2. Donna
TWO
Donna
THE CAULKING DREAD
Mouth: Plumber is on his way to you. Wants to know if he should bring a drain snake or a caulk gun. Please advise.
That’s cute. I step into the leopard-print lace trim lingerie that I bought four years ago and haven’t worn since I started stress-eating my feelings. Or since I ate those two bags of fun-size Halloween candy that I got on sale in early September and drank all that beer for Oktoberfest. Here goes nothing… Inhaling, I lift the slip by its dainty little silk straps, but…it doesn’t want to slide up past my badonkadonk.
So close!
I can do this.
I will do this.
I am trying to pull the stupid, frigging beautiful, delicate slip over my head and past my giant boobs when my phone starts playing the opening of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” It’s been my ringtone for a week, and it still freaks me out and cracks me up every time I hear it. Carefully reaching out to accept the call without tearing the seams of the nightie, I yell out, “After the week I’ve had, I need caulk and a snake! Give me five minutes!”
“ Ach du lieber Gott, M?dchen! ” comes the voice of my seventy-nine-year-old grandmother.
“Ohhhh heeeyyyy, Oma! Hang on a second!”
“What is going on over there?! Why does it sound like your boobs are squished?”
Sucking everything in, I pull the damn silk down over my boobs and hips with one frantic tug—and I don’t hear anything rip apart. The badonkadonk is adequately covered. It looks like my boobs are trying to hug my neck, but it’ll have to do. I just won’t be able to sit or breathe while I’m wearing this. I touch the speakerphone icon. “Sorry about that, Oma! Just got back from my shift, so I’m changing my clothes!”
“Whose cock is giving you only five minutes, Püppchen ?” she asks, genuinely distraught. “You had better get a lot of foreplay! This is exactly why I am calling you. Why do you not have a proper boyfriend again to take care of you? Come back to Philadelphia, Donna. Let me help you find a man who treats you right. The men in Boston schtink !”
“Yah. Like their sports teams!” My opa calls out in the background.
I want to laugh, but I can’t because my boobs are squished. “Oh, hey, Opa. I’m just waiting for a plumber to come over.” My grandparents are my favorite people, but I refuse to talk cock with them, no matter how much my oma sounds like Dr. Ruth. And I definitely don’t want to have the why don’t I have a proper boyfriend conversation.
“What is so bad you have to pay for a plumber at this hour?” My grandfather’s voice is so loud and deep on the phone, it always sounds like he’s mad at me. “Do you have a clog or a leak?”
“Um. Both? It’s not exactly an emergency—I just don’t feel like taking care of it all by myself tonight.” I spritz a musky perfume on my pulse points. Assuming there are pulse points in my cleavage and inner thighs.
“If you have bad plumbing at your apartment, why do you not move to the house?”
Ahhh, the house. A shiver goes down my spine as I think about that huge old farmhouse out in Middleborough. My favorite patient left it to me in a kind act of generosity, and it has so far been nothing but a terrifying ass ache. “Because there are a lot more issues with that house than plumbing. It’s an old, old house and a big, big project, Opa. I don’t have time to deal with it now. ”
“Then why not sell the house und buy a condo?” he very rightfully asks.
I don’t know when would be a good time to tell him that house is possibly haunted and probably unsellable, but it’s definitely not now.
There’s a cocky knock at my front door. Thank God. I might not be able to stay awake more than five minutes. “Plumber’s here—I gotta go! I love you both. Say hi to Mom if you talk to her tomorrow. I probably won’t have time!”
“You deserve no less than fifteen minutes of cock, Püppchen !” Oma yells as I’m hanging up. “On top of the foreplay!”
More insistent banging on the door, but I can’t stop smiling. This guy bangs the way he does everything else—loudly, with urgency and confidence and his whole heart. And big, strong hands.
Fluffing up my hair and pausing to get into character first, I attempt a deep breath—as deep as my silk-imprisoned bosom will allow—and then open the door. The plumber is casually resting one hand against the door frame, holding a big toolbox in his other hand and smirking at me lasciviously. Until his beautiful brown eyes widen and his jaw drops when he takes in all there is to take in of me in this slip dress. His flannel shirt is completely unbuttoned, revealing the dark hair on his chest and abs that in no way reveal all the Dunkin’ Donuts and beer that I am certain he has consumed in his life.
“That’s how you dress for work?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
“That’s how you dress to answer the door in the middle of the night?”
“I didn’t have time to change. My homicidally jealous and possessive ex-husband could show up at any minute. We need to—I mean, you need to get to work.”
