The Handyman

This is my first attempt at a longer story with several chapters. If you like it, please leave a comment. I have written eight more chapters, and may add more if this is well received.

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I woke up early to the very pleasant feeling of a pair of loving wet lips caressing my morning wood. This has been a very common occurrence over the last seven years, with me waking up in the bed of one of my neighbors. You see, I'm Joseph Doyle, a retired electrician who has been keeping busy for the last ten years doing odd jobs for people in my neighborhood. Since my wife died of cancer eight years ago, our neighborhood has turned into a veritable 'Peyton Place', with all but one of the eleven houses on our little Cull du Sac being inhabited by divorced or widowed ladies of 'a certain age'. I live in the house at the end of the street, in whose driveway everyone who ventures into our 'little world' must turn around.

It all started about ten years ago when we moved here after I retired from the IBEW, 'downsizing', by buying the small brick bungalow at the end of Emerald Court. The subdivision was named Erin Acres, and all of the streets had Irish themed names. It was an idyllic neighborhood full of quaint, modest homes, and all of the neighbors were friendly. There was a park in the center of the subdivision that my back yard borders on named Lake Killarney Park, after the small lake it surrounds, where the neighborhood association holds celebrations for all holidays (especially the Irish ones). St Patrick's Day is celebrated with enough beer and whisky to float a battleship, and the 4th of July sounds like the invasion of Normandy.

I noticed a change in the demographics of our street soon after we moved in when two of our neighbors got divorced and their husbands moved out. My wife started inviting the two lovely ladies to dinner, and volunteering my time to help them with little 'things' that needed to be 'fixed'. The ladies were very 'touchy feely' when I would show up at their houses, and wore revealing clothes with extra buttons undone, showing off their charms. When I told my wife Mary about this, she told me, "Don't worry dear, they're probably lonely. Just humor them."

About eighteen months later, I took Mary to the doctor to hear the results of some tests she had taken, and we got the news that changed our lives. My bride of forty-five years had a malignant tumor on her pancreas, and had six months to live. When we got home, we cried ourselves to sleep for a week.

When the word got around the neighborhood, two months later, the neighbors supplied us with enough food to feed an army, and when Mary died in my arms, I was numb. Our youngest daughter lived in the same town, and took two weeks off work to help me sort things out. I let her donate Mary's things, and only kept a few items of jewelry. The night after the funeral I was alone in the house, and had trouble sleeping in our bed alone. I just walked around from room to room, staring at the walls.

I finally collapsed on the living room couch and started to dream about Mary and me. Our whole life together flashed before my eyes. From the first minute I saw her, the first day of school my senior year in high school, to the night I proposed at the drive-in theater, two years later. I relived our wedding mass (in Latin) at St. Patrick's Catholic Church, the first time we made love, on our wedding night, the birth of our eldest daughter, Erin, and finally the night she died, when she told me, "Joe, do not morn me, I am at peace now. Take that beautiful cock of yours and make sure you satisfy all of the horny single ladies on Emerald Court."

I woke up in a cold sweat and thought, 'Holy Shit, she really did say that to me the night she died!' I had forgotten she had told me that with her last breath. I had blocked that out of my mind, because I thought the pain meds had made her delirious. She really does want me to take care of all those sexy old broads' pussies. It took me a week or two to process what my Mary was expecting me to do. At that time, I had no idea what the future held in store for me, but I would soon find out.