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I wiped the counter clean for the fourth time; making sure to eliminate any crumbs or marks that might have evaded my first three passes. I sighed and looked at the clock – again. Only two minutes had gone by since my last glance. I looked at my watch and, of course, it said the same thing as the kitchen clock. Quarter of one. Aurelie would be arriving in fifteen minutes, and she was never late.
I had always been fairly mellow about the passing of time. But at age fifty-five I had suddenly developed a rather odd fixation on time, at least when it came to my monthly arrangement with my new found friend. The closer our meeting time came each month, the slower time seemed to creep by. I glanced at the clock one more time, even though I tried not to, and then headed into the living room to sit by the window – and wait.
I suppose a little background is appropriate in order for the reader to get a sense of how my mini-obsession had come to be. My name is Robert and I’m a widower of five years. I’m a recently retired New York City school teacher and I now reside in the West Village. My beloved aunt had also passed away the year after my wife, and she had generously willed me her wonderful brick town house in a very tony area of the Village. The move from Queens had been an adjustment for me, but one I had accepted gladly. I had found it difficult to continue to live in the small house my wife and I had shared for the last fifteen years of marriage and the move to Manhattan had eased the pain significantly.
Yet, though the townhouse was in good order, the taxes were a strain for me and the building itself was much too large for my own modest means. So I took out a substantial home equity loan (underwritten by the quality of the property rather than my good name) and proceeded with some relatively major renovations to the three story structure: dividing the first and second floors into two efficiency apartments on each floor and renovating and retaining the third floor for my own use. By collecting rents on four studio apartments I was able to pay my monthly loan installment, as well as cover the substantial burden of New York City taxes. While I had gone into this venture with some trepidation, the overall result had been more than satisfactory. My renters covered my notes and I lived comfortably and in relative peace and quiet, ensconced in my sunny, high-ceilinged, and very private third floor unit.
I’d found early on that, if I charged a reasonable rent and was careful in choosing my tenants, I would be able to select from the cream of the crop of the many graduate students and young single professionals who swarmed into the West Village looking for reasonably priced accommodations — of which there were few. My units were always filled with reliable young people who respected my privacy, as I respected theirs.
My front tenant on the first floor had given notice in late July and I had advertised on Craig’s List and received my usual flurry of inquiries. I whittled the applicant pool down to four and invited them to visit the apartment and sit down for a short interview. It was during that weekend in mid August of last year that I met Aurelie.
I opened the window to the fresh May air and sat by the front window gazing down at the dappled sunlight through the locust trees. Somehow sitting by the window eased the passage of time as I awaited a knock on my door. Aurelie’s gentle knock never failed to give me goose bumps.
I had had some reservations at first about the arrangement Aurelie and I had agreed to. But, as the months had drifted by, I had come to look forward to the first Sunday of each month as a highlight of my sometimes lonely world. While I still filled my time with occasional substitute teaching, playing chess in the park and doing some tutoring, the pace and rhythm of my life was now marked by my monthly afternoon meetings with Aurelie. While I still dated on occasion, she had added a sensual dimension to my life that I had not dreamed possible, even during my twenty-four years of marriage.
I had wondered initially whether she found me attractive or not, but it became clear over time that she had a penchant for older and more experienced men. At 55 I was still in relatively good shape and had a full head of hair, though the jet black coloring from the Italian side of my heritage was now streaked with gray. Diet and exercise had kept my slender six foot frame looking much as it had in my younger days, and a strong jawbone and dark eyes had always been a hit with the ladies. So while I had acquired the patina of age, I liked to think it was more along the lines of a small batch bourbon aging in oak.
I glanced at my watch for the umpteenth time and was finally rewarded with good news; Aurelie would be arriving any minute. I hunkered down on my perch and filled my lungs with the fresh spring air.
Aurelie had been the second of the four potential renters I talked to bahis firmaları that August weekend. She had knocked on my door at the appropriate time and I was immediately struck by her presence as she sauntered into my apartment. It was certainly her looks and demeanor that I noticed first. But as soon as she opened her mouth I also heard her lovely melodic voice and the sweet seductive sway and lilt of her French accent.
