A Day in My Fucked Up Life, Pt. 1
She'll never look at garden hoses the same way again.
October 10th Blog Entry:
I’m not stupid. I know that not everything in life is going to be bells and whistles, cake and flowers, sunshine and rainbows … you get my drift. And for the most part, my life is satisfactory; good job, nice home, hot car, loving family, great friends, and an adequate, familiar marriage.
I live a simple life. It’s so simple, it’s complex. It’s too easy, too predictable, and simple things that I want—to eat a restaurant that I choose, to stay in instead of going out, to choose the movie, to choose my clothes, to do it doggy-style, to do it in the living room instead of the bedroom, on the sofa, in the car—I go without.
From the outside, I look like I have it all. But you know as well as I do, my blog followers, that on the inside, I’m a hallow shell of the person I long to be. I ask myself the same three questions multiple times a day, every day; Can’t I have just a little bit of excitement? Can’t I find my voice? Can’t I get a little in the backdoor?
And with no answers in sight, here I sit, webbed in yet another day of my fucked up life.
I had heard it all before. I nodded and worked to keep my eyes from rolling with frustrated disgust.
“So, you see here … you’re Ph balance is out-a-whack.”
Just fix it, you old fuck, I said to myself. “Can you fix it?” I kindly requested.
“Yep … that’s what your husband pays me for.”
I turned away and finally allowed my eyes to roll. It felt good, like the small act was invented solely to relive my vexation. I’ve worked with this man each month for two years, and it’s the same old shit; he comes, he checks the water, he tells me there’s a problem, waits for me to ask him to do his job, and then does it.
“Sounds good,” I replied habitually.
I looked around the small addition off the back of the house. Added at my husband Jake’s persistence, the addition was built to hold an expensive, custom-built lap pool. The initial conversation about the add-on replayed often in my mind, every time I stepped inside the room come to think of it, and it wasn’t a pleasant memory. Jake’s deep voice said, “I’d give my left nut to have an indoor lap pool.”
“You would?” I asked. “But you don't swim.”
“Fuck it. We’re getting the pool.”
“But nothing. We’re getting the pool and that’s that.”
“Okay,” I said, the memory still fresh, still painful.
“Did you hear me, Mrs. Paul?”
“Oh, sorry Gray. What?”
“The pool’s clean. I just gotta check one more thing,” he said, turning his back to me and walking to the hidden supply cabinet at the far end of the building.
I sat down like I did each time he came to clean the pool. I watched the old man work while secret sentiments for my husband swam around inside my head.
How many times has he even swum in the GD pool? Three … four maybe? What a dickhead. I use this pool more than he does. Left nut, my ass! And he leaves me here every time that old fucker comes to clean it while he goes golfing with his buddies. I hate him. I—
“Sorry,” I said again as I stood.
“There’s a problem with your pool. Wanna take a look?” He pointed in the direction of the other side of the pool where a wall of windows that exposed everything inside the small addition to the outside world sat.
As I circled the far end of the lap pool, I remembered the one and only time I had ever tried to use the pool to my advantage. Jake had been out of town on business for over two weeks, and I was hurting for some attention. I was horny, willing, and more than ready to move our sex life out of the bedroom and away from the boring Missionary position we always used into something a bit spicier.
The memory, like most with my husband, was intense. Just a year into the marriage, and I was bored … bored and longing for more. Upon seeing Jake’s car pull into the garage, I ran to the pool. I stripped naked, down to the yellow ribbon I wore in my hair that day, and jumped head first into the warm, clean water. When he walked in and saw my naked body floating on the pool's surface, he stopped dead in his tracks.
I expected fireworks. I was so excited, and the thought of him ravaging my needy body in the warm bath was a turn on, to say the least. My wants and needs were obvious; my expression pleaded with him to engage with me and my pussy ached for him to fuck it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled from across the room. His face, the anger and disappointment, showed how he truly felt about my stunt. He ran to where my clothes were and scooped them up. He was furious. He stood with his back to the windows, in between me and the glass, and frantically motioned for me to get out of the water. Once I climbed from the side of the pool, he wrapped my clothes around me and took me into the private hallway that connected the pool house to our home.
“What the hell are you thinking, Kate? My God, our neighbors are probably going to call the cops.”
“For what?” I asked, scared.
“For you being indecent … and exposed. We live in a family neighborhood! There are families just on the other side of our property, for Crissakes!”
