All my stories are loosely based on events from my past. No, I can not remember every word spoken in order, but I do remember most, so I fill in the dialogue that is fuzzy with what makes sense and seems accurate. Names will all be changed, but I will try to keep most dates and places right. My fake name in these stories will be Harry and they will be narrated from my p.o.v.

My first story

“Carol & the Carpet Guy”

A wealthy, educated, loving and devoted wife and mother of two small children ends up on the floor fucking a carpet cleaner she just met only a few hours earlier.

This is the only time I ever, knowingly, had sex with someone else’s wife.

I was single at the time, and had many opportunities. (I was very attractive in my twenties and thirties and women threw themselves at me, so I had hundreds of women over the years, but I hated cheaters. My wife cheated on me, and I wondered cheating women were shit human beings. I still do.)

The wife I fucked, however, was truly a good person. We were both powerless to prevent this. The chemistry and circumstances were too intense to withstand.

Our coupling was so unexpected, organic and primal that neither of us stood any chance of saying no. We met and did our very best to remain professional, but ended up fucking on the floor like animals.

Here is my story of everything that happened. And the married woman who gave herself to me may or may not have lived in Cumberland, Rhode Island in 1998. Her name was not Carol Joyce. Besides names, all other references are accurate to the best of my knowledge.

CHAPTER 1 – Meeting Carol

It was the summer of 1998 or ’99. I cannot recall which. I worked as a carpet cleaner at Red Carpet in Warwick, RI. It was hard, physical labor with plenty of cardio and heavy lifting. I had worked my ass off all winter, so I was in top physical shape.

I was just shy of five foot ten, weighed about 182, somewhat muscular with a thirty inch waist, and my abs beginning to show, which I was delighted by. I had never been in better shape in my life and women were noticing me.

I had plenty of random sex at the time. All I had to do was walk into a bar and scan their faces. Any attractive girl who made eye contact with me for more than a passing glance usually ended up in my car and in my bed.

That’s why I was able to be so professional at work. Housewives were cheating pigs for the most part.

They flirted, flashed their boobs and made advances to me at all times. All I wanted to do was clean their damn carpets and get the hell out.

Some of those housewives were very hot. Most weren’t. I was tempted once or twice. That’s true, but I never allowed myself to act in it.

Then one Monday morning I got an appointment to do a whole house. It was a big one, out in a rich section of Cumberland, Rhode Island. It wasn’t a gated community, but a rural area with lots of very big houses on several acres of land.

The name was Carol Joyce. I showed up at her home at 9 o’clock sharp and knocked on her front door.

A natural platinum blonde woman – I could tell by her wispy, thin white eyebrows – with the biggest pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen, answered the door in a white body suit and a powder blue tennis skirt. The color matched her beautiful eyes. She looked like a young Terri Garr.

I smiled, held up my clipboard and tapped my name tag. “Hi, I’m Harry from Red Carpet.”

“Yes,” she said, looking around me and toward my van. She looked confused. “They were supposed to send two men. Do you have a partner?”

“No. My boss, Dave, never said anything to me. If someone else was sharing the job he would have.” We paused in awkward silence. I shrugged and said, “I’m sure I can handle the whole job on my own.”

Carol frowned. “It’s not that.”

“I don’t understand then.”

“No offense,” she said, “But I’m not comfortable being alone in my house with a strange man. I would rather you had a partner.”

“Oh,” I said, smirking soberly as I realized her discomfort. I put my pen away and dropped my clipboard to my side. “Believe me, Ma’am. I totally get it. I work with a lot of low life’s and creeps. I’ll get to a pay phone and call Dave. I’ll ask if he can get anyone else out here.” I turned and walked toward my van.

“Wait a minute.” She said, stepping out onto her stoop. “Who is he going to send, the low life or the creep?”

I laughed out loud at that. She lost her sober countenance, and smiled for the first time.

Shrugging, I said, “I’ll ask Dave if he can come himself. Dave’s very professional. He also has two small kids to worry about like me. That usually keeps us men on our best behavior.”

I turned and took a step toward the van.

“Forget it, Harry. Don’t bother.”

I paused and looked back.

“I trust you now. You can do the job alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, just don’t get creepy on me. I called the cops on my last carpet cleaner.” She waved for me to follow. I did.

“What the hell did he do?”

She shook her head, and said, “First off, he couldn’t keep his eyes off my breasts.”

She walked into her front door, holding it wide for me to come inside.

I walked up the steps and stepped passed her, taking my pen out and lifting my clipboard. Earlier, I had noticed in passing, and without looking down at them, that Carol did have very ample sized breasts. They were bigger than grapefruits, but not quite cantaloupes. I made sure to look everywhere else as she talked.

“You haven’t looked once, and I appreciate that. Anyway, after he ogled my chest for twenty minutes he asked me if I wanted to have a back massage. I told him no, and asked him to leave my house. He refused to leave, so I called the cops.”

“That’s terrible. What company “

“Stanley Steamer.”