She was a third year undergraduate student studying English at NYU. She had attended two years of university in Aix-en-Provence before transferring to the States to continue her studies. While I tended to prefer graduate students as tenants, I had had a couple undergraduates over the past few years whose reliability and maturity had surpassed most of their peers. Aurelie, as I soon found out, would certainly fit into that category.
She was a lovely girl and had a simple, yet sophisticated, air about her that proved to be consistent and real. Her slender and statuesque figure had a certain feline gracefulness that I grew to love and cherish. She was of medium height with smooth pale alabaster skin and dark blond hair. Her beauty seemed to emanate from the combination and simplicity of her delicate features, as opposed to any single remarkable characteristic. Her dark brown eyes, square shoulders, slender hips and long legs were not particularly distinguished on their own (but still very nice); yet her overall aura seemed to be greater than the sum of her individual parts. There was a magical, captivating quality about her that I found alluring, sexy, and amazingly attractive. And, certainly, her youthful exuberance was a major factor in my attraction to her as well.
She also had the most amazing walk. Somehow the confluence of the sway of her hips, the tight twitching of her little bubble butt, and the confidence and grace with which she moved, combined to make her walk a mesmerizing event. It was sexual poetry in motion.
I had had very little female companionship since my wife’s passing, and what few women I had seen tended to be older dowagers and divorcees whom I seemed to have little in common with. Aurelie’s youthful splendor awoke a new energy in me that I hadn’t even known existed. Her presence in my life was much as the sweet May breeze that now blew through my third floor window as I smiled inwardly and awaited her arrival.
I had shown her the studio that August afternoon and relished the delight she showed as she twirled in circles, admiring the light and appreciating the coziness of the apartment. It doesn’t take long to tour a small one room studio plus bath, but Aurelie seemed to take it all in with a joy and smiling reverence that I found particularly endearing. Her quirky French phrases and smiling ebullience made me want to rent the apartment to her right then and there.
But once we started to talk money, a cloud passed over her lovely face. My heart sank with her diminishing spirit. The rent was a bit out of her price range and she wasn’t sure how she could handle the extra $400 a month over and above what she was currently paying. I shrugged at her dilemma, but said there was nothing I could really do about that; all the other tenants were paying the same amount. She nodded in understanding, but I could see the level of disappointment as the sunshine seemed to ebb from her sweet face. I felt crushed too.
I surveyed her furtively as we talked. She was dressed in the style of the students of today, but with an international flair. She wore flat ballet shoes, tight faded jeans that were rolled up once at the ankle, a loose fitting cotton shirt that hid the upper extremities of her figure, and a light green silk scarf draped casually around her neck. Her hair hung loose and informal and a small pair of stud earrings accented her lovely lobes. Walking down the street she would have fit in with all the other students gliding the sidewalks of lower Manhattan.
She departed that day with a flourish and a few final questions. “When would I be making a decision? Could she think on it overnight? Was there any room for negotiation?”
As much as I would have liked to have her as a tenant, a neighbor, and maybe a friend, it didn’t feel like things were going to work out. Plus I knew I had several other viable candidates whom I would see the next day. She bid me “au revoir” and bounced down the stone steps and off toward the park. I would have loved for things to have worked with her, but I also needed to be prudent with my own finances.
I was surprised, therefore, the next day when there was an unexpected knock on my door at mid-day. I had shown the unit to a young male student in the morning and was expecting my fourth and final applicant later in the afternoon. Who could it be?
I opened the door a crack to find Aurelie once again smiling across my threshold.
“Bon jour, Monsieur Robert. May I come in and speak to you, please?”
Now I’m not going to try and fool the reader with a fake written kaçak iddaa accent. But Aurelie, while very fluent in the English language, still had a strong, but very beautiful provincial French accent that made everything she said earthy and sensual. She could read the instruction for installing a dishwasher and it would be provocative, and a turn-on, at least to me.
