Caring Christopher

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#5 Pickles with peanut butter and sugar

Christopher

For the first time in many, many months, I lie in bed with a rapid heartbeat, trying to keep myself from slipping my hand into my boxers. I’m a man, I have urges, and I jerk off sometimes, but I usually don’t lie in bed thinking about a woman I just met. And I definitely haven’t been focused on sex the past year. All I’ve done is learn everything I can about being a foster dad, try to convince social workers I’m fit to take care of kids, arrange to take time off at work… Everything I’ve been doing was to finally be a dad. Sex was the last thing on my mind.

Yes here I am, with a raging boner, unable to stop thinking about Abigail’s breasts. Maybe I should have hired a male nanny, even though there aren’t many of those and the two I interviewed weren’t guys I would want around the kids.

I feel dirty, even though I know that I’m only human and it’s perfectly normal to experience feelings of lust for a beautiful woman like Abby. It’s just… wrong. I’m her boss, she is only moving in here for the kids, not for me. On top of that, I talked to enough of her formal employers to know that she must have been put through hell the past years. Those men and women… Horrible, just horrible.

When the first woman told me to be careful with Abby because she is a shrewd seductress that will stop at nothing to try and get men into bed, I was a little worried. Then there was the guy who laughed when I asked about her and said that the only thing he missed about her was her ass. The couple after that only had nice things to say about her, so I called another one, and that was when I snapped. The guy actually told me that I should definitely hire Abby because I’d not only get a nanny for my kids, but a hot piece of ass as well. “Too bad she’s such a prude,” he told me. “She just needs a man to show her how the world works. I tried to, but she wasn’t interested. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

What. The. Hell.

I don’t curse a lot, but I sure had a few choice words for him. I told him to go fuck himself and hung up the phone, breathing hard. I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to let assholes like that tell me what kind of person Abigail is. She feels like the right fit for our little family, and she’s good with the kids, so I hired her.

I hired her to work for me and now I can’t stop thinking about the way I could see her bra through her shirt when she spilled some water on herself during dinner.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

After twenty more minutes of resisting my urges, I give up. I will never be able to fall asleep like this. I don’t want to lie in bed jerking off when Davy might sneak in, and I don’t like locking the bedroom door, so I move into my ensuite bathroom instead, lock the door and pull off my boxershorts. I come hard and fast, imagining Abby pulling off her shirt and showing me her black bra, reaching behind her to unsnap the clasps, her large breasts on full display when she slips down the straps and pulls the bra off her body.

Maybe I just need to go on a date, get laid. It’s been a while. I haven’t been with a woman since Chloe, and while I truly did like her, the sex wasn’t exactly stellar. I think I was trying too hard with her, because she had three kids and I had this vision in my mind of me becoming their stepfather, which made me jump in too fast. Moving for her without discussing it with her… not something that I would normally do. I’m an overthinker, a planner, a careful guy. I don’t jump in like that.

I towel off and pull on some sweatpants. I’m thirsty now, so I make my way downstairs in the dark, surprised to see a light on in the kitchen. Probably just Yoah, having another midnight snack. I push open the door and see that it’s not Yoah at all.

It’s Abigail.

Wearing a silky black bathrobe that isn’t tied properly, making her breasts almost spill out.

Fucking hell, I’m hard again.

“Hi Chris,” she says, pulling the robe around her so nothing is on show anymore. “Sorry, I was looking for some sour cream to put on my crackers.” She closes the fridge, holding up the butter. “This will work too.”

I step into the kitchen, making sure to stay behind the island so she can only see my upper half. It’s not exactly professional to be sporting a tent in my sweatpants on the first night my new nanny is staying here. “Sour cream?” I ask, frowning. “On a cracker?”

She nods. “It’s the best midnight snack. But butter and pepper works too.”

“Butter and pepper?” I watch her slather a thick coat of butter onto a few thin crackers. She starts looking for the pepper next, pulling open cabinets. My cock is no longer erect – maybe from the shock of her strange food choices – so I feel comfortable grabbing the pepper for her, and showing her where I keep the condiments.

She sprinkles the pepper over her crackers with a smile, biting into one with a moan.

Fuck, that moan. Okay, yeah, I’m hard again. What is it with this woman?

“Oh, this is so good,” she says, moaning again. “You’ve got fancy crackers. I can only afford cheap-ass ones.” Her eyes widen, and for a horrible second I think she must have noticed my boner. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t talk about me eating your food or anything,” she says, sounding contrite. “I will pay for the crackers and buy my own ones next time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, stepping back behind the kitchen island. “I won’t make you pay for your own food. Your room, utilities and food are all part of your salary. If it’s not, I should be paying you more. There’s a shopping list on the fridge, so feel free to put whatever you want on it. I’ll be asking you to do most of the shopping anyway, so you can buy whatever weird stuff you want to put on the fancy crackers.”

She smiles. “Oh, I will take full advantage of that. And trust me, I love me some fancy crackers with weird toppings. Hmm… do you have peanut butter? And pickles?”

“Erm… yeah?” I’m okay to walk into the kitchen without showing her anything she should never have to see, and I get her a jar of pickles from the fridge and a jar of peanut butter from the panty. “Are you putting this on a cracker?”

She laughs loudly, throwing her head back. She snorts a little halfway through, and it’s adorable. Abigail is so… real. She doesn’t seem to care that she’s in nothing but underwear and a robe, or that she’s in my house ordering me around to get her weird food. Or that she snort-laughs in front of a man. I don’t know any women like that.

