copyright 2004
Romances need two people of course, and a where, and a when. The two people were Angie and Dave. The where was a coffee shop. The when was when they were sat at adjacent tables.
Angie claimed to be a forty plus, in fact she was forty plus eleven. She also possessed a forty plus chest. Both facts frustrated her a little; she wished both figures were in the thirties. But time is time and genes are genes. At five eight she was tall and not really too overweight. Her once naturally red hair was still red but owed much to Clairol’s chemical magic. But she still had her freckles, across her nose and across the tops of her breasts. Angie liked her freckles.
She was a librarian but didn’t look the way librarians are supposed to look. She wore glasses and she worked in a library but aside from those two clues, you’d never have guessed. She dressed female, very; she looked female, very. Married and childless, then widowed, Angie needed a male in her life.
Her doctor was helping her to drag her ass through menopause. A bedside-drawer-full of marital aids kept her from attempting assaults on healthy males. The meno' seemed to be having a rather long pause and the toys weren’t as helpful as she’d have liked.
Dave was sat at the next table to Angie and alternately reading and sipping. He’d be thirty next week. His degree hadn’t won him fame or fortune andright then he was a self-employed odd-job-man. A skill with tools and word of mouth kept the jobs coming and his bank account was well into the black. He was tall; five eleven at last count and slim. A well-trimmed beard balanced his receding hairline.
His single status was a mystery to him. Not a social animal, he wasn’t unfriendly either but somehow he had trouble meeting girls and the ones he met … well, it never seemed to last. The job brought much temptation and hausfraus were a hazard but he’d only fallen victim twice. But, it had been nice. Dave dreamed of what might be and worried that the wait seemed a long one. The day’s last job finished, he was just sitting, miles away, a captive of Stephen King’s storytelling.
The introduction was to be sudden.
Dave pushed his chair back a little and steel leg dragged on tile with an awful little scream. Daydreaming Angie jumped and knocked over her coffee. Her bag of purchases fell to the floor and trickling coffee began spilling onto the floor.
“Damn, damn, damn!” said Angie.
Dave said he was sorry and bent to pick up her bag. Frilly fabric was spilling out and as he lifted the bag to hand it to Angie a lacy pair of panties fell into the spreading pool of coffee. Angie’s annoyance turned to embarrassment as the primrose lace began soaking up the coffee. He picked them up and, grinning, handed them to her. “It’s not funny,” she exclaimed.
“Go rinse them in the washroom and I’ll get us two more coffees.”
She managed to bite back a snappy response. He seemed genuinely sorry and really, it wasn’t his fault. She balled up the coffee soaked panties and headed for the ladies’ restroom.
Dave picked up her shopping bag, placed it on thewindow sill and sat in the seat opposite hers. A waitress mopped up the spill and when she was done, he asked for two more coffees.
"Well, I guess it wasn’t quite the end of the world,” she said, sitting down opposite him.
“I put them safe,” he said, gesturing at the windowsill where her purchases rested.
“One pair of wet panties is enough I guess,” she said and they both laughed.
The coffees arrived and she thanked him. Conversation came easily.
Although neither probably realized it then, they were mutually attracted. She to his youthfulness and he to her maturity. Perhaps each was something of what the other needed.
Dave guessed her to be a bit past forty, which would have pleased Angie enormously. He thought her very attractive. A self-confessed tits man, he loved the way hers filled her blouse. They drew his eyes. It was obvious to Angie, even if Dave thought he was being discreet.
Seeing his eyes flick repeatedly to her cleavage amused and delighted her. She was the proverbial “few extra pounds” overweight but she rather thought her fullness of figure suited her.
Dave loved her red hair and cared not a fig that it might be quite the real thing. “I like freckles,” he said.
Angie glanced down and her hand moved towards her chest, “Well I’m glad about that," she said looking up at him.
“I didn’t mean … ” he stopped and looked at her and blushed. “I’m sorry," he added.
“Don’t be," she said softly and reached out, placing her hand over his.
Surprised, he felt his cock stiffen at her touch.
“So what do you do for a living?” she asked him.
“ A sort of free lance odd job man I suppose.”
“Heavens, just what I need. That house of mine could keep you busy for a year. I don’t suppose you work for free?”
“Not if I want to eat and pay my landlord,” he told her.
“Seriously, it does need a lot of work if I ever expect to sell it.”
“Why are you selling?” He paused, “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“That’s okay, I’m just an old widow rattling around in the house like the proverbial pea in a drum.” She looked out of the window. “Time to move on, get an apartment or a small condo.”
“Seems a shame, houses let you do your own thing somehow.” Dave fished in his pocket and produced a creased business card. “If you want me to have a look give me a call, my cell phone number’s on the back.”
He got to his feet and held out a hand. She took it and gave it a squeeze. "I’ll have to think about it."
Dave glanced down into her cleavage and hoped she would. Angie looked up into grey eyes and knew she was going to call him.
She watched him through the window. He gave her a quick wave and a white-toothed grin. Why, she wondered, were all the yummy ones so young?
Angie put Sunday’s leftovers in the microwave and plugged in the kettle. She was tired of eating alone, tired of sleeping alone. She fished Dave’s card from her purse and wondered about all the things that needed doing about the house. I wonder what doesn’t need doing she thought. She’d to make a list after she’d eaten and showered.
She sprawled naked in a plastic lawn chair just inside the French windows, letting the evening sun dry her off. She looked down between her breasts at the shock of copper pubic hair.
