Maggie was tired and brain-fried after a long week. Her business kept her busy as she tried to please customers, vendors, banks and employees. College had been fun, but applying her business degree for other people was much less so. Four years previously, she launched her own small business with the dream of having it all. Now in her thirties she had something, but it cost her a personal life, sleep at nights, and no vacations in so long she forgot what down time even felt like.
She opened the door to her house and dropped her purse and keys on the table in her entryway. The laptop and mail went with her into the kitchen she loved, but hardly had time to use. She filed the bills in her organizer, dropped the junk mail in the trash and poured herself a glass of wine from the open bottle in the mostly empty fridge. Her shoes came off next and she flexed her toes against the cold tile floor, drinking deeply from the elegant wine glass that only she ever saw.
Picking up her shoes, she wandered into the master bedroom closet and grimaced again at the jumble of clothes and shoes. The dream closet she had wanted for years briefly appeared in her imagination, but then reality returned. She dropped the shoes on the broken shoe rack under her hanging clothes with a sigh. Off came her soft skirt, dropping to puddle at her feet, then she pulled off her blouse without unbuttoning it and dropped it in the dirty clothes bin. The skin on her legs tingled as she rolled down her panty hose and put both it and the skirt into the bin as well.
She walked into the bathroom and slid her thin panties down as she relieved herself with a sigh. Her bush had grown wild and woolly, but why bother with a trim if no one ever got to see it. Wiping quickly, she pulled up her panties before returning to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. With the wine and laptop in hand, she ventured into the living room to turn on the television to make her feel less lonely. She brought up her email and replied with direction for those employees still at work, then fired up Facebook to see what her friends were up to.
Most of them posted pictures of their families. The kids were mostly cute, the stories amusing, but it was almost surreal to her. Maggie new she was probably the last single friend most of them had at this point, but she always thought she'd have time. The trouble was that most of the decent men had been gobbled up for years and the ones who were left were damaged or only interested in much younger women. Certainly not one with a business and little extra time for a lover.
She saw one of her friends had recently had some work done in her house. Cathy had been complaining for years about her kitchen and finally got someone in to renovate it. The work looked good in the picture, so she clicked the link for the details. As she clicked through the pictures, she saw a link to the web site of the contractor which led to a rather amateurish web site with a long list of available services. One that caught her eye said closet organization. She fired a message to her friend to find out if she would recommend the guy.
An incognito browser displaying Reddit's gonewild subreddit served to make her purr as she browsed through the variety of pictures and sipped her wine. "Who would it be tonight?" she thought with a wicked grin.
She sat her wine glass down and slid her laptop onto the couch. With one foot on the floor, she pushed her hips out and dragging her fingers around her mons. A couple had posted pictures of their penetration that piqued her interest, so slipped her fingers under the edge of her panties. The man was circumcised with a thick shaft. One picture was his head sliding in, so she focused on that and began to rub circles on her nub, imagining being on her knees, of feeling his shaft sliding in. Eyes shut, she continued the scene in her imagination.
He would enter slowly, then begin to thrust with a mechanical precision, lifting her hips with his force. He would push down as he entered, rubbing along her g-spot while she pushed back against him. Her fantasy continued to play as she slid two fingers down and in, out and around, down and in, until the heat began to build. She teased herself toward release, eager for it to come and ease her stress. She was grinding down into her own hand when it broke over her, her mouth open, grunting low sounds as it peaked and a long sigh as it passed.
In that brief tension free moment of afterglow, her laptop notified her of a waiting message with a quiet beep. She slid the laptop back up in her lap, smearing her wet all over the touchpad as she read the message. Her friend highly recommended the contractor and provided a cell phone number to reach him.
It was late, but she called anyway and left a message on his voicemail describing her project. As she sipped her wine, her phone buzzed. The contractor had texted back asking if she would like him to come by and provide a quote. Her text back suggested Saturday morning, he suggested 8:00 AM, which she confirmed with a grin.
