Checking her Pipes

byLara_Longstaff©

Dale hesitated before knocking on the apartment door. He took a deep breath to calm the fluttering in his tight, flat belly. It wasn't like him to be nervous about meeting a woman; he was young and handsome and hit the gym every day to keep his tall frame a sculpted masterpiece. He scrubbed his fingers through his thick, sandy blond hair and reminded himself that the woman he was about to meet was just a woman like any other. She wasn't, of course. The tenant of Apartment 2C was no ordinary woman, not by a mile, only Dale Waylan didn't know that just yet.

Samantha Johnson had moved into Sunny Village Apartments three months before and had immediately caused a bit of a splash. She was a professional photographer, and fairly successful despite her young age. More than that, she was a six-foot tall goddess with long golden blonde hair and legs any supermodel would be jealous of. Many times he'd seen her coming and going from his balcony across the parking lot, but had yet to actually meet her.

That was about to change. Dale worked as the complex's handyman. The pay was pretty crappy but he didn't have to pay rent and he had plenty of free time. Usually the job was little more than fixing doorknobs, touching up the paint when tenants moved out, and from time to time replacing an appliance or fixture in one of the complex's fifty units. Samantha had called the office a few minutes earlier. Her kitchen sink was clogged. The timing wasn't what he'd hoped. He'd been hoping to catch her in the lot, maybe chat her up on his own time, but he hadn't had the chance. He was going to meet her on the job. He steeled his nerves and rapped loudly on the door.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to knock," the young woman smirked as she pulled the door open and leaned a curvy hip against it. She pursed her lips in a coy half-smile and bored her big blue eyes into his.

"Uh, sorry about that," Dale gulped. Even in sweat pants and tank top and without make up she was stunning. She was barefoot but every bit as tall as he was. "I was just making sure I had all my equipment," he said lamely.

"Yes, but do you know how to use it? A man should know how to handle his tools," she said flatly. Her face was locked in a pout, and he couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

"As good as anyone, trust me!" Dale said quickly. He smiled as best he could and hefted his plunger and pipe-snake.

"That's what ALL the guys say, but I wonder. Would your girlfriend agree?" she finally cracked and smile and stepped back to let him into her apartment.

"I don't have one of those. Too much trouble," Dale said, and meant it. He liked to date a new girl for a while before letting the relationship just sort of die off on its own from lack of attention. It's not that he didn't like women, but after the thrill of exploring someone new and different wore off, he soon grew bored and moved on to someone else. He liked the challenge. With his looks and his body, it wasn't hard to find yet another bimbo to play around with for a while.

"I have the same problem with boyfriends. They get whiny and competitive after a while," she laughed.

"Because of your career?" he asked as he glanced around. He was, of course, familiar with the lay out. Half the units in the complex were just like hers, and the other half, including his own, a mirror image of it. Samantha had sleek, modern, yet tasteful furniture and had adorned the walls with dozens of blown up black and white photographs. He knew something of sculpture but next to nothing of photography. Even so the urban scenes captured in the images drew his eye and he couldn't help but be impressed.

"Some of that, yes," she nodded. "Sometimes it's my size."

"Yeah?" he smiled and glanced up at her. He was exactly five-eleven and her eyes were a fraction higher than his. In heels she would make him feel rather short. He felt a stirring in his tight jeans. He imagined her long legs bare and perched atop platform heels as she looked down at him, and he found the image hot. More than hot. "I dunno. Taller women can be sexy."

"You say that now!" she laughed heartily. Her voice was a bit low and husky, probably because she was so tall, he supposed. Her shoulders shook, and her firm breasts jiggled ever so slightly under her white tank top. He'd thought she was sexy when he'd seen her from afar! Up close she was startlingly, almost uncomfortably attractive.

"Just stating a fact!" Dale declared. He felt a drip of sweat run down between his shoulder blades, despite her AC cranking on high in the small apartment.

"Oh, you're a cutie! I'm Sam, by the way. What's your name?" she held out a hand. Her fingers were long and supple and she held him in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Dale," he grinned as he shook. "How do you like Sunny Village so far?"

