The Handyman

The rain had finally subsided. James exited his vehicle, tossing aside a hot dog foil into its passenger seat. As he combed free the diced onion from his beard, he checked his reflection in the driver side front window.

He was 39. Six feet, maybe an inch more. Adorned in a thrifted flannel which often brought him compliments from man and woman alike. A tight-fitted, comfortable pair of chinos, which allowed both freedom of movement, and a showcase of his bulged genitalia. A neon trucker hat of some nondescript surfboard company, selected solely to accentuate the outfit, with the subtle sarcasm that he could barely swim.

In his left-breast pocket of a sodded hooded denim vest, wood screws. In his right hand, a power drill. Dangling from his belt loop, a ball peen hammer, like some wild ape with an erection, peacocking his virility. He was a man prepared, and yet, he was a man ensnared.

His task was a simple one, the new tenant of 406 N. Wyoming Street had a fence that begged for maintenance. Strewn about loose posts lay along its perimeter, neglected from time and the elements. The fence enclosed a mid-century West Virginia home, it had character, but along with it, repairs that paralleled the woman within.

The irony was not lost on him that this woman managed a hardware store, yet had no time for her own upkeep. She toiled early and enduring days, awake before the sun, towing her daughter to daycare an hour away, then backtracking to her career, only to doubleback to retrieve her child, and drive another hour home. James picked up on this, and moved his varied schedule around to supplant himself in her now vacant orbit.

Alyssa Marlborough, aged 27, was a woman with a storied past. She had moved halfway across the country, state to state from Oregon, fleeing a religious and restrictive family, and into the arms of an older lover. Their love burned bright, but as with so many things, faded when the gruel of effort to save it reared its ugly head.

Preferring the path of least resistance after their child was born, she decided to move into her own space. This allowed her to redefine herself, free from the constraints of past relationships, indulging in the occasional sexual proclivity, as her constricted schedule so rarely allowed.

She was a vision: tall, slender, demure. A short haircut, which at times gave her an androgynous look, that vied for the attention of other women at work. The retro aesthetic of a 90's mom, replete with high waisted jeans, boots, and large framed glasses. She had fantastic, large natural breasts that hung like ripe papaya, often stowed away in a thick turtleneck and overalls. Hips that demanded squeezing. Beneath the surface, she was as kind as she was elegant. Deeper still, was a loose restraint.

James often fantasized about what sort of panties she wore. He had a proclivity toward lace, mainly black, but open to earth tones. The thought of a thin strip of fabric separating the fruited cheeks of her ass, drew his excitement. He imagined the sensation of hooking his finger through them and running up and down, then releasing it, smacking against her bare buttocks. His visions of her drifted him from his work, and as a returning raincloud drew quickly near, it broke his trance and he fumbled to regain composure.

Drill in hand, he progressed from post to post, reattaching them, careful not to damage their delicacy. In doing so, he realized he had started to reinforce the very barrier he had wished to remove, and gain closer to her affections. As he took a moment to stretch his arms he looked up and saw her in the kitchen.

There she was, placing some accoutrement in the window sill. Once again distracted, he fixated on her beauty. Unaware, she continued to reposition a house plant, and then began to dust. James rested against the fence to admire her, and in doing so, felt the tug of a loose nail upon his shirt. He quickly brandished his hammer, though unfocused on his work. Sensing this private audience, their eyes locked. It felt like an eternity. Though he was a bit unkempt, his rugged exterior and assertive actions had also caught her eye.

After a tense moment of statuesque sexual signalling and pheromonal exchange, he deftly struck the nail, head on, without removing his eyes from her. She looked away, though remained at the window. He struck again, the act of furthering the nail into fragile wood mimicked his desire to thrust her firmly, with purpose. He knew she needed that sweet release, to quite literally, be nailed.

James had not been sexually active in almost a year, and as clouds withdrew, his loins recharged, antagonized by the afternoon sun. The tip of his massive erection through his pants grated upon the unfinished wood like an artist with his brush. She began to hang a house plant in the window, and with it, her supple breasts pressed against the windowpane.

He longed to hold them, feel their tremendous weight, squeeze them together, and then place as much as he possibly could into his mouth, sucking them into a shared ecstasy. He needed her to know that his swollen dick would fit so perfectly inside her, and that he dared to knock upon the precipice of her enchambered cervix. He pined to hear her voice, begging him deeper, dictating the speed and severity of his calculated thrusts. He was lost in the thoughts of being inside her walls.

An alarming amount of precum immediately flowed into his briefs. Sensing the dampness, he procured a gas station napkin, and damned the well of his desires. Wadding it into a ball, and cupping the head, it made little difference. His lust for her was like that of two endangered species, met in the wild by chance. He gushed for her, to be gashed by him. He also felt dehydrated from this diversion of fluid, and he wished to slake his thirst. But perhaps, this could not be quenched by merely water. Perhaps, his appetite would be whetted if he could only place his pursed lips and tongue inside her.

He dreamt of putting his lingual member so deep that her legs buckled and thighs wavered. He had to have her, nothing else mattered. As she continued to adorn the window sill, she noticed him, noticing her. She blushed knowing her mere existence and mundane actions drew such excitement from him. She took extra time arbitrarily shifting things, her bust pressed firmly against the window, allowing him ample time, for such ample breasts. He dropped his hammer, forgetting it as he absconded to his vehicle, reprieving himself the temptation to brandish his steel hard erection and hastily end the torture that overtook him.

The alleyway behind the house would become his den of iniquity. His business was deviance and indulgence. Neither was cheap, because the bill of goods sold was so precious. He slowed his breath, allowing the restricted blood to somewhat flow back into the rest of his body. Without warning, a neighbor pulled up behind his truck, attempting to wedge the gap and move around. James was forced to pull his vehicle forward, and go around the block. He decided to return another day, to work upon the land and love of which he so desperately dared to trespass.