Tom Corbett did up the clasps on his son's suitcase and hoisted it off the bed.

"OK, Tiger, that should do it," he said, tousling Eddie's hair as he led the little boy toward the living room. "Now, remember: You do everything Mr. or Mrs. Gilstrup tell you to do, just like you'd mind me or Mrs. Livingston. No horsing around, no back talk. Understand? Great."

As they came into the room, Sarah Gilstrup got up. "All ready?" she asked in her reedy voice. "Are you ready to spend the night with us, Eddie? I know Billy's looking forward to it."

Eddie nodded, but there was a tiny tear in his eye as he took her hand and walked out the door. At the last second, he turned and looked back -- and then ran and hugged his dad, who squatted down to meet him. "Hey, Tiger, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Eddie said into his dad's shoulder. "It's just... I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Eddie," Tom said, rising to his feet again. "But it's just for one night. And you and Billy can play together and watch TV and everything. And I'll be by bright and early tomorrow morning to pick you up. Have fun!" He shooed them out the door, figuring it would be better to get Eddie on his way before his second thoughts had third thoughts.

He'd hurried home from work at the magazine so he could be there to send Eddie off, but now he had a couple of hours to kill until his date with Karen. He smiled at the thought, a broad grin that showed off his pearly white teeth. Karen was someone very special. She wasn't wife material (at the thought, a brief cloud passed over his face as he thought of Eddie's mom) but she was definitely bed material. Karen was a stewardess with a perfect body, tanned and shapely. And judging by his progress in their first two dates, tonight's third would be the one. She'd even made a point of telling him her roommates would be out of town for the weekend. Tom's cock throbbed at the thought, pressing against his shorts.

Just as he was musing over Karen's readiness, however, the phone rang. He grabbed it up, half-afraid that some crisis at the office would have his secretary begging him to come back.

No such luck. Instead, it was Karen. Apparently some kind of flu bug was knocking out the airline's staff left and right; she'd have to fill in on an overseas flight leaving in just an hour.

"I'm really sorry, Tom," she cooed. "I was really looking forward to tonight." She paused. "Really."

As he hung up, Tom cursed his luck. Just the sound of Karen's voice had gotten him harder, and the promise in that last "really" had almost made him cum. But now he had nothing to do and no one to do it with.

He paced the apartment like a lion, stopping here to pick up a book and toss it down in disgust, there to dig through the kitchen shelves but find nothing that caught his eye. The blood was hot in his veins and he was like a caged animal, desperate for release. Finally his eye settled on his old bike, shoved into a corner of his closet two years ago. Maybe he'd go for a ride, that might help. He hauled it out and tried it out: it was balky and the tires were flat. In a half-frenzy he yanked open drawers and ran his hands along shelves everywhere until he came up with a wrench and a can of oil.

He wheeled the bike into the bathroom and took it apart, oiling here, tightening there. But when he tried to put it back together, he ended up with two or three pieces left over and now the wheels wouldn't turn at all. He almost threw the bike against the wall in disgust, but he caught himself and shoved it back into the closet instead. As he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was covered with oil and grime.

Eager for anything to do, he decided to shower off the crud. He turned the taps on full blast and stripped, dropping his filthy clothes into the hamper and stepping under the steamy blast.

The jets of hot water tingled as they blasted into his body. He took his time, lathering up and rinsing off again and again. It didn't help much with his other problem; his cock was still mostly erect. Maybe, he thought, I should have tried a cold shower -- but even under the hot mist he shivered at the thought. Finally he shut off the taps and the spray petered off to a few drips.

As the water stopped, he heard an noise that seemed to come from somewhere in the apartment. He paused, listening hard. Must be hearing things, he thought. He began to pull back the sliding door on the shower.

He could never decide, thinking back on it later, which happened first: Did he remember that Mrs. Livingston had taken the afternoon off because she was coming in that evening to finish her cleaning while he and Eddie were both gone -- or did he do that only after he saw the little Asian woman staring at him?

It didn't much matter, anyway, considering what happened next.

Tom stood half in and half out of the shower stall. Water was still dripping off his well-muscled body, matting down his dark hair. His cock was still erect, pointing directly at Mrs. Livingston.

She was in a simple housedress, her hand still on the doorknob, her mouth open.

Finally she spoke, in a strangled whisper. "Mr. Eddie's father!"

He took a step toward her and reached out a hand in what he thought was a calming gesture. She didn't seem to get the message. She shrank back against the sink, her hands grabbing behind her for support. She was a small, compact Asian woman, dark hair pulled back tightly from her face. Though she was a godsend around the house, Tom had never felt completely comfortable around her, and the situation certainly didn't make things any easier this time.

"I thought..." she said.

"My date..." he said.

"... you go out tonight," she finished.

"... canceled on me," he finished.

"Oh," she said, but from the look on her face she didn't seem to understand at all. "I go now."

"No," Tom said. What he meant was, no, you can still clean. But as he said it, he took another step forward -- he had spotted a towel on the rack next to the sink and he was going for it. Mrs. Livingston's eyes widened and she looked around for an escape route. In the same second that she turned and darted for the door, Tom lunged for the towel -- almost tackling her.

"No, Mr. Eddie's father, no!" she shouted, ducking down beneath his arm.

"Mrs. Livingston," he said, trying to get out of her way. But his wet feet slipped on the tiles and he had to lunge out for support. The closest thing to grab, as it happened, was Mrs. Livingston.

She began to lose her balance as well and they fell over, almost in slow motion, as their hands grabbed for the walls and doors but couldn't get any secure grips.

They ended up on the floor, Tom on top. His hard cock was pressing against Mrs. Livingston's belly. The pressure drew forth an instinctive response, and he rubbed himself against her. She tried to wiggle away, but that only increased the friction on his cock, exciting him even more.

"Mr. Eddie's father, please," she pleaded, and Tom realized what he'd been doing. He struggled to his feet. As he did, Mrs. Livingston's dress stuck to his damp skin. By the time he was standing up he had managed to pull it up to her chest.

He looked down. He had never thought of the Japanese woman as at all sexy; she always wore unflattering clothes. He never was really sure how old she was; it's always hard to tell with Asian women.

But as he looked down, his image of her changed quickly. At least from the stomach down, she was built like a Barbie doll: flat stomach, swelling hips, well-curved legs. A small pair of red cotton panties at her crotch was slightly askew, and a few curly black hairs showed around the edges. My God, he thought, she may not be young anymore but she's still got it. The doll-like look of Asian women had always excited him; they looked frail enough to break if you touched them, but hot enough that he always wanted to fuck any one he saw. And now he could.