“Why, yes, Aurelie. Come in. Please.” I couldn’t help but let a broad smile cross my face. I waved my arm inward as I held the door open. “Mademoiselle,” I mangled in my best high school French. She smiled at my sad attempt
I loved the way she would say my name. The “T” was silent and she pronounced it “Ro-Bare”. What had always sounded like a hard-assed Angolphile moniker suddenly seemed to have a poetic exotic flair.
With the door ajar, she swept into the room; a subtle waft of jasmine in her wake. I was immediately struck by the difference in her appearance. Gone were the street clothes and student garb; replaced by a subtly sexy and cosmopolitan ensemble.
Her hair, which yesterday had been loose, was tied casually, but carefully, above her head; errant strands framing her lovely face. Large hoop earrings dangled from her cute ears; moving dramatically with each twist of her head. She wore a tight blue floral skirt that hugged her lovely round ass and flared in loose ruffles just below her knee. A white shirt was tucked tightly into her waistband. The swell of her generous breasts, which had been largely unnoticeable yesterday, was on clear display. One too many buttons was left open and a lacy lavender bra peeked out from the first closed button, framing and forming just a hint of cleavage, which seemed to strain the top button. She wore high-heeled, open-toed sandals; the tapered wedge and height working magnificently to accentuate her slender physique and perfect calves. Newly pedicured feet peeked out from the open toes of her shoes.
I tried not to stare, but I know she caught me studying her presence and I could see her smile inwardly with a hint of satisfaction. She had dressed for a purpose, I had a feeling, and I was about to find out what it was. I finally cleared my throat and asked to what did I owe the pleasure?
“Is your wife not home?” she inquired, looking about innocently, but with a subtle twist of her luscious hips. My question hadn’t quite registered and she appeared slightly anxious.
“Well, no, Aurelie. My wife passed away five years ago, I’m sorry to say.” I looked to the floor, but felt her gaze.
“Oh. I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.” A cloud of sincerity washed over her features.
She surveyed my space with broad quick glances and commented on what a nice apartment it was. I explained the renovations I had gone through and gave her a little history of the building and my acquisition of it. She smiled intently; her gaze locked on mine. The lack of a lurking female presence emboldened her to carry through with her plan. We talked in innocent generalities for a few minutes. Then, as I sat down in my comfortable leather chair, I saw her straighten and take a deep breath. I waved her toward a seat, but she shook her head. Whatever it was she had to say she wanted to say standing up — in front of me.
“Monsieur Robert. I would like to take the apartment. Please. If you haven’t rented it to anyone else yet?” Her voice lilted up in question. I felt my pulse quicken.
“No, I haven’t, Aurelie. But I thought it was out of your price range?” I replied, with an inquisitive lift of my brow.
“Well, it is. Or could be. But that is why I’m here, Monsieur. That is why I am here,” she said stated emphatically as she twirled in a flourish to face me head on; her eyes bigger than life.
I arched my eyebrow and leveled my gaze on her beautiful face. She wore just enough make-up to highlight her innate beauty.
“I would like to propose an arrangement with you, Monsieur Robert — one that will be mutually beneficial. I want very much the apartment. I love it. And you,” she said as she paused and looked straight at me, “are living a quiet existence alone. I would like to propose…” She hesitated and took a deep breath, building up courage. I felt the power of her beauty, of her intense presence, as her big brown eyes pleaded with me before she’d even put her proposal on the table. She continued.
“I am able to pay you the amount in my budget for housing – $400 less than your monthly rent. In exchange for the reduction in rent, I would propose that I spend one afternoon each month, preferably a Sunday, with you. An entire Sunday afternoon with just you, Monsieur,” she stated with emphasis, leveling her gaze, and then letting it drift south to my crotch. “I will be your friend, your confidant, your slave. I will do anything you feel like doing. Anything.” She paused for effect and then continued. “And, if you find me desirable,” her face become soft and serious as she lowered her voice to a whisper, “then I will become your lover.”
The smile was gone from her face; replaced kaçak bahis by the most sensuous look I had ever seen on a woman’s face, at least in person. I felt blood surge through my body; into my head, and into my groin. An unearthly silence hung between us for a few moments as she waited for my reply. I was dumbstruck, but tried to maintain an air of knowing sophistication; as if I received such offers from lovely young ladies all the time.
