By Matthew Dyne
I knew the new owner of Doc Wheeler’s house was shopping when my answering service called my cell. I’d noticed Billy’s and Serge’s, my competitors’, vans there last week.
I parked in the driveway and walked up the path. I took a deep breath and stood tall and rang the bell.
She took me by surprise. I had a hard time not looking down—I didn’t want her to know what I was thinking. I’m sure she did. I kept my eyes on hers and put out my hand. “Cliff Stone,” I said, with a self-deprecating smile to let her know it was my real name.
“Barbara Beech with a double e,” she replied. “I don’t have any heat, and I’m freezing. She hugged herself, which I took as permission to look.
“This used to be Doc Wheeler’s house. Are you the new owner?”
“Me and the bank. I’m Bob Wheeler’s granddaughter.”
“Really? I liked your granddad. He respected me and what I do. A lot of homeowners treat me like dirt.”
“He left me and my cousins some money and the house. I had to buy my cousins out. I’m stretched pretty thin.”
I looked down. She was only a little thin and in all the right places. Nice tits, I thought. Through her hand knit sweater they bounced like she wasn’t wearing a bra. I wondered if I had a chance of finding out.
“I’ll show you the cellar,” she said.
“I’ve worked here before. I know the situation. The short version is you need a new boiler.”
“That’s what the other guys said.”
“It will cost about eight thousand dollars, installed.”
“Yeah, they said that too. Isn’t there any way I can get it cheaper?” she asked, hopefully.
“The boiler itself is expensive, and then there’s my time. But I do good work. Your grandfather used me exclusively.”
“I can’t afford it. I’m really in a bind. I appreciate that you can’t give away your services, but could you do it cheaper if I agree to buy all my oil from you for the next million years.
I didn’t like being put in the position she was putting me in, but I did want to help her, and all my reasons weren’t altruistic.
“How about a cup of coffee?” she asked.
“Sure. I’d like that.” And you.
I followed her to the kitchen. She wore her jeans the way I like them—not so tight that they were vulgar but fit to a tee. Her buttocks were as fine as her breasts, but the curves of her wide hips flowing into a narrow waist were breathtaking. There she was a goddess.
She’d made coffee and took muffins from the oven. She was a woman who prepared. I admired that.
The kitchen was warm, but she took me to the living room. She was making a point. I was uncomfortable, but I thought, if she can stand it so can I.
“I’m Bob Wheeler’s granddaughter, so you know I’m honest,” she began.
I nodded, giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“Here’s what I propose,” she continued. “I hope you’ll consider it carefully.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’ll pay for the boiler, at your cost, and I want you to install it without charge.”
“That would be generous of me. And in exchange for my largess, you’ll…”
“I’ll be your friend.”
She looked right in my eyes. She was very direct, but everything she didn’t say was everything I wanted to know. The silence was deafening.
“Friend?” I asked.
“Friend: as in I’ll make an effort to get to know you, and we can do things for each other.”
“Things?”
“Do I have to draw you a picture?”
“What did Billy and Serge say when you made them that offer?”
“I didn’t make them an offer. Billy couldn’t take his eyes off my breasts, and Serge needs a week in a washing machine.”
“You’re quite frank, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse: blunt, brash, a mouthy bitch.”
“I don’t want to be offensive, but let’s be straight with each other. Are you, Doc Wheeler’s granddaughter, offering to prostitute yourself for a boiler?”
“You asshole. I’m not offering to fuck you. I’m offering to be your friend.”
She got me good. I don’t know if she planned it, but she got me. What could I say—that I hadn’t been considering fucking her for money? I hadn’t, had I? Regardless, there was no point in denial.
I shook my head in resignation. “I’m sorry I insulted you,” I said. “I’d like to be your friend, very much so. I hope we can work that out. I accept, but I take my friendships seriously.” I was trying to resurrect a little dignity.
“As do I. Thank you. You won’t regret it. Now, I’m cold and uncomfortable, and if you’re as nice a guy as my grandpa said you are maybe I’ll let you help me get warm.”
