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Sunday morning – like so many others. A sharp elbow in the ribs from my wife roused me from a deep sleep. In my drowsy state, I chose to believe the pain was caused by a pulled muscle – my entire body ached anyway – what was one more pain?
“Don!” I heard…slowly coming to realization that in addition to bruising my side, Julie, my persistent better half had been stage-whispering my name into my ears repeatedly. For how long, I had no idea. The level of annoyance in her voice implied that it had been a while.
“DON…you HAVE to GET UP…NOW.”
It all came rushing back. The Saturday spent loading boxes and hauling them to the truck. The multiple trips up and down multiple stairs carrying multiple heavy pieces of antique furniture. Why, I wondered, as I stretched my sore muscles and turned to face my wife – WHY hadn’t I hired someone to help? Why had I agreed to Julie’s suggestion that we “minimize” our “living spaces.” Why had I let her subscribe to “Real Simple” magazine? Whatever happened to just plain house cleaning?
I squinted through one eye – maybe if I played dead I’d be let off the hook? She was leaning over me, looking down at my face. The look on her face told me that these were the last pleasurable moments I could expect from this day.
“Don,” she sighed “I KNOW you don’t want to, but you have to get the truck to the storage place by 10a.m. if you want to unload it and get back here in time for dinner with Nancy and Jules.”
Dear Lord, I silently prayed, let this be a nightmare…
Julie pushed herself up and practically vaulted out of bed.
“I’m going to shower and go shopping for dinner…I have so much to do to get ready!”
I watched her white naked ass cheeks saunter over to the bathroom door. My cock woke up with a start…followed by my brain.
I lay there listening to the sounds of her morning ablutions – toilet flushing, teeth brushing, shower running. I idly played with my cock, remembering some long ago tryst and thinking about the feeling of my cock between Julie’s ass cheeks, getting harder and slowly waking up. Maybe, I thought, if I can just persuade her to get back into bed and have a nice long session, I could delay the inevitable. By now, I was good and hard and rubbing some precum around the top of my cock with one finger, enjoying the feeling.
I heard Julie shut off the shower and flung the covers off, exposing my naked body, feeling the cool air on my wet cock head.
I raised my head from the pillow when the bathroom door opened and Julie emerged, wrapped in a towel.
“Julie,” I croaked, “come back to bed, it’s Sunday morning for Christ’s sake!”
She paused on her way to her closet and looked at me.
“Oh good, I see you’re up!”
She continued towards her closet, dropping her towel and reaching for her panties.
My cock knew before my brain that it was not going to be getting any attention this morning – and started to wilt before I fully comprehended her sarcasm.
I gave in to the inevitable, sliding out of bed, and dragging my sore body to the shower, where I reviewed the day that lay ahead.
I had a 14′ Ryder truck outside on the curb that I had to drive 45 minutes from the house I shared in downtown Philadelphia with a woman who aspired to be a cross between Martha Stewart and the head of an ashram to some godforsaken spot in New Jersey where some fool had decided to locate a self storage facility. All of this, I muttered to myself, so that she can have a Yoga Studio and Meditation Room rather than a nicely cluttered office and TV room. Well, I thought, as I soaped my still semi-hard cock, at least the yoga has paid off.
Julie was hot – objectively so, I noted with satisfaction when we walked down the street and heads turned. And that made up for a lot of other flaws. There were times – usually when I was looking up at her breasts as she rode me up and down, her hands pulling the hair on my chest… times when I could very easily overlook her relentless drive to self-improvement, that somehow extended well beyond herself to me, our house, her relatives, my relatives…a long list. Not that I was without flaws – just that I often wondered how it was that she and I had stayed together for ten years. Maybe because I allowed myself to be improved by her and helped to fund her numerous other projects…maybe because I was lazy and addicted to sex. But back to Julie.
Yoga had been her passion for the past ten years. Five years ago, she had quit her job as an assistant treasurer with a Fortune 500 company – even I, a corporate shill of the worst order, had to agree that it was pointless but for the paycheck. She took her 401k and her savings, we took out a home equity line, and she started a yoga studio. She had developed a healthy following – like-minded women who enjoyed sitting in overheated rooms imitating trees and dogs. While the business didn’t make much, it supported itself and from my point of view, paid other dividends. Julie had a very well toned body and could bend better ataşehir escort bayan than a Philly soft pretzel. She was on the tall side to begin with – 5’7″, but when I met her at Wharton, she was skinny. Now she was athletic. Her shoulders were broader and muscles toned. Her breasts were on the small side – but who needs more than a handful? She had dark brown long hair, and tanned skin – the result of frequent retreats to yoga retreats in warm climes.
