Handyman Hank

Authors note: Since my retirement, I have met regularly for breakfast and gossip with a group of men in the real life Jones Corner. One of these, a road construction straw boss, working the Charleston-Monks Corner area, likes to regale us with tales of his exploits with the women he met over the years. Between him and the undeniable town stud, they got me interested in telling their tales in fiction. All names have been changed, and of course, almost every detail related here is pure fiction, but rest assured there may or may not have been a real life situation that parallels this story.

As always your comments are solicited and I assure you I will consider every constructive suggestion or comment. To you anonymous folks who just want to say, "You're a dumb shit that can't write," save your time; I know that already.

Remember—from this point on Handyman Hank, not The Carolina Dreamer is talking.

*

I'm retired now, with nothing to do but scout around on the internet, so when I ran across this site called Literotica, I knew I hit the jackpot. They had thousands of stories about sex, and the loving wives category became my favorite. I'd spend hours in front of the monitor, mostly reading about wives humiliating their husbands with men with giant sized cocks.

Now I can't write for shucks, and what I don't know about, what they call grammar would fill several books, but I just couldn't stand to read this crap and not try to set the record straight, so I decided to write a story that tells it the way things really were, up until I slowed down a few years back.

You might wonder what makes me such an expert on the subject. My answer would be that I served for four years on Marine bases where the showers consisted of one big room with nozzles all around. They accommodated an entire platoon, over sixty men, at one time. Therefore, I have seen a lot of cocks, and know that most are average sized. (That's why they call it average.) Yes, there are some that resemble a stick of salami, but they are few and far between.

Add to that the fact I've fucked more women than most men have whacked off thinking about, and I'm going to claim to be an expert. My account of my experiences won't include any of this shit about men licking other men's cum out of their wives cunts, or anyone trying to humiliate husbands, cause that just don't happen in this neck of the woods. In my world, that stuff would get you a quick trip to hell.

So anyway, I'm going to give you a little background, then tell you about the first married woman I got after I got out of service and opened my shop. If you like my story, I got lots of others I can tell you about. I kind of hope you like em, cause I ain't got nothing else to do—might as well write.

Momma named me Henry Harvey Hawkins. I've always wondered what she had against her little boy. Somehow, I lucked out early in life when my first grade teacher took one look at me and called me her handsome little boy. Then she checked my registration card and shook her head.

"Tell you what, son." She said, "In my room, you'll be my little Handsome Hank." Somehow, over the years, the name stuck. Of course, after I got up a few years, and beat the crap out of several boys who called me that, it got shortened to Hank. After the tenth grade, I never again heard a boy call me Handsome Hank, but every once in a while, when they thought I couldn't hear them, a girl would say something about how handsome I was. For some reason, that didn't bother me.

I was in the tenth grade when I discovered girls were different from boys—a lot different—thank God. With the help of Daddy's old Fifty Five Chevy, with that big wide bench seat up front, and drive-in movies, I really explored those differences—I mean REALLY EXPLORED them.

Besides women thinking I was attractive, I had one more asset; I could fix just about anything. Anything from a leaky faucet to a kitchen appliance to a washing machine or a TV, you name it, I could fix it. When I opened up a shop after returning from the Marines and called it Handyman Hank's, nobody was surprised. I added cold beer and roasted peanuts, and my shop became the local hangout for all the old retired men—men who loved to eat peanuts, drink beer and cokes and gossip. The salted peanuts were free, but the drinks to quench the thirst they caused, were not. They put a good chunk of change in my register, and the gossip gave me a lot of leads about needy pussy around town. They got to be so regular that folks around town called them Hank's Crew, or just The Crew for short.

I remember it just like it was yesterday, which is strange, since I can't remember what the heck I had for supper last night.

*****

"Handyman Hank's, how can I help you?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded young and sexy. She was noticeably upset, almost in tears. She said she had water all over her washroom floor. I assured her I'd be there in a jiffy, if she'd give me her name and address.

"Uh huh," I said jotting down the information. "Becky T-y-l-o-r, or is it T-a-y-l-o-r?" She assured me it was Tylor and gave me her address and I hung up to get ready.