"It isn't bad at all. The management is nice. And we have the cutest handyman!" she held her grip and cupped his hand with her left hand as well. Her skin was smooth and soft and ever so warm. They chatted a while longer, standing there in her hallway with the door hanging wide open. They spent a few minutes laughing and complaining about the other tenants' parking skills, or lack thereof. Every apartment complex has its share of gossip, and the pair dished freely to one another. By the time they'd finished critiquing the other tenants' choice of swimwear at the communal swimming pool, the tall young woman finally pulled away.

"I'd love to talk to you about Mrs. Crabtree's camel toe all day, but I should really let you get to work! You probably have a ton of things to do today besides checking my pipes!" she said brightly.

"Maybe, but your pipes are at the top of my priority list," Dale said truthfully. He didn't have much on his plate, and he could easily have spent another half-hour just talking to the blonde. She wasn't like other women. She seemed somehow more in tune than other girls. It was like she was really listening to him, really relating to him. Strangely enough, despite their obviously different interests, he felt the same. He hung on her words in a way he never did with other women. And what she said he totally got. It was like they were on the same wavelength.

"Ha! As it should be. Come on, I'll show you to the kitchen," she kicked the door shut with a bare heel and trotted off to the little nook of a kitchen. Dale followed along like a puppy.

"Yep, probably just a simple clog," Dale observed as he stood over the sink. Soapy water filled the basin. He wouldn't know what the problem was until he explored a little further, but nine times out of ten it was just food scraps stuck in the drain.

"Do you think it will take long?" she asked. She stood so close their shoulders touched, and she rested a hand on the small of his back.

"Oh, fifteen, twenty minutes. Tops," he advised. It probably wouldn't take nearly that long, but he'd have made any excuse to stay in the blonde's presence just a little longer.

"Hmm, I see. Hey, do you mind if I leave you to it for a bit? I've got, uh, something I need to finish off in the back room for a while." She leaned against the sink and if he wasn't mistaken, she was blushing a bit!

"Sure, not a problem," he nodded. He was disappointed she wasn't going to be hanging around, but the job would be quick and he was hopeful they could talk and flirt more after he finished.

"Great! Thanks, Dale!" she sighed and slipped away. He watched her round little bottom sway as she padded back to the bedroom. From the rear she looked ever so slender. Almost too slender. But her round little ass made up for it.

He set to it immediately. He'd become fairly proficient at his job. It wasn't quite the same as his real love: working with wood. Few things satisfied him quite so much as molding, craving, staining, and polishing a nice bit of wood into something truly beautiful. It was almost as nice as making a woman's toes curl in ecstasy. Almost, but not quite.

"Crap!" Dale swore as dropped his retractable drain-snake into the cool, soapy water. He rolled up his sleeves and fished it out with a frown. He probably should pay more attention to what he was doing, but he could not help but wonder what his blonde neighbor was doing in her room. He wondered what color underwear she was wearing. Whether she wore a thong under her sweat pants, or more conventional panties. He grinned. Or perhaps nothing at all.

Despite his inattention, in just a few moments he fished out a wad of orange peels and potato skins wrapped together with soapy strands of long golden hair. He shook his head in wonder. Why did some women insist on washing their hair in the sink? The water flowed quickly, draining the sink and leaving scum around the stainless steel basin. He rinsed it quickly and dropped the clog into her trash can. Even with all his fantasizing, it had only taken him a couple of minutes. He washed off his hands and gathered up his tools, but that didn't eat up much time.

"Crap," he repeated quietly. He'd really hoped to be able to talk to her again, and not just to give her a lecture about using the sink as a shower. He waited another minute and then sighed. Who knew how long the woman was going to be? It didn't seem right to just stand around in her apartment. He started off toward the door, prepared for another lonely afternoon sipping beer and working with a nice block of carving wood he'd found over the weekend.

A muffled sound stopped him dead. It sounded just like a moan. A long, low, soft, and feminine moan. He glanced over his shoulder. The door to her bedroom wasn't quite closed. He cocked his head toward it and held his breath. There it was again, that same sexy, lusty sound. Almost a purr. He listened a little longer. Did she have someone with her in there? No, unless the other person was some kind of ninja and able to make love to a beautiful woman in utter silence.

