A PROBLEM IS SOON SOLVED
The canal side properties and the scenery of her home city are only too familiar, but she is at a loss from where to go to get her far from fashionable, but useful, bicycle mended. Some would call it a 'granny bike', upright, heavy, and even with a small rack fixed on the handlebars in which she has put her straw bag that contains her purse and iPhone.
'Just where am I going to get the flat tyre fixed?' Annet mutters, as she stands at the edge of the pavement and looks up and down the narrow roadway that flanks the canal, the canopies of the trees offering some shelter from the warmth of the sun. The heat still seems to rise from the pavement slabs and she's relieved that her short denim ski is light and airy, her cowl-necked white T-shirt is cool.
She walks on, pushing her bicycle, and is relieved to see a sign poking out from a building's frontage, the shopfront set between two staircases that lead up, in short flights, to a heavy front door to the homes of the rich.
'Thank God!' she mutters, although the place looks very small. 'Art on Two Wheels' the sign says. She realizes, instantly, that in this part of Amsterdam, students get their wrecks of a bicycle fixed for a low charge. She's not a student, but an office worker and she is through with her short day and she may be fortunate not to be charged too much. Battered examples, some garishly painted, of the shop's stock in trade are chained to a canal-side tree. 'Let's see what the cost and the problem is.'
The bike is put against a railing and is secured with a colourful locking cable and she twists the combination a few turns. Inside, and standing behind a battered counter with a glass top and front, she sees a wizened old guy.
'What can I do for you, miss?' he smiles, his voice gravelly.
'Hello, mister, I have a flat tyre and it is too far for me to walk home. Can I wait here while it's fixed?'
'I'm sure you can, although our repair shop is round the next corner. You can't miss it, the sign hangs over the door. My son, Rob, deals with all the technical stuff...I'm not as good as I once was.' He smiles. 'Rob's the man to help you.'
His attention is drawn away from her and to other customers.
She finds it soon enough, the sign mounted on a metal pole that is fixed to the wall. It is placed above two almost bare wooden doors, the paint on them all but gone, and she manoeuvres her bicycle into the gloomy interior. As her eyes adjust to the light she sees a rusty bicycle hanging on chains and hooks from the ceiling.
But of Rob, there is no sign. Nor is there a bell or any means to let Rob know of her presence.
'Hello, is anyone in there?'
'Yes, there is, and I'll be with you in a moment!'
Annet wonders to whom the deep voice belongs and the metallic fringe curtain, that she has seen in a doorway, rustles open. A young man with slicked-back brown hair peers her way and smiles in approval.
'Sorry to keep you waiting, lady, but I had just gone into the back room and kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Hearing you come in startled me and I spilled it. Now my pants are covered in it.'
He was only mildly embarrassed to say it as he looked down at the state of his trousers.
'I didn't hear any bell...' Annet mutters and tries not to smile at the situation she finds herself in. A good-looking young guy, with a slender hollow-cheeked face and square jaw, his look back at her intense, is getting to her and she feels it. He's tall and well built, his T-shirt taut on his body, his arms strong. He's no grease monkey fixing bicycles, but that is clearly what he does here.
'The bell's in the back room...announces if someone's come in.' He smiles and keeps on looking her way. 'I'm Rob...Rob Jansen. My father and I run this place...'
'Yes, I know. He said that before he sent me round here to you. I'm Annet...'
'I'm pleased to meet you, Annet.' The woman's slender and curvy, and she is blessed with a neat hourglass figure, her nicely toned thighs angled back from her knees more than he has noticed on other women. He notices an almost balletic spring in her step, her tan leather ballerina pumps looking stylish even if they're worn with a denim skirt and a white V-neck T-shirt with cropped sleeves. She fills it nicely and a long-chained flapper necklace sets it all off to great, casual, effect. 'I'll be with you in a moment...have a spare pair of trousers to change into. But, tell me what's the problem?'
