I ran a small contracting business, doing concrete driveways and paths and such. I picked up quite a bit of business, especially in the housing area as the big companies are too busy to worry about little jobs. With the mount of overheads they have a little job isn't worth the trouble. For me it was my bread and butter, with enough left over for jam and cream.
One of the big jobs that the larger companies love is putting in fresh pavement for housing estates. They make a few bucks out of those. One of the little jobs that they hate is the repairs to that pavement when something stuffs up their nice work. Maybe a tree too close to the path has sent a root under it and broken a slab. Sometimes careless drivers in heavy vehicles have driven where they shouldn't and crushed some pavement. These little things they palm off to me. I smile and say thank you, do a fix and pocket the money.
I currently had one of those jobs on the go. A footpath had three or four section where the concrete was cracked and broken up. If I was a betting man I'd lay odds on a prime-mover or a piece of earth moving equipment taking a short-cut where it shouldn't have.
I'd finished the job and it was work well done. I'd put up a temporary barricade to persuade people to walk around the wet concrete and I'd be back in a day or two to remove it, hoping no-one had etched initials into the concrete before it dried.
While I was putting up the barricade a man came wandering over from the adjacent house. He wanted a quote for the replacement of some concrete at the rear of his house. I went around to the back of his hose and he'd had a section next to the garage concreted over. Done it himself from the look of it, and badly done at that. Parked on that square of now broken concrete was a prime-mover. What a surprise.
"Listen, mate," I told him. "If you want some concrete to support that beast you'd be best getting some reinforcement in. She's just too heavy for casual concrete."
I gave him a fair and reasonable quote and referred him to a couple of other contractors who'd be only too happy to quote for him. I didn't mind the competition at this stage as I had plenty of work on hand and I didn't particularly want the job. Not that I'd knock it back if offered.
I did finish up getting the job, but with a time constraint. It wasn't a case of wanting the job done as soon as possible which was normal, but for me to get the job started on or after a specific date and finished by another specific date. It appeared that the man had an interstate run and would be gone for two weeks. He wanted the job done while he was away.
That was a reasonable request and I agreed quite happily. I scheduled it to be done and promptly forgot about it until it came time to actually commence work.
I rolled up to the site with one of the boys. First order of the day was to finish breaking up the concrete already there and dump it in a skip to be carted away. Everything went as per normal except for one tiny detail.
The woman of the house came and sat on the back veranda and watched us work. I have to admit she was an attractive little thing, probably in her early twenties. The weather was hot and Bob and I were dressed for it, basically wearing shorts and singlets. The woman just sat there for most of the day, watching us. Not watching us work, but watching us.
She didn't try to approach us or chat us up. She just sat back and watched. Bob confided afterwards that he felt as he was a slab of beefcake with a hungry diner watching him.
The next day I was there by myself. Basically it was going to be a day of marking out the area, putting down timber to define the edges, and clear the excess dirt away. Hard physical labour but one that really only required a single person to do it. The next day we'd put down some metal and drop the concrete over it. That would effectively complete the job.
The woman was there again to watch me work. In addition she had a friend with her, a friend who seemed just as interested in watching a man doing manual labour. Seeing it was just me and mainly shifting soil it was a lot quieter than the previous day. That turned out to be a little problem.
The two young ladies were discussing me. They dissected my build, my looks, my muscles. They wondered if I was married or if I had a girlfriend. They discussed the possibility of me being gay. They talked about the possibility of me having a wife and a girlfriend. They discussed what I'd be like in bed or would I rather play away from a bed. They fantasised about me jumping them. They made wagers about how big an erection I might have and wondered how to find out. They also discussed their husbands and how they performed in bed. Some details you just do not need to hear.
They also talked loudly enough for me to hear. I don't know whether they intended to but they did. Sexual harassment at its finest.
By the time I'd cleared the site ready for the next day I wasn't what would be described as a happy chappy.
I strolled over to the two young ladies, and I use the word ladies very loosely.
"I heard you taking guesses at my marital status," I said. "For your information I'm not married and I'm between girlfriends. That leaves me free to indulge my fantasies. Right now my fantasies are centred on getting the pair of you naked and then fucking you both. Care to take your panties off so we can get started?"
Geez, you'd think I'd insulted them or something.
"Do you mind?" said the woman who I surmised was the wife of the bloke I was doing the job for.
"We're married women. How dare you?" demanded the other.
I looked around.
"I don't see any husbands on hand," I pointed out, "so they don't count. Neither do I see any neighbours looking over the fences so I think we can assume we're reasonably private here. You'll be able to remove your panties and get fucked right here."
"What the fuck makes you think we'd permit any such thing?" demanded Mrs X.