Sitting her phone down, her heart rate was finally returning to normal. The alcohol made her sleepy, so she closed her laptop lid and turned off the television. Her empty wine glass was left in the sink as she wandered off to bed. Her last thought before sleep was, "I wonder if he is cute."
The doorbell woke Maggie with a jump. "Shit, shit, shit," she said as she jumped out of bed, grabbing sweat pants and a tee shirt from her drawers. She yelled out, "Just a minute!" as she stepped into her sandals and tried to pull her hair back into a ponytail. After a quick dash to the front door she peeped through the peep hole to see a man with short black hair standing at the door with a perturbed expression on his face.
She opened the door and smiled, "Yes?"
"I'm here to give you a quote on your closet," he said. His voice was low and gravelly.
"Of course, please, come in. My name is Margaret Connor," Maggie said.
"I'm Bill Westerson," he said and extended his hand. She noted the scars and rough skin, his fingers strong, but he had clean, close cut nails. She liked his flannel shirt, it seemed to fit him. He hadn't shaved, but didn't look scruffy, and he smelled of pine trees. He had on clean blue jeans and heavy duty work boots that had been scuffed before, but were polished. She released his hand and led him into her kitchen.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Maggie asked. He nodded with a smile and she pulled out two cups and a couple of K-cups. She popped one in her Keurig and pushed start. While the first cup was brewing she said, "I loved what you did with Cathy's kitchen. She complained about it for years."
"She's a nice lady. She gave me some of her ideas and let me run with it a bit. I was pleased with how it came out. It was nice of her to recommend me to you."
She popped open the Keurig, replaced the cup and swapped mugs, handing him the full one. "Do you take anything in your coffee?" she asked.
"No, this is fine, thank you," he said. "You have a lovely home."
"Thank you. It's a work in progress, only I never seem to make any progress. I was hoping to do the closet work myself, but I just never have time. I had a friend help me decorate when I moved in two years ago, but the to do list has only grown since then," Maggie said.
"So tell me what your dream closet looks like," he said, slipping into work mode.
"Oh, I always imagined lots of storage areas, adjustable shelving behind glass doors to keep linens from getting dusty, a shoe rack that isn't broken. I'd love indirect lighting, but bright and natural, with a full length mirror at the back. If I have the room, I'd love a padded bench in the middle to sit on while changing, with a cedar lined interior to store woolens," Maggie almost got hot dreaming about it.
Bill was taking notes in a bound leather notebook as she talked. He took a sip of his coffee and said, "Can we take a look? I need to get some measurements and I'll sit down and do some sketches for you to choose from."
Maggie led him into the closet, suddenly aware of the mess. She resisted the urge to apologize for it as he stepped in behind her. Her master closet was a room unto itself but had the typical white wire shelving that every home improvement store has on display. The clothes were a jumble and the shelves packed high with plastic bins. Bill used a laser measuring tool to get the dimensions and wrote them down in his notebook.
They returned to the kitchen and sat at the table drinking coffee while Bill pulled out three different pencils and began to sketch. He had a deft hand and as Maggie watched, she saw her dream closet appear as if by magic. When he finished the first sketch, she stopped him, "That's it exactly. I don't need to see another sketch. You are amazing!"
Bill smiled and continued to refine the sketch, adding dimensions along the edges and shading on the sketch to give it more depth and character. He pulled the page out of his notebook along its perforations and set it aside while he calculated the amount of wood, glass and hardware he would need. When he was done, he pulled out a calculator and tallied up the total. It was not a small sum, but Maggie could afford to splurge a little.
"When can you start?" she asked.
He smiled and said, "Why not now? Do you need help moving out the clothes and boxes?"
"I need to finish my coffee first," Maggie said with a smile. "Would you like some breakfast?"
"Ordinarily I'd say no, but I left the house this morning without grabbing anything."
