Honestly

Now that you are really thinking about the many interactions you have had with Cartwright over the years you start to realise some things. Looking at them now in the light of that kiss and your new found willingness to admit a attraction to him. You realised that the feeling was not one sided, recollections of hand shakes held a bit too long, eye contact that lingered for just a little longer than you would expect. One particular day when he came around the side of the house, looking to borrow a length of garden hose, and found you laid out in a bikini stands out now. The nervous way he had struggled to make eye contact with you or even really look at you, at the time you had thought nothing of it, too deep in your own despair about what you life had become. Now however you start to see what he was thinking.

So, if he was carrying a torch for you then that might mean you could say some time by being more forward with him.

Just march up to his door, knock on it proudly and when he answered….

What? Ask him if he wants to fuck? Pull up your skirt and ask him to dig in?

No! There was no way you could ever do something like that. You would need to be a bit more circumspect about things.

Stepping away from the window you look down at yourself, you are dressed for house cleaning, a nearly sexless dress and comfortable shoes. At first you think that you should change into something more appealing but then you recall the ever watchful eyes of the neighbourhood housewives. The whore next door would not say anything but the rest most certainly would if she wandered over to his house dressed in her evening best at eleven in the morning. Dressing this way would be much safer