Adultery A Slut Life - Part 2

I turned at the voice. There were strict rules about letting strangers into the building to guard the security for everyone. I recognized the man reaching his own card to the scanner at the side of the handle as the complex superintendent who I had met when applying for the apartment. I gave him what I hoped would pass for a warm smile but not much in my life was feeling hopeful or smile-worthy. I mumbled a 'thank you' and passed to the waiting elevator. As I rode the elevator to the fourth floor, I felt bad about the encounter. He seemed like a nice man and the look on his face as I stood in the elevator as the door slid closed made me think my response to him hadn't been what I had tried for.

An hour or so later, I had changed into my comfortable relaxing-at-home-for-the-evening attire of large t-shirt and panties when there was a knock at the door. Still being new to the complex, I was surprised at someone being at my door so I used the spy hole to check. It was Mr. Swenson, the superintendent. I considered how I was dressed, but relented rather than having him stand outside longer.

He glanced at what I was wearing as the door fully opened. I knew the man-sized t-shirt didn't do much to cover me but they were comfortable. He cleared his throat, then, "I... I may be out of line but... could I have a word with you? It's Teresa, right?"

That was confusing. Was this official or personal? I stepped aside to allow him to enter. "Of course, Mr. Swenson." He stepped inside and stopped. I moved past him to the kitchen area on the right. "Can I get you a beer, wine, or something stronger? I was just getting myself one."

"Uh... okay... a beer, thanks. Please call me Harold." I smiled. Maybe it wasn't official. Then, what?

I saw him move to the edge of the kitchen as I opened the refrigerator and bent over to look into the bottom shelf. "All I have is Miller Lite..." I glanced over and found him looking not at the refrigerator but at my butt and it finally dawned on me that the t-shirt probably had pulled up my bent over body to expose my panties. I was nervous about why the superintendent was here and trying to be hospitable, but... I grabbed two cans and straightened up, handing one to him. I could feel a blush spreading over me as I moved to the living room. I sat on the couch next to the sliding door to the balcony and he took a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

As I sat down, everything about the situation became uncomfortably obvious. I hardly knew this man and he was the authority figure of the complex and here I was... like a trollop... What might he be thinking of me? Mr. Swenson appeared to be 60 years old. He was about six feet tall, grey hair that was thinning on top, and still trim, still in shape. He had soft eyes that were blue and a gentleness about him that was partially masked by nervousness. I thought it was quite charming but that made me remember the impression I must be giving. I didn't have a bra on and I noticed my nipples pressing against the thin fabric even without them being fully erect. The t-shirt wasn't really long enough and when I sat down it rode up my legs to my hips. I had to cross my legs to avoid my panties being in his face, so to speak.

"Teresa... in the lobby I was reminded... well... you've just moved in and I don't know if I've seen you seeming happy. Are you displeased with the apartment or the complex?"

I smiled at him and relaxed some. "Harold, are you so caring about all your renters?"

He smiled at my tease and chuckled. "Only the really pretty ones." He was very charming.

"It has nothing to do with the apartment, Harold. I do like it. I like the entire complex setup. It's just..." He raised his eyebrows to encourage me gently and took another drink from the can. And then it all poured out. Sure, I left out major details about the divorce, the sharing and hotwife. I dumped just enough about changes my ex wanted, and convinced me to accept, then how he didn't like that I had changed. Blah, blah, blah. I was surprised after so many minutes how it had all exploded out of me. I apologized to him after I caught my breath.

"Don't apologize that you hurt so terribly deep inside." He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees and he gave me another gentle smile that seemed to project a fatherly caring. This man was something else.

I pushed up a smile onto my own face. It was probably strained but it was there. "Are you sure you don't seek out renters to council?"

He gave a more comfortable chuckle, "I assure you, Teresa... only the pretty ones." I smiled. That could easily be a come-on. This whole thing could easily be a come-on but it just didn't feel that way. He leaned back in the chair, maybe content that I had managed to dump all that and ended with a smile at his tease. He drained the rest of his beer and fell pensive for a moment as he gazed at the can in his hands. I decided to wait. "Sometimes it helps... to be with someone you don't know to let it all out." When he ventured a look at me, I was staring at him with a new level of curiosity. I waited, wanting him to continue. "I won't say I understand how you feel. I haven't lost something through divorce but..." He breathed. His fingers were pressing into the sides of the can making a crinkling sound. "I lost my wife. Lost... isn't that a peculiar term? They leave, you leave or they're taken away. She died... suddenly... just over five years ago. An illness. Sudden. It left a hole in me I am still filling with life. I guess what I am saying is that I understand how it can feel, how it can leave you with an emptiness, and how it can leave you angry... resentful." He looked up and focused on me, leaning forward, again. "But... excuse me for giving out advice you didn't ask for... don't let it consume you. Don't leave that hole empty too long. Go ahead and be mad, grieve if you need, but fill it with something. Make a decision about what your life should be going forward... always forward, Teresa. Then move. Whatever you decide, then move toward it. Always forward and leave the rest behind."