He knew it wasn't right. She may have invited him in to her apartment but that didn't mean he could violate her privacy. If Peggy the property manager found out, he'd be out of a job AND a place to live. Still, she sounded so hot! He crept closer, lifting and dropping his work boots carefully on her carpets, not making a sound. He leaned in, his back straining with the effort. The gap between her bedroom door and the doorjamb wasn't much wider than his thumb. Sweat broke out on his face and he felt the strain in his back.

His eyes went wide in shock. It was all he could do not to shout, or more likely, yelp in surprise. Of all the things he'd hoped to see peeking into her bedroom, her hands sliding up and down a giant, pink cock, wasn't one of them. She was indeed alone in her room, though for a moment he'd wondered if she were laying back on her bed atop a man with her sweatpants pulled down around her ankles. It wasn't just any cock she was stroking, it was her own!

Dale straightened at once, his mouth hanging open. Had he just seen what he'd thought he'd seen? Could it really be that the hottest woman he'd ever laid eyes on wasn't a woman at all-at least not from birth? Still, she was just too feminine! Maybe she had a realistic strap on or something? He shook his head and went back for another look. He couldn't help himself.

Sure enough, it was no dildo she had between her legs. She had ropy, bluish veins throbbing along its slick length, so thick he could almost see them throbbing. The gigantic organ towered up from her smooth crotch, as thick as her forearm and so long Dale almost second-guessed his own eyes. Cocks surely didn't come THAT big! The head, deep and dusty pink, flared and a thick wad of pearly precum oozed out of it and dripped down over her pumping hands. She shifted on the bed, moaning even louder. Her cock wobbled above her flat belly, and she left it to flop against her chest and belly as she pulled up her tank top.

He'd thought she must have been a man. Some kind of cross-dresser or something. But then he saw her breasts. Not huge, but definitely womanly. Round and firm, with very pale nipples that she squeezed and pinched, making herself moan even more. She reached back down and took up her cock, pulling it straight up into the air. She wasn't a man, she was a trans-woman! He'd heard about them, but never knew any. Or at least, never known that he did.

He hesitated for a moment, at war with himself. Stay and watch her please her absurdly large dick? It was strangely fascinating. But it was wrong on so many levels. Not the least of which being that he wasn't gay. Not in the slightest. Yet he couldn't quite do the right thing and leave, either. He licked his lips and felt a tingling sensation glide down his hunched spine.

"Oh God," Samantha whispered, and the sound of her voice broke the strange, intoxicating spell Dale felt he was under. He, a young, healthy straight man, had no business spying on a nice woman, especially not a trans-woman! He jerked himself upright, surprised at the tightness gripping him in his blue jeans. He twisted, intending to run the hell out of there before she noticed him playing the pervert.

"Fuck!" he hissed as the sudden motion, and his own rather conspicuous erection, threw him ever so slightly off balance. Instinctively he reached for the door to brace himself, and accidentally threw it wide open.

"Jesus, Dale!" Samantha squeaked, her hands stopping in mid-pump as she sat straight up on the bed, her blue eyes wide as hubcaps.

"Christ, sorry!" he mumbled and blushed and back-pedaled as quickly as he could. "The sink is clear! I was just going!" he said hastily.

"Oh! You were, uh, faster than I thought you'd be!" the blonde nodded and pulled her sheets over herself. It didn't do much to cover that raging hard on. It just sort of made a satiny tent that stood up between her legs.

"Yeah, easy job. Anyway, I'd better be going!" Stammering and blushing weren't normally his thing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that, in fact. He was making a show of it now, backing away as quickly as he could.

"Don't go on my account!" Samantha laughed after him. He took one last glance at her. She was blushing herself.

"Sorry! Have a n-nice day!" he blurted, and was gone in a flash.

* * * * *

Dale drew his carving knife slowly over the curve of the wood in his hands, careful that he followed the grain of the wood and only shaving off the thinnest sliver. Working with walnut was fairly difficult, but softer woods were simply too easy for him now. He held the figure up against the afternoon light. Normally he carved stylized animals or simply interesting geometric shapes and patterns to highlight the natural beauty of the wood. Very seldom did he sculpt human figures, and never before had he tried to imitate the sensual curves of a female nude. He traced the lines of the woman's hip and smiled to himself.

"Not bad, if I say so myself," he muttered.

"Talk to yourself much?" a deep, but somehow still feminine voice called from below.