My mind raced; trying desperately to process this proposal and the repercussions. The thought of money, rent, and deposits, was replaced with the gauzy notion of having Aurelie as a lover. I realized now why she was dressed as she was and I lost my shyness about looking at her. I surveyed her body with impunity and let me eyes graze over the soft curves of her luscious body as I pondered her offer. I saw a smile begin to curve up her cheek; a look of benign satisfaction, as she accepted my lecherous glances and turned slightly to let me absorb her from every angle. She placed her hands innocently behind her back, but that resulted in her breasts standing forth, so proud and soft. I still could not speak; all I could do was look. She decided to fill the awkward silence with the sweet lilt of her voice. She knew that, for the moment, she had the upper hand.
“I would come every first Sunday of the month, Monsieur Robert. We could talk or take a walk in the park. I would be willing to explore anything with you, Monsieur. I would be willing to give you my body — and my mind. I am young — that is obvious to you – and have only had three lovers. But they were magnificent lovers — all of them older gentlemen. They taught me, Monsieur. And I truly believe what I can offer you will more than make up for a few hundred dollars in your bank account. I assure you of that.” She hesitated, and then looked me squarely in the eye. “Please?” she whispered in question.
I had no doubt she would be more than worth that. I was still processing, still ogling, when she strode across the room toward me, her breasts bouncing tightly and subtly. She stopped in front of me, leaned forward and put her delicate hands on my slightly spread thighs. Her cleavage loomed close and her lovely perfume wafted through my nasal passages and directly into the pleasure center of my brain.
“Perhaps I could give you a partial payment of my first month’s deposit, Robert. Let me convince you of what a good idea this is.” Aurelie sensed that she had the upper hand in this one-sided negotiation and she was poised to take advantage. She was now bent over me, the slight sway of her cleavage completely in my face; the bulge of her upper breast jiggling ever so slightly. Subtlety had quickly been replaced by a burning, and obvious, sexuality.
“Okay,” I stammered. The first words I had uttered since her proposal and I could barely grunt in affirmation of her suggestion. It sounded like someone else had answered the question.
She grabbed a pillow from the adjacent sofa, threw it on the floor between my legs and pushed my thighs apart as she knelt slowly in front of me. I looked down at her lovely face and felt flush with excitement and expectation. She let her hands slide up and down my thighs and I watched as her gaze drifted down to the emerging bulge in my slacks. She smiled and looked up at me with a knowing glance. I could not believe this was happening — but it was.
“I have a feeling this is going to be a very lovely arrangement, Monsieur Robert. I promise you will not regret it. Let me show you. S’il vous plait?”
Her hand grazed over the stiffening bulge in my trousers and she cupped her hand carefully around its girth, watching me closely to gauge my reaction. I let out an audible and completely involuntary groan as she punctuated her soft strokes with a squeeze.
“Oh, Mon Dieu, Monsieur. You’re becoming very hard. What shall we do?” A devilish grin washed over her face as she reached up slowly and began to unbuckle my belt. She followed that by unsnapping the button of my slacks and then carefully grabbing my zipper. She was moving deftly and deliberately, but just slowly enough to make me ache for her touch.
“We could start every month just like this, Robert. Just like this,” she cooed as she seductively pulled the zipper toward her, her gaze riveted on the bulge she was slowly unveiling. Her hand slid below the flap and gave my now fully hardened cock a gently squeeze. “Just like this. Oh my,” she exclaimed as the suddenly realized the girth beneath her hand.
I thought she was just going to unleash my cock as it strained for the light, but she seemed to have other ideas. She grabbed the waistline of my trousers and boxers and pulled down as I lifted my ass off the leather cushion so she could pull my pants off. She leaned down, pulled off my loafers and socks, and then slowly slid my pants off each leg. The shirt tails of my white cotton shirt fell to the side and framed my erection, at full mast and bobbing with excitement. Aurelie smiled as she looked at my fully erect cock for the first time and brought her sweet face up against my shaft. She rubbed her smooth cheeks along the side, strands of her soft hair dragging along my stiff flesh; a sweet soft smile on her beautiful face.
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