Handyman Blues


I’m fucked. I’m totally screwed.

How fucked, you might ask? How about like one of those classic “everything was happening in slow motion” train wreck kind of moments. It’s happening, there’s no way to stop it from happening, and you’d give just about anything to keep it from happening. That fucked.

Talk about not being able to put the toothpaste back in the tube. That was the moment when I knew, there was no doubt about it. I was fucked – totally screwed.

It started with three huge globs of cum arcing through the air. Remember those cartoons where the cannon ball is so big you see the cannon bulge obscenely when it fires. That’s what my cock felt like when I fired off these three huge blasts of semen. Yep, that pretty much covers it, my ejaculatory excess was going to land me in a whole lot of trouble.

Way back when, in college to be specific, I hooked up with this girl – Tanya – who had a very unique peculiarity. She was fascinated, at times transfixed, by the physical act of a cock ejaculating. This was way more than a cum fetish. And she wasn’t really into cocks per se (as far as she was concerned a cock was a cock, size and shape were not that important) just ejaculation and the resulting ejaculate. Tanya may have majored in business but her hobby, her avocation, her passion in life, was cum and how the cum came out.

I met Tanya when she was a junior and I was a naïve freshman. It was at a party where I heard that some girl was upstairs with a line of guys out the door. Curiosity and youthful horniness prevailed and I found my way to the room in use (that line out the door was a big clue), and in due course I was at the front of the line with a warm hand wrapped around my cock doing things I had never felt before. Up to that point my masturbatory technique centered on the old grab and stroke – hey, the basics have always worked for me.

Tanya used rhythm, pressure, fingering and wrist rotation to carry me to heights of stimulation I had never previously imagined. I was hardly able to stand when my orgasm hit. I felt as if I was temporarily obliterated by the intensity of my pleasure. I returned to normal consciousness to find my dick hanging limp and a card in my hand; Tanya’s name and phone number written on it.

As your typical male freshman, I didn’t have much going for me socially (I’ll spare you the sad tale of three high schools in four years and the subsequent impact it had on my dating habits, or lack there of.) So I did the obvious and called Tanya the next day. She invited me to her place for coffee. She lived alone in a small apartment off campus I was there in no time at all.

She opened her door with a smile that slid into a leer and a wetting of her lips via a quick swipe of her tongue. She had me at “Oh I remember you” I chuffed up in pride (we hadn’t really talked last night) “you were the spurter. Above average volume, exceptional distance – do you do Kegels or any other kind of exercise?” (So much for filled with pride.)

That had to be the strangest introduction I’d ever experienced. I had no idea what a Kegel was, but over the next hour Tanya whacked me off three more times – which was also my introduction to the world of high quality lubricants. After my third ejaculation I was rewarded with a “Wow, acceptable volume, still good distance.” My dick was done though; it hung as limp and soft as I’d ever seen. Tanya basically thanked me and indicated the direction of the front door. I was stunned – that was it?

“What about you Tanya? Can’t I do anything for you?” I should point out here that Tanya was not a super model, drop dread gorgeous, former cheerleader kind of girl. She was average looking, some might describe her as plain, but not homely by any means. I suppose some guys might see her a cute – to me she was just Tanya.

“I mean, I don’t have much experience with girls but…” Tanya just stared at me. I plodded on I that pathetically endearing way of mine. “I mean, don’t you want me to do something for you? If you tell me what you like…”

“I like being eaten out – if that’s what you mean?”

“Well, I’ve never actually done that. My last girlfriend thought it was dirty…but I’ve seen it in videos.” I vacillated between earnestly hopeful or hopefully earnest.

Tanya answered by shimming out of her Levi’s and stripping off her panties. She sat down on the couch, laid back, spread her legs; and pointed at her cunt. Hers was the third live cunt I had ever encountered (I won’t bore you with the sad story of my limited sexual experiences up to this point in my life. I doubt if either of the two girls I’d been with had a better recollection of out times together.)

I knelt down between Tanya’s legs and discovered in short order that I loved eating pussy. It was great; the smell, the taste, the feel – everything. But most of all I loved the response – the feedback that informed me when I was doing something sexual – correctly. Obviously Tanya loved it too because Sakarya Escort she was definitely giving me lots of feedback. I licked and sucked and smacked and snacked until my jaw locked up in an exhausted cramp.