She had tried, unsuccessfully, to make me interested in yoga. I am not a top-notch physical specimen – I’m tall, 6’3″ – and that hides a multitude of sins. I am not well toned – I sit on my ass all day in front of a Bloomberg terminal trying to outsmart other guys doing the same thing. Not that I’m flabby– just that my idea of physical activity…well, I was engaged in it right now.
I continued to soap my cock, thinking of Julie’s legs, wrapped around my waist, buried in her pussy. I squatted down in the shower, reached around and fingered my ass while my other hand stroked my cock. In my mind, I was deep inside Julie, my balls slapping on her ass. I felt my balls tightening and that satisfying feeling building deep under my cock, building up as I opened my legs and shoved my ring finger deep inside my ass. I came hard, spraying cum from my sudsy cock over my hand and out onto the shower floor, my ass squeezing hard around my finger.
I watched as the shower washed soap and me down the drain and slowly stood back up.
I was not looking forward to this day. I had made a big mistake. Julie, who was usually right about these things, had tried to persuade me to call one of my buddies to help with the move. Being a stubborn SOB and probably wanting to prove to Julie just how burdensome her ideas about house improvement were, I told her that it was absolutely unnecessary and that I would do it myself. Julie, knowing that I was not going to be moved from this unreasonable position, left the topic alone and left me to my own devices.
So here I was, day 2, and still not willing to ask for help. Even after a hot shower and a relaxing session with my hand, my body still ached and I knew by nightfall it would hurt more. And her brother, Jules and his wife Mary – who in their right mind names their children Jules and Julie? were coming over. Jules was ok in my book. Julie was like her mother in a million ways – just the updated model. Jules had inherited his father’ demeanor – and he and I were a lot alike. We didn’t make waves – we let them ripple under the surface. And Jules had married another Julie – or at least someone like his mother. We were like a pop-psychology textbook family. Jules’ wife, Mary, was insufferable, and when she and Julie were in the same house, the two competed on every level. Julie would spend all day preparing tonight’s meal, and it would be picture perfect – right out of Bon Appetit – but Mary would one-up her by bringing over a hard-to-find wine or a bunch of flowers imported from South Africa, and spout-off about the meal she had prepared the night before, yada yada yada. At least Jules and I were able to sit back, crack open some beers and let ourselves enjoy the entertainment.
At least I’d be alone all day, I thought, as I pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt.
Julie was already out shopping for the evening’s meal when I came downstairs. I grabbed a cup of coffee, put it in a thermos, grabbed the keys to the Ryder and out I went.
* * *
An hour later – after getting lost on the way – I pulled into the parking lot of a warehouse. The place looked deserted except for one car and another rental truck in the parking lot. It was basically a large warehouse, with a couple of loading ramps. I’d never been here before – Julie had ordered the storage space online, and had taken care of the details. I figured that the storage units were inside. I pulled up to the bottom of the second of two loading ramps at the storage facility.
The garage door at the top of the ramp was open, so I went up and looked inside. The building was massive – filled with wooden storage bins as far as the eye could see. But there was no one around. There was no one at the top of the loading ramp, though. I’d passed what looked like an office on the way to the loading ramp, so I walked back down the ramp, walked the length of the building in that direction. At least the day was nice – a crisp autumn day – and even though I was not exactly looking forward to unloading the van, I was enjoying being away from the house.
I got the office and tried the door – locked. Cursing, I leaned close the tinted glass, put my hand up and tried to get a look inside. There was a woman leaning against a counter – but no one was behind the counter. I took note of her ass – which was filling out a pair of faded blue jeans nicely. I rapped on the door with my knuckles. She turned around and looked, then looked back at the counter and turned on her heel and started toward the door.
