If you read my earlier writing you may recall that I live alone these days and enjoy a lifestyle that is much simpler and stress free than the days of the corporate world. I live on the outskirts of town, well just outside the outskirts really, but have all the comforts I want. I get by with doing odd jobs for some of the single women or older couples in town, sell some photography work now and then, and have managed my investments of years past prudently.
So, this story is about one of the occurrences that happened recently. Libby is a divorcee in town who is a few years younger than me and with whom I worked with in an office decades ago. She was in marriage number three about then, if my memory serves me, and has had a few since then. We always got along well enough which led me to believe her carousel of spouses was more due to her choice of incompatible companion than any major flaw in either. We never did anything more than the usual innocent office flirting at the coffee machine, and I think we were both comfortable with that being all there was.
When I moved here Libby was one of the first people I ran into at the grocery store. She was wonderful in helping me get acquainted around town, and insisted that I have dinner with her that night. Since then I've been to her home many times to help her with some problem, like replacing the filter on her icemaker, doing some outside painting, rescreening her porch, etc. In all those endeavors it was clear that I was hired and she paid me for the work just as anyone else would. There was never any suggestion or action towards flirtation at all.
All that changed one day. Libby called me one afternoon and asked me to come by that evening to help her with a clogged sink drain and I agreed to a time. When I got there I could tell Libby was in a different mood and had already had a beer or two. I have no problem with that, just noticed that it was different. I also thought I could hear a porn video playing on the TV in the other room. That wasn't a total surprise as Libby was always known to enjoy watching porn. As I worked on the sink I assumed she was in there watching and getting herself off. When I finished the sink I just called out that I was finished and would see myself out. Getting no immediate response I quickly made my way out the door and to my truck.
I'll have to admit that the thought of her pleasuring herself in the other room stuck in my mind and that evening I made good use of that thought in pleasuring myself. Now allow me to describe Libby for you. She's not a petite thing but more what you might call curvy, which is exactly the way I prefer women. She has a definite girl-next-door look about her, with smooth, creamy skin and very blonde hair which is natural. Her breasts are ample, as is the wonderfully shaped ass. She usually dresses very conservatively in spite of her much wilder days of youth, and all of this worked to my advantage in the mental pictures that night.
The next morning was a Saturday and my phone rang fairly early. I recognized the number on the caller ID as Libby and knew she must be calling to apologize, and was correct. She didn't own up to what she was doing, just that she was so into the "housework" she was doing that she never heard me leave. I assured her it was no big deal and to forget it. I then offered that I had to run into town later that morning to pick up something at the hardware and would be happy to drop by around lunch time and that a sandwich for lunch would be ample in exchange for fixing her sink. It was a deal.
Libby lives in an older part of town but the houses are all well kept. I usually drive to the rear of her driveway and use the back door so that I won't soil her living room carpets with my boots and tools. When I got to the back door it flung open before I could even knock, and Libby greeted me more exuberantly than ever. She was in a fantastic mood, even for her, and was literally bouncing all around. Bouncing in her energy and bouncing her boobs. I'd never seen Libby when she wasn't wearing a bra, but today she most definitely wasn't.
As we made our way to the kitchen, Libby bubbling in conversation the whole time, I noticed that either the cool morning air or my arrival had excited her, as her nipples were standing at full and firm attention. I tried not to stare, but the t-shirt she was wearing did little to disguise her figure, and the outline of her areolas was faintly visible under the thin cloth. Caught in my stares, Libby just squished her boobs in her arms, apologized, then went on talking as if nothing were amiss.
As Libby as making our sandwiches she was facing the countertop and directly across the small kitchen from where I sat at the small table. As she talked and worked I stared at her rump and began to have doubts as to whether she was wearing any panties. She was wearing a pair of cutoff sweatpant shorts, cut several inches higher than fashion would suggest, and they fit nice and snug. Not tight, but snug. Snug enough to have displayed VPL if there were any panties. I sat there more occupied in wondering if there were panties, if there was a thong, or if there were nothing then in what Libby was saying. Finally she turned and brought our lunch to the table and I could relieve my eyes of the subject of the question, but was then subjected to the nipple show again. Lunch would be hard on me, for sure.
After we'd finished our lunch and taken some time for light conversation, I excused myself with the explanation that I had a number of chores to get to that afternoon, and that I appreciated the lunch. Libby smiled with that next-door girl smile, thanked me for coming by, and I was away. The sight of those nipples teasing from beneath the thin shirt and the smooth shape of her behind stuck with me much longer that afternoon than the sandwich did. In fact, I was rather looking forward to that evening so I could savor those mental images properly.
I didn't hear from Libby for over a week. My schedule is erratic and her work schedule can vary from just a few hours a week to close to 60 a week, depending on the workload. I always thought working in an accountant's office would be steady hours, but apparently not, especially around tax time. But near the end of the next week I did get a text from Libby asking me if I could stop by later that evening. I replied that I could and said it would be around 7 o'clock or so if that was OK.
When I got to Libby's place a bit after 7 I expected to find another clogged sink or perhaps a sticking toilet valve. Most people just jiggle the handle to get the toilet to quit running, but that never works for long. What I didn't expect was what was to greet me inside the house.
Libby met me at the door and almost had a look of desperation on her face. I could clearly tell there was something wrong, so I asked, "You OK?"