Maggie didn't usually fraternize with people she hired, but Bill was really interesting somehow. Other than old friends from college, most of the people she knew were other business people she met through networking groups and Chamber of Commerce events. They were almost all from the same well-educated, semi-cultured class of people she grew up around.
Bill was a little older than she was, but it was hard to tell exactly how much because he was very fit. He was clearly talented, both as an artist and as a woodworker. He spoke well without an identifiable accent. He wasn't handsome like a model, but something about his soft-spoken competence was making her think impure thoughts.
As she cooked breakfast, Bill continued writing in his notebook. She cut up ham and cheese, beat a few eggs and asked him questions as she worked.
"So tell me about yourself and your family," she said.
"Well, my wife passed last year, but I'm making it through. We married young, and she held on until just after our twentieth anniversary. Cancer," Bill said slowly.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a painful topic," Maggie said.
Bill just smiled sadly. "It's getting easier, I honestly thought it never would. My boys, well not boys really, one is in the service and one is just about to graduate high school. They are what I live for these days. They've both turned into fine young men," Bill said proudly. "I have some good friends at church that held me up when I couldn't, but now I'm starting to feel alive again." Bill paused for a moment, "I don't know why I'm telling you all this, it really isn't appropriate. I'm sorry."
Maggie looked up at him before she folded the omelette. He was looking down in his notebook, still scratching away, but she realized he was sketching as he used his thumb to smear a line into a shading.
"Bill, don't feel that way. I asked and am cooking you breakfast. After you eat this meal, we'll officially be friends," Maggie said with a smile.
"Thank you, Margaret. What about you?" Bill asked.
"Well, I own a small business. We do business services, like payroll, benefits packages, a little advertising and web site design. When I finished college, I'd hoped to get my business going and meet someone. The work is very rewarding, but I've found that other things haven't worked out quite like I planned. I have a house I don't see much, no social life to speak of. Most of the men I meet either don't seem interested in settling down or aren't the kind of person I'd like to settle down with." Maggie realized she was spilling too much as well, but couldn't seem to stop herself.
"I remember when I was a kid, days felt like forever. When I was in college, it felt like I was swinging on a rope tied to the weekends. Now time zips by in months and I feel like I blink twice and it's Christmas again. I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and wonder where my life went." She felt the emotion in her throat and her eyes were full, but she swallowed it down again and blinked back the tears, not understanding why she was blurting all this out.
She slid the omelette onto a plate and poured the remaining eggs into the pan. While they cooked she sliced an orange into pieces and put them on both plates. Cheese and ham went into the pan on top of the eggs, then she folded the second omelette over to finish cooking. As she poured two small glasses of orange juice, Bill stood next to her to take them with a smile.
"I hear how hard it's been for you, Margaret. Our pastor had a message a few weeks back about faith. He said that all you can do is prepare your fields and plant the seed. You don't control the sun, the rain or the wind. If you have made yourself open, all you can do is have faith that God will provide you what you need. I took that to heart and it helped me find patience. I don't know what you believe, but maybe it'll help you too."
He sat the glasses on the table and got the plates of eggs and fruit while Maggie washed the pan and other dishes. She was thinking about what Bill said, but she felt a little uncomfortable talking about God and faith. He also kept calling her Margaret, and while she gave that as her name, almost no one called her that anymore but bill collectors. She wondered at the wisdom of opening up with a stranger this way. She sat down at the table and noticed he quietly bowed his head before eating. She ignored it and ate her breakfast.
"This is very good," he said with a smile. "Thank you for listening to me before."
Maggie smiled and said, "And thank you for letting me rattle on. I don't know why I did. It isn't like me at all."
"I can't explain it either, but I hope you feel better," Bill said. Maggie did feel better actually. They ate the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence.
