CHEATING WIFE: Doing an odd job gets interesting when he meets a redhead, After being laid off, and just trying to make ends meet until Unemployment benefits kicked in, I answered a bunch of ads looking for a handy man.
Being fairly handy, I figured I could do most any job, as long as it wasn’t a major endeavor, and the calls began coming in, mostly paint jobs, leaky faucets and other minor repairs. In many cases, the clients were married women whose husbands couldn’t be bothered after their long work days, which was fine with me.
About a month into my new career, a woman called asking if I was available to replace screens in her porch. An easy enough job, I said sure and showed up to see how big a project it was. She met me at the door, a handsome woman in her mid-fifties, with a hot-pink tank top, white shorts and wooden heeled sandals. Her shoulder-length red hair flowed and her bright blue eyes shown. She smiled as I looked her over, apparently used to men appreciating her ample breasts with tan, freckled cleavage. She put out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Erica, and you must be Harry.”
I took her hand, smiling back.
“Yes, I must be,” I joked, hoping to endear myself.
She laughed heartily, and said, “Please, come in, Harry.”
I followed her through the well-furnished home, my eyes fixed on her high ass cheeks as they swayed just enough to mesmerize. I had always had a thing for mature women, but this one was an automatic turn-on.
Through the kitchen was a sliding glass door that led onto an enclosed porch, with screens almost reaching the floor. They were in bad shape. “My cat, Sting,” she explained, “loves to get his nails in the screens and just ruins them. Can you repair them, Harry?” Her eyes showed real concern for such a minor job.
I took my time, looking at the spleens and frames, as if I was sizing up a nuclear warhead as she watched intently. Scratching my chin, I nodded. “Not a problem. When do you want it done?”
“Can you do it Saturday?”
I had plans for the weekend, so I hesitated but she explained, “My husband hates Sting and is always complaining about how he ruins things. He’s going away for the weekend to play golf and I was hoping to get it done without hearing him complain again.”
My plans weren’t that interesting and I could use the money so I agreed to pick up the screening I would need and return Saturday morning. I couldn’t believe how excited she was, almost jumping for joy, trying to give me money for supplies.
“That’s okay, I’ll pick everything up and we’ll settle up at the end,” I told her, as she walked me to the front door.
“Thank you so much, Harry. Do you drink coffee? I’ll make sure I have a fresh pot on for you.”
At 10 am, I was at her door, tools and supplies in hand.
“Oh, hi, Harry! Right on time,” she bubbled as I noted her pale blue top with denim shorts and the same platform sandals which accentuated her butt. She led me into the kitchen and the smell of coffee was in the air. “Please, have some coffee and a Danish before you start.”
I poured a cup as I re-examined the job. “I picked up pet-proof screen. Your cat shouldn’t be tearing into it since its nylon, not metal mesh,” I told her.
“Oh, really? That’s such a great idea.”
“This way, your husband won’t have anything to fuss about.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, he’ll just find something else to complain about. Sometimes I think he just looks for excuses to bitch at me.”
“”Sorry to hear that, but this is one less thing, anyway.”
She smiled broadly and I went about taking each individual screen down and carefully replacing it with the nylon mesh. Erica sat watching and talking amiably about most anything, from music to news events to TV shows.
Whenever I’d look up at her, she sat with her smooth tanned legs crossed smiling down at me. More than once I thought of crawling between those legs and sniffing, but why would a woman like her get involved with a lowly handy man.
There were ten screens in all, plus the one on the door. By the time I got to the last one, it was after Three and Erica announced, “It’s cocktail time! What’ll you have, Harry?”
During my handy man time, I’d been offered coffee, water, or Gatorade but never a drink. And since my plans for the day were already shot, I figured why not? “Whatever you’re having,” I replied.
“Really? Okay, two Martinis coming up!”
She was up in a flash and began scooping ice and pouring booze while she chilled glasses. I got the last screen in place when she walked out with a tray, two glasses, a shaker, and a bowlful of stuffed olives with toothpicks. She placed the tray on the table between two wicker chairs and smiled, waiting for me to finish up.
“Do you mind if I wash my hands?” I asked, and she directed me to the hall bathroom. When I came out, she had poured for both of us.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t wait any longer.” She held up her glass with a devilish smile.
“Not at all,” I answered, sitting across from her and lifting my glass to her. “Thanks.”
“Thank you, Harry. The screens look great.”
“My pleasure,” I replied as I sipped the chilled cocktail. It had more of a kick than I expected and my eyes must have shown it because Erica laughed.
“I know, I’ve been told I have a heavy hand. That’s why I always have plenty of olives, to offset the booze!” She laughed that deep sexy laugh again.
