Hi. My name is Emery Wattles. I've worked construction all my life and I've got the build to prove it. "All my life" happens to be only forty-four years old right now, and I plan to live a long time.
I made enough money doing construction that I only do it when I want to. I do a lot of consulting and a lot of training, and I do a lot of it on sites so as it turns out I keep in pretty good shape. This is to my advantage in several ways, among them the female department. I never did marry, and I do like female companionship. I've never had a problem getting some when I want it, which is fairly often.
So anyway, I live alone in a nice house up in the hills. There's only one place that directly adjoins mine and can see my place from their house. I should say her house, because a it's only a good-looking lady lives there named Susanna Melder. Susanna is probably around forty, but she looks like a woman that no man in his right mind would push out of his bed. Count me in that number. In fact I will admit that sometimes when I haven't had female company for longer than I like I think of her and I beat off. I've hardly ever talked with her, but when I do I'm impressed with how nice she looks, curves in all the right places and fit as can be, including a warm, friendly smile. I just never had the chance to get intimate with her.
I have a cleaning service come in every week or so and do a job on the inside of my house. I take care of the outside, including the yard, which is pretty big. I like doing the yard work. It helps keep me fit. I like living in the hills like this because I can get away without having to worry very much about how I dress.
At least that's how it was until about two years ago.
I usually wear something pretty simple when I work in the yard. I've got a couple of pair of exercise pants that I use, the kind that have an elastic waistband. Sometimes when I get to grunting and working hard that elastic slides down over my hips and shows the crack in my butt, and a few times even more than that. At least a dozen times I've actually had the pants puddle around my ankles when I can't do anything about it, which can be dangerous when I'm trying to walk with an armload of trash and I really don't want to put it down to pull myself back together. I have to stop sometimes to pull my pants back up.
Anyway, two years ago in the Spring I was out working in the yard. It was late April. The sun was shining and I was sweating pretty good. I was wearing a tee-shirt and my sweat pants and as usual when I get to working too strenuously my pants slide downward. I'd almost finished cleaning out the edge of the property where I share it with Susanna when I see her bombing across her yard toward me. That part of our yards can't be seen from the road. She seems pretty upset. She's really covering ground. She's wearing one of those big floppy hats women sometimes wear when they're working in their gardens. Besides that, she's in a pretty thin tee shirt that shows me she has very nice tits, and a pair of shorts that are painted on. Oh, and also a pair of clunky shoes.
"Emery Wattles, you bastard!" she's screaming at me, "you make me so mad! You come out here in those ridiculous pants and they're always slipping down and they make me so upset that I can't even hardly see straight!"
"Susanna, Susanna, calm down," I say, speaking quietly as I try to soothe her. I pull my pants up onto my hips. "I had no idea my pants upset you like that. I'll try to find another kind of pants to wear. I don't want to give you a stroke or anything."
