My name’s Chip Campanelli. I’m a retired repair shop supervisor for a major airline. My wife and I invested wisely (her wisdom, my income) and by the time we were 49 years old, I was eligible for a 30 year pension and we had investments worth 2.8 million dollars. Our happy retirement lasted all of eight months before she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was well advanced and she died five months later. At least she got to see London and Paris and Rome and Zurich and Venice. She loved Venice more than all the other cities put together.
Our home was on the top floor of a condo in Cocoa Beach. It had cost us much less than market value when we bought it after the housing bubble burst.
One Saturday, I was in the lobby waiting for the elevator, when a young woman I didn’t know walked in carrying a double armload of groceries. She was a pretty, short-haired, green-eyed redhead covered in a light dusting of freckles, with a better-than-average body, “Need a hand with those?” I asked.
“Oh, would you? That’d be great. My fingers are slipping and I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”
I took one of the bags. “I’m Chip. What floor are you on?”
“I’m Roach,” she answered. “I’m on the forth floor, around the back.” She smiled ruefully. “In the cheap seats.”
The elevator arrived and we got in. I punched the button for her floor. In her apartment, I set the bag of groceries on her kitchen counter and was starting for the door when I noticed an exercise bike in the living room. It was in front of the TV, but nobody was going to be riding it. The front bolt holding the pedal mechanism in place was sheared off and the front of the assembly was resting on the tile floor. “When did that happen?” I asked her.
“Last week. I tried calling the company that made it, but they’re out of business. I guess I’ll have to borrow a wrench somewhere and get the screw thingy out, then take it to a hardware store and see if I can get another one.”
I squatted down and examined the bike. “Looks like a regular three-eighths bolt.” I took a rough measurement with my finger. “‘Bout three and a half inches. I have a ton of nuts and bolts in the garage. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get this fixed for you.”
“Wow, that’d be great! I’m not mechanical at all. I think there’s a screwdriver around here somewhere, but other than that, I don’t own any tools.”
“Be right back.” I have a zillion nuts and bolts and screws and fasteners that I “liberated” from the airplane shop. I selected a partitioned box of bolts and matching nuts in the right general size, my tool bag and my socket set. Back in Roach’s apartment, it took me only a few minutes to remove the old bolt and fit a new one. “This one won’t break,” I told her. “The original bolt was a cheap piece of crap. This one’s aircraft grade. It’ll last forever.” I spun the pedals. “Let me lube this for you.” Obviously, she’d never done any maintenance on the bike at all. I tightened the chain and got it running smoothly. “Try it now.”
Roach climbed aboard and started pedaling. Her face lit in a grin. “Holy shit, that’s amazing! It didn’t run this well when it was new!” She played with the tension adjustment, delighted with her bike.
I packed up my stuff and got ready to leave. “Glad I could help. I’m in 8A if you need anything else.”
Roach swung off the bike. “I’d like to pay you, but I don’t have any spare cash.”
I laughed. “Happy to help. I really don’t have much going on right now anyway.”
“You must be rich if you live up there, especially on the ocean side. Aren’t there just two apartments on that whole side?”
“Yeah, mine’s on the northeast corner. My wife and I bought the place a little over two years ago. She died late last year. Cancer. Now it’s just me.”
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.” She thought for a few seconds. “Look, I don’t want to offend you, but maybe there’s a way I can pay you for helping me that doesn’t involve money.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, suspecting that I knew very well. At least I was hoping I knew.
“Well,” she said cautiously, “maybe I could give you a handjob.” She looked ready to back off and apologize if I reacted badly.
I smiled. “I think that would be a fair trade!”
Roach looked relieved. “I don’t usually offer to jerk off every man I meet, but you seem like a nice guy and I owe you for helping me. Why don’t you have a seat over there,” she pointed to an overstuffed chair, “and we’ll get going.”
I unbuckled my belt and unsnapped my pants. When I looked up, Roach had her top off and was reaching behind her for her bra clasp. She tilted her head to the side, looking hopeful. “Will this make it better for you?” She let the bra slide down her arms. Her breasts were medium size, round and full with tiny, pale pink nipples.
