RodenAddison
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 16, 2012
- Posts
- 603
Rick Marsden pulled up in front of the two story Tudor and let out a sigh of relief. He rolled his head from side to side and shrugged his shoulders before climbing out of the 17 foot van he'd rented for the move. This was to be the start of a new life: a new city, a new business, and a fresh start.
He dug the keys for the house out of his pocket and let himself in the front door. The place echoed from the lack of furniture and the hardwood floors. He walked through the main floor of the place and nodded in satisfaction and proceeded upstairs. Everything was clean and tidy, but there were too many white walls. The realtor hadn't lied. Rick had gotten his money's worth, sight unseen.
"First things first," he muttered to himself. He opened the back of the van, pulled out the drill case, the plastic roll of hose, his tool box, and a large cardboard box that contained his treasure. He locked the back. This would take a half hour.
He stacked everything on top of the cardboard box and bent carefully, lifting with his legs. At forty-eight he was in good shape, maybe the best shape he'd ever been in his life, but that was no reason to be unsafe. He was half way up the walk when the drill case and the coil of hose fell off the top of the box.
"Crap!"
"Don't stop, neighbour, keep going. I've got that stuff," said a female voice nearby.
"Okay, thanks," he called back. He kicked off his shoes at the door and carried the boxes into the kitchen. He turned and smiled. He swallowed at the sight of the young woman. She was carrying his things along with a tennis racquet. Her body wasn't thin, it wasn't thick, it was powerful but still very feminine.
"Here you go," she said. She jumped up onto the counter. "So, what's so important it comes in first?"
"Stick around for a few minutes and I'll show you. You'll benefit from it too," he replied.
He dug out a few tools and opened the doors beneath the kitchen sink. He shut off the cold water valve, split the line and installed a tee. He drilled a hole in the side of the compartment and another in the neighbouring compartment up through the countertop.
He glanced at the woman as he took the hose and fed it through the holes he'd made. She was too young, and he wasn't ready anyway—not that she'd be interested in someone his age. He crawled back under the sink. It was a tight fit.
"Crap."
"What's wrong?"
"Can you . . . there's a fitting in the top of the toolbox. It's a plastic nut and a yellow ring inside a tiny plastic zip bag."
He heard the toolbox open and raised his head. He could see her tight little ass outlined perfectly in her tennis outfit. Her legs and bare midriff were well tanned. He shook his head. He'd been divorced six months and was determined not to get involved with anyone for at least a year. But if he'd ever seen temptation in his life. . . .
He dug the keys for the house out of his pocket and let himself in the front door. The place echoed from the lack of furniture and the hardwood floors. He walked through the main floor of the place and nodded in satisfaction and proceeded upstairs. Everything was clean and tidy, but there were too many white walls. The realtor hadn't lied. Rick had gotten his money's worth, sight unseen.
"First things first," he muttered to himself. He opened the back of the van, pulled out the drill case, the plastic roll of hose, his tool box, and a large cardboard box that contained his treasure. He locked the back. This would take a half hour.
He stacked everything on top of the cardboard box and bent carefully, lifting with his legs. At forty-eight he was in good shape, maybe the best shape he'd ever been in his life, but that was no reason to be unsafe. He was half way up the walk when the drill case and the coil of hose fell off the top of the box.
"Crap!"
"Don't stop, neighbour, keep going. I've got that stuff," said a female voice nearby.
"Okay, thanks," he called back. He kicked off his shoes at the door and carried the boxes into the kitchen. He turned and smiled. He swallowed at the sight of the young woman. She was carrying his things along with a tennis racquet. Her body wasn't thin, it wasn't thick, it was powerful but still very feminine.
"Here you go," she said. She jumped up onto the counter. "So, what's so important it comes in first?"
"Stick around for a few minutes and I'll show you. You'll benefit from it too," he replied.
He dug out a few tools and opened the doors beneath the kitchen sink. He shut off the cold water valve, split the line and installed a tee. He drilled a hole in the side of the compartment and another in the neighbouring compartment up through the countertop.
He glanced at the woman as he took the hose and fed it through the holes he'd made. She was too young, and he wasn't ready anyway—not that she'd be interested in someone his age. He crawled back under the sink. It was a tight fit.
"Crap."
"What's wrong?"
"Can you . . . there's a fitting in the top of the toolbox. It's a plastic nut and a yellow ring inside a tiny plastic zip bag."
He heard the toolbox open and raised his head. He could see her tight little ass outlined perfectly in her tennis outfit. Her legs and bare midriff were well tanned. He shook his head. He'd been divorced six months and was determined not to get involved with anyone for at least a year. But if he'd ever seen temptation in his life. . . .
Last edited: