We'd ended up constantly fighting whenever discussions took a turn towards theoretical landmarks like religion, politics, or child rearing. Unfortunately, minus a few great sessions of makeup sex, the fighting carried itself into our bedroom and we began to pick away at each other until just the thought of him inside me made me cringe. Three years in, we decided that the whole arrangement just wasn't working. He found himself tempted by the young receptionist in his office and was just too good of a guy to cheat on me. Coincidentally, Casey the receptionist gave birth to twins -- God love her. My mother has added this to the list of ways I've wronged her over the years.
I might never have thought of Sheetrock again if two things hadn't happened back to back. The first was that the contractor I'd hired, Ray, a man in his fifties with thirty years of roofing experience, managed to fall off and break his arm. It's not that I blame him for getting injured. Heaven's no, I feel terribly for him. It was just so darn unexpected. How does a man manage to repair roofs in Valley of the Sun for thirty years without incident, only to send himself to the emergency room on my watch?
The second event was an extremely concerning forecast on weather.com. Apparently the entire southwestern United States was on storm watch, with rain expected in Phoenix for the entirety of the 18th -- 22nd. Rain for multiple days straight in the middle of the desert, was nearly unheard of and yet the meteorologist made it incredibly clear that it was unavoidable. Rather than waste more time trying to find a new contractor, I simply responded to Sheetrock's email. I declined his invitation to dinner but mentioned my "newfound" problem with my roof and provided my number for him to call at his earliest convenience. I added that it would be great if he could come before the storm hit. I figured that he wouldn't be able to repair the roof before the storm but I hoped, for the sake of my living room, that he could at least do some damage control. I half expected him to ignore the email since nearly a week had gone by, but he actually called me back the same morning.
"I got your email. It sounds like someone had better get over there and see to your roof."
I tried not to cringe at the way his words seemed to call for bad 70s porn music. Bow chicka bow bow, "Miss Thomas? I understand you need a man around... to uh, see to your needs. It sounds like I'd better cum inside you, I mean, over - right away." On the other hand, his voice was pretty sexy. Maybe I just needed to get over myself... On the other, other hand, he could be a serial killer. I could just see the headlines now, "Local realtor found dead in her own dilapidated home after raunchy sex."
As a real estate agent, I actually know and work with a handful of really skilled contractors but I prefer to keep my private life completely separate from my professional one. It might seem like a silly thing to worry about but mixing business and pleasure has never worked out well for me. I wanted a no-name, inexpensive but capable handyman to tackle the issue of my leaky roof.
"Yes, I'm home right now if it's possible for you to make it over," I said, looking at my watch, it was already 10:00, "but I need to leave for an appointment by 12:30. I'll be back around 3:00, if that works better."
"That's no good. I'm with a client right now and there's no telling when she'll be done with me," he replied. I was sure that I heard a woman giggling in the background at this announcement and while I'm certainly not a prude, the gigolo implication left a sour taste in my mouth. I just wanted someone to fix my damn roof!
I sighed into the phone. Apparently, the Sheetrock did not understand the urgency of my plight, "I don't know if you've seen the weather report for this week or not, but it's really quite imperative that I have someone over today. I suppose I'll just contact another contractor. Thanks, ummm," I waited for him to fill in his name, since I was distinctly unwilling to call him Sheetrock over the phone.
"Yeah, ok, you do that and get back to me if no one else can help you out. I might be able to move some stuff around, but only if it's serious."
I wanted to scream that it was already serious, as one man had broken an arm in his endeavor to keep my house safe and dry but I let it go. Why wasn't this man flirting with me shamelessly and telling me how he was the only one who could meet my needs? I stifled a rant about false advertising. He was obviously just a meathead, despite his flirty invitation to dinner. Thank goodness I hadn't agreed to go with him.
I made a few more phone calls and tried to wait patiently for them to be returned. Time was running out before my meeting and I thought I might have to cancel when I noticed Sheetrock's number on my caller id.
"Hello?"
"Uh, yeah. It's Rocco -- you know, the man you called about your roof. I'll send my buddy over to your house to do a quote, ok?" he grunted into the phone.
Part of me wanted to tell him no. He sounded so disgruntled to be allowing me to pay him for his services and I wasn't even enlisting him to hold my purse while I tried on new clothes. However, the convenience factor won out and I agreed to meet his friend, Cameron, at my house at 3:30.
Unburdened of the task of getting someone out to the house, I was suddenly struck with the inspiration to look up the website extension listed in his email address. After our riveting phone conversation, I needed proof that Rocco had a pretty face to make up for his conversational shortcomings.
I wasn't disappointed. The site featured one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen, in various states of undress, fixing things. He had the build of a heavyweight UFC fighter, with large tattoos covering his back and shoulders. It was nearly a construction fetish site, except that it had actual information about repairs, quotes and the like. In addition to his build, he had big brown eyes and dark skin that hinted at a South American heritage. He was younger than I'd originally expected him to be, just barely out of his early twenties by my best estimate.
Now I could see how he stayed in business, despite his boorish manners. I clicked on a video and listened to Rocco recite a monologue that was nearly his Craigslist posting verbatim. He winked impertinently at the camera and made hand gestures with big strong hands that made me wonder what they'd feel like, pushing my thighs apart. His lips were a dark shade of red and the more I tried not to envision them sucking on my clit, the more vivid the mental picture became.