We talked some more, about anything, when she asked, “I don’t even know, Harry, are you married?”
When I shook my head, she asked, “Serious with anyone?” Again, I shook my head and she seemed to sadden. “Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn’t married. I mean, I love my daughter. She’s in college now. But, I wonder what my life would’ve been like, you know?”
She seemed to sincerely want to know if I agreed, so I did, and she went on.
“But you’re still young enough to find someone and start a family, so you have time to sow those wild oats.”
I chuckled. “There’s not many girls interested in a handy man, that’s for sure.”
Her hand came across and rested on my knee. “The job doesn’t define the man, Harry, remember that.”
We went back to more pleasant things, with Erica explaining how she was doing TV commercials when she met her husband, an up-and-coming Wall Street type. They moved in together and accidentally she got pregnant. After much debate, they married with the agreement that she could continue her career on camera. But, things happened, and before she knew it, her contacts had dried up. She was no longer the pretty young face. Now she was more suited for the motherly roles. I could see the disappointment and anger of her face.
By now, we were on our fifth Martini and I was feeling more than a buzz. I could only guess at her condition.
She suddenly stood and turned sideways, thrusting her chest out. “What do you think, Harry? Not bad for Fifty-eight, huh?”
I smiled, feeling suddenly wicked. “Hell, not bad for Thirty-eight.” She eyed me curiously. “Not bad for any age. You could still be a model.”
Her grin went from ear to ear. “Oh, Harry! Not only do you do great work, you do great compliments! You just made my day.”
I stood, wavering, and said, “I mean every word of it, I swear,” raising my hand as if to take an oath.
She laughed again and came to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to her.
“Harry, can I kiss you?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
She reached behind my head and pulled my mouth to hers, and we had a slow, sexy kiss, with her purring as our tongues danced. Our bodies seemed to be gyrating against each other as the kiss continued. When we finally broke, she stared inquisitively into my eyes.
“Take me, Harry, please.”
My arms went around her waist and we kissed again, and my hand moved from her back down to her firm butt and she ground into me. Emboldened, my other hand went to her soft full breast, kneading the flesh as her hands moved to my ass, grabbing a handful of flesh and squeezing.
I slid the strap from her shoulders and slid the top down, exposing her evenly tanned breast as she smiled and guided my head down to her nipple. I licked and sucked hungrily as she giggled and moaned, “Oh, Harry.”
She must have realized we were on the porch, within the view of her neighbors, because she pulled my head up and said, “Can we go inside?”
We moved together, not wanting to separate, as if fearing any break would ruin the moment. She led me to the den and the couch, where we kissed again and she lowered herself down my body, finally sitting with her face buried in my crotch, struggling to open my belt and jeans.
I assisted as she tugged her top over her head, shaking her long red hair as it fell to the floor. She tugged, helping me get the jeans and my briefs down as my cock sprang to action. It bobbed in front of her and she playfully tried to catch it with her head, finally grasping and steadying it as she slid her tongue over the tip and down the shaft.
I watched as my cockhead disappeared into her hungry mouth, feeling the wet warmth surround the head and much of the shaft. She worked it in and out, slowly, occasionally looking up to confirm my obvious pleasure.
But I didn’t want to shoot my load too early, so I reluctantly pulled back, leaving her looking disappointed until I knelt and began undoing her denim shorts. They were tight but with her help, they were down and I was between her legs which she opened wide for me.
I kissed up her inner thighs, seeing the eventual goal, her trimmed triangle beckoning me. When I finally reached my destination, she was squirming with anticipation and I paused, watching her until she finally looked at me and forced me head to her.
I went at her quickly now, working her engorged clit, sucking and nibbling as she yelled out in an erotic guttural roar. She held my head in place as her body spasmed and I tasted her juices rush into my mouth, tart and salty. Her movements subsided and she released me, pulling me up for a soulful kiss, enjoying her own orgasm.
Still hard, I held my shaft and positioned it to her as she raised her legs overhead, giving me a glistening, soaked target. I teased her with my tip before leaning into it, entering her easily. I settled in and slowly began fucking, watching her head roll as she urged me on with her legs behind me now, pressing me into her further and further with each thrust.
I felt close to coming and told her, expecting her to release me but her legs kept me from withdrawing and I gave a final thrust and exploded as she arched her back, taking every ounce I had.
After a while, we kissed, and finally spoke. “That was awesome,” I told her, breathing into her ear.
She kissed my neck. “Thank you, Harry,” she sighed. “Do you think you’ll be available for other jobs?”
“Erica, I can guarantee it.”