Then, he stood up. He looked embarrassed by all he had said uninvited. He moved to the door with a side move to place the can on the kitchen counter. I stood and called out, "Mr. Swenson... Harold... you said you felt empty for a long time. What finally allowed you to move on?"

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. He turned halfway and when he looked, I was sure his gaze truly saw my body this time. There was no 'official business' remaining. He was just a man and just being a man he noticed it all.

"I took a trip. In fact, I just got back before you moved in. An island. Beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. Completely different than outside here. And, it's off-season. Quite cheap now. I'll leave the information in your box." He hesitated. "I don't remember how I chose that place but...", he smiled, "... it opened my eyes. It showed me just how alive I still was."

I rushed up to him. I think I took him aback. I hugged him, thanked him, and gave him a peck on the cheek. After the door closed, I leaned back against it. What a nice man. Maybe he's right. If it could help him from missing his wife of years and years, couldn't it help me from missing a man who changed my life and then discarded me?

It was several days later when I found an envelope without a stamp on it in my mail box. I took it upstairs with the rest of the mail. I dropped the mail on the dining table and fingered the unmarked envelop. Was I nervous for some reason? The alimony provided enough money for the apartment and living, though I already knew I would be seeking a job, too. I didn't have much experience, but I could get something. He said it was cheap now.

I kicked off my sandals as I ripped the envelope open and idly moved toward the balcony sliding door. I slipped two fingers inside to pull out a brochure and dropped the envelope on the coffee table. I stepped out onto the balcony as I gazed at the front of the brochure. It was an island resort. Words jumped out at me: Private. Secluded. Tropical. Enchanting.

The sun was hot as I stood gazing at a scene of bikini clad women on a sandy beach. I glanced around, checking the other balconies, checking below at the pool, checking the other buildings. What the hell! I quickly pulled my shirt over my head and dropped my shorts. My bra and panties were little different than the bikinis being worn down at the pool. I reclined on the chaise lounge to study the brochure. More words jumped out: All inclusive. Self-contained. Adults, only. Carefree. Daring. Provocative. Of course, it had a toll-free phone number and web address.

I left my clothes and the sun to power up my laptop. I poured a glass of wine from a fresh bottle, plunked myself on the couch with the laptop and typed in the address. I laughed out loud as the page opened, "That old dog... adults, only... it's clothes optional!"

* * * *

I traveled a good part of the day including the last leg to the island on a loud, turbo-prop plane that could only accommodate a couple dozen people and luggage. By their dress, everyone seemed to be tourist which made sense because there was little industry on the island besides fishing and the service industry of resorts, restaurants, and shops. In the spirit of a vacation of discovery, I chose to wear a short, flowery colored, pleated skirt; a form-fitting white tank top of tee shirt material; red strap sandal heels; white, semi-sheer thong; and, dangling jewelry for my ears and neck. No bra. I knew my nipples would be drawing attention all day, especially walking in the heels that tended to make them bounce and jiggle. My suitcase contained clothing of a similar sort. I may have wondered what I was doing going to a resort like this by myself, but if Harold at 60 could find something by himself, so could I.

Several vans awaited travelers at the small island airport. The van I needed to the resort on the other side of the island carried another couple besides me and three single guys who appeared to be traveling together. The three were less than discreet with their staring and it occurred to me that maybe Harold had discovered something with this place.

Stepping into the reception area I was greeted with obvious updates to the small resort that excited me. The brochure had been clear about the 'clothes optional' aspect of the resort. This was NOT a nudist resort but the pool and adjoining beach area was clothes optional.

My room was on the first floor midway down one arm of the resort and facing the ocean beach. The resort building was in the form of a 'V'. The lobby, restaurant, bar, and shops were at the apex. The two arms jutting out to form the 'V' opened to the pool, spa, games area, and the beach beyond them. The room had large sliding glass doors to a semi-enclosed patio opening into the commons area. Opening the doors allowed the sound of people and waves to float in, enticing me out to explore. After unpacking and stowing my luggage in the back of the closet, I returned to the small patio to consider what to do with what remained of the late afternoon and evening. Despite the fatigue of airports and travel, the feel of salt laden air, the sound of the ocean, and people enjoying themselves was an intoxicating draw.

I stripped out the clothes I traveled in, opened one of two tubes of sunscreen I had packed, lathered my Latin brown skin, then considered the attire options I had for my first time venturing out. Clothing optional. But did I have the nerve? View of the pool and spa areas were partially obscured by bars, umbrellas, and access control fencing (I supposed so you didn't drunkenly stumble into the pool at night). Even so, though, I could see more than a few guests naked or topless. But not all were.

I selected a bikini. It was the most modest one I packed. Both top and bottoms were lined and both provided coverage. The thong and Wicked Weasel (especially purchased for this trip) might be for another time.