Busted Pt. 03

It was a little cooler than most Saturdays as Ron and I pulled out into traffic and headed for the first HUD home on his list. On the flatbed trailer he pulled behind his old pick-up, he had short, metal walls holding a couple of mowers, edgers, rakes, shovels, clippers, and various sundries. Each house was different with a different set of requirements. Most involved a walk-thru with a basic list of take-offs, such as broken windows or light fixtures missing, doors off their hinges or damaged. Some houses were worse than others. We usually mowed and edged each place, if it needed it, and most did. Ron kept a per/house list of items he'd noted, besides the windows, light fixtures, and doors. He was organised, consistent, and had a way of pacing himself that comes from experience, and it was always good for me to be around someone like that. Any paint, chemicals, or combustible goods were either noted, or if they appeared to be a definite fire hazard, removed and disposed of. A few places were infested with termites, ants, or had fecal signs of racoon, possum, or rat occupants either past or present. At one house, I inadvertently stepped on a mound of ants and went hopping, squirming, and twisting around, beating the fuckers off of me. Ron about fell out laughing.

Though this was over 15 years ago now, many of the memories of working with Ron were based on what was then a national disaster. Like what happened during Covid, if you didn't live during this period of time, roughly 2008-2011, it's hard to convey it in words. The country was caught up in a world-wide economic recession so bad it ranked second only in U. S. history to the Great Depression in severity and scope. Countless businesses and many major banks had gone tits up and millions had lost their job, me among them. Nearly 12% of the employable workforce in this country in fact, was out of work, not as bad the 25% during the Great Depression, but worse than anytime before or since. And unlike other recessions, it was unequivocally international in its overall effects. It had specifically impacted the housing market, involving thousands and thousands of ARMs (adjusted-rated mortgages) which thru the irresponsible financial habits of so many loan officers had, for quicker immediate profits, been cavalierly set at unduly low and dangerously unverified rates and/or buyer qualifications, all made exponentially worse by bundling this new source of options into easily-traded stock entities in fact previously unknown as to long term market effects. When their long-term effects began to become realized, it was too late. The result was a large contribution to a global economic mega-tsunami unseen since 1929. I say 'contribution' because ARM bundling was just one of the many destructive money schemes involved. Another was fighting a major war for seven years on a peace-time economy. Having not learned a lesson when the same thing resulted from ten years of war in Vietnam, this part of it anyway, was as stupid and costly as it was avoidable.

The reason for mentioning all this was the nature of the HUD homes Ron and myself visited during this time. Without exception, all were foreclosures directly connected to this huge recession. But what made it so different was that there were whole neighborhoods we drove through in which maybe only two or three homes on the entire block were still inhabited. All the rest were empty. We didn't notice this at first until stopping to talk with some neighbors in one area one Saturday who mentioned it almost matter-of-factly, which by then it almost was, considering how it was no longer even news, having morphed into a truly nationwide fact. However, seeing it on tv was one thing. Seeing it in person was something else to say the least. After that conversation that day, we made a point, whenever pulling down a residential street, of trying to judge which houses were or were not occupied. You could tell for any number of reasons when they were not : unmown lawn; trash scattered in yard; no drapes in the windows; excess mail strewn around. It didn't take much to tell. And no matter how much of it you saw, something inside of you just refused to get used to it.

Conversely, some of these homes were fully furnished, had pictures on the walls, clothes on hangers in the closets, nick-naks on tables, in short, looked just like they were presently being lived in ... only they weren't and hadn't been for months. The one that really got our attention was a large, five-bedroom, multi-bath, three-car garage home. Ron went into the kitchen and stopped.

"Richard," he said. "You gotta see this."

I went into the kitchen. Bar stools were pushed into a counter bar. A high-end large kitchen table with a half-dozen Captain's chairs sat around it. It looked normal, like the other furnished houses did.

"What?" I shrugged.

"Look!" Ron insisted, pointing.

Then it registered. The table was completely set, with plates, glasses, cutlery, napkins, etc....

AND food was on the plates! A serving dish with what looked like green beans, another with mashed potatoes, were sitting there. An oven sheet with cookies still on it was sitting on the counter nearby. The food was definitely not edible, but neither was it rotted into oblivion.

Suddenly everything, and I mean the entire state of the country, took on the aura of Stephen King's 'The Stand'. Grim. Frightening even. Apocalyptic. Ron was shaking his head.

"These people haven't been gone long."

Stunned, I just nodded in agreement. He pulled out his binder and checked the address. He sighed nervously.

"Right address?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Shit," I said, finally. "It looks like they just got up and left in the middle of dinner. Left everything ..."

"Sure does," replied Ron.

We both just stood there, kind of creeped out. Ron looked at me.

"Not much to do on this one, anyway," he commented flatly. "How about we call it a day?"

"Works for me," I said.

Worked for both of us for sure. We never spoke of that house again. I kept working with Ron until I had the entire deposit paid off. But that day in that kitchen, I have never forgotten.

