Month: September 2013

Sally Lays The Brick Layers

The other night as I was relaxing over my favorite scotch at the neighborhood bar, I heard an interesting conversation. I was on my way from work and had stopped for a brief drink before I headed home to my wife Sally. We are a bit old-fashioned and have an old-fashioned marriage; I work for the money and Sally spends it. I do pretty well so she doesn’t have to work. Instead she stays home and takes care of the cooking and cleaning as well as being involved with the PTA and all of the other things a suburban housewife does during the day. This particular week she wasn’t going to any meetings because we had workmen at the house adding a brick patio to our backyard. So Sally stayed home to make sure the workmen were doing the brick work and not gold bricking.

I was thinking about work so I wasn’t paying much attention to the people around me. Then I heard someone say, “You know all of those stories about bored suburban housewives. I never really believed them until today.” I looked over and saw a rather muscular young man talking to his friends. One of the friends replied, “I tell you, I didn’t either, but I’m a believer now.”

The conversation was confined to four guys. They all looked to be in their late 20s and early 30s. As I listened, it became clear that they were all construction workers who were meeting after work. They had all worked in the area that day. Apparently two of them had just returned from a rather interesting job. I continued to eavesdrop while they described their adventure.

“Yeah,” said one of them, “we arrived at the job site at 8:00 this morning. The lady of the house met us at the door in a rather revealing negligee. I guess her husband had already left for work and she was just lounging around the house.”

“Well, didn’t she know you were arriving to do the work? Why wasn’t she dressed?” said one of the friends.

“I didn’t know why at the time.” the storyteller answered. “Anyway, she was an older woman in her early 40s. A Mrs. Robinson type. Older and a bit plump, but still a knockout. Maybe her husband likes to have her lounge around the house in negligees. I don’t know. At any rate, the negligee was one of those black babydoll types. Her tits were really large and her nipples were pretty obvious through the top.”

“Yeah, we just figured we caught her unexpectedly,” his companion piped in, “she introduced herself as Sally, I think it was, and she pointed out the area where she wanted the patio.”

Outback Pussy

At the age of 23, Laura secured a job in the Australian outback as a cook’s assistant. She quickly learned how to assist these lonely cattlemen with more than just cooking. “Man can not live on bread alone.”

The lure of earning very good money tempted me to apply to a small advertisement seeking a cook’s assistant on a cattle station in outback Queensland. Hell, all my life I had assisted Mom around the kitchen so I figured I was qualified for any sort of cooking tasks. I rang the number and a young sounding guy invited me for an interview that afternoon. I dressed for the occasion; mini skirt and low cut top so my little boobs could display themselves. If you are being interviewed by a guy this works.

It worked like a charm with this fellow, more interested in my physical qualifications than my work record. As we stood up at the conclusion of the interview, I leaned forward over his desk to pick up my paperwork and gave him a real eyeful. I could see the bulge in his pants and knew that the interview had been a success.

Sure enough in four days I received two hundred dollars, a bus ticket and instructions. I was to meet a guy called Reg from Sandy Station at the Birdsville Hotel in 5 days. Shit, that was quick, bloody Birdsville. Oh well, the money was good so I got myself ready for the journey.

Four days in the bus from hell and I stepped off it and walked into the legendary Hotel. It was divine, ice-cold beer and friendly locals. Outside the temperature was over 110 degrees and it was expected to get hotter during my stay.

Next day a battered pickup with Sandy Station barely visible painted on the door pulled up at the Hotel. I made myself known and Reg near had a heart attack.

“What the fuckin’ hell are you doing here, we was expecting a young guy. Don ‘t tell me that dickhead agent in Melbourne screwed up again,” he shouted.

“Well do you want a cook or a bloody weight lifter? If its a cook, then lets get to it Reg,” I remarked with a touch of sarcasm. He smiled and then said, “Girlie I didn’t drive all this way not to have a bloody beer, so lets be into it.”

Four hours later we crawled back to the truck, both pissed, and off we headed.

“How far Reg?”

“Three fuckin’ hours love,” he mumbled.

I fell asleep soon after and woke some time later in a lather of sweat. God it was hot and bumpy. My top was soaked with sweat and sticking to my boobs outlining every curve and as we bounced along, they just jiggled away much to Reggie’s delight.

“Nearly there now Laura,” he said with a grin. I looked around and thought, ‘nearly bloody where.’ At last a few scrubby buildings appeared and these were to be home for the next six weeks.