Chapter 17: Home Handyman - Shelves. Well hung

The summer after Hikmet disappeared, my fuck buddy Ann challenged me to a summer fuck off. We could fuck anyone, the more the better, but only new sex partners counted for the competition. I cheerfully accepted her challenge. Ann's women friends helped me tally up enough new pussy to stay competitive. I even managed to find a some women on my own. Personal encounters like Tammy's odd defloration helped boost my tally and ego. To cap it all, the competition required that Ann and I reenact our individual sexcapades with each other. It was a double your fuck back guarantee. Even mediocre lovers could be improved during re-enactment. My sex life was going well. Love life? Meh. I pretended I didn't care.

Classes were easy and my research assistant job went pretty quiet. My sponsoring professor had taken his wife and kids on a long research vacation boondoggle. Supervising the machine shop we used to build apparatus was just enough to keep my RA grant and parking privileges, but it really didn't take all that much time. Being the industrious lad that I am, I cranked up the old home handy man business that had sustained me through my struggle to earn my Engineering degree.

The ad read: Engineering Student fixes windows, paints, carpentry, electric and mechanical. No job too small. Dave 968-3825.

Most of my customer calls came from an ad in the local free paper. Next best was the little signs I put up around college offices and vending machines. Craigslist mostly attracted crazies, but had led to several profitable DIY rescues.

Small jobs were my favorite. They paid better per hour than big jobs and fit between my classes. I thrived on the challenge and variety. Work I could do by myself in a few hours was perfect. I'd bid a fair price for the job, then work fast. It was easy to beat the competition. The customers were happy. The hourly rates were better than anything else I could find. It was all cash. The more I worked the better I got at just under bidding the competition. Occasionally there were side benefits.

When my phone rang with an unrecognized number, I answered, "Dave's a handyman to have around." I was always hoping for another remunerative cry for help. ChaChing.

This time it was a woman who said, "I have a small job, if you can do it right away. I need some shelves installed in a closet. My husband promised to get it done, but he is busy and we are running out of time." She sounded classy, speaking in full sentences with good diction and no recognizable accent. Couldn't tell much more from the way she sounded. I confess, I can't help it. I always fantasize about the female customers. Her voice conjured up a vision of a pony-tailed mid-west MILF. She's probably ugly and overweight, but a man's gotta dream.

"I could come over Friday, take a look and tell you how much. If you like the price I can do it then." I said. "Where do you live?" When she told me, I mentally upped the bid price. Her address was one of the nicest suburbs in town. Now my overactive imagination pumped out a series of thoughts; Maybe I can get some jobs from her neighbors. I'll have to check my ad placement. Her fantasy image went from mom-jeans to a classy dress.

"Please tell me more about the shelves you want installed. What size is the closet?"

"It's a small closet, just about six by nine." She said. Small for you, I thought. That's the size of my bathroom.

She continued, "I already bought the boards. The shelves will go above the ones already in the closet. I took the shelves to the lumber yard and they cut more to match. My husband promised to hang them, but time just slipped away."

It sounded pretty easy. Before I could ask another question more information tumbled out.

"There is a ladder too. I used it to clean out the closet. The stuff is all out on the bed where I stacked it weeks ago. My daughter will be home from camp on Saturday. We are going to have guests. It is all in the way." She sounded a little panicked, but needy is OK.

"No problem. I can do it Friday afternoon." So we set a time. I had scheduled so that she wouldn't have time to get another bid. I could name my price.

A couple of days later, I'm there. The house was a huge rambling ranch. The double front doors were set back deep in a shadowed alcove. The entrance was private and far from the street. While the day was warm, the shadows of her porch were cool. I rang the bell. A beautiful elfin faced brunette opened the door wide. Her trim body was dressed in a white blouse and black skirt over low black flats. Normally looking into a house it's darker inside than outside. Not here. The interior light was dazzling. Her white blouse was backlit by a skylight. 'Fuck! She's glowing.' I thought.

This woman was a definite MILF, perhaps mid to late 30's. My fantasy image hadn't done her justice at all. Did she just twist her hips to swish that skirt? 'Oh, FUCK.' I swear she just rubbed her thighs together. A beautiful woman like her has got to know how she affects men. My brain flashed, 'Wow. No shit. Wow.'

I blinked hard, preparing to take a second look. Yes, she's still there. The woman who answered the door was way beyond my normal fantasy material.