"Hey Hank! Did'ja just say Becky Tylor needed help?" Old Joe was probably the oldest of the crew. Almost any day from ten till two, the almost toothless, gray haired old man dressed in an old washed out pair of overalls, usually with the side buttons undone, could be found holding down the end of a bench just inside my shop. That bench, along with two others on each side of my long narrow shop, formed a U where the crew could easily swap lies and drink beer or cokes, both of which were within easy reach.

"Yeah, that's who she said she was. Why?"

"You betta watch out fer that little gal." Joe's speech reflected his years spent as a farmhand in the Carolina Low-Country. About the only thing he had to show for his hard work, were six daughters and over a dozen grandkids; every one of them lived within a half mile of Joe's place and all spoiled him something awful. Sometimes I thought he came to Hank's just to get away from the chattering women. Because of them, Joe was a goldmine of information about what went on in town.

"What are you talking about, Joe?"

"My Bessie claims little Miss Becky done got a poison pen letter about her husband, you know he's in the army, don't cha? Well he's fuck'n round with some German gal. Bessie says that little gal fit ta be tied. Said she was in her beauty shop rais'n hell bout how she's gonna get even."

"No man, you can't be right," Andy Atkins, at sixty two, the youngest of the old guys spoke up. "Man, they were only married three weeks before he shipped out. Why that little gal hasn't been broken in yet."

"Don't know bout dat. All I knows is what my Bessie says, and frum the was she talking, Hank better take some rubbers if he go'in dere."

I had to laugh at the discussion that followed. Would she or wouldn't she? Three old farts, who would never have a chance to find out, were about to come to blows over sweet little Becky's morals. I didn't know the lady myself, but I must admit, they had me interested in meeting her. By the way, I stopped by the drug store on my way to Miss Becky's place.

The neat little white cottage was, surrounded by pecan trees, on a lot bordered on all sides by shrubs over six feet high. A circular drive entered and exited through the shrubs, so a car parked directly in front of the house was protected from the curious eyes of any neighbors.

The pretty little brunette, who answered the door, literally pulled me to the washroom.

"See," she was almost crying, as she pointed to the water covering the floor. "How am I going to clean that up—will it ruin the floor? I hope it won't be expensive to fix."

I assured her we'd get everything under control, and sent her to get a bucket and a mop, while I turned the water off and the washer on its side, so I could get to the offending water hose. It was just a clamp that had worked loose; by the time she returned with the bucket and mop, I could assure her she wouldn't have to mortgage the place to pay for it.

I had to give that girl credit, for a young woman who couldn't have weighed over one-twenty soaking wet, she wasn't afraid to work. She hopped right to swinging that swab, as we called them in the Marines, and trying to pick up the water. The problem was, her hands were too little to properly wring out the water. I always come prepared for anything and my step van just happened to have a mop so I retrieved it to lend a hand.

"Here, let me," She was bent over trying to wring the mop. I leaned over her, reached around her petite body, and using my, bigger than average, hands I did a proper job of getting her mop ready for another go at picking up water. Now before you say anything—yes I know that isn't a very effective way of wringing a mop—it is, however a very good way of pressing a soft feminine body against my manly physique, without getting slapped.

"Thanks, but I can manage." I noticed, for the first time, she had a slight speech defect and her face was full of freckles, which showed up more because she was blushing. I guess she did feel my hard shaft after all, since I noticed after she moved away she looked down to check it out. It took both of us almost an hour before we got all the water up and had a floor fan trying to finish the drying job. By that time we were both sweaty.

"Can I offer you something cold?" Her voice was low and the speech problem seemed to make it sexier. I noticed, for the first time, how attractive my customer really was. Dressed in a tank top with Clemson logo and wearing a pair of thin purple shorts to match, she somehow reminded me of Tinker Bell, of Peter Pan fame. Even if I hadn't been on a long dry spell, this woman/girl would have turned me on. As it was, I just had to make a play.

"Got any beer?"

"Afraid not, the only alcohol I have is wine. Would you like that?"

