Sealcoating
by Macky
I wake up to an inspiring song on the clock radio. It's Bruno Mars' "The Lazy Song".
"I don't feel like pickin' up the phone. Leave a message at the tone."
Following the advice of the song, I throw on a bathrobe, get the paper and a cuppa and settle in for a quiet morning.
"Ding dong!" said the doorbell.
I said "Dammit.", folding the paper and smacking it down on the coffee table.
I jerk open the door "We don't want any!" already forming on my lips. But I lose the words when I see a handsome young man in his early 20s beaming a smile at me.
"Well what can I do for you, sonny?" It is almost like a different person is talking now. It is somewhat startling to realize that it 's me talking. I have forgotten my annoyance along with my morning newspaper.
"I was doing some work in the neighborhood and I noticed that your driveway looks like it needs a new coat of sealer. I'll do a good job for you. I'll remove built up oil using driveway cleaner and I'll do more than one application to make sure it's done right. I use a stiff brush to scrub out any debris from cracks in your driveway while using a hose to spray out and wash away any debris. And I apply it hot to get down into all the tiny crevices."
Hot is right. I pull my bathrobe more snugly around myself and tighten the belt. My thought turns to my nakedness underneath, and I blush as I feel a stirring between my legs.
The lad is wearing a rather tight t-shirt which shows off his well defined shoulders and pectoral muscles. His raggedy board shorts show off some shapely legs as well. Most of all his sparkling salesman smile and twinkling twink eyes all framed in tumbling locks of coal black hair are sending me into orbit.
"Do you ..." I catch myself just as I am about to utter "Do you take your shirt off when you work?"
"I mean, what do you charge?"
"Well for a driveway this size I usually charge $150, but since I'm in the neighborhood I'll do you for just $100."
A puzzled look crosses the lads face as he sees me smile at the "I'll do you for just $100". It takes me more than an instant to get past this suggestive phrase.
I break out in a smile that makes it look like I just answered the door for the Publishers' Clearing House grand prize team.
"Sounds good." I chirp. "Here, I'll move the car for you."
"Oh, don't bother, sir. Give me the keys and I'll move it for you."
"Do you take a check? Do you want me to pay you now or after you finish?" I volunteer in an effort to be the best customer this bright young entrepreneur ever had.
"I don't get paid until you're satisfied. That's the way my dad always did it. He died last year. I helped him out with the business and I took over when he was gone."
"Wow, you're quite a business man just to step into the ongoing concern just like that. How do you market? Do you advertize in the paper or on the radio?" The lad has captured my heart with his sincerity, his go getter attitude, and most of all by the way he wields his considerable physical beauty.
"Nah, I really don't need to advertize. Dad had regular customers and I have his order book. He did your driveway 2 years ago, so I figured that you were just about due for a new application."
Quickly I brush off the cognitive dissonance between his 'daddy's order book' and his 'being in the neighborhood' initial remark. I refuse to think bad of any young man who looks this good.
I smile as I drop the keys into his outstretched hand, all the while thinking to myself; 'That gorgeous buttocks on my car seat. Those tumbling locks resting on my headrest. I wonder if I'll get a chance to sit in the seat before it loses the boy's cozy body heat.'
The youngster gives me a reassuring wave as he backs my car out of the driveway. Having accomplished that, he begins taking brushes and brooms off of his truck and uncoiling hoses and sprayers. Again, he waves reassuringly. I'm still watching him, lost in reverie, as he turns on the steam genny and begins the driveway prep. I'm startled back to reality as he bruskly shuts down the genny and lays the nozzle in the bed of his truck.
'Uh Oh. Busted!' I think.
I get ready to slam and lock the door in self defense when he hurries across the yard with an intent look on his eyes.
'Oh shit. He's got my number!' I consider.
"Sorry Mr Smith, here's your keys."
"Yeah, I was beginning to wonder if you had taken a liking to my car.", I smiled in a friendly joking manner.
The lad went to work again and I tried extra hard to mind my own business, read my paper, and relax, as was my original intent on my lovely lazy day. But I could not concentrate on the paper. I could not concentrate on relaxing. I began to wonder if my bath robe made me look fat or maybe slothful. I threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt; the stylish one with the manly wildlife scene. I looked into the mirror approvingly, but noticed that my nose hairs needed trimmed. So I trimmed them and went back to my paper. But I couldn't pay attention to it. I didn't know what I was reading. I kept losing my place as I glanced out the window watching the boy work.
'I've got to make sure that I get my money's worth.' I rationalized.
The lad worked quickly and efficiently. Soon his face was shiny with sweat. Then I got my money's worth as he shed his t-shirt, throwing it across the hood of his truck. His chest and abs were just as I had imagined. Everything was well defined in the shiny sweat that had broken out all over his body. The weight of his sweat dampened board shorts caused them to sag below his 'innie' belly button. I could see the lightest of treasure trails begin under the navel and disappear into the shorts. Yes, I was getting my money's worth. Then, all too soon he was done. I had long since given up on reading the newspaper and had spent the hour sneaking about from window to window monitoring the boy's progress and making sure that I got my money's worth.
He stowed all of his equipment and started towards the door. Just as thoughts of staring at those nipples up close and personal entered my head, he reached for his t-shirt and donned it in a single graceful carefree motion. I turned to my checkbook and began writing.
"And I make this out to whom?"
"Here's my card."
"So will you be coming back next year?"
"Well, it should be good for 2 years. But you can call me whenever you want and I'll take care of you."
'He's talking like that on purpose.' I think to myself as I blush at the thought of him 'taking care of me'.
"OK Nate, thanks for stopping by." Having learned his name off of his card, I lost no time in using it in a vain attempt to ingratiate myself with him.
Then Nate beamed an all-too-short smile at me and made my knees go weak when he reached to shake my hand. His hands were rough and calloused. Smudges of dirt dallied cutely among the stubble on his face. He turned and I watched his perfect buttocks jauntily prance out of my life. I smiled wistfully, shaking my head at the way I had acted while this fine young man did some work for me. 'Old fool.' I thought to myself. 'As IF....perish the thought.'
I grabbed my paper and began to read in earnest. Then the doorbell rang again. This time, thinking that Nate was returning, I put my paper down gently.
A young man in his mid twenties stood at the door. He had piercing blue eyes and yellow hair tied back in a pony tail. I smiled invitingly and he knitted his brows.
"Well, what can I do for you young man?"
"Well sir, I'm sorry to inform you that you have been had. I see that my competitor Nate did your driveway. He uses a water based sealer that doesn't even last the whole year. Now I can use an oil based sealer that will last you a good 5 years. I was just in the neighborhood, so I can give you a good deal."
'I won't see Nate for another 5 years.' I thought to myself.
"I'm not sure how long your driveway will hold up under that stuff. It keeps water from draining off efficiently so it freezes and does damage. You should really have it redone."
His SpongeBob t-shirt reveals well defined pectorals. He is wearing blue jean cutoffs... above the knee even. His teeth are perfect behind his radiant smile.
"How much would you charge to do me?" I smile.
Forsooth, what is to be said of such an old fool? "There's no fool like an old fool"? Well, perhaps. But the old saw also has it "No fool; no fun."
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