Needs trimming, she thought, maybe that should go at the top of the list of ‘to-dos’ for Dave. At that thought there was a sort of muscular squirm somewhere south of her belly button. She moved her feet wide apart and tried to imagine him kneeling there, with a small pair of scissors, trimming her front lawn. She liked the idea.
He’d eyed her breasts a lot. She brought her arms up from her sides, pushing her breasts together. Why couldn’t they behave and sit together on her chest like good titties instead of trying to hide in her armpits? She closed her eyes and cupped her breasts, amazed, as always, at the weight of them. She remembered his words, ‘I like freckles’ and smiled. She did have freckly breasts but Dave would like young, hard pointy ones. Forty-plus is no fun at all, she thought.
She got up and headed for the fridge. A glass of German white would be nice. As she passed the kitchen table her eye fell on Dave’s card. Why not make the list?
When made, it was impressive. Was there such a word as depressive she wondered? She reached for the phone.
“Hi! Mr. Fixit, I can’t come to the ph …,” said his recorded voice.
“Hello!” said his real voice as he interrupted the message.
“Hi, it’s Angie, I’ve come up with a pretty awesome list of what needs doing, would you be interested?”
They talked for a while about the list and what needed attention soonest and what would cost the most, take the longest and so on. In the end he offered to work for four hours on Saturday morning and, if she was satisfied, pay him a eighty dollars. He said he knew she would be. Then, maybe they could talk some more when he had a better idea what was needed.
“Saturday then, bright and early,” he said cheerfully and hung up.
Just like that, she thought. Well it was only eighty bucks and damn, the place needed work if she was to even think of putting it on the market. By Saturday lunchtime she’d know one way or the other.
Dave put down his cell phone and slid back down into the bath. While he knew Angie was a good few years his senior he found her very attractive. He wondered about those apparently big breasts, what would they look like out of captivity? The lacy panties, were they for her? She’d suit yellow he thought. That red hair, he supposed she tinted it but oh, it did go so well with those freckles. Those freckles across those tits! His cock slowly came up for air.
Saturday came slowly round, too slowly for Angie. She was looking forward to Dave’s arrival. Looking forward for all the wrong reasons. Wrong, what was wrong with having a young workman around the house all morning AND looking forward to it?
Stupid woman Angie, she thought. He’s hardly likely to fancy an overweight woman in her early fifties. But what if he did, fancy her? What if he made a pass at her? What if …?
What to wear?
Showered and dressed, make-up on, hair brushed until it shone like spun copper, as the romance novels liked to describe it. She’d chosen a simple yellow cotton dress. On impulse Angie had worn the panties from the coffee shop incident. No breakfast, maybe she could tempt him, a long time since she’d cooked breakfast for a man.
The doorbell chimed and she had to resist the urge to run to the front door.
Dave wore clean blue coveralls and a rather boyish grin, “Not too early I hope?”
“No,” she said, “come on in, coffee’s on.”
They went through to the kitchen and she gestured him to a chair, “There’s my list so far.” He read through it while she poured them coffee.
“Nothing too major there except perhaps the leaking windowsill. I’ll work through the list as far as I can this morning. If you’re satisfied perhaps we can talk about what else is needed and what you’d like fixing. I can give you an estimate or you can pay by the hour.”
He worked quietly and cleanly. Amazing how fast and easy everything seemed to be for him. He’d declined breakfast saying a snack mid-morning would be fine.
“Snack’s ready when you are,” she told him from the kitchen table.
“Fine,” he said, “I’m almost done here. Would you like to turn on the taps and I’ll see if this leak’s fixed.”He was on his back with his head and arms inside the cupboard under the kitchen sinks. She crossed the kitchen and stood to one side of his legs to turn on the water.
The morning sun on the white of the kitchen floor lit her perfectly. Knees, thighs, everything was visible as he gazed happily up her skirt. He wanted to ask if the panties were the ones from earlier in the week.
“Seems okay, maybe you could put the plugs in and fill the sinks with cold water then I can be sure.” As luck would have it the plugs were in the drawer on the other side of him and she stepped across.
Quite deliberately she remained with her legs astride him while she fumbled with the plugs. She even held the pose while she turned on the water. Then finally she resumed her position beside him. chin in hands watching the sinks fill.
Dave had lain silent through the little interlude as Angie displayed herself. Thighs and crotch and ass, all divided by the yellow panties. His cock lay rigid against his belly under the fabric of his coveralls. This job did have its perks.
Angie stared unseeing and pondered dropping to her knees astride Dave and unzipping him and grabbing his cock.
Dave lay looking up Angie’s legs, crossed now, and imagined her kneeling, opening his coveralls and giving his very erect cock a hearty sucking.
The left sink overflowed and Angie squealed and swung the tap to the other sink and began mopping up the water on the counter-top with a cloth.
Roast beef sandwiches with horse-radish sauce suited breakfast-less Angie very well. Dave claimed they were the best sandwiches he’d ever eaten, and seemed to mean it. They took their tea out onto the sundeck. “I could get used to working here,” he said stretching out his long legs and closing his eyes.
Lunchtime came and at one o’clock Dave declared himself finished. She agreed, he’d worked for well over four hours and better that half the smaller jobs on the list had been done. She gestured around her, “I’m impressed, would you like to do the rest sometime,” she nodded at the list on the table.
“I’d like that. Could I have the run of the house tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she said, surprised.
“I’ve got nothing better to do, but if it’s not convenient … .”
“No, if you’re happy to work on Sunday I’d be delighted. I’ll even feed you if that’s okay.”
He gathered up his tools, not wanting to leave. She watched him, trying to think of some subtle way to stop him going.
cont'd......
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