back upstairs to shower and change, and as I was pulling on my socks, I heard the front door open again. I checked the clock: 6:45 am. I made a mental note to keep an eye on her schedule and listened as she quietly made her way back to her room.

There's no bathroom in the basement, so I new what would come next. I listened again as she came back upstairs and entered the bathroom she'd be sharing with my kids this summer. I waited for the shower to turn on (at least a good five minutes) and after another couple minutes I went down to the kitchen to start making breakfast. My imagination was going wild, of course, thinking about my babysitter soaping up on the other side of that door. The shower turned off, and I made sure to be facing the bathroom door when it opened.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Davis," Charissa chirped. The large white towel I had left in her closet was wrapped tightly around her body, a smaller towel on her head. In her hands were her running clothes and phone. My heart was racing but I played it cool.

"Morning. Coffee?" I said, turning away toward the coffee pot so as not to stare.

"Let me get dressed first," she said, heading directly down the stairs. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," I said, my imagination following her into her bedroom.

I knew then that this was going to be an electric, if exhausting, summer.