"Sometimes I'm the only one worth talking to," Dale said without really thinking. Then it sank in - that voice. He stood up and leaned over the wrought iron rail of his balcony. Sure enough, his tall, blonde, transsexual neighbor stood on the little strip of grass between his building and the parking lot. She had on black spandex running pants with a much looser pair of pink shorts over them, no doubt, he thought, to hide what must be one hell of a bulge. Her hair was pulled back into a long, loose ponytail, and from his position a few feet above her head, he could see right down her black sports bra to her rather impressive cleavage.

"Aw, you're gonna hurt my feelings!" she grinned up at him. She still wasn't wearing any make up. Then again, she still didn't need any. She was a bit flushed and her skin glistened. She must have just come from an afternoon run.

"We wouldn't want that," he said, and shuffled his feet. He knew her secret. She ought to have been mortified. Lord knew he was. Or was he? "Hey look, I'm sorry about what happened last week. I really had no idea-"

"That I was a trans-girl?" she arched and eyebrow and planted her hands on her slender hips and looked up at him like she was challenging him to arm wrestle.

"Well, I didn't realize that, but that's not what I meant. I meant I had no idea that you'd be, um, busy, in that particular way," he finally found the decency to blush again.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'd just gotten started when you came over and I thought I'd have more time to finish while you were working. Talk about awkward!" she laughed.

"No kidding!" Dale tried not to keep staring down at her cleavage. The problem was, when he looked back into her big blue eyes all he saw was a beautiful woman. It was confusing, to say the least. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I feel bad about what happened. I should have been more respectful of your privacy."

"You're just an adorable little boy scout, aren't you, Dale?" she laughed up at him, and her eyes flitted down to the little low bench. "Are you working on your whittling merit badge?"

"Ha! Nope, I do most of my work with chisels. I was just touching this up," he said.

"That's not whittling?"

"Whittling is all knife work, you don't get smooth lines-"

"Let me see what you're working on!" she piped up and stood on her tip toes. Even through the wide gaps between the narrow iron bars, she wouldn't see much...unless he dropped his carving over the rail. Or if he invited her into his apartment.

"All right, come on up. I'll unlock the door," he offered. The invitation spilled out over his lips before he'd really had a chance to think about it. The fact that she was an artist herself and curious about his work was a big part of it. Almost none of the women he dated ever showed more than passing interest in his carving. It didn't hurt that she was prettier than all those other women, either.

"I see you work fast on more things than just my pipes!" she laughed and jogged to the door to his building before he could change his mind. He trembled a little as he moved back inside and unlocked the door to his apartment. Just in time too, as he heard the thump of her footsteps up the stairs. He decided to open up before she could knock.

"What's up, Sam?" he said as casually as he could. She bounded to the landing and flashed a huge grin. She was clearly still worked up from her run, and her tits heaved up and down in that tight-fitting nylon sports bra.

"You tell me. Weren't you going to show me your, uh, wood?" she winked suggestively. It was so exaggerated and forced that Dale burst out laughing. She giggled along with him, brushing past him as she stepped into his place.

"I guess it's fair. I already saw yours!" he managed at last, which only made her giggle more. He waved her to follow along out to his little balcony. He brushed off the wooden bench and offered her a seat. She crossed her long legs and leaned back against the side of the building, waiting patiently with a knowing little smile on her face.

"So, I uh, well, I normally do animals and stuff but I thought I'd try my hand at a figure," Dale mumbled as he picked up his latest work and handed it over. The woman he was carving was about a foot and a half tall, with long, lean, graceful curves and flowing, slightly curly hair falling down over her nude shoulders and down her back.

"Wow! This is amazing!" Samantha gushed. She took the carving, holding it almost reverently as she turned it this way and that, studying it. She let her long, slender fingers roam all over the surface, almost caressing it.

"It could be better," Dale shrugged. He wasn't used to people inspecting his work. Oh sure, he was generous to friends and family, almost everyone he knew well had a half-dozen of his pieces, at least, but that was different. Samantha Johnson was a respected photographer, not his mom or his buddies who were apt to tell him it was great no matter how shitty his latest carving might have been.

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byLara_Longstaff© 10 comments/ 48416 views/ 114 favorites

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