Death of a Toolman

The voices were low, a small buzz that paired with the organ music. I watched as my Aunt Helen dabbed her eyes and wailed, "Oh, he looks so natural!" Natural! I looked dead! Never mind, her heart was in the right place. Looking down on myself in my coffin, I wondered how I had come to this. It brought back the old Three Stooges line, "Dead! I don't want to be dead! There's no future in it!"

***

I'm Willy Layman, and my job as a home repairman was every red-blooded man's dream. You don't think so? I learned early on that housewives or homemakers; to be politically correct; were love starved. Give them a little attention and the job paid off ... in spades. Oh yeah, the benefits were numerous, that's where I come in. These ladies were primed for some attention and some good old loving. I hit the job market at the right time and quickly gained a reputation as a cocksman who also did repairs. At the daily coffee klatch in town my sexual skills and dick size was notorious. Oh yes, I never wanted for work. My business was lucrative, money and sex were abundant.

My last day started like so many others before. The first call came in early, very early. A leaky bathroom sink on Tenth and Elm. Could I come quickly? I could come and if I knew the lady, I would probably 'cum' quickly. I hummed tunelessly in the shower as I soaped myself up, paying special attention to the tool between my legs. As always, I gloried in the fact that I was blessed in that department. The water felt great and knocked away any existing cobwebs. I was horny as hell but unless I missed my guess, the sultry voice on the phone would alleviate that. After I had dressed I examined myself in the mirror. My t-shirt emphasized my pecs, testament to the hours I spent in the gym. My blue jeans were tight, my package clear and defined. I adjusted my tool belt around my lower hips; smoothed my hair back and winked at myself. How much better could it get?

I checked my list mentally as I packed my tool chest. Hammer? Check. Basin wrench? Check. Screwdriver? Check. Condoms? Check. Picking up my travel mug of coffee, I locked the front door and headed out for the day. Tossing the tool box in the back of my pickup, I turned to look towards the neighbors. As usual the housewife next door was peeking from behind the curtains. I took my time as I climbed in the truck, assuring her of her daily fix of my body. The hammer on the tool belt went up my ass but I looked cool and that was all important. I smiled as I drove away, knowing full well I had just made her day.

Cleo, the lady of the house met me at the door. Who the hell had a name like Cleo? Short and in her early forties (an educated guess), she packed a punch. Big tits and a whole lotta ass did a number on my already raging libido. She had on some type of a silky robe and I gave her a 'C' for imagination. I mean the horny housewife meeting the even hornier handyman in a robe is pretty clichéd. Of course the outline of her tits completely absolved her. She led me through an incredibly cluttered living room; up a flight of stairs; and into the master bedroom. The master bath was off the bedroom and she moved ahead to open the doors on the sink cabinet. There was a note tacked there by hubby informing me had turned the water off. I set to work by turning the shutoff back on to pinpoint the leak. Meanwhile, Cleo set off to get me a cup of coffee.

They had a leak alright, actually leak didn't describe it. Water shot out in three directions, a veritable gusher. I quickly turned the shutoff as a towel was shoved at me. As I wiped my face, I heard the swish of silk. Cleo took the towel and waited as I sat up to hand me my coffee. I realized how hackneyed the situation really was. I mean she was practically waiting for me to get under the sink! Her robe had opened slightly and her tits were threatening to break loose. As she stood she made sure I got a glimpse between her legs. You guessed it; no panties; and I felt my dick go from zero to sixty in record time. Hell yes, it was corny but I had the routine down pat.

We went through the motions, she acted coy as she handed me tools. Playing my part, I waited on my back under the sink. It didn't take long before I heard the rasp of my zipper. This one never wasted time! I lifted my hips, helping her as she attempted to pull down my pants. After a few minutes of fumbling she pulled them to my ankles. I could hear her soft gasp as she saw my cock but of course I was used to this response. For several moments there were only the sounds of her mouth as she worked my cock. Her mouth was a vacuum, her tongue a whirling dervish. She was a quick cocksucker but a thorough one and I felt myself stiffening as the cum began to boil in my balls. Holding tight; I felt it coming; my hands clenching, pulling. Oh it was sweet bliss and I rode the wave; spasms hit my body; my hips lifted; and ... and ... I came hard. Unfortunately I was twisting the shutoff and I got a face full of cold water. I was squirting; the pipe was spurting; Cleo was yelling bloody murder. All in all it was a letdown, in more ways than one. Not an auspicious way to start my week; but hey; it was only Monday.

A few hours later and a change of clothes found me driving to my second call of the day. The ranch house was on a side road just out of town. I gingerly approached the front door; my eyes scanning for Max; the family dog. We had tangled a few other times, usually resulting in me heading for the nearest tree. To say Max was protective of his mistress was an understatement and I had the scars to prove it. Today the coast looked clear, I made it to the door and rang the bell. Jessica Claymore was worth fighting off a rabid dog any day. Oh yes, my day was definitely looking up. A tall brunette; with kickass eyes; she oozed sexuality. If there was ever a poster child for a nymphomaniac, Jess was it. I had made numerous emergency calls at her house, the real emergency being Jess and her 'needs.'