I looked at the glass, then back at my husband. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be smart! You’re too smart to do stupid, juvenile shit like this! This isn’t college. We’re not teenagers, so stop acting like one.” Jake stormed off in my memory at the same time I arrived at the hole in the cement floor where Gray, our pool cleaner, was working.
“See this compartment? It holds the overflow water going into the pump. It’s plugged and the water’s backed up here.” He pointed. “It’s full of stagnant water. That’s a problem. Bacteria’s breeding in there, and I know how Mr. Paul likes everything with his pool to be clean.”
“Yes … he does,” I mumbled.
Gray stood and turned to face me. “He likes everything to be in perfect working condition, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does. He told me about you’re little strip show out here. He’s was madder than skunk for a good long time about it.”
“Yes. He was,” I said robotically, looking up the tall old man standing next to me. I had never really looked at Gray Swensen. Handsome, surprisingly so, his face had a distinguished, experienced look to it that reminded me of my favorite uncle Hal. His hair was white with a little bit of black mixed in here and there, but thick and shiny nonetheless. He had clouded gray eyes and nice teeth, and coupled with his khaki slacks and logo-ed golf shirt, I wondered how old he was.
Most of the time, Gray did his work with little problem. But today there was a problem, and it felt a lot more serious than the bacteria floating in the plugged box at my feet.
I was cautious. “So, what do we need to do to clean the box?”
“Well, let me tell you, darlin’,” he said. He ran his pointer finger down my arm and I chilled. Prickly bumps formed on all my exposed skin and I was shocked at how little I wanted to stop him from touching me.
“This problem’s gonna cost Jake a good chunk of change. You see … I can see the tail end of a yellow piece of fabric clogging up the valve to the pool’s pump. To remove it, replace the pump, and return everything to working order, I say Jake’s looking at about, oh … let’s say seven grand. Give or take,” he said, wagging his head back and forth as he spoke.
“Seven grand? Seven grand to remove a hair ribbon from a stupid pool pump? I think that’s a little steep, Gray.”
“No, actually it’s not. This entire system is state of the art and was built custom for this pool. The filter alone sets Jake back eight hundred dollars a pop. Did you know that?”
“Of course not. Even though I make as much money as my husband, I don’t spend it the way he does.”
“Well, I assume that that yellow bow is yours and that your husband’s going to be mighty upset with you.”
“Duh,” I grunted in frustration like a juvenile.
“So, let me make you a deal. I’m going to take the afternoon off, and hang around here … with you. I don’t have anyone to go home to and this old man’s lonely.”
“I’m not a prostitute,” I snapped.
“I’m not saying that you are. You’re still gonna have to pay me for the pump. But for the labor … let’s say this little deal is a ‘you scratch me back, I’ll scratch yours’ kind of arrangement.”
“You want your back scratched?” I asked. I was confused, my eyebrows pinched together in bewilderment.
“I just wanna have a little fun. Spend the afternoon with me, play with me, and I’ll do the labor for free.”
We shared a stare for a moment and when he took a slow step toward me, I had a sinking feeling that the exchange was going to be daring and risky, and an unfamiliar excitement within me formed. As he rounded my body and stood behind me, my stomach jumped with apprehensive wonder.
He moved slowly, more slowly than I had ever seen Jake move. And that the last attention Jake’s getting today, I said to myself as the zipper down the back of my dress was lowered by Gray’s long fingers.
The tips of his fingers helped the cotton dress off my shoulders and it fell to the tile around my feet. I shuddered. I crossed my arms across my bare stomach and watched as his hand reached around me from the side. He pulled me back to him a step. While one hand worked to unfasten my bra, the hand above my naval made smooth, circular strokes on my skin.
I sighed, heavily, and Gray leaned in to me from behind. “I know he doesn’t touch you enough.”
My bra hit the floor atop my dress at the same time both Gray’s hands moved up and cupped my tits. From behind, he kneaded them and tugged on my nipples with his fingers.
I felt the bulge in his pants in the small of my back and closed my eyes. He’s right. I don’t get touched nearly as much as I need to be or … or want to be.
I relished in the attention, basked in the thrill and newness to the risk I was taking. His hand slipped down into the front of my panties and to my nether region. He whispered, “Spread your legs a little, darlin’,” and I gladly complied.
His long finger, soft and warm, gently got acquainted with my freshly saturated pussy. I was so hot. I wiggled a little and waited, waited for his finger to either enter my cunt or hit my clit. Instead, he stroked and teased my swollen pussy lips. Just when I thought his finger was going to slip inside my burning slit, he pulled his hand out of my panties. He bent over, dragging my panties to the floor and told me to step out of them.
