Cupids Project

*** Author's Note: The "ad" in my story is Full of typos, grammatical errors and, well, just crappy writing nonsense but I assure you it is Part of the story, so please bear with it. :) I also had to blank out the email addresses I made up for the characters to comply with Lit's rules, so please don't think I was being uninventive. Oh, and please don't forget to vote. Happy Valentine's Day! <3 MoonlitClover ***

Prologue

"Dear Lady, be cautious of Cupid, List well to the lines of this verse,

To be kissed by a fool is stupid, To be fooled by a kiss is worse." -- Ambrose Redmoon

* * * * *

Ladies, is your man meeting your needs? (Phoenix, Mesa, Scottsdale, Tempe)

Date: 2010-01-03, 6:59AM MST

Reply to: anonymous email address protected by the system [Errors when replying to ads?]

No man around to fulfill your needs? The man you do have is leaving you unsatisfied and your honey do list just keeps growing? Who you gonna call, NOT Ghost Busters! They don't call me Sheetrock for nothing!

Though I prefer building/fixing, I will even go shopping with you and tell you how your ass looks in those jeans. I can pretty much handle anything you may need. Im great with my hands. So whatever your needs may be, all you have to do is ask. My services include but are not limited to:

Interior and exterior painting, Electrical work, Plumbing repair, Garage clearing, Furniture assembly, Roofing (how are your shingels), Hanging blinds and window treatments (or we can leave the windows open and the lights on, you choose), Sheetrock repair and patches, Door installs, Tile/Flooring install/repair/removal, Waste hauling including old cars, trucks, motorcycles and boats or other junk he thought you needed (or him if your just done), Framing, Demolition, Pool Cleaning (with or without speedo), Battery replacement (I know you didn't think your toys were the only things in the house burning thru those things -- how bout your smoke detecters)

I am the man you have always wanted. I can do just about anything you need. If you need a real man to handle your job I have the right equipment and won't stop till your satisfied 100%. Thats more then you can say for that slacker taking up space in your livingroom, right? I spend a lot of my free time in the gym and I'll work shirtless if you request it. I also have discretion, freindly positive atitude, Very open mind, a tool belt, can bench 275 pounds and know how women like to be treated (show up on time, put the toilet seat down, and much much more)

I do my best to squeeze in emergency calls. So feel free to call or email me

7am-9pm (sorry ladies, no midnight booty calls)

anonymous email address protected by the system

480-555-1234

Location: Phoenix, Mesa, Scottsdale, Tempe

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1111197831

From: Olivia Thomas

Subject: Thanks

To:

Date: Sunday, January 03, 2010, 9:03 AM

Good morning,

Thanks for the laugh. Your ad was hysterical. Unfortunately I don't have a job for you, however in gratitude for the chuckle I wanted to send you a grammatically edited version of your ad for future posting. You have a great sense of humor but I couldn't take the typos and missed punctuation. I suppose you might find this presumptuous of me, but then, you don't have to respond. The edited version is yours free of charge in appreciation for your marketing efforts. Have a great day and I hope you have enough calls to keep you very, very busy.

- Olivia

I purposely avoided addressing the man as "Sheetrock". The play on words that I suspected he was getting at was just too awful to contemplate, especially considering the fact that I wasn't on Craiglist trolling for ass.

I was however, in need of a contractor to repair the roof of my house thanks to a leak I noticed the week before Christmas during a light storm. I suppose I could have requested an estimate from Sheetrock, but I just couldn't overcome the cheese factor. I'd sooner grab a hammer and try to fix it myself and I'm terribly afraid of heights, not to mention the fact that I don't know the first thing about roofing.

I was surprised that I even bothered to respond. True, the spelling, grammar, and punctuation in his ad were atrocious, but who cared? His clientele probably didn't notice as they were undoubtedly more interested in his non-verbal abilities. At that thought, I conjured up an image of a hot construction worker with broad shoulders, strong arms and a washboard stomach clad in nothing but a tool belt. I guess I had been single just a little too long because I let my imagination play around with the idea for a few more minutes before returning to my search for a more professional alternative.

I'd already gotten a couple of contractors to come out and give me estimates on the roof and arranged to have one commence repairs over the weekend, when I received a response from the Sheetrock, offering to take me to dinner to show his appreciation.

Despite his lack of a greeting or close to his email, I had to admire the fact that he'd foregone the opportunity to be surly. Still, I could think of a hundred things I'd rather do with my time than sit through stilted conversation at dinner with a hot but barely literate handyman. I was in the process of typing a brief note declining the invitation when my phone rang. By the time I was finished receiving the third degree from my mother about the horrible blind date she had forced me to go out on, I decided that I should not resume the letter, lest I give in to the temptation to accept his offer, just to get her off my back about being over thirty, divorced and childless.

"You'd think one failed marriage would be enough to convince the woman that I'm just not that kind of girl," I grumbled as I poured myself a glass of wine. Conversations with my family always left me in need of a drink.

I had no desire to be in a relationship after my divorce. Truth be told, I hadn't even wanted to be in that one all that much but I let my mother talk me into it. I convinced myself that if I had to sign on for sex with just one man for the rest of my life; Bryan was about the best I could hope for. He was sort of sweet, like a Labrador puppy, but generally clueless. I was so taken with his looks at first, that I didn't notice or care about his lack of education. Since we both knew I was smarter, he let me make all of our decisions and my parents loved him because he was a good Catholic boy. I naively thought that I'd always enjoy the feeling of intellectual superiority that had so richly entertained me in our honeymoon phase.

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.