Driving back, we talked about Ron's HUD house contract. Seemed like a pretty good gig, for Ron anyway. As I knew it would, the discussion worked its way around to Ron's favorite topic; Linda. From what Linda apparently had inferred to Ron while talking to him that morning wearing just a t-shirt, had evidently raised some questions he just could not quite get his mind around. A strange look of teenaged lust always came into Ron's eyes whenever we discussed my wife, like she was an entity from the by-gone era of Betty Page pin-up girls posing in illegal magazines. I guessed that was probably the extent of Ron's experience. Not that I had anything against Betty Page. On the contrary. She was like Marilyn, a trail blazer, an icon, and justifiably so. Her stuff was a cut above the rest. Even today, unlike so many from that era who no longer seemed so sexy, she remained, still, unquestionably, the fearless, naked, queen of pin-up hotness.

"So, you guys like the new house, then?" Ron began.

Uh oh, I thought. Here we go.

"We like it a lot," I answered, racking my brain, trying to remember if I'd overheard any of their conversation that morning. I was soon going to find out. I had a feeling that Linda had me in over my head without even knowing it. And the problem was, she could give two shits because Linda did whatever the fuck Linda wanted to do. I knew she'd certainly get a laugh out of it whenever I got around to discussing it with her. So I needed to just relax and be flexible and creative with my answers. Either way, it didn't matter, because I could already feel my dick starting to respond. Such was the latent power of Linda's incomparable pussy.

As for Ron, he sure didn't waste any time either.

"So, um," he began, hesitantly. "How often does Linda lay out at the new house?"

Just to fuck with Ron, but mainly to let him know that I knew where he was going with this, I replied,

"You mean tan nude in the backyard?"

He nodded his head vigorously. I pinched my chin between my thumb and index finger and looked up at the ceiling of the truck cab as if deep in thought.

"Oh.. I dunno. A lot I guess. I don't really keep track."

"So you don't swim much yourself?" he asked, trying another angle.

I shook my head. We would be home before long and I thought maybe I could deflect this if I picked my responses properly.

"No, I wouldn't say that," I replied.

"Does Linda swim much, or just lay out?" was Ron's next question.

And that was a good question. Very sexy, actually, because when she did swim, she had to get up and physically walk around the pool naked when diving in or climbing out, a great visual for a fertile mind like Ron's. I grinned to myself. No, I take that back. A great visual for ANYBODY period. I decided to give Ron some juicy tidbits.

"No, no, she swims," I confirmed. Then I leaned over conspiratorially and added,

"That's my favorite time. When Linda swims. I get to see her stand up naked, dive in the pool, and then sometimes we even fool around and..."

I let my voice trail off for effect. Ron's breath was quivering when he replied.

"You mean, you.. like.. you.. DO it.. right there in the pool?"

I played dumb.

"What, fuck?" I asked innocently, then immediately corrected myself. "Er.. um.. I.. you mean, have sex?"

Ron coughed suddenly, like something was, as he had said in his recent phone call with Linda, stuck in his throat. It went on for a brief time.

In the interim, he managed to nod again, vigorously.

"Yeah, for sure," I replied. "Every time she goes swimming."

Maybe you're playing this a bit long, I thought. You're almost home. Cut the guy some slack.

"You ok, Ron?"

He nodded again, patting his chest, as if to get more air.

"She said this morning that all she had on was that t-shirt," he commented.

Wow, I thought. He'd never gotten this direct before.

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"You like that?" he asked.

"Oh hell yeah," I replied emphatically. "Don't you, now that she told you?"

"Oh yes!" Ron exclaimed, his voice returning.

We rode along in silence for a minute.

"She said that you have a rule where she's supposed to always be naked around the house?"

I laughed outright. Ron immediately sort of almost cowered, like he'd said something wrong or insulting. I waved him off with both hands.

"No, no, no," I replied, grinning. "Yes, I like Linda being naked around the house. I encourage it. Wouldn't you if your wife was an ex-nude dancer?"

"Oh yes, yes, I would for sure," exclaimed Ron, happy as he sensed he hadn't said something wrong.

I looked at him with a seriousness I almost couldn't fake.

"But Ron, seriously?" I asked.

He looked back at me.

"What?"

I shook my head.

"Me, make rules for Linda? Dude ... c'mon.. "

Now it began to dawn on Ron.

"Oh, now I see," he replied.

I patted him on the shoulder.

"Linda's naked around the house because Linda likes to be naked around the house. Linda does whatever Linda wants to do whenever Linda wants to do it, with my blessing. And you know why?"

Ron shook his head.

"Because she's going to anyway."

We both laughed at that.

"So with few exceptions, I'm just along for the ride but, God bless her naughty, gorgeous ass, she usually includes me in the fun."

We were now pulling up in front of the house. I was nearly home free. Ron asked one more question.

"Is that why she can have sex with other guys for money?"

It was so innocent, yet so direct, as well as being so completely unexpected, that I just froze, my hand on the the door handle, about to get out. I turned my head slowly and looked at Ron. His eyes were swirling with lust. Linda had really baited him and this time, I wasn't going to get caught in the middle, well not figuratively at least.

"Is that what she said?" I asked, calmly.

"Pretty much," he affirmed.

I grinned.

"Guess you better talk to her about that, then."

I got out but paused with the door ajar.

"Hey, why don't you park it and come on in, Ron?" I suggested, "Linda's probably doing what Linda does best. Tanning nude ..."

(to be continued)