The next incident happened so fast, I struggled to react. Gray grabbed my wrist with one hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, turning my naked body toward the window. He moved me to the glass and before I could ask what he was doing, he slightly lifted me off the ground and pressed my naked front against the cold window.
He spoke sternly to me from behind. “You let them look at you, Kate. Let them look good and long. This is your house. If they chose to peep into your private rooms, let them. Give them a show they’ll never forget!”
I struggled a little, the pressure against my nipples and breasts being pressed against the cool, hard glass almost too much to withstand.
He pressed on the back of my head, smashing the right side of my face against the window. I waited from the pressure from behind me to relent. His hand pressed on the small of my back, sending my pubic area against the window and I closed my eyes. As much as the glass was cold and the hold he had on me was tight, I found myself enjoying what was happening. It was vengeful and exhilarating, and I couldn’t help a slight smile from forming on my face.
“That’s right. I knew you’d like that.” He let go of me and said, “I think you’ll like this, too.” He led me over to an overstuffed lawn chaise and sat me down on the end of it. He worked like he knew what he was doing, and all I could do was watch him.
He moved two small, empty planter stands to the sides of the chaise and without so much as a warning, lifted my legs, one at a time, and placed them high on the top shelf of the planters. I fell back to me elbows and glanced at my legs spread wide open.
His eyes moved around my body, groping me, so intent with his inspection that I swore I could feel his visual caress. His gaze finally met mine and he said, “You comfortable?”
He knelt on a chair cushion at the foot of my chaise and leaned over. “My God,” I heard him whisper. I felt his hot breath against my vulnerable womanhood. After lingering for what felt like forever, he finally ran his tongue up my closed pussy lips.
“What are you doing?”
“Darlin’, I’m just doing what your cocky, piece of shit husband should be doing, but isn’t.” His tongue moved up and down my lips again, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine. His fingers gently spread my red lips. His warm, wet tongue brushed my inner pussy and I quivered. “You like that, darlin’?”
His tongue returned to my cunt. He jabbed his tongue inside me and lick up my clit, alternating the two motions and my toes curled.
“Oh, wow. That feels so good,” I whispered.
“You think that’s good? Let me show you something even better.” He walked to where his tool belt sat and returned with a large tool. “This here’s my favorite wrench.”
The shiny, metal object was long, the longest tool I had ever seen. Gray rubbed it between the palms of his hands to warm the cold metal. Once he felt it was ready, he glanced at me, locked me in a stare, and slid the long, flat tool into my moist cleft.
Gray was slow, gentle, and I could feel his gaze upon my face, even though I had tipped my head back and closed my eyes. He began to work the tool in and out of me while rubbing my tender clit with his thumb.
“Good?” he asked.
The tool hit the farthest point within me and I gasped. The pit in my stomach, the sign that I was gearing up to orgasm, appeared out of nowhere and I moaned, “Better.”
“Better, huh? Well, I’ve got one more tool that I think will make your head spin.”
He pulled his beloved wrench from my fiery hot cunt and stood. He walked to the supplies closet and I heard him messing with a few things before he returned to my line of sight. As he approached me, I saw it, the green garden hose in his hands.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“What do you think I’m going to do with it?” he asked, the question attached to a chuckle.
He’s not going to stick that in me, is he? I asked myself. He dropped the hose and walked away. A sigh of relief passed my mouth. I fell back to the cushion, giving my aching arms a break and I closed my eyes. The lingering euphoria of his tongue swiping my clit and the wrench jabbing my cervix made me drowsy, and my head spun.
Suddenly, I felt something between my legs, something cold and wet. I sat up.
Gray had turned on the hose, not much, but a steady stream, and was aiming the nozzle at my snatch.
“No. I don’t think I can handle that,” I said timidly.
“I do,” he replied, gently pressing on my sternum. “Lie all the way down. It’ll make this less uncomfortable.”
I couldn’t believe what I was doing! I was going along with a stranger’s request, a stranger that was about to stick a running garden hose in my twat.
The water was chilly, but not intolerable and Gray washed my calves, thighs, and stomach with it. Huge parts of water hit the ground off the sides and end of the chair, echoing throughout the open room, and I held my breath. I waited and gasped when I felt the running hose move between my legs, through my outer lips and finally, with a little coaxing, penetrate me.