As she came towards me, I noticed escort kadıköy the rest of her – dark short hair cut into a bob framing a nice Irish face. Blue eyes, high cheekbones. She wore a faded green t-shirt. I could read “Yellowstone” through the door as she came closer. She was about 5’6″ I guessed, not thin, but not overweight. Her jeans, I noticed, rode low on her hips. All in all, she made a pleasant first impression. She was smiling, too, I noticed – as she reached down to unlatch the door.
As the door opened, I said “Hi – do you work –”
She laughed – a sweet little laugh – no – just waiting for the guy to come back with my key.
“Thanks for letting me in,” I managed, and followed her back up to the counter.
We both took up positions at the counter. I pulled out the paperwork Julie had left me and put it in front of me on the countertop. I looked over at the woman standing next to me – she was drumming her fingers on and now appeared to me to be generally annoyed.
“Has he been gone long?” I asked.
She breathed out with a huff…”about 10 minutes..I have no idea what could take him 10 minutes. It took him 10 minutes to open the door for me too! What a way to spend a Sunday.”
I laughed – had to agree with that sentiment.
I decided to keep the conversation going – misery does love company after all.
“Moving lots in?”
“Half of an apartment”
“Ouch” I replied.
It occurred to me that she was alone. “Anyone helping you?”
“Someone had too much to drink last night.”
“Oh man – that sucks.” I could sympathize. I wasn’t exactly sure what else to say. Part of me wanted to be chivalrous – the other part of me thought about all of the stuff in my truck.
“Let me know if you need any help” I heard myself say. Well, I guess my subconscious was calling the shots.
“Oh, that’s very nice of you,” she said, smiling over at me “but I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Not a problem – just let me know.”
I was noticing more about her now. She had amazingly white skin. She was actually quite pretty, and seemed a little more edgy than her dress had first indicated. She had a tattoo on her arm, I noticed, a Celtic band showing just under her t-shirt sleeve. She looked between 25 and 30 I thought. Younger than me.
I was about to ask her where she was from, just to keep the conversation going, when a door opened in the office behind the counter, and a guy wearing a very stoned expression in a blue jumpsuit bearing the nametag “Wayne” sauntered out from parts unknown.
“Geesh” I said under my breath.
She snickered and looked over at me out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah”
Wayne looked surprised to see me, like his customer had somehow multiplied in his absence.
“Hi,” I said – “I need to get my storage key – my wife called ahead?”
Wayne looked at me blankly…then the circuits fired. “Oh – yeah – sure dude – just hold on one sec.”
He turned to my neighbor and said “Here’s your key. Just pull up the ramp. There’s a dolly at the top.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking her key and spinning on her heel. She gave me a little wave as she walked to the door. “Good luck!”
“Um yeah – you too!” I managed in reply, then turned back to Wayne, who was dumbly staring after her.
Wayne took only 5 minutes to find my key, and sent me off with the same instructions. I was to take my truck up the ramp next to where “that chick’s” truck was, as he put it. I nodded, took the key and headed back to the truck.
When I returned to my loading ramp, I got in the truck and backed it up the ramp to the entrance, and shut it off. I went inside, and found Wayne maneuvering one of the wooden boxes around with a forklift. He dropped it a few feet from me, gave me a wave and took off down the building towards the office. I noticed as I watched him go that he had dropped a similar box at the adjacent ramp and that the woman from the office was standing in front of it, surveying the back of her truck, her hands on her hips. She was about 30 feet from me.
I called out to her “Hey! He’s pretty good with that forklift for a stoner!”
I felt myself flush and kicked myself internally – how lame was that!
To my surprise and relief, she looked up and laughed.
“Yeah – now if only I could get stoned before getting this truck unloaded.”
I chuckled. “Can’t help you there – I’m not storing my bong.”
Again she laughed though, to my great surprise! “I am, but it’s not loaded.”
By this time, I had made my way over to her.
“That’s a shame,” I said “it would make the day SO much easier” and smiled at her.
She smiled back. I looked into the back of her truck. It was filled to the roof, and almost all the way back to the door with an amazing variety of stuff – boxes, framed stuff, furniture.
“That looks like more than half an apartment!” I quipped.
“It was a big apartment”
“Where are you moving from?” I asked
“Boston” – she said – “I’m moving bostancı escort to Philly but my lease doesn’t start for two weeks.”
“You mean you’re going to have to move this again in two weeks” I asked, incredulous.
She looked downcast.
