Houseboat - Cover

Houseboat

Copyright© 2024 by Stacatto

Chapter 8

Mystery Sex Story: Chapter 8 - When Matt Preston plays poker with the guys, all bets are off. When the owner of the houseboat he won gets murdered, Matt's checkered military past puts the target on him. Walking a thin line through Seattle between the cops, a beautiful stranger, the lovely girl next door and hidden enemy, Matt has to wonder if he should have taken that bet...

Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Romantic   Fiction   Crime   Mystery  

The next day was Thanksgiving Day, and I briefly considered going to a restaurant and ordering a turkey dinner. However, the idea of going out and dining alone didn’t appeal to me, instead I decided to find a grocery store that was open and purchase a frozen TV turkey dinner. Not the best way to celebrate the holiday, but I just wasn’t feeling the least bit thankful or sociable.

I know I have much to be thankful for and in so many ways I really am, but I just couldn’t seem to put the memory of Slim away and that pulled me down. His memory was present in both my thoughts and in my dreams. I’d seen worse over the years, but I was having a very difficult time dealing with the memory of Slim’s death.

As a feeble sun finally sank into the end of the canal on the first Monday of December, I’d been moping around for twelve long days in my apartment, and I decided it was enough. I needed to do something about it. The last week or so had been so depressing and I realized it was partly because one of those days had been Thanksgiving and I was alone. Watching the pale, wan sunset made me realize I didn’t want to eat alone again. I wondered if Sharon was home yet.

Sharon is a tall, good sized, honey blond who lives in the unit under mine. In stocking feet, she can almost look me in the eye. She’s in her middle thirties with the greatest gray-green eyes you’ve ever seen. I guess you’d consider her pretty, but I see more than that in her. Sharon might seem rather small breasted when she’s dressed, and because of her size, clothes don’t really show how fantastic her figure is, but in the buff she is breathtaking. As someone once said about some athlete, the more he takes off, the better it gets.

Sharon is a head ER nurse, and she works in one of the hospitals on what they call Pill Hill in Seattle. The actual name of the hill is First Hill. First at what I haven’t a clue, but it’s the First Hill. Several hospitals look as if they’re interconnected. I’m sure all of them are actually separate entities, but since I have an aversion to hospitals, I really don’t care which one is which.

There had been an “us” for a while, but by time Sharon finally moved in downstairs, we’d become just friends. One evening she showed up at my doorstep, sniffling, eyes all red, and seemed mad. It turned out the mad part was her anger with herself, she’d become too emotionally involved with a patient and the patient had died that afternoon. I held her as she cried. We talked and laughed, and I held her again while she cried some more. When it came time for sleep, she headed to my bedroom, slipped under the covers, and was instantly out.

After I finished taking BJ for her walk, I returned to find Sharon had been up long enough to remove all her clothing and was again asleep in my bed. I debated between the couch and the other half of my king-size bed. The bed won. After all, she’d chosen to sleep with me, and if this weren’t to her liking, we would deal with it in the AM.

I’d met Sharon a couple of years ago through a mutual friend, and after a few dates, like I said, we’d tried a brief fling at a physical relationship. We quickly found the sex thing was more of a competition between us than any form of tenderness. I knew she was the only girl in a family with five older brothers. I thought maybe she developed her competitive side from living at home with her brothers and trying to keep up with them, and somehow this attitude slipped over into her intimate side. It seems like she’s replaced intimacy and tenderness with aggression and trying to see who was the most skillful or something. Like she was looking for a prize. Whenever I’d change positions when we were having sex, she’d have to try to do me one better. When we stopped having sex, I was greatly relieved, and I felt she was of a similar mind. The best part is after we stopped having sex, we actually became very good friends.

Even though we’d stopped dating, we’d remained in close contact, and when one of my units came up for rent, I mentioned it to her, and she promptly moved in. I doubt if she’s aware she’s paying a pittance of what the other tenants are paying, but since it’s my building, I get to make the rules on what I charge. We keep track of each other and make sure we’re both doing all right.

I punched her number into my cell, and she answered on the second ring. Although we were not physical any longer, I still enjoyed hearing her sexy voice. A hello from her seems to speak volumes. And what torrid volumes they are! “Hi, babe, it’s me. Matt! Hungry? It’s been rotten the past few days, and I really don’t wanna eat alone again.”

“You pick the place and give me ten minutes before you pick me up.”

The phone went dead in my hand.

In my closet, I found a freshly laundered shirt, and over it I slipped on a sports jacket. I ran a brush through my silvering locks and briefly considered a shave. I say silver because silver sounds so much better than gray. Mom and dad were gray. I prefer being silver! Gray is slowly coming; however, I choose not to participate.

I stopped in the kitchen, poured a good stiff drink of Macallan 10, (which is a third the price of Macallan 25) for the trip downstairs, and headed for the elevator. Since I own the building, I of course have the keys for each floor, and I stopped the elevator at her floor. I stepped off and called her name. She stuck her head out of the bathroom and called to me. I wandered back through the apartment.

When she saw my drink, she motioned me over. She removed the drink out of my hand and took a sip. “Yummy.” Was her comment and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. She took another deep sip and smiled at me. I couldn’t help but notice she was clad only in thong panties. Even though our relationship was supposedly past the sex point, I still enjoy looking at her body. Damn, but she’s an excellent looking woman. She’d stolen my drink after the second sip, and her smile made me realize she was going to keep it. I headed off to her kitchen to make myself a new one.

She kept the door open so we could talk, and I proceeded to tell her about the past few days. I started with the card game, and how it came about I won my floating nightmare. Once I mentioned the houseboat she flew out of the bathroom with excitement. Her naked breasts swaying with her movements attracted my attention. I watched her excitement fade as I explained how they were evicting my floating nightmare from its moorage. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bathroom with her to tell her the rest of the story.

It was obvious the bathroom was used by a woman. Two pairs of pantyhose hung over the shower curtain rail and there was a bra resting on top of the toilet. All sorts of great women smells filled the room and I watched her do her face as I continued with my story. I glossed over the part about finding Slim as best I could. She asked me if there were any leads, and I told her I’d been told not to leave town without asking for permission first.

She looked at me in her mirror, “Why? Were you really that pissed at him?”

“No ... well, yes ... but no, I mean ... I wouldn’t do that ... like murder him. But it seems some of the other boat owners heard a dog barking in the night and the police are wondering if it wasn’t BJ. In addition, when we first got there, she ran ahead and tracked through the blood. Finding her footprints throughout the place didn’t sit too well with the detectives. A childhood friend was the detective in charge, and he seemed to believe my story. Anyway, thanks to BJ I have to stay put.”

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