I was full instantly. The cool water flooded my uterus and I groaned out loud. “The pressure!” I cried. The water, with nowhere to go, squirted back out around the hose from my pussy.
“Don’t hold your breath, darlin’,” Gray said.
I exhaled loudly, which helped soothe the burning weight in my lower abdomen. Gray smiled. He tugged on the hose, pulling it out just enough for the pressure to lessen before he plunged it in again.
The sensation was indiscernible; the full filling, the friction of the hose and escaping water on my pussy lips, the current of water entering me, bouncing along my G-spot like a strong river’s flow to the back of my insides.
Gray sped up the motion of the hose—in and out—and the water hitting the ground became constant. He leaned over and placed his mouth atop my clit, sucking it and lightly tugging on it with his teeth as the water worked its magic inside my bursting pussy.
The pit that had formed long before was quickly building with the pressure of water in my cunt. My knees began to shake, and Gray, as if I had sent him a silent message, pulled my throbbing, hard clit into his mouth.
“Oh,” I moaned loudly. I couldn’t help it. The pressure, inside and out, was building and I thought for sure my skin was going to rip open in the front of my distended abdomen to release the ocean held inside.
“This better, darlin’?”
“Oh … God, it’s the best,” I stammered.
It almost hurt but the pain was quickly overrun with pleasure. My legs twitches and I knew I was close. I felt like I had to pee. One more ounce, and I—I—
My climax hit me, good and hard. I cried out, thrashing back and forth with explosive carnality. My entire body shook and warmed as the orgasm ripped from inside my pussy. My clit throbbed and the stress on my pussy walls made me sit up. I pushed Gray back.
I grabbed for the hose. I yanked it from my seizing hole, sending what felt like a gallon of water mixed with my warm, sweet juice onto Gray’s face.
He opened his mouth, slurping up the liquid like he had just crossed the Sahara dessert.
I fell back. Waves of warm energy rippled through me. The orgasm, along with the release of the water, felt incredible. The muscles in my legs, feet, toes, were tight and it took me forever to calm from the wet storm. I took a deep breath, shivered, and said to myself, That was the most incredible, intense, erotic experience of my life.
Gray stood. While I rested on the chaise, he worked to finish his end of the arrangement.
My body was tired. I lifted my legs off the planter stands and rolled to my side, resting as the rapture I was feeling slowly, gently led me to a light slumber.
I was startled awake by a hand shaking my arm. “Mrs. Paul … Kate,” he said. He stood upright when I opened my eyes.
I sat up and looked down. I was wearing the dress that I had earlier that day. My legs were dry and as I inspected the chair then the ground for water, Gray said, “Whatcha looking for?”
“What do you mean what am I looking for? How’d you dress me? How did you get cleaned up so fast?”
Gray smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He handed me a piece of paper and said, “Oh by the way, I found a yellow ribbon in the box that holds the pump. You need to be careful with string and rope getting caught in your equipment.”
I exhaled loudly, staring at Gray, waiting for him to laugh and tell me he was teasing me. When I didn’t reach for the paper, he dropped it on the end of the chair, along with the ribbon and turned toward the exit, nodding once before he exited the pool house.
I sighed. The afternoon was one of unmentionable risk and unspeakable pleasures I knew I’d never feel again. I was tired. My pussy ached, ached from over use, from being stretching, from wanting more. I rested my eyes again, and folded my arms across my chest. The hum from the new pump stopped, and that’s when I heard it … plop, plop, plop.
I glanced in the direction of the supply closet and gasped. Hanging on the door knob of the closet was the green garden hose. It was dripping, the puddle of water beneath it contributing to the volume of the echoes. He’s never left a mess like that before, I thought when I reach for the invoice at my feet. I immediately noticed the scratched message at the bottom of the paper. “For the BEST service, call Gray.”
Now, I don’t know if I dreamed what had happened with old Gray and the garden hose that day or not. I’ve thought about trying to replicate the orgasm by using the hose on myself, many times I have. But let’s face it, bloggers. It wasn’t the power douche that brought me to climax. It was the risk, the taboo act of letting another man suck my clit, stick his tool in me, fondle me and exploit me. And as much as I long for the next big one, I’ll always wonder if the garden hose incident would turn out to be the most memorable event … or memory I’d ever have in my life. I sure hope not.
So, until next time, happy douching!
(This blog entry is based on an actual untrue story of events that did not not take place. It’s a factual fiction that’s entirely not false.)