“Sorry,” I said – “you probably didn’t need to be reminded of that.”
She shook it off and looked me in the eyes – “eh, no big deal – I’m sure my boyfriend will be up for it – after the shit he pulled this morning, he’s lucky I’m moving in at all!”
I nodded, thinking “damn lucky.”
“Well,” she said “off to work.”
“Um, yeah” I said “listen – I really can help you move some of this stuff if you like – my truck is full, but it’s not nearly as full as yours!”
“Oh – that’s cool – I don’t want to burden you.”
“Really – it’s no bother!” I said. All the while, I couldn’t believe I was hearing myself say these things. It’s not that I’m not generous – well, not generous to a fault – but I’ve been known to lend a hand or two. But not to total strangers! She was attractive, I had to admit…and something about her made the idea of spending the day moving her stuff and mine more appealing than returning home.
“Well, why don’t you see how you feel after unloading your truck” she replied.
That seemed reasonable, I thought, and turned to head back to my loading dock.
“Oh, hey,” she said, “my name’s Trish.”
I turned around and extended my hand “Don – nice to meet you”
We smiled and shook hands. Her’s was cool and small in mine. Then I turned and went back to work.
For the next hour I moved boxes from the truck into the unit. I would look down the way every so often, to see her doing the same. Occasionally I’d see her pause and wipe her brow. I noticed a growing pile of furniture between her truck and her storage unit. She did not look like she was having fun. This was confirmed when I saw her slump down on a box and flip open a cell phone. All I heard was “asshole!” and “I can’t believe!..” as she stared at the phone, before flipping it closed and putting it back in her pocket.
I thought about it for all of a second before walking over to her. She heard me coming and looked up from her box.
“Hey” she said, dejectedly.
“Hey” I said, “not going so well?”
“You could say that”
“Why don’t you let me lend a hand – I’m almost done over there anyway.”
“Because I’d feel really shitty about it?” she looked up at me.
“That’s silly,” I said, smiling “and besides – maybe we’ll find something to put in that bong of yours.”
She laughed. “OK – but at the very least you have to let me buy you a beer.”
“Deal” I said, wondering how I would be able to explain being late for dinner because a girl was buying me a beer.
We got to work.
It was hard work – she had a lot of heavy boxes – lots of books. Which was what we ended up talking about. She was “ABD” – all but dissertation – from Harvard. She had moved down from Boston and was going to live with her boyfriend and spend the next six months writing. Her boyfriend had taken an academic position in Philly. We talked about her work, which was mainly over my head, but it was easy to get caught up in her passion about Jane Austen. At least I’d seen some of the movies lately! It had been a while since I’d picked up a good book. I told her that, and she laughed. She had a good honest laugh I’d noticed, and a sly sense of humor.
Somehow, we ended up talking about marriage and good matches – the conversation arose naturally from our talking about Jane Austen. I surprised myself, and told her all about Julie – and our problems. It was remarkably easy to carry on this conversation while we passed boxes to each other and stacked them in her storage unit. We just chatted and worked.
After I told her about Julie, he and her boyfriend had talked about it, and clearly living together was a first step. It didn’t surprise me when she said that her boyfriend was skating on thin ice after his behavior of that morning. I told her I was kind of surprised at that myself.
“Well, he’s been really distant since he left Boston” she said. She was at the edge of the truck’s bay, and put her hand out, bracing herself against the side of the truck. She leaned against it and kind of looked up in the air, thinking to herself…”in fact,” she said, looking back at me, “he’s been kind of distant for longer than that.” She laughed a little, but it wasn’t convincing.
She stayed leaning there, her arm outstretched away from her body. It was well toned – and uniformly white except for her tattoo. Her t-shirt was stained with sweat around the collar and under the arms. I was pretty drenched as well, but the air was cool enough so I wasn’t uncomfortable.
I caught myself staring at the tattoo. When I looked up, it was obvious that she had seen me staring.
“Where did you get the tattoo?” I asked, trying to cover my embarrassment.
“Oh, this?” She took her arm down and pulling her sleeve up around her shoulder. She looked down at the blue markings and said “I went through a phase. I got it in Boston…and a couple of others.”
“I think I missed that phase.”
She giggled. “Yeah – sometimes I wish I had too…but each one is a good memory at least.”
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