"Only if you'll join me." I'm not normally a wine drinker, but if I could get her to have a few, I thought it would help my cause. That's how we come to be sitting around her patio table, enjoying the sweet smell of wisteria blossoms and listening to the Blue Jays scolding a squirrel high in a pecan tree, while we chatted and sipped wine.

I noticed she kept twisting and working her back and shoulders. "Uh-huh," I thought, "Not used to doing a lot of mopping. Bet she has a woman come in every so often for the dirty work." I still say that was a game little woman—one I very much wanted to play games with.

After our second glass I wasn't affected much, but I noticed she was giggling a lot more; when I'd tell a little off color joke, instead of just a polite smile, like when we first started, she laughed like she really enjoyed it. After the third glass, her face was a little flushed and she was still squirming like her shoulder muscles were hurting. That's when I got a brilliant idea.

"Let's see if I can help those sore muscles." Without waiting for an answer, I moved behind her chair and started gently kneading her shoulders.

"That's okay." She sat forward in her chair; I could see she was nervous about me touching her, but I also knew how my big hands could cover a woman's entire back and relax sore muscles. I ignored her protest and she gave up and gave in to the pleasure of the rubdown. Of course, if I had her face down on that lounge chair—the one over to our right, she'd be enjoying it a lot more. I considered trying to get her there before deciding I better keep things super slow.As I massaged her back it seemed I could see her come unglued at the joints.

"That feels sooo gooood," she moaned, sliding forward in her chair, allowing me to include her entire back. "Don't," she protested weakly, when my hands roamed from her waist back to her shoulder, my fingertips brushing the side of her soft breast in the process.

I stayed away from her breast for a few minutes, while I concentrated on working the bare skin, by slipping my hands under her tank top. Her expression of pleasure became more vocal, and she didn't protest when I said, "Here, let's get this thing unhooked so I can get under it properly." I deftly un-hooked her bra and started rubbing out the impressions it left on her back.

While I was rubbing the kinks out, she had finished the rest of the bottle, and was clearly throwing away her inhibitions. Instead of jumping up and slapping my face, when I finally cupped her breast, she sort of shivered, reminding me of a bird I once picked up, when it tried to fly too soon and landed on the ground in cat territory. The little bird had just crouched in my hand, shaking and scared to death, until I placed it back in the nest.

Becky was about the same way; she just sat real still, her breathing getting a little faster, her body shuddering each time I gently rolled her nipples between my thumb and forefinger. I bent to nibble her earlobe and she stood, pulling me around to her front. Standing face to face, I caught around her and pulled her hard against my body.

Now I'm not going to bother lying to you about what a big cock I had. It was normal, just a shade over six inches,(hell yes, I had measured it in a moment of curiosity), but it was hard enough to poke a hole in a mattress, and right then it was poking that little girl's stomach, almost to her belly button; we were that much different in height.

Now that we were belly to belly, I took her face between both hands. Then I looked deeply into those bright, baby blue eyes and smiled, hoping to relieve her doubts. She looked scared to death and like a woman in heat, all at the same time; kind of yes I will, no I won't, if you know what I mean. Hell, you do know what I mean—just think about the time you looked at that new outboard motor, wanting it so bad you could taste it—knowing all the while that if you bought it, your wife would be pissed enough cut you off for a week, or until she got really horny again. Well,little Becky looked just like she was in that predicament.

I knew I still had to move slow as slow if I didn't want to lose her. Good thing I'm a man who thinks getting there is as much fun as being there. I pulled her face close to mine, then starting at the tip of her nose; I planted little nippy kisses over her face, her ear lobes and down her neck. I found the ear lobes seemed to get the greatest reaction, so I returned to them, kissing and nibbling until I could feel her body change; it became more pliable, more receptive, and when I shifted my kisses back to her lips, she didn't just let me kiss her, she kissed me. I mean those sweet lips parted beneath my tongue's insistent probing, and when her tongue slipped into my mouth to rub against my own, I got so hard, I think you could hit my cock with a hammer and break the hammer.

