Fresh out of college, with my degree in Mechanical Engineering in my hand, I felt like I had the world by the short hairs.
Six months later I was working in the local gas station, pumping gas and fixing cars in the dirty two bay back room.
My Dad had grinned at me and shook my hand, happy that I had graduated. Then he told me what he expected me to pay for my share of living at home "until" I found a place of my own.
I was a little fed up with all the rules Dad had anyway. I knew exactly what would happen if I were to bring a lady friend home, and stopping at a bar for a beer was a nono.
I moved out within a month, I had a few hundred dollars left over and figured I would land a neat job with a fat 5 figure income in no time.
Roughly 100 resumes later there were no phone calls, except for one company that wanted to "consider" me for an entry level position which turned out to be mostly pushing the mail cart, and another one that sounded good until they told me it was in Afghanistan.
I happened to stop at the local fuel station, asking for $4 worth of gas for my ratty little Toyota pickup. Martin, the old bald headed guy that ran the place watched me count out $4 in change, then he grinned at me and asked me if I wanted a job.
"$8 per hour, can you fix cars too?" He asked. "If you can, I can maybe add a percentage."
Yea, I could fix cars, I thought. What the hell, the government and the bank would be on my ass before long, something about wanting payments towards those loans. My bank account was still five figures but there was a decimal point after the third digit and rent was coming up.
So I went to work, it was easy stuff. Pump some gas, chat with the customers, once in awhile someone would need a tire fixed or an alternator repaired. It was all minor stuff and I actually enjoyed the job. Martin even had an old valve grinding machine in the back, it hadn't been touched in years so I cleaned that up and in short order we were getting in some cylinder heads to fix. True to his word he tacked on a piece of the action to my paycheck so I actually was doing fairly well.
At least my bank account wasn't still getting smaller.
I really liked the housewife types that rolled in for fuel, obviously bored. There was about a half dozen that delighted in flirting with me, a few made sure I got some nice peeks at bare flesh and I didn't mind that one bit, either. There was one older lady that drove a tiny little red sports car. You had to look real close to tell that she was easily in her 50's, her hair was long and flowing and she was always made up perfectly. From behind she could pass for mid 20's easily.
The one odd thing about her was that she was homely as a mud fence, but that wasn't really noticeable because she was always well made up, nicely dressed, her hair perfect. She looked and acted like a woman with experience and money, and she managed to make the best of every feature.
And without fail one or both of her tits were hanging out and they were fine. She had solid tan lines, and freckles that I saw many times. She would turn this way and that, fussing with her purse or poking around in the glove compartment as I serviced and gassed her car. Her nice round breasts were capped with long nipples and she made sure I got a real good look at them. A couple of times she wore a skirt, although usually it was tight slacks or shorts on hot days. Those skirts had slits that she used to show off her legs and I even got a good look at the crotch of her panties. The ones I really liked had a small shadow panel right at the crotch but the upper part might as well have been saran wrap. I actually saw her clit poking out over the top of the shadow panel one day while I carefully buffed her window. There was a thin strip of dark hair just above it and that was all. She knew that I could see too, her face was slightly red and her lips pursed out as she pretended to not notice me.
It popped in my mind to perhaps take a chance and hit on her but I really didn't feel secure about that, after all she was much older than me and she wore this giant diamond on her ring finger so I knew there was a husband somewhere.
So I just looked and enjoyed.
I kept right on sending out those applications, too.
Then I happened to mention to Martin that my rathole apartment rent was eating up almost everything I made. He looked at me and grinned.
"Hey, why not rent one of mine?" He said.
"You have apartments?" I asked.
"Yea, I bought some rentals over on Halton avenue, check them out. I can make you a better deal, let's call it part of the job. You are a good worker!"
I drove over after work to take a look. The place consisted of 8 units, three down one row, two across the back, and three up the other side. It was obviously once a motel complex. There was nice cement sidewalks, the units on each side faced each other. That created a very nice area for sitting outside in the evenings, and nice and private too with the big bushes lining the front. The grass was neat and weedfree, freshly mowed. There was even a tiny fish pond with a couple of fish in there, they would poke their heads out waiting for us to feed them something. Each unit had a living room, kitchen, one bedroom and one bath, on the small side but clean and neat as a pin.
And half what I was paying for a 2nd floor walkup with a struggle for anywhere to park within a half mile. The damn floors weren't level and the boards squeaked when I walked on them, which the fat broad that lived below me complained about constantly.
Hell, she called management one day when I was playing my electric guitar with the power shut off! Since the crabby old fart that managed the place was hosing the fat broad, of course I got told to keep it down.
She kept me pissed off all the time, it got so I would wait until I heard her shower running, hell, I could hear her take a dump the place was so thin.
I would then flush the toilet, wait until it filled and then go turn on the hot water full blast.
The first couple of times I did that I got a nice shriek for a response, oddly she never showered when I was home after that.
So I happily took unit number seven, smack in the middle between two little houses exactly alike, facing three others across the courtyard, also exactly alike.
I moved in a month later. Things were looking up.
The day I moved in I came walking up the sidewalk carrying a huge box. Two young women were sitting on lawn chairs out front. They smiled at me, I smiled back. Nothing really out of the ordinary there, both of them were wearing blue jeans and T-shirts.
I was carrying the last items, my guitar and my amp, one of them asked me if I played.
"Yea, a little." I answered.
"Us, too, we like to play and sing a little. What do you play?"
"Oh, about anything I want, if I hear it I can play it."
"Cool! Let's get together, jam some?"
"Sure, any time." I went ahead and put my stuff away.
I was bent over one of the cartons, digging out my matched cutlery set, consisting of three knives, forks, spoons etc when I heard a voice from the doorway.
"Need any help?"
One of the girls was standing there. She was blonde, and very nicely rounded out from what I could see.
"No, thanks though. I got it about all handled, I don't have much stuff yet."
"I'm Shelly, I live in number two..with my boyfriend." She added.
"I'm Dan. Who is your friend?" I could see the other girl still sitting in one of the lawnchairs, watching us intently.
"That's Kathy, she is in 8." I knew number 8 was the one on the end next to mine.