“Of course not,” she says, shaking her head. “You dip the pickles in the peanut butter. Ooh, and put some sugar on it!” She grabs the sugar bowl from the counter and sits down on a stool at the kitchen counter. Abby actually dips the pickle into the jar, and then sprinkles sugar on it, plopping it into her mouth with another delicious moan that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my whole body tense.

“That’s disgusting,” I say, trying to focus on her eating habits instead of the fact that I can see her bare legs. They’re not skinny, but they look soft and touchable just like the rest of her. There are small dark hairs around her ankles, and I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman without meticulously shaved legs. Probably my ex-wife, after we’d already been together for three years.

“If this is going to work out between us, you will have to get used to me eating weird shit in the middle of the night,” she tells me with a smile. “You haven’t seen the worst of it yet. My ex-boyfriend used to call me a bottomless pit of horrible taste.” Abigail scrunches up her face and grunts. “That was one of the nicest things he ever said about me, actually. Should have dumped his ass way before he told me things weren’t working out. Oh well, he’s history.”

I want to tell her that not all men are like her ex, or like her previous employers, but she’s already moving on to a different subject.

“How long is my trial period, by the way?”

“Trial period?” I repeat. “Oh, right. Erm… I don’t know. Two weeks?”

She nods. “Starting when you go to work, I guess? When I actually start to work here?”

“You start tomorrow,” I say. “I may still be here, but I want to see you take care of the kids. Not that I think you can’t, but I’ll feel better knowing how you do things. Just so I can picture what it’ll be like when I’m at work and you’re here with them.”

A small smile appears on her face. “You’re going to think of me when you’re at work? How sweet.”

“That’s not what I m-” I stop myself when I realize she’s just teasing me.

“Do you want me to stay out of the kitchen at night?” she asks, licking peanut butter off her fingers before putting them in the sugar bowl and sucking it off with a soft moan. Why does everything she eats make me want to drag her into my bedroom? This has to stop right now.

“You’re free to get a midnight snack whenever you want,” I assure her. “I’m tired, though, so I’m going up to bed. Could you clean up when you’re done? I don’t want to have ants all over my kitchen.” That comes out a little harsher than I mean it, but I’ve got to focus on not getting a hard-on again. It’s like I’m 16 all over again.

“Sure,” she says, sounding a little offended. “Just for the record, I’m not a total slob or anything.”

“That’s not what I was trying to-”

Quiet footsteps interrupt me, the stairs croaking under the weight of whoever is walking downstairs. Abigail and I both look up when Yoah’s messy hair and wide green eyes appear in the doorway.

“Want some pickles?” Abby asks like that’s a perfectly normal way to great a kid. “I’m eating them with peanut butter and sugar, and I think Chris is totally judging me for it.”

Yoah’s eyes light up and I swear to God a smile curls up the corners of his mouth. “Meatballs,” he says, walking over to the fridge, making sure to keep a safe distance from both of us.

“Oh hell yeah,” Abby says, jumping up from her stool. “I didn’t know those were in there. Oh, meatballs are good with sugar as well!”

“Sugar?” Yoah and I ask at the exact same time, locking eyes. He looks as socked as I do.

“I eat sugar with everything,” she explains, shrugging. “Gimme some meat, Yoah.”

The boy hesitates, but then he pulls out the container of meatballs I put in there for him after cooking together, and he pushes it to Abigail, who opens it and picks up a meatball with her fingers, looking at it closely.

“That’s a great ball,” she says, nodding in appreciation. “Did you make these, Yoah?”

He nods, looking proud of himself.

“Wicked.” Then – I swear to God I’m not making this up – she puts butter on top of the meatball and plucks the whole thing into the sugar bowl before taking a bite of it. Again, she moans, and she chews it slowly. “I’m going to gain so much weight while I work here, and I’m not skinny to begin with. You boys are going to make me so fat!”

“You look beautiful.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. The moment her eyes meet mine I know I made a huge mistake. She’s used to her employers hitting on her, and here I am, telling her she’s beautiful while she’s licking sugar off her fingers, wearing nothing but a robe. And I just jerked off thinking about her – not that she knows that, but still. I feel so goddamn dirty and stupid.

“I’m going to bed,” she says, her voice tight as she starts cleaning up. “Thanks for the meatball, Yoah.” Her voice is kind when she’s talking to Yoah. “You have to teach me how to make them soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Yoah helps her clean up, plopping two meatballs in his mouth while he does, and grabbing a water bottle to take up to his room.

“Goodnight, Christopher,” Abby says, giving me a weird look, her brow furrowed. I hate that I did this, that I made her feel uncomfortable.

“Night, Abigail.”

She and Yoah head upstairs, and I hear her talking to him in hushes tones, and I wear to God he laughs at something she says. Is she a witch or something? I have only made him laugh like that a handful of times, yet she manages it so easily on her first day in our home.

I have a good feeling about her taking care of the kids, especially because Yoah likes her. If I keep fucking up by getting hard-ons and telling her she’s beautiful, Abby is going to run for the hills, convinced that I’m some horny jackass who only hired her for her body.

That’s not me. That’s not me at all.

I need her for the kids, I’m not looking for a hook-up or a date or a girlfriend, and she deserves a safe place to live and work. I screwed up tonight, but I’ll do better tomorrow. I have to. Yoah, Davy and Abby all deserve better than to let me get distracted by something as trivial as sexual attraction.

No more thinking with my dick.

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