"Wow, Liv, you really need to get laid," I whispered, laughing at myself. Unfortunately between a busy work schedule and the bad fix ups I'd allowed friends and family to foist upon me, I was in a bit of a dry spell. I counted on my fingers the months it had been since I'd had sex.
"Holy shit, six months?" I thought to myself, "Maybe I should cancel my meeting with the Reynolds and call Rocco back."
Just because I'd been kidding about calling Rocco didn't mean I couldn't let his tattooed muscles fuel a quick fantasy. Glancing at my watch again, I realized that I would have to hurry. I only had about forty five minutes before I needed to leave the house. With one hand on my wireless mouse, I flipped through the pictures of his site. My other hand rubbed over my hardening nipples and pinched them through my tank top. With more time, I would have removed all my clothing and lingered more but I still needed to hop in the shower, do my hair and makeup and re-iron the blouse I intended to wear.
Switching from Rocco's page to a bookmarked lesbian milf site, I slipped my hand under the waistband of my jammies, into my black lace panties. I slowly rubbed my juices along my slit, up to my clit as I watched a hot Latina named Dulce peeling the clothes off an equally hot blonde named Kandice. I moved my fingers in time with Dulce's as they explored Kandice's pussy, until I had just enough inspiration to close my eyes and use both hands. I pictured Dulce, Kandice and Rocco attending to my body. Kandice's long blonde hair fell over my shoulder as she kissed my lips while Dulce sucked on my nipples. Rocco lost no time trailing his dark red lips down the folds of my pussy and then making swirling circles on my clit with his tongue. I moaned loudly as I came and then just as quickly as I'd worked myself up, I pulled myself together, reminding myself that I needed to get ready for my meeting. It was a tease of a masturbation session, but I could always pick up where I'd left off once I got back -- well, after Cameron, buddy of Rocco "Sheetrock" the handyman, came to see about my roof.
During my meeting, I spent the better part of three hours explaining details of the home buying process to Mr. Reynolds and then watching him condescendingly re-explain to his wife as if she hadn't heard me. Watching her eyes, I knew that she understood my explanation but she played along, managing to look wide eyed and amazed at his brilliance. She even went so far as to thank him for his extraordinary patience with her lack of skill with numbers. By the end of the meeting I was irritated that they'd made me late and frustrated with men in general. Absently, I prayed (a habit leftover from twelve years of Catholic school) that whoever Rocco had sent over to my house wasn't a moron.
It was almost four o'clock when I arrived at my house and to my great relief there was a truck parked in my driveway. There wasn't, however, any sign of Cameron. I looked around a bit, for a note on my door or something in the truck but all I saw was a worn copy of Bukowski's Post Office and a black padfolio with a pen sticking out of it.
"Hello?" I called loudly, unsure of where he would have gone without his truck.
A few seconds later I saw a tall, lanky but well built man walking across my roof. He had loosely curled sandy blonde hair and wire framed glasses that made him look far too intelligent for blue collar work. He was boyishly handsome, though it looked like he hadn't shaved all weekend and the stubble, added to the lines I could see around his eyes and lips, hinted that he had a few years on Rocco. If he was any older than thirty though, he looked incredible for his age. He certainly didn't have Rocco's build, or his lips, but his t-shirt clung to the muscles of his chest and torso in a way that indicated that he would still look good shirtless. If I'd had to guess, I would have said that he was a runner rather than a fighter who could bench 275 pounds.
"Hi there. I'm sorry to start the party without you, but when you weren't here, I figured I'd just hop up to the roof and check things out. I don't know if you know or not, but there's going to be a huge storm all week. It's a hell of a time to have a leaky roof. I've spotted some shingles near the chimney that look questionable but I'll have to have a look around your attic to determine the extent of the damage."
Cameron made his way over to the side of the house where I could now see his ladder propped against the wall. I tried not to stare at his ass as he climbed down, though I definitely didn't put 100% effort into it.
"I'm sure you've guessed, but I'm Cameron," he said coming up to me, holding out his hand for me to shake. His hand felt strong wrapped around mine, but it didn't have the calluses of a fulltime repairman, "and you're obviously Olivia. I have to say, you're even prettier in person."
I raised an eyebrow and just stared at him. Had he been looking through my windows at the framed pictures of me with family and friends or something? The comment would have been borderline creepy if he hadn't been so damn cute.
"I meant prettier in person than you are on your website. I looked you up by your email address," he laughed, probably guessing the direction my thoughts had taken. I felt heat burning into my cheeks as I thought of how I'd used similar logic to look up Rocco that morning.
"Well, that's sweet of you to say," I said, forcing myself to stop staring at the dimples that formed in his cheeks when he smiled, "but I'm actually pretty concerned about that storm you mentioned. I read the forecast yesterday and as much as I love a good rainstorm, I don't think my roof can take it."
I led Cameron through the house and into the garage where there was an easily accessible entrance to the attic and then left him to his work. He was just a little too charming to stand around watching, given how worked up I'd been this morning. If I'd thought Rocco's conversational skills hinted at '70s porn, it'd be even more embarrassing to hit on Cameron like some sort of desperate divorcee in need of getting her pipes cleaned.
I headed for my bedroom to change out of the matching blazer and pencil skirt I'd worn to my meeting. Usually on Sundays I spent the entire day in a pair of cotton pajama pants and a loose fitting tank top with my hair in a ponytail, so I was eager to change out of professional attire. Once I had them on, though, I noticed that my nipples were hard, even through the lightly padded cups of my bra, so I threw on a sweatshirt to hide the evidence.