I made a half-hearted attempt at working, but my mind was elsewhere. Consequently, I hit my thumb with the hammer. As I stood at the sink running cold water over it, I felt Jess behind me. My cock was out in record time and I leaned on the sink, thumb and cock both throbbing as she jerked me off. Her tits were pressing against my back and I moaned in a mixture of pain and ecstasy. My good hand went behind me, zeroing in on her wet slit. Jess came on my fingers twice as I diddled her clit. She also was a noisy fuck and soon I was slamming my tool into her on the kitchen table, reveling in her screams. Between her screams; my yells, and the thumping of the table against the wall, it wasn't a quiet coupling. We came together, the decibel level breaking the sound barrier. I fell over her body, her tits pillowing my head. That's when I heard the growl.

His mistress' screams had brought Max on the run. Peeking over my shoulder I could see Max trying to squeeze through the cat door. I had seconds before he made it and I started hopping toward the living room. I must have been a sight; pants down around my boots; dick flopping in the breeze. Making it to the living room with little time left to spare, I bent over to quickly pull up my pants. You guessed it, I lost my balance and went over in a heap. In the meantime, Max had wiggled through the cat door and as I looked up in horror, he made a flying leap. The next few minutes were a tangle of legs, arms, and paws; coupled with a few well placed nips on my ass. Jess pulled Max off and I made a dash for the doorway with more than my ego a little bruised.

Two calls, two disasters. If I had been smart I would have given up and gone home. After all; even though both encounters had ended up as calamities; I had got my rocks off. An even bigger bonus was the ladies would do everything in their power to compensate me, sexually and monetarily. I had a great gig and I knew it, today had been a glitch. What were the chances of three times unlucky? Fuck it! After lunch, I had one more job and I decided to go for it. I played up my sore ass to Janie, the cute little waitress at the greasy spoon. I kinda fudged the circumstances, making up a cock and bull story about a neighbor's dog chasing me. Something told me she might not be as sympathetic if she knew the real truth. I whistled as I started to my last job of the day, I had a date with Janie for Friday night. I secretly thanked old Max as I had been hitting on her for ages, a little pathos goes a long way. Who knows? Maybe she would massage the tender spots. Hell, who was I kidding? With my prowess I was a shoe in for a piece of ass.

My last job of the day entailed hanging an expensive light fixture in the dining room of the Walters' house. Jan Walters was middle aged and plump and loaded, hell I could overlook the first two to get at the money. We went through the usual small talk as I explained the steps needed to install the light. Did you ever try explaining about the how's and why's to a woman? Yeah? Well try that with a woman who is obsessed with your body. Her hands were everywhere, not that I'm complaining mind you. But I do like to try to make a semblance of work before we get to the good stuff. First things first, ya know?

The light fixture was a perfect example of what I call expensive trash. I mean, a chandelier with a fan? The fucking thing was expensive and heavy; tacky looking; but so was the Walters' house. They were nouveau riche and good taste wasn't apparent in their house. Now I know what you're thinking. He knows good taste? A simple repairman? I may work on houses for a living but I'm not without a certain amount of class. I know good object darts when I see them.

Why is it a stepladder brings out the animal in a woman? Well, in my case it does and today was no exception. I'm on the ladder, holding a thousand dollar piece of junk and Frau Walters decides to get frisky. Ever try to hold up forty pounds of light while someone is licking your cock? As her tongue circled the head I fought valiantly, but my legs were getting weak. I wanted to suggest waiting until the job was finished but I seemed to have lost my voice. What a picture that must have been! Me on a ladder getting a hummer while wrestling a chandelier. The croaking sounds I was emitting were half-hearted attempts to speak. My arms were tiring; my legs were buckling; it was just a matter of time.

Looking back, I should have realized the day was coming . I had always half expected to meet my maker after being blown away by a irate husband. Strike that; arrogant bastard that I was; I thought I was too smart to get caught. My ladies had always taken great pains to ensure my safety, making sure their significant other was well out of the way. Problem was, I got too complacent. I let my guard down and that was a fatal error.

The lady was sucking full force by now, the ladder and my legs were shaking. It felt like a small earthquake and I thought, "Richter Scale, here I come!"

At that moment I heard a sound and opened my eyes just in time to see Mrs. Walters' husband. Well over six feet and at least two hundred and fifty pounds, a defensive guard on the Green Bay Packers had nothing on him. In rapid succession three things happened: Mrs. Walters screamed her husband's name; my dick shriveled; Mr. Walters charged. You know those television shows where everything is in slow motion? Well that's how it felt to me. A roaring express train was barreling toward me and my car was stalled on the tracks. I froze and in that second I knew I was in for some serious hurting. I fell, along with the ladder and three hundred pounds of chandelier and enraged husband.

***

So here I am, looking down on my lifeless body and what few mourners have shown up. I heard say that my obit was a masterful piece of writing. Something to the effect of 'Toolman dies in Freak Accident After Domestic Dispute." Mr. Walters is in traction, my body took the brunt of the fall. I hear the missus sits by his bedside and feeds him ice cream, suitably chastened by the whole incident. Of course to hear her tell it was all a big misunderstanding. She was standing close only because she was handing me tools. Yeah baby, play it up for all it's worth, we both know what tool she was handling.

Wait! Wait! My nephew Frankie; the successor to my business; is giving a eulogy. I'm tearing up, he is definitely worthy to fill my shoes. His final words are so eloquent, " I'm gonna show you and everybody else that my uncle; Willy Layman: did not die in vain. I shall take up the tool belt he left behind and carry his torch." In the back row, I saw Jess Claymore smile through her tears and lick her lips.