I lifted my glistening face from between Tanya thighs and smiled. She answered with a from some place far away sounding, “Go ahead, go for it.” I have to admit being a little confused until she gave one nod to my cock and the other to her cunt. I didn’t need to be told twice. I plunged right in. Having come three times already I lasted quite a while. I left an hour Tanya, after two more screeching orgasms (hers), kneeling on her couch; butt in the air, cum dripping out of her. I left absolutely satisfied with not the slightest thought of STD’s or unwanted pregnancy anywhere in my sex-sated but otherwise empty frosh head.

I called her the next day. She laughed when she heard my voice. I apologized for not being “safe” – my roomie had taken me to task after he saw my stupid smile. She reassured me that everything was okay. I felt much better and asked when I could come by again. She laughed again and basically said – “anytime, just call first okay?”

We never officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, that’s pretty much impossible when your supposed girlfriend is jacking off guys all over the school. But we did become regular sex partners. I was surprised that even though she’d given thousands of hand jobs, Tanya said she rarely ever fucked – “I’m too into cocks to spend a lot of time with just one guy…besides you can’t see it if it’s stuck inside you.” I didn’t care one way or the other – hey I was having some form of sex practically every day – like I’m going to complain or something?

And while that was all well and good, I am grateful to her for teaching me to develop my ejaculatory muscles – that’s what she was talking about with that Kegels comment. Tanya explained that orgasm muscles were pretty much the same for guys as they were for girls (who knew?) I was told to do the same thing women do to develop their Kegel muscles. Stop the stream of urine when you pee. Once you’ve identified the muscles involved – practice, practice, practice. I found that if you wanted a super intense physical orgasm the secret was to either really focus on tensing those muscles to prevent ejaculation or relax them to the point that they don’t spasm in ejaculation. You could only hold out with either technique for so long. Then your orgasm response would overwhelm you and it was spurt, spurt, SPURT, SPURT, SPURT!

I could go on about the variations and varieties of ejaculation. Tanya had it all categorized; streamers to spurters to oozers – smooth to chunky – slippery to sticky – from barely a drop to “oh my god! It’s a Peter peter!” Tanya had a special reverence for porn star Peter North – now there was a dude who could cum!

For Tanya’s graduation I created a Doctorate in Cumology certificate. She thought it was great. A graduation night party ended up being the last time I saw her. We didn’t make much of an effort to stay in touch.

But this story isn’t about Tanya. I’m not screwed because of her. This is about Loretta, she’s the reason I’m screwed. My wife Diane and I have known Loretta for about eleven years. Going back to when the three of us were freshly minted teachers at the local high school. Loretta became a good friend and eventually married a pretty decent guy – Martin.

Okay quick sidebar here: I met my wife Diane while we were both working on our Master’s. We fell in love and got married when she turned up pregnant. She had a miscarriage, we stayed married, and ended up graduating a year after me. Basically we have a good marriage, nothing spectacular. Now back to the originally scheduled story.

Marty’s a software designer; he was your typical corporate drone until he came up with an idea that uniquely customized a well-known payroll program (yeah, I know – BORING!). His efforts to market his program never went anywhere (Marty’s idea of salesmanship is to overwhelm you with his knowledge of the subject. Not exactly a winning sales technique.) His last gasp before giving up was to get a booth at a trade show and demonstrate the program. My wife Diane was enlisted to accompanying him to that trade show as she wasn’t teaching summer school that particular year. Being the thorough teacher that she is, Diane had Marty train her in the program and then she wrote a manual – in understandable everyday English.

The effect was dramatic and Marty sold many copies of his program at the trade fair. There was no doubt that the manual was the key to those sales. But what really put Marty’s company on the map was Diane’s person to person teaching skills. She was a natural when it came to training. Diane was able to explain the program to end users in such a way the Marty’s business took off. The only hitch, and it clearly bugged Marty, was that many of the companies he sold the program to insisted Sakarya Escort Bayan that Diane coordinate their training programs – suddenly Marty had a partner.

