I finally get to call Mrs. Isaacs

Author’s note on what to expect: This includes a now adult male connecting with one of his mother’s counterparts, plus a little playful baby-talk as a small dimension of the story

“Jack darling, I need a favor. Mrs. Isaacs had a fire in her kitchen, and is going to need somewhere to stay for a couple weeks while the repairs are going on. Be a dear, call her and offer her one of your extra rooms?” My mother’s ‘request’ may be phrased like a request, but really, what she means, is, “Call Mrs. Isaacs. Let her stay in one of your extra room for as long as she needs. Do it now!”

Normally, I roll my eyes and begrudgingly comply with most of my mother’s ‘requests’. This one however, was very different. Because in this case, I was excited in a multitude of ways.

I had known Mrs. Isaacs my entire life. She was a neighborhood mom, my mother’s longtime friend, rival, and occasional sworn-enemy. She was about 5 years younger than my mother, and most egregiously (at least from my mother’s perspective,) she was prettier, taller, thinner, and blonder than my mother as well.

Under such close quarters, the lives of our two families had been inexorably intertwined every step of the way. Both my sisters (but not me) had counterparts in Mrs. Isaacs’s family, and there were carpools, sporting events, Fourth of July events, and suburban life in general to keep us always on top of one another (but not in the fun way). The relationship between Mrs. Isaacs and my Mother was reasonably friendly, but in certain ways, also involved obligatory “good little Mom” duties too. They belonged to the same clubs, the same PTA, the same social circles, so they had to be civil and sugary-sweet to one another.

Now as an adult, I was in my thirties, and Mrs. Isaacs was in her early fifties. She was still as beautiful and sexy as ever, always elegantly dressed, but never overly dressed for any occasion. And yes, she had always been a fitness buff, and nowadays did Yoga. And she wore Yoga pants quite often too, especially on Saturdays after her class. Would you believe, by sheer coincidence, that I had adjusted my ritual of visiting my mother, to happen on Saturdays? Imagine that!

The reason for my Mother’s request is that several years ago, I had gotten very lucky in real estate. I took a gamble and with every penny I had, bought a huge old house in a very questionable neighborhood near downtown. Given the neighborhood, it wasn’t expensive, but luckily for me, the neighborhood got hip, then trendy, then upscale. After several years of the neighborhood evolving, I was now the proud owner of a huge house in a historic neighborhood. And I had more than enough room for visitors. Lots of visitors. Mrs. Isaacs would be the first one representing someone I had lusted after for years though.

So, I followed my orders. I called Mrs. Isaacs, and invited her to stay with me during her kitchen repairs. I was a little hard just talking to her, because on top of how she looked and how pleasant a person she was, she also had always possessed one particularly sexy mannerism. She tended to sigh. And apparently, she sighed even more during phone calls, directly into the mouthpiece, so while I’m on the phone persuading her to come, and that I don’t mind at all, and that I wouldn’t even hear of accepting even a penny from her, I got hard.

The emotional upheaval of the fire, even though it was small, with things like having to arrange repairs and deal with insurance had poor Mrs. Isaacs emotionally drained. With all the upheaval, she clearly was enjoying having someone who would just listen, and not be full of advice. She was being downright chatty, and I was thoroughly enjoying the conversation. We talked about the kitchen fire of course, about the pending repairs, but also about where her daughters were now, a little about how the woman Mr. Isaacs had ran off with was younger than his daughters, about her job, my job, things like that. Even after half an hour, the conversation was still going strong, and I was getting to know Mrs. Isaacs in an entirely new light, this time with me in the role of an adult.

An adult, except for the part that during the conversation, I had gotten harder, because I gathered from a number of cues, that she was talking to me while in bed. What was she wearing? A nightgown? A nightgown with no underwear? Nothing at all? My imagination was running wild, but we agreed, she’d come over once the contractor arrived to work on the kitchen, likely in about 3 days. And the agreement we came up with, was that I absolutely was not accepting any payment from her whatsoever, but she’d cook for me. “As long as you don’t burn MY kitchen down.” I thought to myself, and chuckled to myself.

“As long as I don’t burn your kitchen down, right?” she said at the very same time, and we both laughed. Her laugh also involved a sexy breathy sound into the phone receiver. It was too much, and I reached into my boxers, and started lightly masturbating while talking to my Mrs. Isaacs.

“I was gonna say!” I joked back. Mrs. Isaacs chuckled, and I followed with “It’s so nice talking to you, Mrs. Isaacs. I’m looking forward to you spending time here; I just wish it was for something more pleasant, like expanding the kitchen or something else more fun.” To me, it was a double entendre, because in my own mind, the fun would include her in Yoga pants, but I felt as if it was too subtle for her to interpret it that way.

“Call me Debra. Actually, just Debbie. I always wondered why you called me Mrs. Isaacs.”

“What?!” I said in mock indignance. “You mean, all these years, I could have been calling you Debbie like Janis and Samantha did? Janis and Samantha were my older sisters, and I always felt like they were closer to Mrs. Isaacs than I was. “My mom always told me to call you Mrs. Isaacs, so that’s what I did. I’m a good boy!” I joked. “I felt as if I had to call you that, and that somehow my sisters were part of some special club who were part of your inner circle.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! You could have and should have been calling me Debbie all this time!”

“Well, thank you, that’s great to hear.