“Hell yeah! That’s perfect!” I stripped out of my pants and boxers and sat down. I had the hardest hard-on I could remember. I unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it off to both sides.
Roach grabbed a thin cushion off one of her bar stools and tossed it at my feet. She knelt down and laid her hands on my thighs. “You ready?”
“Just one thing; how did you get the name Roach?”
Roach burst out laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Here I am, half naked, on my knees, about to jerk your dick and you ask about my name?” She grasped my erection with one hand and cupped my balls with the other. “My real name’s Rochelle. I hate Rochelle. When I was in the 7th grade, some stupid boy called me Roach.” Roach’s hand stroked me and her fingers tickled my nutsac. “He was trying to insult me, but I thought it sounded cool.” She leaned forward and dribbled some spit on my erection. She spread the spit around and jerked me with a corkscrew motion. “That feel good?” I nodded. “Anyway, from then on I was Roach. I quit answering to Rochelle. My parents refused to call their only child ‘Roach’, but everyone else went along with it.” She added some more spit and licked the growing pool of pre-cum off the head of my dick. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not gonna blow you. I just wanted a taste.”
I slumped in the chair and watched Roach. I was honestly surprised that I hadn’t cum already. “Do you mind,” I asked, “if I touch your breasts?”
“That wasn’t part of the plan.” She dribbled some more spit on me and gave my dick another lick. “But since you asked so nicely, I guess it’s okay.” She straightened up and I caressed her boobs.
“My wife and I were married for 28 years. This is the first time since our engagement that I’ve had my hands on another woman’s breasts. Yours are very fine.” I sat back. “Thank you for that.”
Roach’s voice was slightly strained. “You’re welcome. You can do it again if you want to. In fact...” She got to her feet and unsnapped her shorts. She pushed them down, along with her thong and kicked them to the side. “You can touch me here if you want.” Roach had a thin carpet of light reddish curls over her vagina. When I touched her, she was slightly damp. My fingers moved on her, following old habits. She let down more wetness and moved her feet apart to give me better access to her center. “You can put your fingers in me if you want,” she said in a low voice. I slid two fingers into her slick tunnel and pumped slowly, searching the front wall of her vagina for the rough, raised area that was her G spot. Maybe, if I found it and it felt really good to her, just maybe I’d get more than a handjob. Roach felt amazing. In no time, her pussy was a warm, slippery wonderland. It had been over a decade since my wife had responded this quickly. I fingered Roach, squeezed her breasts and rubbed her nipples She sighed and reluctantly pushed my hands away. “Better stop that now. I don’t think I owe you more than that.” She dropped to her knees. “Sit back.
Roach’s hands, lubricated with copious amounts of saliva, glided over my cock. She licked my cock head again and smiled up at me. It was the sexiest smile I could recall. “That’s wonderful, Roach. It won’t be long now. Ahhhh, here it comes, ahhhh, god that’s good!” Cum splattered across my stomach and up to my chest. Roach continued jerking me, her smile a study in satisfaction as she watched my semen spurt. She gave my cock a long lick, from base to head, and stood up.
Roach walked into the kitchen and came back with a dish towel. “You can use this to clean up,” she said. She made no move to get dressed. As I took the towel and mopped my torso, Roach licked traces of semen off her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Thank you, Roach. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.”
“No sweat. I liked doing it. I always pay my debts. Always.”
“Well, you sure as hell paid that one.” I laughed. “With interest! I’ll never forget this!” I got dressed and gathered my tools.
Roach, still nude, walked me to the door. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you around.”
Three days later, on Tuesday evening, my doorbell rang. It was Roach. She seemed nervous.
“Hi. Can I come in and talk to you?”
I let her in and we sat on the deck, overlooking the Atlantic.
“Damn! That is some view!”
“Yeah, my wife loved it. This place is really too big for me, but it’s paid for and I don’t know where else to go.”
.... There is more of this story ...