'A flat tyre...'
'Yes, so I see now. I can fix it after checking, or else it may mean a new inner tube.'
Annet sighs. 'I just want a simple repair so that I can get on my way again, please.' They have moved to stand by her bike that leans against a workbench and she almost feels the strength in the guy beside her.
'Well?'
'You can change whatever is needed but may I wait here while you do that? I don't want the hassle of walking home only to come back later...mister Jansen.'
'I understand, Annet. Not even the students around here call me by my surname and I sure don't want you doing that. I'm Rob...the guy who washed his hands to make them clean only to make his pants dirty with that coffee I spilled.' He steps away from her. 'Sure, you can stay. A change of tyre is soon done and I don't always have company when I'm doing that.'
He's flirting with me, Annet thinks, and when Rob smiles his beautifully white and even teeth appear from behind his full, straight, lips. He's amusing in his ways and she watches as the bike he had been working on is lifted away and her old contraption is hung in its place. He grabs a work stool and puts paper towels on it.
'You can sit on that while I quickly get changed. It's not so rushed today. I'll soon be with you again, promise.'
He looks back and sees her sitting on that stool, her toned, gangly, legs outstretched. Jeez, he thinks, she looks good; so slender and graceful in her movements. That Annet is not like the many student chicks that walk in with their wrecks of a bike and no money to spend on them. Possessed by the look of her, he opens and closes a door that leads off the small kitchen, and he does so noisily. It is then left open and she wonders if Rob has noticed her curiosity in seeing what he is doing and has left the door ajar on purpose.
Rob sifts through old and washed work clothes that have been placed on a shelf. He's unaware of her watching him through the half-open door and that she can see him slip off the sodden pants to reveal the skimpiest of pale blue pouch briefs that are like a second skin.
Annet shivers on seeing the guy. He must know that she's watching him as those briefs are pulled down.
She languishes in her thoughts of him and what can be seen. Oh, how strong and taut his legs and butt are, how lean his body is, and that she has time to take pleasure in seeing. How is she to deal with the feelings that are aroused in her and for a young guy she doesn't even know? Darn it, this is crazy what she's feeling! But, it makes her feel warm and provokes her to cherish the moment. Rob mustn't know what has been aroused in her, deliberately or not.
And then...and then it happens.
A pair of dry underpants fall out of his hands and onto the floor of the small kitchenette. Annet feels she would hear a pin drop; it's suddenly so quiet and tense as she watches Rob lean forward to pick them up. His butt cheeks tense, and so do his thigh muscles, and she gets a glimpse of his swinging dick and the heavy sag of his sac, the brownish-blonde hair on his groin to be seen quite clearly.
'So well made,' she whispers as the striptease goes on before her, through that half-open door. It's a wonder that no one else has come into the workshop. It is indeed a quiet day for him, for them perhaps. 'Oops, how careless!'
He seems to have heard her murmur of appreciation and soft laugh of dismay to be with him at a moment like this. She has spoken out instinctively and he has heard her, for Rob looks round, over his shoulder at her, and notices that the door to his kitchenette is partially open and...and he meets her gaze upon him.
Oh, how embarrassing he must think. But no, he brazens it out.
'Well now, Annet...have you seen me or not enough? I had no idea the door had fallen open and that you could see me getting changed. Do I close it or do you want to come here and have a really good look? Forget the bike for a moment.'
Man is he bold. She hadn't expected the reaction she now has to deal with. But she finds him ragingly attractive, so darned confident and unembarrassed by what she can see of him. His look back at her now is only too appraising and she feels a thrill course through her belly, the first flush of moisture in her pussy that the sight of his swaying prick has aroused in her. She feels a little giddy at the prospect of spontaneous sex with the guy.
She does not answer him. Words aren't needed as she gets up from the rickety stool and goes to him. It's impetuous and unusual behaviour for her. But she's been taken by the guy's look upon her.
