"Come on Helen, just do me, please..."
"I said no Dave and I mean it. You'll just have to find another way or better still find somebody else." I turned on my heels and strode purposefully to the door.
"Right I'm going. I'll see you next week, okay?"
"Yeah, alright," Dave replied. I could see the crestfallen look on his face. "We're okay though right? You're definitely coming back?"
I smiled. "Yes Dave, we're okay and yes I'll be back. I'm not offended... that much."
I pulled the door shut behind me and bumped straight into Dave's dad, Walter.
"Ooops Walter, I didn't see you there," I said.
"That's alright duck," he said, "are you going then?"
"Yes I am. I'll see you next week, okay?"
"Alright sweetheart," Walter replied. I could see his eyes were fixed firmly on my large tits.
"I take it he asked you again then?" he said.
I sighed. "Yeah...again...and before you ask, no I'm not offended."
I opened their front door. I needed to leave quickly before Walter could give me his usual going away grope.
Too late. His large gnarled hands closed round my firm ass cheeks and squeezed. Damn him; for a man in his late seventies he sure was fast.
"Thanks Walter," I said sarcastically.
"No problem darlin," he grinned back at me, "see you soon."
I shook my head as I walked down the driveway. Walter had been feeling me up ever since I had started working there. He took every opportunity he could to feel my tits or fondle my ass, although I had become quite skilful in avoiding him. I didn't really mind though. It was only harmless fun and who was I to deny an old man in his twilight years a bit of pleasure.
I heard him close the door. I could just make out his wheezing laugh before he set himself off in a coughing fit.
Serves you right you lecherous old git, I hope you choke I thought as I climbed into my car.
* * * * * *
I guess I should tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Helen Smith. I'm thirty nine years of age, married for twelve years to Gareth, or as he likes to be called, Gaz. He hates his given name.
That's usually what I call him as well although of late it's been more like shit-head or ass-hole or toss-pot or you bastard!
As you've probably surmised I'm not particularly enamoured with him right now. This is due to the usual problem that plagues most relationships, married or not. Money...or to be more precise, the abject lack of it.
We are desperately hard up, struggling to make ends meet.
It was a shock when Gaz arrived home a few months ago to drop the bombshell of his redundancy. It was an even bigger shock when we realised he wasn't going to get any redundancy pay either. In fact no-one at the foundry did. The bosses had seen to that by stripping the coffers bare before closing the company down.
We weren't the only ones affected though. Every single person working there walked away with nothing.
However, the difference between then and now was startling. Just about everyone that had worked on the same shift as Gaz had managed to get fixed up with another job of some description straight away. But not my Gaz.
He was "waiting for the right job." I had no idea what that meant. I was coming to the conclusion it meant "I'm a lazy, work shy bastard!"
Of course we argued. I didn't get very far. He could be one stubborn son of a bitch when he wanted to be.
So here we are. Running out of cash. Our relationship virtually on the rocks.
I tried to help. Do my bit. I took several small jobs working a few hours here and there but there was never any permanency in any of them. Good jobs for women were just as hard to come by as for men. But at least I was trying. Not like Gaz, the selfish, idle bastard!
It was then that I had the bright idea of setting up my own gardening and cleaning business.
Lots of our friends and family had often said how clean my home was and how I seemed to love gardening. This was true. I took pride in how my home looked. We didn't have a lot but what we did have sparkled and shone like new.
But my garden was my pride and joy. I derived much enjoyment from raising plants from seed and cuttings, using our garage as a potting shed. I tended and nurtured the plants I raised and as a result I enjoyed spectacular looking flowers and shrubs throughout most of the year at very little cost.
It was through this that one of our neighbours asked if I would be interested in looking after their garden. They couldn't manage it now due to their advancing years. They would be happy to pay of course. So much an hour, for a few hours a week.
How could I refuse. It was cash in hand too. Ssshhh, don't tell the tax man!
It was funny how word got around. Doing that one garden led to them recommending me to their friends who then recommended me to their neighbours. My family also helped out by recommending me when they saw an opportunity. You get the picture.
It seemed only natural when I was then asked if I could do some cleaning up as well and get shopping from the supermarket from time to time. I was happy to help.
It was through this network of recommendations that eventually led me to Dave and his dad, Walter.
They live in a village about ten miles out of town. Dave and Walter live in a house owned by Walter's other son, Jim. He is a generous soul. The rent he collects from them is only just below the top price for that type of house. He certainly isn't doing them any favours.
Still, I guess they can afford it, they seem to have quite a bit of money coming into the house, what with Walter's pension and Dave's social benefits.
Oh yeah, I haven't told you yet. Dave's disabled. Has been for a number of years. Some kind of accident. He doesn't talk about it.
It left him disabled from the waist down and he struggles to use his arms and hands most of the time although I have seen him manage to use the TV remote control from time to time.
He's single, always has been and is in his forties. And he has needs! It was these needs that he had been asking me to relieve for him today.
* * * * *
Gaz was out when I got home. I put my pay for the day into the jar that I hid at the back of the cupboard. Gaz would never find it in there. He was too lazy to turf everything out to try and find it.
The phone rang.
"Hi Helen, it's me," the cheery voice of my sister Rachel boomed forth.
"Hi Rach," I said, "how's things?"
"Good, good thanks. How's things with you?" she asked.
"Fine thanks. I've just got back from Dave and Walter's."
"Oh I see...sooo, did he ask again?"
"You know he did. God he's such a pervert. I may have to stop going you know."
Rachel was laughing at me now. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