'Oh, mama, her goodies are on display.' I realized, what had looked to my sun dazzled eyes, like a white cloth school girl shirt was really a super sheer blouse. I've seen sheer curtains that were less revealing. The material was silky white smoke. Simply transparent. The only extra color was in the long sleeve cuffs, collar and buttons. Her bra? Only paint could fit closer or show more than her sheer lacy bra. I'm trying not to stare. I'm breathless. What guy could resist looking? Staring? Her breasts weren't rounded lumps smashed into a preformed cup. No. The color and shape of her breast was offered up for worship. Conical upturned nipples beamed visibly through lace. Ah, those nipples. Hard nipples standing up. Damn, she is hot. Oh, shit, I'm feeling faint. It was a sudden loss of blood from my brain as it rushed to fill my dick.

I'm trying to breathe normally, it's tough. I notice how small she is. Standing in the doorway a step up from me, I look down into her eyes. She is probably just a little over five feet tall. Her pretty face is haloed by dark hair pulled into a loose French curl. No makeup mars her perfect skin, just bright red lipstick on her full lips.

"You must be the lady of the house." I said this awkwardly, master of the obvious, still struggling with basic body functions like breathing. Smooth as always.

She smiled, replying, "You must be Dave. Please, call me Liz."

"OK, Liz." Yup, so much for great conversation. I'm a dolt. It might be blood lost from my brain. The bod has given priority to filling my dick.

I strain to keep my eyes on her eyes. Intense gravity pulled my eyesight to her tits. I took her proffered hand for a light shake. Her hand is tiny and delicate, simply lost in my callused paw. I barely close my thumb against her thinking, 'she is as delicate as a little bird.'

"Please, come in. I'm glad to get this done. My husband isn't handy." She said with a smile.

She led off down the hallway to a bedroom. I watched her ass cheeks rise and fall, swishing her skirt. As her ass cheeks oscillate, mental tribal drums thunder in my head. 'Bomba Shuffa, Bomba Shuffa.' Her transparent bra is the only thing showing on her finely tapered and completely tanned back. Fuck, this a fine hot sexy woman. Bomba Shuffa. Nope, not tribal drums, that's my heart beat pounding in my chubby dick. Bomba Shuffa.

"I wanted more closet storage space to store my teen-aged daughters extra stuff." She said casually over her shoulder.

I say, "Sheesh, you have a teen aged daughter? You're way too young. Were you a child bride?" Her throat blushed at the V of her collar.

I followed her into the closet. There was a stepladder opened inside. The closet was a tall walk-in, but not that big with the shelves, ladder and the two of us inside. She stood very close to me, closer than convention would have predicted.

"Here are the boards and brackets. My husband, the Doctor, keeps promising, but between work and golf it never gets done. I have no one around to take care of these things. Can you help me?" she asked. 'Oh, I could help you in so many ways.' I thought silently.

"This will be no problem, I can get this done this afternoon for $100. You even have a ladder to reach stuff on the top shelves. This closet is tall."

"That would be great. Please do it." She replied instantly.

It was too easy. I probably could have upped the bid. She had sounded so needy. I just blew it. Then I thought, maybe she needs some plumbing checked out.

I don't know why I'm having such a problem being with a pretty woman. It's not like I'm a virgin or haven't been fucked today. Far from it. Maybe it's because my house mate and fuck buddy, Ann, has shown me women really are every bit as horny as guys. Maybe sometimes more outwardly restrained, but seething inside. She and her friends have been conducting hands on female appreciation training. This is a woman I'd love to show some of my appreciation. Maybe it's because this mature woman is just so fucking hot. So close. So obviously trolling for dick. Am I reading her signals correctly? Or is she just an older prick tease?

Somehow I got my over active imagination back to business and ask, "Can you reach the shelves if they are all the way up? Why don't you try it before we put up the shelves? Just step up on the ladder to see how high you feel safe in reaching."

I think. 'Yeah. That will give me a close look at your ass, OK?' My mind wasn't entirely back to business. Well maybe monkey business.

The ladder was already spotted in the corner. I offered her my hand to steady her as she climbed up a few steps. She took it. The ladder wasn't quite planted flat. It settled and jerked a little as she stepped up to the second rung. She gave out a girlish squeak, then chortled a sexy laugh as my hand went to her waist.