After breakfast, Bill helped Maggie move all the items in her closet to the guest bedroom. They laid out all the clothes on the bed, stacked the boxes against the wall and put the shoes around on the floor. Maggie followed Bill out to his truck and saw he had created a portable wood shop in the back. It was a fairly large step van and he had customized it himself. There were slots to store various sized pieces of lumber along one side and the other side was one long workbench with different tools hanging above it.
"Wow!" Maggie said, "That is really cool!"
Bill just smiled and pulled a stack of clean drop cloths from a cabinet. He asked Maggie to hold them and grabbed a folding ladder, his tool belt and a box with a number of small drawers. They went back into the closet and Bill laid out the cloth to protect the carpet. Maggie watched him work and was again impressed by his competence and efficiency. He began to sketch out the design on the wall using his tape measure and pencil to mark out the dimensions. He used some kind of electronic tool to mark where the studs were behind the drywall. Finally he held up the sketch and compared it to the marks he made. "Close enough?" he asked.
"Bill, that was amazing. Do you mind if I stay and watch?" Maggie asked.
"Sure, but I charge extra if you try to help," he said with a smile.
Maggie watched him work, sitting in the middle of her bed with her laptop. She was taking pictures and updating Facebook with the progress. Her friends were beginning to salivate over both the sketch that she uploaded and the pictures of him in action. There was something about a man who is working hard that makes the juices flow.
When it was lunch time, Maggie asked, "Would you like me to order a pizza or something?"
"Only if you let me pay, since you made breakfast," Bill said as he came out of the closet.
"Okay, what do you like on your pizza?" Maggie asked.
"Anything but bell peppers and anchovies," Bill said, picking up a wood plank up from the bedroom floor and carrying it back in.
Maggie ordered the pizza online and set the computer aside. She was uncomfortably aroused at this point. Something about the smell of sawdust, the sweat on his face, made her imagine his strong fingers inside her. The need to do something about it was overwhelming.
"Bill, can you get the door when the pizza guy comes. I have to do something this afternoon and need to change clothes," she said.
"Sure, Margaret, I'll be happy to," Bill said from inside the closet.
Maggie grabbed some fresh panties and a bra, hopped over to the guest room for some clothes and then locked herself in the guest bathroom. She didn't remember using this bathtub before, despite living there for years. She quickly stripped down and put her dirty clothes in a pile. She ran the water in the tub to get it hot while she sat on the toilet to pee. The long bushy hairs on her mons caught her attention again, but her trimmer and razor were in the master bathroom.
She stepped into the tub and pulled down the shower head from its holder. She let the water run until it was warm, then turned the head to pulse. With one hand on the wall, she directed the stream of warm pulsing water into her mons. Standing with her feet apart, she squatted slightly, opening her mouth and breathing more quickly as the sensation tingled out along her arms and legs.
The pulsing water was like a thousand tongues probing and licking at once. It was almost overwhelming in its intensity, but she kept an image of his hands in her mind, opening her up, fingers slipping inside, her imagination pushed her over the edge. Her knees gave way slightly and she gasped out loud as her release came over her.
She kept the spray focused on her mons, imagined him kissing her, his rough stubble scratching her cheeks as he kissed her neck and ears. Her body shook as her release returned again. She made a low noise, her eyes squeezed shut. Finally she had to move the water away, too sensitive to continue. Rather than relaxing her, she felt an uncomfortable void that ached to be filled.
Ignoring her need, she finished her shower, cleaning herself well, washing her hair. She dried off and dressed, suddenly as hungry as if she were the one working so hard today. The pizza box was on the table as she carried her dirty clothes to the hamper. He had made an amazing amount of progress in just a few hours. After putting the clothes in the hamper she said, "Thank you for lunch. Are you ready to take a break?"
He stood up and stretched his back. "That sounds lovely," he said.
They talked as they ate, but nothing as intimate as the breakfast conversation. He was a good listener, but never made her work to get a response from him either. The topics ranged from business and banks, to technology and the Internet. They talked about books and discovered they shared an interest in both history and crime fiction. She realized that if this was a date, he would be getting lucky just from the conversation over lunch.
