Very direct

As we turn down a dirt road, between two concrete walls, I frown, “How is there a dirt road this close to town?”

“It's my driveway… it needs new pavement, but I can't afford it.” She shrugs as the car bumps down the road through a field of very tall grass, surrounded by an old concrete… fence?

I blink, “how much land do you have?”

“A full square mile… and no, I can't sell any of it off. But I also don't need to pay taxes or insurance on it, so…” she shrugs again, “...it's a complicated family matter, and I can't legally talk about it.”

So I'm not the only one with a little baggage, “at least the seats in your car are well padded.”

I catch her looking away as she replies, “Yes.” She's smiling as she turns back to look at the driveway. Her tone… playful? Huh.

The house is three stories tall, sixty feet on a side, and has what looks like it was once a yellow facing… and where the paint has peeled off, it's clearly not wood underneath… concrete? The damage seems purely cosmetic. The roof appears to be flat, with plenty of room to walk… practically a castle keep.

She parks out front (there's no garage? Weird, given the size of the place), and I get out when she does, getting a little tangled in the strap, taking a bit to get it out of those stupid orbs. Ugh, and they're starting to ache… they feel… full? Oh, and they're leaking. Of course.

“Umm, got anywhere I can empty these?” I point at the giant jugs.

She bites her lip, a moment, then nods, “...yeah, I can show you to your suite first.”

She unlocks the door (a slab of galvanized steel with a peeling paint facing) with a key card, types a code in to disable the alarm while it beeps at her, then opens a second door (with a handprint scanner? What is this place?) to get into the actual living area… which makes me kinda glad I don't need to breathe: Saying the place is a mess would be putting it mildly. There's a TV, a couch, and discarded fast food containers… that are piled up taller than the couch. The walls have peeling paint, under which is more concrete.

I choose not to comment as she leads me down a fairly long hallway to what seems to be an unused guest suite. Yes, suite. It's basically a two-bedroom apartment, with one of the bedrooms set up as an office… and there's at least three others. And this place is three stories tall.

I open my mouth to ask, but Alice anticipates the question, “Complicated family matter, and I can't legally discuss it. There should be some soap and towels and stuff under the sink: Fifties military issue, but that stuff doesn't expire.”

I blink, “Yes, I was going to ask about that, but also… I have no idea how to milk these things, and I don't have a phone to look it up. I hate to be a bother, but, umm… help?” I scrunch up my face trying to smile through the pain.

She licks her lips, and swallows, “Okay,” her voice cracks? Ah, right… she likes me ‘that way’. Well… the feeling is mutual. If somebody's hands are going to be all over these things, a woman like her is certainly a good candidate.

We go to the bathroom… everything covered in a layer of dust, she clearly doesn't get many houseguests… and to the shower, where I strip… and watch as she does too. Ooh, she was wearing a minimizer? Those knockers are at least D's,and the hips matxh… how she is managing that with so little body fat elsewhere I have no idea: The muscle definition on this lady… she has a six pack over that shaved snatch. Mine's hairless too, but I had no say in that.

“Like what you see?” She giggles, and licks her lips.

Embarrassed to be caught looking, I look away quickly, “Ah, I'm sorry, but… umm… yes?”

“Let's make something clear…” she steps up, wraps her arms around me, and plants a solid kiss on my lips, slipping in her tongue, her boobs squishing up against those of this body. We make out for a bit, and then she pauses, and looks me straight in my eyes from inches away, speaking very clearly, “I like you. You looking makes me feel warm inside. I like how it feels. I want you to touch, as well. You have my permission to feel me up while we do this, okay? I will tell you if I don't like something. If I don't tell you to stop, it's fair game. If I do tell you to stop, you stop. If you say ‘stop,’ I'll stop. No anger, no recriminations, no hesitation. Boundaries are healthy, we both need to respect them. We don't know where each others’ are yet, so good odds we'll cross each others’ lines at least once. That's okay. Saying ‘stop,’ is good, and sufficient when respected, which we both will. Do you understand?”

That's… forward. Umm. “Yes. Okay. Umm… I like you too, and… yes?” Ugh, I feel like I'm an awkward teenager again… I thought I left that behind when I turned twenty-one.

“Then we can do this the fun way…” she grins…