We still hadn't uttered a word. At times like this, a woman and a man have a language of their own, a language made up of sighs, grunts, and moans. I managed to get one hand on her perky little tits, shifting from one to the other. Both nipples were like little marbles, and as I played with them I could feel the aureoles swelling and getting goose bumps.

"Kiss them," she moaned, pulling her mouth away from mine. I would have loved to, but the difference in our heights made it impossible to kiss her tits and still hold my cock against her; the way she was writhing against it, made me think she really didn't want my cock to stop probing stomach and I was sure I didn't either.

My being a strong man and her being such a little woman solved the problem. I grasp her butt with both hands and lifted, while she wrapped her legs around my waist. That made us a perfect fit; now my cock was pressing into her crotch, with nothing between us but her shorts and panties, and I could bend my head just enough to reach her nipple with my mouth.

"Yessss—Oooooooh, yesssss, Hank, That's soooo good. She kept up a constant flow of groans and moans of sweet nothings that were music to my ears. Maybe it's just me, but I love to hear my woman letting me know when I'm doing it right. Sweet Becky had no problems in that department.

Things were getting too hot; something had to be done.

"Hold on tight," I said and she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, while I carried her back through the open patio doors, and deposited her on a nearby sofa. I looked down at her, just lying there, studying my body as I slowly removed my clothes one agonizing piece at a time. I knew I was teasing her, but the look of pure wanton lust on her face as she watched my shorts fall to the floor, was worth the self-restraint it took not to rip the rest of her clothes off and bury my cock in her pussy. That and the anticipation of the many future episodes that might be available, if I didn't scare her away, stayed my hand.

Who knew how much longer her husband would be deployed, and she would only get hornier and hornier. Somebody was going to enjoy this pussy and it might as well be me. When she gingerly reached out and ran her fingers along the length of my shaft, while her tongue flicked over her lips, I knew my chances were good. I waited while she explored my length until she seemed satisfied and lay back fully reclined.

I caught her shorts at the waistband and started to tug them off. She immediately lifted her hips to help. Instead of jerking them down quickly, like some men would do, I slipped them down slowly, one tantalizing inch at the time while she remained arched upward, seemingly enjoying my obvious pleasure at unveiling her hot body. First the soft skin just above hair covered vee, then the thick curly bush, and on past to present the puffy labia for my inspection. At that point, she relaxed her torso and lifted her legs for me to finish the job.

Someplace along the way, her top had disappeared, so now she lay before me in all her splendor. As I took in her beauty I remember thinking about what a fool her husband was to fuck around on her. Still I mentally thanked him for his foolishness; without it, she would never have allowed me to be here now, I thought.

I expected her to kiss my cock, but she didn't, I later learned she was so naive, she thought her girlfriends were joking when they talked of such things. She released me and spread her legs wide, the look on her face told me she was still unsure she should cheat on her husband like this, but it also reflected the desires of a very lonely sexy woman.

"What are you doing?" she asked, when I lifted one leg to the back of the sofa and then placed the other foot on the floor. "Oh my," she moaned after I got my face between them and started kissing the inside of her thigh, worked my way up to her lower stomach and back down the other thigh. "That's good—so good," she said, when I started up the other thigh again.

"Oh my god, what are you doing? Ooooh—Oooooh! That's good!" I had reached my target. Parting the hair with my thumbs I kissed the outside of her labia, then pulling the lips apart slightly, I saw she was very wet, the inside walls glistened from her juices and her musky, womanly smell was too much for me to resist any longer.

She jumped like she was shocked when I ran my tongue from the bottom of her slit to the top and then explored the inside of her cunt. Finding the little hooded clit, I teased it until it reached the size of a pencil eraser and she had her hands wrapped in my hair, pulling me so tight to her pussy, I had to fight to breathe and continue pleasuring her. All this time she was muttering all kinds of gibberish, but every time I pulled back for a breath, she yelled out, "No, don't stop now!" She had nothing to worry about; you couldn't have pulled me from between her legs with a John Deere tractor.

I was afraid to make her cum with my tongue, afraid she might have second thoughts after her first passion was satisfied, so I grabbed up my shirt to wipe her juices from my face started to shift position.