In his position of handyman at the Embury Apartments in Saratoga Springs, Matt Avery got to interact with many ladies during the course of his workday, and even though the community catered to those 55 and up, that didn't bother the muscular 31-year-old divorced man a bit.
All his life he had seemed to get along better with older women, a theory reinforced by his failed marriage to a girl his age, and while the very elderly didn't interest him there were a lot of women in their late 50's and early 60's who looked damn fine to him.
"Besides, 60 is the new 40, or something like that," Matt had told his friend Chris at the bar the night before as he waved his beefy arm around the happy hour crowd which was mainly yuppies. "These women our age - they think they're hot stuff - and maybe some of them are, but they're so high maintenance. These older ladies, they try harder to please. Like this lady I have to replace a garbage disposal for tomorrow. Remember Mrs. Hudson?"
"The librarian back in high school?" Chris asked, and after Matt nodded he laughed and said, "She was the one that looked like Miss Hathaway on The Beverly Hillbillies."
"A little I suppose but - hey - she was a nice woman," Matt reminded his long-time friend.
"Oh that's right. She was your first."
"And one of the best. Boy when she took her clothes off maybe you didn't whistle, but by the time I got out of her house that day I didn't have the energy to even pucker-up anyway," Matt told him. "And I kept coming back too. Nice lady, god rest her soul. This woman tomorrow looks a lot like her. Mrs. Irene Webb is her name. A widow."
"So are you going to go there tomorrow and bat those baby blues at this poor woman?"
"That's the plan, but you make me sound like a predator."
"Then you give her that smile with your dimples showing, and you probably wear one of those t-shirts that look like they're painted on you, with your biceps and neck muscles straining the seams?"
"I think you're exaggerating but - hey - you know me too well," Matt admitted.
"That gal doesn't stand a chance," Chris noted. "I'm only glad my Mom is in Florida safe and sound because she thought you were so adorable when we were growing up."
"I'm glad too," Matt mumbled under his breath because there were times back then that he was sorely tempted, and if he made a move on his friend's mother Matt suspected she would have given in.
"Anyway, maybe nothing will happen with Mrs. Webb," Matt suggested. "In that case it's just a day at work."
"There will be plenty more for you to fuck and forget after her," Chris opined before they had left the bar but Matt shook his head.
"I never forget them and I treat them all like the nice ladies they are, with love and respect. Who knows, maybe this will be their last time?"
^^^
"You're always so prompt," Irene Webb said as she held her door open so the handyman could bring his tools in easier. "I should have remembered. Look at me, still in my robe."
"You still look pretty regardless of whatever you wear," Matt opined and enjoyed the woman's reaction while also noticing that despite her comments Mrs. Webb had put on a little make-up, not a lot but enough for Matt to know that she didn't just roll out of bed when he knocked.
"You silly," Irene replied with a wave of her hand, but as they went into the kitchen she mentioned, "I have a fresh pot of coffee on Matthew, if you would like."
"Smells great but maybe I'll have a cup when I finish," Matt said. "When I start sitting around and having coffee before I start, I get in trouble."
"I have cookies too," Irene mentioned. "Made them yesterday. Chocolate chips. Do you like them?"
"I thought I smelled something delicious," Matt told her as he prepared to climb under the sink. "Tell you what. When I finish this I'll have a cookie and a cup of that coffee. Good incentive to work hard, although I don't really need to eat a cookie. Watching my weight."
"You? It doesn't look like you need to," Irene said as she watched the muscular man start to unhook the old garbage disposal, the bulging of his muscles making her flush like she was going through menopause again. "Well, I'll leave you alone so you can work."
"Won't take too long."
"Doesn't matter, Matthew," Irene said as she sat on her couch, the angle perfect for her to see the handyman working. "Take your time."
As the silver haired woman positioned herself on the end of the sofa, she tried to get her robe positioned correctly so if the boy did look her way, her legs would look their best, but she shook her head at her foolishness because she knew the best thing about her skinny shapeless legs was that she had the right number of them.
Instead she sipped her coffee and looked at the parts of the boy she could see as he fiddled under the sink, although she scolded herself for calling Matthew a boy because he was probably in his late 20's or early thirties, but it was hard not to look at those shoulders and arms of his.
As Irene watched Matt she imagined that tight t-shirt exploding off of him as his muscles expanded with his efforts, and as the damp patches under his arms got bigger he wished she was brazen enough to suggest he take his shirt off while he worked.
"You'll be more comfortable," Irene imagined herself saying, and as her mental movie had the boy peel his shirt off himself to expose his muscular upper torso her heart fluttered like it had back when she was dating the man that would become her husband, and she scolded herself once again for thinking these things.
There was no harm in dreaming though, and too soon for her liking Matt climbed off the floor, waking her out of her dream world to ask whether she had something to send down the new disposal so he could make sure it worked.
"I think I have something in the refrigerator that I was meaning to get rid of," Irene said and she joined Matt in the kitchen. "It's in here somewhere."
As Irene bent down to search for the past its prime leftover she was aware of the handyman eyes on her, but only after she straightened up and handed him the foil-wrapped food didn't she realize something. As she was bent over her hand that was clutching the robe together came off, and the man had been looking down at her. Who knows what he had seen?
After Matt pronounced the disposal as working well again he grabbed the old device and told Irene he would dump it in the store room but would be right back.
"A cup of coffee would go good right about now, and of course I have to try a cookie too," the boy told her as he left the apartment.
Irene quickly went into her bedroom and stood in front of the mirror and bent over while taking her hand off the ends of the robe to see what the young man might have seen.
"Oh dear," Irene fretted as she looked at the way much of her breasts were visible down the neck of her nightie under the robe, the only thing more disturbing than how small they were was they way they hung down.
"Banana boobs," she chuckled when she recalled her old college dorm mate who might never have worn a bra in her life.
That was the self-depreciating term that girl had used to describe her breasts back then and now over forty years later Irene was amused that she had banana boobs now as well.
"I'm back," Matt called out when he returned. "Going to wash my hands."
Irene made sure that her robe was secure before hurrying out to get the coffee cups out and put some cookies on a plate while the handyman washed his hands, thinking that she was like the wicked witch luring Hansel minus Gretel with her goodies.
