George ran a carpentry and joinery shop, specialising in kitchen and bathroom renovations, although he and his boys were willing to turn their hands to anything that came up. They had a reputation as a firm that did good work at a fair price and completed it in the nominated time.
The last was why George was feeling slightly pissed. The Henderson job was going well, but slowly, and he couldn't put his finger on the cause of the delays. There'd been no sickies from the crew, no reports of delays in materials. Sparkies and plumbers had shown up as promised.
So why the delay?
He decided to have a chat with Noel, see if they could pin point the reason it wasn't finished. Noel was evasive.
Feeling more pissed than ever, George leaned on him, and Noel finally explained the problem.
"It's Mrs. Henderson," he explained. "She's a hell of a distraction and the boys find it hard to concentrate while she's there, and she always seems to be there. But it should be OK now. There's only the finishing touches to be done and one man can knock that over in a day."
"The trouble is," pointed out George, "that your crew is scheduled to start a new job tomorrow, and I guaranteed you'd be there and I need your whole crew there. I'll have to find someone else to go out and finish of the Henderson job.
You haven't mentioned why Mrs. Henderson is such a distraction."
Noel sighed. "If I tell you that the boys call her bouncing boobs Belinda, does that give you a hint?"
All he needed, thought George. One of his crews sexually harassing a client's wife.
"What is Mrs. Henderson's attitude to that," he asked, frustration plain in his voice.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, boss," Noel said hurriedly. "The boys are good as gold around her, but they can't help but watch when she goes past. Have you seen her?"
George shook his head, and Noel continued.
"She's what you call petite, but she's got boobs that stick out to here," he said, holding his cupped hands well in front of him. "She has this predilection for sloppy singlet type t-shirts, so there's quite a bit of boob on display. I'll swear she never wears a bra and when she goes past her boobs go bouncing about like a couple of basketballs under that top. The boys can't help but watch in case one of them bounces out."
"Where'd you ever learn a word like predilection, you untutored buffoon," grumbled George. "So you reckon anyone I send is going to be side-tracked by the sight of these bouncing boobs?"
"I went to bloody college and that's where I learnt big words, and you bloody know it," riposted Noel. "I could go and finish the job without being distracted. I'm happily married, so she doesn't affect me quite as much as the others.
Although it is a fascinating sight," he added, smiling reminiscently.
He grinned as George growled, and waited. George finally sighed.
"I need you at the new job. Let's go over the spec's and you can tell me the finishing touches still required. I'll go out there and attend to them myself."
Next morning George turned up at the Henderson's place and was admitted by Mrs. Henderson. He was willing to admit that Mrs. Henderson was cute and petite, and her chest did seem to fill out her top quite well, but as she was wearing a tracksuit it was hard to reconcile her actual appearance with the bouncing boobs Belinda that Noel had described.
Mentally shrugging, George settled down to work.
Half an hour later he was startled when bouncing boobs Belinda put in her first appearance. Mrs. Henderson came bouncing into the kitchen, her track suit gone, being replaced by Daisy Duke shorts and what appeared to be a loose singlet. And bouncing was a pretty accurate description of the way Mrs. Henderson entered, seeming to bound from one foot to the other, her breasts jumping around most energetically under her loose top, apparently threatening to burst free at any moment, but never quite doing so.
Suddenly George could see how his boys had been getting distracted. Giving Belinda the benefit of the doubt, he assumed that she didn't realise the effect her chest had on men when she dressed like that.
As she bounced happily out of the kitchen, George realised that there was another distraction. Her bottom rolled around in those shorts in a way that was an extremely effective eye magnet.
He raised his eyebrows in faint derision at himself and his reaction to that little pocket Venus, and got back to work, idly thinking maybe he should have been paying the crew danger money.
Fifteen minutes later she came bouncing in again, not obviously looking at him, but George noticed from the reflection in the oven door that she was peeping to see if he was looking. When he didn't turn to look at her she flounced out, bottom at full wiggle.
Half an hour passed and then George heard Belinda bouncing towards the kitchen again. Enough was enough.
Belinda came bouncing across the kitchen, a little smirk on her lips, noting with satisfaction that the carpenter was turning his head to look at her. She was taken aback when he spoke.
"How much?" he asked.
Belinda, blinked, confused. How much what?
"Excuse me?" she said.
"I was asking how much," George said blandly. "You seem to be advertising the goods so I was wondering what they're going to cost me."
He deliberately looked with interest at the breasts swelling under the singlet.
Belinda was dumbstruck. He hadn't really said that, had he? He had.
"I, you, insulting, swine, I never.." Belinda stuttered in fury, not sure what she was trying to say.
"You're saying the goods aren't for sale?" asked George, looking at her with an interested expression.
"Certainly not, and it's insulting of you to even suggest it."
"Well, you have to admit that you've been offering them for display pretty regularly," observed George, "both to me and to the crew I had here. You can't blame us for wondering."
Belinda stared at the uncouth workman, unable to believe he would talk to her like that. She was even more horrified when she found he wasn't finished.
"I have to admit it's always nicer when things are given freely from a generous heart. Why don't you take off that silly singlet so I can get a proper appreciation of those lovely bouncing boobs of yours? That's what the men call you, you know. Bouncing boobs Belinda."
Bouncing boobs Belinda? Belinda suddenly found out what it was like to feel flattered and insulted at the same time. Then the suggestion the workman made registered. Take of her singlet? Really, how could he suggest such a thing she thought, furious. It was one thing to walk past him with minimal clothing, but to take it off her top was something else entirely.
Belinda turned, flouncing out of the kitchen, only to freeze when she heard a derisive "cluck, cluck, cluck" behind her.
She whirled round on the oaf.