And there’s that smirk again. “Oh, I am ready to get to work, Missus—I didn’t get your name, sweetheart?”
“ Ms. Ballcock.”
“German, huh?”
“ Yah . And you are?”
“Rod. Rod Auger. Here’s my card.” With the flick of his wrist, he produces a business card for an Irish pub. “Other side, sweetheart.”
I flip the card over. It just says 1-800-ROD-JOBS , scrawled in blue ink. I glance up at him. He winks at me. I slip the card into my cleavage for safekeeping, slowly, so Rod can thoroughly enjoy watching me do it. “Thanks, Rod. I’ll hold on to this. Come inside.” I place my hands on either side of the door frame and lean forward to look down the hall, nervously biting my lip as my boobs press against his warm body. “Better hurry before anyone sees you.”
“Ladies first.” His voice is low all of a sudden, and I feel it deep and warm in my belly. “No matter how quick and dirty the job gets. Always—ladies first…” He stands totally still as I slowly pull back to meet his gaze. I trust this man, but there’s something so exciting about him. I never really know what he’s going to say or do. I just know that I’ve liked everything he’s ever said and done to me.
I step back, holding the door open, and check out his butt in those dark jeans as he walks past me. At night, he usually smells like either Guinness or whiskey. Guinness or whiskey plus something else. Guinness and maple syrup. Whiskey and cigar smoke. Guinness and paint. Whiskey and a clean hotel room. Tonight he smells like Guinness and chocolate.
“So, what’s the emergency ovah heah , Ms. Ballcock?” He kicks off his shoes, leaves them by the door. So considerate. “What do we got? Clog? Pressure issue? Leak?”
“Oh, there is definitely some leakage,” I say, squeezing my thighs together. “In the kitchen.” I lead him to the kitchen, sashaying because there’s no other way to walk in this thing. “It’s just so wet down there. Very slippery.”
“Oh, yeah? How long has this been goin’ on?”
“Ever since you knocked on my front door.” My kitchen is lit only by the range hood light, and I am not going to turn on the overheads. “It’s the dishwasher,” I tell him as I attempt to bend over in front of him and pull open the dishwasher door. “Sorry it’s such a small kitchen. Tight fit.”
He drops his toolbox on the counter with a thud, startling me, but it doesn’t startle me nearly as much as the big hard tool in his pants when he quickly, ever so subtly presses it against my ass and gently places his hands on my hips to move me out of the way. “Tight and wet. Oh no, such difficult working conditions. ’Scuse me, ma’am. I need to get in there.”
“Hopefully there’s something you can do. It’s been a while since I’ve let anyone under the hood. Is that what it’s called? The hood?”
“Yeah, sure, why not. D’you run this tonight? Or is this load dirty?”
“It is absolutely filthy.”
He presses a button and slams the door shut. “Just the way I like it.” The dishwasher cycle starts as his face hovers just above mine. I grip the edge of the counter behind me. “Fixed it.” He stares down at my mouth and roughly cups my face with one hand.
“Fix me now, Rod,” I whisper, clutching at his open shirt, my voice trembling like the rest of me. “Hurry. My terrible, horrible ex could walk through that door any minute.”
“Let him. I’m here to fix everything and protect you. I ain’t gonna rush this, baby—not the first time.” He grunts as the palms of his hands skim my hard nipples beneath the silk. It’s heaven the way the fabric feels against my skin, beneath his warm, rough hands. “Goddamn, you are so fucking hot. You feel how hard I am already? You feel that?”
I slide my hand down his abs and over the hard length in his jeans. “Yeah. It feels good. Your tool’s so much bigger than my ex-husband’s.”
“Forget about your ex, baby. By the time I’m done pumpin’ and flushin’ your pipes, you won’t remember his name. I bet my male line’s gonna fit your female union juuuust right.”
“I need you to snake my drain—hurry!” I plead. I am so turned on and so tired.
“What is this, satin?” He slips his hands under the hem and squeezes my ass.
“It’s one hundred percent mulberry silk!”
“Sooo silky. Like your tight, drippin’-wet pussy?”
The mouth on this one, I swear. He slowly lowers himself down the front of my body until his knees touch the floor and then swiftly yanks the skirt up past my hips. I close my eyes and thread my fingers through his wavy hair as the tip of his thumb presses against my clit over the mesh thong. I cannot wait to feel his short beard scraping the skin of my inner thighs. “Jesus fuck, baby, you’re so wet… Wait…everything’s wet. My feet are wet. What the hell?”
It isn’t until he stands up again that I realize my feet are wet too. I’m standing in a puddle. “Shit.”