It only seemed like minutes until the pizza was gone and the beer bottles were empty. She was a little disappointed, but he was back to work without a complaint. He was able to get most of the supporting dividers up by the end of the day and it was really starting to look like his sketch. Maggie was trying to figure out how to ask him if he would like to stay overnight and finish in the morning when he spoke.
"If you don't mind, I'll just leave my tools here tonight," he said. Maggie nodded and was preparing her proposition when he said, "I don't know if you'd be interested or not, but would you like to go to church with me in the morning? I'd be happy to pick you up. I would love for you to meet some of my friends. I'd even buy you lunch before I come back here to finish up."
It hit her like a cold glass of water. She had not set foot in a church since her grandmother passed away when she was in high school. She was tongue tied, but somehow found herself agreeing to be picked up at 9 o'clock. He smiled, really smiled, for the first time and it transformed his face. He was suddenly beautiful, the lines of care and worry that had aged him were gone in an instant.
Maggie found herself smiling in spite of her sudden reservations, walking him to the door, her hand on his back. When they got there he turned to her and said, "Margaret, this has been a really wonderful day. I have enjoyed meeting you so much."
"Please, call me Maggie. My friends all call me Maggie," she said, standing close to him, looking into his eyes and at his lips, begging him to kiss her.
"Maggie, then. I'll see you in the morning," he said, smiling and somewhat flushed. Then he turned, opened the door and let himself out. Maggie followed him, hoping he'd look back, but he got into his truck and pulled away, grinning like a fool.
Confused and somewhat hurt, she went back inside and shut the door. She had never been rejected so sweetly before, but she knew rejection when she felt it. As she walked back to her bedroom, she felt less and less sure about allowing this to continue. As much as she was drawn to him, his beliefs made him seem curiously anachronistic. Her body had already made up its mind, no matter what she thought. Her body made it very clear that he was exactly what it wanted.
She decided to check her email and saw a note from an on again, off again fuck buddy with just three letters in the subject: BC? A booty call seemed like just what the doctor ordered. She needed to show her body who was boss, so she texted, "Now!"
Grabbing her clippers and razor, she sat on the edge of her garden tub and removed the bulk of the long hair on her mons with the clippers. Leaving enough stubble to shave comfortably, she lathered up her mons with an aloe shaving lotion and warm water. It served to rev her motor back up as her fingers slipped around and between.
She used a new blade and began to slide her razor over her stubble. The mons was easy, but when she got down into the nether region, she had to bend over to see and eventually had to rely on touch alone. She sat up on one hip, raising her other hip to allow the razor between her cheeks to get the last little bit of hair. She rinsed thoroughly and got her hand mirror to check. A few plucks for the stray hairs and she used a roll-on antiperspirant to prevent ingrown hairs.
It always turned her on to shave, but she knew her friend was on his way. She let herself air dry and put on some black slingbacks with little diamonds across the toe. When the doorbell rang, she walked to the door naked except for her shoes. She knew her door didn't face the street, so she opened it slowly stretching the moment as she revealed herself standing there.
Bill stood in her doorway with his mouth open, taking in her naked glory. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, forgotten in his shock. Coming up behind him was her buddy with a somewhat perplexed look on his face at the scene. He had spiked hair, a tee with some kind of elaborate design, and the swagger only a twenty-something party boy can muster.
"Hey, I'm not cool with an Eiffel Tower, Maggie. Call me some other time, Okay?" he said, then quickly turned and left.
Bill looked back at him, then at Maggie with a look of anguish on his face. He crumpled up the paper and dropped it on the steps. "I've made a horrible mistake, Margaret. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon to finish up the closet."
Maggie couldn't chase him down the street naked, but she couldn't bring herself to close the door either. She felt like her insides were freezing solid as she stood there, completely lost, unable to speak a word as he walked away.