Diane never returned to her English/Creative Writing classrooms. Within a year she was making twice my salary and the money just kept rolling in. And while I was surprised, I wasn’t complaining, since they’ve been in business I’ve grown quite attached to my 540i BMW and Toyota Tundra TRD pick-up truck.

Loretta (Marty’s wife) and I continued teaching and became fairly close friends more by circumstance then anything else. We taught together (she taught Spanish and I taught History) and our spouses worked together. And due to the fact that Marty and Diane traveled, a minimum two weeks per month, well there was just a lot of time when Loretta and I were together. It was a collegial friendship, not the slightest hint of anything more.

Summers were a little tougher because neither Loretta nor I needed to supplement our salaries teaching summer school. And believe me when I tell you, if you don’t HAVE to teach summer school – you won’t! I kept busy doing small handyman projects. Loretta became an avid gardener. And the two avocations never overlapped – until this summer.

Marty and Loretta were planning on building a deluxe backyard spa and garden gazebo – they knew exactly what they wanted and solicited contractors to bid on the project. The bids that came back from the contractors were absurd. Easily double, if not triple what they should have been. I had seen the drawings and specifications and made the mistake of commenting on that fact while the four of us enjoyed a backyard bar-b-q.

The other topic of conversation that evening was Marty and Diane’s summer schedule. Remember that summer trade show that launched Marty and Diane’s business. It’s bigger than ever now and Marty and Diane always go. This year though, a breakaway group decided to host a competing trade show a month after the big one. The schedule of the two trade shows dovetailed with a previously scheduled client seminar so that Marty and Diane were going to be out of town for almost the entire twelve weeks of summer break.

There were some pretty heated arguments; Loretta was practically in tears about being alone all summer or even worse; having to deal with a bunch of construction workers. Then Marty had a brainstorm that Diane and Loretta quickly endorsed. And that’s how I became the prime contractor and one-man construction crew for Marty and Loretta’s backyard spa/gazebo project.

So instead of a crew coming in and knocking the project out in a couple of weeks or so – I had the WHOLE summer before me. And rather then waste a one hour commute to and from each day, and rather then have me return home to an empty house with no dinner waiting I was talked into (ordered to is more how it felt!) moving into a guest bedroom at Marty and Loretta’s.

Despite my objections (to Diane) and reservations (to Marty and Loretta) it was a done deal. Amazingly, it actually worked. I was very appreciative of the regularity of meals and cold drinks that Loretta made available. I was all too used to fending for myself in Diane’s absence. Not having to drive to and from made for a more relaxing workday. On the weekend I’d pop home and check on my own house.

The efficiency of the arrangement was obvious and my work progress was soon way ahead of my projected schedule. That’s when things took an unexpected turn. I had finished an entire day of setting conduit and pulling wires below ground. I was more then my usual sweaty self by the end of the day, I was disgustingly filthy dirty. Usually at the end of the day I entered the house through the backdoor, crossed the kitchen, through the den and into to the guest bathroom I was using (that was the most direct route.) This day I was so covered in dirt I decided to avoid tracking a mess through the house by going through the garage, stripping my dirty clothes off and dashing down the hallway (hardwood floors, easier to clean.) I needn’t worry about Loretta seeing me because she had told me she was off to the store for shopping and wouldn’t be back for hours.

I put my plan into action, stripping naked in the garage and walking down the hallway through the house. This route took me past Marty and Loretta’s bedroom. And that’s where everything changed – just like that. I should have just kept walking when I heard that low moan. You know that old saw about how to catch a monkey by putting a banana in a jar? The monkey reaches in, grabs it and then can’t pull his fist out. He won’t let go because he really wants the banana – he’s trapped by his own greed and therefore easily caught. Loretta’s moan was my banana in the jar; well actually it was a combination of her moan and the audible buzz of a vibrator.

I paused at the door and peeked in I just couldn’t help myself. Loretta was on her bed, naked with a pillow under her hips and Escort Sakarya her legs spread wide. I was looking right at her pussy. I was so transfixed I couldn’t tear myself away – I was paralyzed and couldn’t leave.