“Oh, gads! We’re better than them at cleaning anyway. But I am so sorry you went through all that crap. No wonder you wanted two guys. You must have been terrified.”

“I was, and you know what the worst part–“

“Mommy!” a little girl about four years old ran into the kitchen where we stood talking. She shouted, “Eddie is teasing me!”

Carol swooped the little girl up in her arms, strode to the big glass double door to the back yard patio and shouted, “Edgar! You stop teasing your sister! Be a nice big brother. Push her on the swing.”

A little boy’s voice whined an ‘okay’, and Carol set her daughter free to run and play. She shut the screen.

As she picked up her child and strode quickly through the kitchen, I had noticed her muscular legs and lithe figure. She was smoking hot. The lady obviously played tennis and worked out and it showed.

I took a moment to compose myself, and as she set her daughter free, I mentioned something interesting. “My oldest is named Edgar, too. That’s a strange coincidence. I named him after Edgar Allen Poe. It was either that or Earnest.” I chuckled.

Carol’s mouth dropped open. She said, “Me, too, that’s insane. Hemmingway fan, as well. My husband didn’t like Earny!”

I shook my head. “How weird. My wife hated Earny, too.”

I added, “I have a younger girl as well. Her name’s Amanda.”

“You… you have got to be shitting me. My daughter’s name is Amanda, too.” Suddenly, Carol looked worried. “Are you lying to me? Did you know my kids names? Are you doing something… something really creepy?”

“Jesus, no.” I shrugged, and shook my head in disbelief. “I have pictures in my wallet. Hell, you can dial my ex-wife right now and ask what our kids names are if you like.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. “No,” she said, letting out a little huff. “Forget it.”

But I could still see doubt in her eyes. “May I use that kitchen phone, please?”

“No,” she said more forcefully, “That won’t be necessary.”

I walked to the phone and dialed my ex. “She’s always home and we talk all the time. I just want you to hear this.” I tapped the speaker on the phone.

“No, Chris. I believe–“

“Hello,” my ex’s voice said.

“Hi, Mary, how’s it going?”

“I’m glad you called, Harry. Ed and Amanda are both home from school. Their driving me nuts. Talk to them for a while. Keep them occupied. I need to take a shower.”

I smirked at Carol as my ex said our kids’ names. My son’s voice said, “Hey, Dad, are you coming over today? Can we go somewhere?”

“No, Son. I’m working. Stop driving your mom nuts. Oh, and who are you named after?”

“Huh?”

We could hear my daughter’s voice, begging for the phone.

“Who are you named after?”

He sighed loudly. “Edgar Allen Poe, the crazy drug addict.”

“Very funny. Now put Amanda on. I love you.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

“Hi, Daddy!” my daughter said, “Are you coming today?”

“No, Sweetheart. Daddy has to work… but I love you very much.”

“I love you more.”

“No way! That’s impossible!”

She giggled. “Yes, I do. It’s not impossible.”

“Then here’s a kiss through the phone.” I made a smooching sound on my hand. She giggled again. “I have to go to work now, baby girl. Be good for your mom.”

“I will. Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, baby.”

I hung up the phone.

Carol sat down at the breakfast nook, staring at me with tears welling in her eyes. She murmured, “That was beautiful.”

“What?”

“My husband never talks to the kids like that.”

I really didn’t think anything I said had been remarkable in any way.

I shrugged. “It’s normal, I think. Maybe he’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” she said, “Neither do I.”

I remained silent while she brooded. After a very long pause, I said, “So what’s your favorite Hemmingway novel? I like “For Whom the Bell Tolls”.”

Carol’s big, pale blue eyes got even bigger. “Now, you are freaking me out.”

“Favorite Poe story?”

She wondered about it. “I’ll have to go with Tell Tale Heart.”

“Ah-ha!” I said, putting a forefinger up in triumph, “We finally found one point we disagree upon. I’m a Murder in the Roux Morgue guy.”

Carol grimaced and dropped her shoulders. She sighed loudly. “I was going to say that first… but I thought you’d copy me.”

We both laughed. This time, however, as we gazed into each other’s eyes, an unwanted but undeniable attraction became obvious.

I looked away first. Clearing my throat, I grabbed my pen out of my pocket and lifted my clipboard. “Let’s get back to the carpets you needed cleaned.”

Carol blurted out, “I would never cheat on my husband, Harry.”

I nodded and said, “I know. You’re so much like me that I know. Anyway,” I said, waving the gravity of our words away with a flick of my hand, “Passing attractions happen to everyone. It’s how we react that matters.” I chanced a glance at her and then around at her house. “Now just show me the rooms you want cleaned, and I’ll get them done.”

“Okay,” she said, jumping to her feet and stepping lively passed me. She went into the living room first and began pointing out all the carpets she wanted cleaned.

Chapter 2 – A Sequence of Events

We remained aloof and professional through the whole tour. I went to the van and dragged in all my equipment, and began cleaning in the living room.