“The Doc mentioned me to you?”
“He did.”
I had just started mulling the implications of that when Barbara asked, “Would you like to come upstairs?”
“As a friend?” I quipped.
“I pay my bills in full,” Barbara Beech with a double e said. “But it’s my policy not to pay too much in advance.”
“Meaning?”
“Do you want to come upstairs or not?” she said, with a smirk.
I looked at my watch. It was still near the beginning of my work day. She got me good, but now I’m going to get her. Or am I? Only one way to find out.
“Don’t you work?” I asked.
“I’m taking the day off.”
“That’s not all you’re going to take off.”
“Don’t be crude, and you can wipe the smug smile off your face.”
“I’m not smug. I’m happy.”
***
I offered my hand. She took it, and I helped her up and led her up the staircase. She came willingly.
“Turn left,” she said.
She guided me to her bedroom. It had a big bed with warm covers and lots of pillows. I sat her down then laid her on her back. She lay passively as I lifted each leg and removed her shoes.
I left her legs over the side of the bed and sat next to her and took off my boots. Then I stood, with her legs between mine, and began unbuckling her belt.
“No! Don’t!” she said.
I looked at her, questioning. “Does No mean No?”
She smiled coquettishly and tilted her head. “No,” she said.
Again, I reached for her belt.
She put her hands on mine. “It means Not Yet.”
“You’re naughty. No one likes a tease.”
“I bet you do.”
“Well…” I had to admit it. Being teased was high on my list of how to get horny, as long as I knew I’d get what I came for in the end, which I didn’t. “How about a naughty girl spanking? That would warm you up.”
“No thanks, maybe some other time, if you deserve it.”
“Can we write that into the contract?”
Barbara stood. I was still in front of her. She put her arms under mine and reached up and held my shoulders and lifted, pressing herself into me, rubbing her breasts on my chest. She tilted her head and kissed my neck. My cock hardened precipitously.
I put my hands under her ass and pulled her onto my hard-on, trying to get it as far under and into her as I could with our clothes on.
I moved forward, and Barbara fell backward onto the bed. I straddled and lifted and turned her, placing her head comfortably on two pillows. I spread her legs, she opened her arms, and I came to her. I kissed and lay on her, being careful not to hurt her. I slid my hands under her sweater and found her breasts and stroked gently, over every curve, except I never touched her nipples.
She breathed deeply and sighed and thrust out her breasts, begging me to touch their tips. She began to pull up her sweater, but I took her hands and held them over her head. “No! Don’t!” I whispered. “Not yet.”
“You prick,” she tried to say angrily, but she giggled. “I’m never going to let you fuck me now, not until you put the boiler in.”
“Oh, I’m going to put the boiler in, don’t you worry, and it’s going in soon if you’re a good girl and deserve it.”
“Maybe I’ll let Serge put it in instead.”
“I work longer and harder than Serge.”
“How do you know? Have you two worked together?”
“Mrs. Barstow, the young widow on Sixth Street told me. It’s too bad her abusive prick of an excuse for a husband died such an untimely death—a real tragedy.”
“So I’m not your first customer?”
“So far you’re not a customer at all. You’re all promises. But to look at, you’re definitely number one.”
“That’s the trouble with men—all they want to do is look and touch.”
“I’m serious that I take my friendships seriously.”
“Me too, but I won’t share my toys, even with a grieving widow.”
“Fine. Can I take off your sweater now?”
“In your dreams. Get off me. Maybe some other time, and you’re still putting that boiler in—the one in the cellar.”
“In your dreams. You’re not being very friendly.”
“Girls don’t like to rush, you know.”
I’d had enough. I got off Barbara and off the bed and turned away, but she scrambled after me and reached around and grabbed my cock, which had gone limp.
“What are you doing?” I said, miffed.
“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. I was only playing.” She repeatedly squeezed my cock, pumping it back up.
I took her hand off and turned. “I’m going to undress you now. If you say No I’m leaving.”
“Just take off my sweater.