I should mention here that one major downside of Diane’s lucrative work was that our sex life was somewhat less than ideal. First she was gone half the time and when she was here she was usually too tired or too distracted by work concerns. Add to this her absence this summer and I was one horny guy. And here before me was a completely naked woman pleasuring herself. I was familiar with pleasuring myself- all too familiar.

I was already naked so I started stroking my hard-on in less time then it took for Loretta to exhale her next sigh. I was kind of in control until Loretta came. Her knees flapped back and forth, her hips wiggled and a ripple up through her torso made her tits jiggle in the sexiest way. She came with a low growling super sexy moan.

That was it – I was a goner. Damn. I came as hard as I had in years. Huge spurts arced through the air before I realized what I was doing and where I was doing it. My orgasm was so intense, my lungs and vocal cords were frozen – no sound (thankfully) escaped my mouth. My sight dimmed to a small tunnel, all I could see were those white globs flying through the air. I knew immediately they had the distance to reach Loretta. I braced for impact and the explosion of acrimony to follow. How they missed Loretta I’ll never understand. It was a miracle of timing that she moved her left leg just before the first glob landed on her bedspread. The second and third had the distance too; but her lag flopped back and they both missed also.

Fortunately enough blood slowly returned to my brain that I was able to make my way down the hall, cock still in hand, leaving a trail of cum drippings behind me. In the bathroom I recovered quickly and realized just how fucked I was. I wiped my hand and cock clean and stole a glance down the hall. No sign of Loretta and mercifully, no scream of discovery either. That’s when I saw the trail of cum on the hardwood floors. With towel in hand I crept silently down the hall cleaning up the evidence.

I heard the buzz of the vibrator as I reached Loretta’s door. There was a small puddle of cum beside the door jamb. I hazarded a peek from floor level and saw one of her knees in the air. There were two more splatters on the floor between the door and her bed. I was puzzling what to do when I heard Loretta begin to moan anew. I waited until I heard the bed shaking with her orgasm then reached out and wiped the splatters away. I returned silently to my room.

I know, your thinking, what about the three big splatters on the bedspread. Luckily the bedspread had a dark blue pattern and I was pretty sure that my cum, wet or dry, would be fairly hard to see. My only hope was that Loretta wouldn’t notice it before then or if she did she would think it her own and not investigate more closely.

I showered, jacked off again (those audio/visual images were burned into my brain), and dressed. I was starving as I headed for the kitchen. I steeled myself into unforced nonchalance.

“There’s my dirty guy.” Loretta smiled over her shoulder. She was standing with her back to me at her butcher block island chopping vegetables, wearing hohum khaki shorts and a fairly tight white t-shirt. “You know Stan, you clean up pretty good; I couldn’t believe how filthy you were out there in the yard. Could you open a bottle of wine please?”

So far, so good – I began to relax. I walked past Loretta, opened the refrigerator, grabbed the first bottle I saw, and set about opening it. Turning to face Loretta I gasped and nearly dropped the bottle. The t-shirt was tight and Loretta was definitely not wearing a bra. I could have handled the perfect roundness of her breasts, even the darkness of her areolas – it was that damn nipple line that was so distracting. Loretta’s nipples were straining so powerfully against the t-shirt material that there was a straight ridge of white cotton material from nipple to nipple.

“Oh please.” Loretta was wagging her knife at me, her tone derisive. “You guys. I was practically falling out of my bikini top las week when I was weeding in the garden and you weren’t fazed one bit. To tell you the truth, I was somewhat offended that you didn’t even notice. I must be getting old.”

So far so good went right out the window. “Oh.” That was the extant of my verbal response, a very pathetic “Oh.” I stepped up to the island to hide my returning erection and poured the wine. After I handed her a glass I took a big gulp from mine.

“Stan tell me what the difference is, I’d like to know. Because it seems that iwhen my tits were practically falling out of my top, no big deal, but braless in a t-shirt, hubba-hubba? Come on Stan, I want to know?” Loretta thrust out her chest, the t-shirt tightened across her breasts and nipples. She had a great rack. It was when she added the “hmmmm’ that was my undoing. It was pitched low and sounded all too familiar – like the vibrator she’s been using. I reached down and adjusted my erection before I realized what I’d done. When it dawned on me my answer dissolved into a simple. “No comment.”

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