You can’t say no

Her pleading eyes. Her heaving breasts. There’s no fakery about her. She genuinely needs your work.

Look at those breasts, those legs, that face, and your dick imagines how she’ll show her gratitude. No, that’s just a tawdry fantasy. Real life’s not like that. But you can imagine all the same.

No, sensible thoughts. Money. Can you afford it? It’ll squeeze your budget, but it won’t break you.

And the fantasy wins out.

Is there anything better than watching the trepidation disappear from a woman’s eyes to be replaced by joy. Yes, when she throws herself at you and overwhelms you. Agatha is out of her chair. She embraces you, pressing her body against you, grasping you to her in her strong grip. You’re overwhelmed, by her perfume, by the softness of her flesh, by her exuberance. Her head is in your shoulder. Her breasts are against your chest. You’re pushed back into your armchair, trapped. Your body responds.

“Thank you, thank you,” she keeps repeating. “You won’t regret this. I promise you; you won’t regret this.”

When she finally pulls back it’s too soon, she hugged you too long. There’s tears of happiness in her eyes. Her smile lights every dimple in her cheek, every imperfection in her beauty. You just want to lean down and kiss her. Your lower brain wants to do more than that.

But you’ve got to be professional about this. A moment of exuberance you can forgive, but you’ll never forget. Now comes the professional side.

“Do you need some official contract or anything?”

She pauses and the smile fades, the brightness of her happiness remains. Professionalism can’t wipe the gleam of relief from her eyes. A few deep breaths that make her breasts heave beneath her t-shirt, distracting you when you didn’t need distracting. Then she speaks.

“Depends how you want to do it. I can do the work and send an invoice with my hours, or we can work like your mother did, which was set up a standing order, and I sent an update of the hours I’ve done.”

“The latter sounds better for you, I assume.” She nods. “Then that’s the way I’d want to do it. I trust you.”

There’s more to discuss, but not now. She passes you her bank details so you can set up the standing order. But neither of you are in the right frame of mind for contract details just now. You promise to discuss them later.

You do offer her a beer, but she declines. Then she leaves, almost skipping to the doorway, giving you a kiss on the cheek before she goes. You watch her wistfully as she heads to the Petersons’ and her mini.