Jimmy from Maintenance

Samantha Deval relaxed on her couch, hugging her legs and watching baby hummingbirds flutter and feed outside her apartment window. This was the best part of her day, she thought sadly, a mockery of her mother's voice echoing through her brain. Despite her mother's craziness, the old witch had been right about one thing – Daniel Blumgold would be a good husband. Not great, like the sort of man who never leaves you, but not terrible, like the sort that drinks and hits. Daniel was a chubby, computer-loving man who had once worshipped Samantha's young, fabulous body. Now, Daniel was a millionaire, and Samantha's 37-year old frame no longer excited him.

With the grace of a lifelong yogi and jogger, Sam rose from her couch and padded to her bathroom. Her apartment was half the size of the house she shared with Daniel, but at least there was total privacy. She stood before a full-body mirror and let her robes fall to the tiles. She was thin, average height and well-tanned. Her frizzy, golden hair unfurled over shapely shoulders, ending in playful wisps that pointed to her best feature: her tits.

Tits. Daniel hated that word – he thought it made women sound like livestock, with dirty, hanging udders. Daniel always said boobs, or sometimes, breast, but he never said tits – a phrase favored by the teenage boys of Sam's youth, their minds elevating that single-syllable word into an endowment of divine flesh. Sam's tits were 34CC, natural, plump, with big, brown nipples. With a bit of care, she could hide her breasts and appear flat-chested, or she could equally unleash the cleavage, stealing the attention of every male within eyesight.

Sam's stomach was level, toned, and neatly conformed to her hips, wide but stable. She turned and lifted her ass cheeks with both hands – still perky, just a hint of stretch marks on the sides, which she doubted would bother any hot-blooded man. Sam's legs were sculpted, her toes manicured, and when her figure was beheld in its entirety – well, an '8' on her worst day, as a long-ago boyfriend had once said. To Daniel, she was once a '10', but two months ago, when she caught him fucking a college girl in their bedroom, he called Sam an 'aging trophy wife'. He said she was only good for sex, and now that he had enough money, he was divorcing her.

Sam picked up her robes coldly. To hell with Daniel. She was getting enough cash in the divorce settlement to live comfortably, and she bore him no children in 9 years of marriage. Sam merely needed to stay around Dallas for two more days, then she could sign the divorce papers and return home to Georgia.

There was a knock at her door. It was three hard bangs – a man's meaty hand. Sam tied her robe, quickly slipped into a thong, and hurried to the front door. She stood on her toes to look through the peephole, but all she could see was a bushy brown beard.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"Jimmy from maintenance –got a call about a bad fan?" a deep voice replied.

Sam spun on her heels; her mind suddenly blank – but then she remembered. Her spare room's ceiling fan wasn't working. She had called maintenance a week ago during a forget-Daniel decorating frenzy, and now, the issue had completely slipped her mind. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Jimmy from maintenance was a huge man – easily six-foot five, and his bulging muscles, weather-beaten face and unruly beard made him seem even larger, a bear of rough masculinity. He wore faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt, and he effortlessly held a toolbox in one hand that Sam knew she couldn't lift with all her strength. He was not un-handsome, Sam thought, with an even symmetry and calm, brown eyes. Jimmy would never win any modeling contest – but in a moment of desperation and alcohol, Sam would happily ride him like a rodeo cowgirl.

These thoughts flashed through her mind in that one second, and Jimmy returned the unspoken assessment, though his face was neutral, almost bored.

"Your ceiling fan?" he prompted, lifting his brows in irritation. He probably had little time for absent-minded, gawking women, Sam thought, tenant or not.

"Oh...yes," Sam said, stepping back to allow Jimmy inside. He ducked his head slightly coming through the doorway, and Sam could immediately feel his presence, the power coursing through his arms as he gazed around her apartment. He smelled healthy, like his sweat was strained from meat and potato juice.

"Nice place you got here," he said, scratching his neck in silent appraisal.

"Thanks – I've only been here a few weeks," she said quickly. "I'm Samantha Deval, by the way."

"Oh, right," he said, looking down, almost sheepish. "I'm Jimmy, the new maintenance guy. I'm supposed to introduce myself to tenants first and foremost, but I keep forgetting."

"It's OK," Sam said.

"Guess I'm better with these," he said, presenting his hands, "than with this," he finished, tapping his temple. He grinned, and Sam knew he was just trying to relax her. He was probably familiar with his intimidating effect, and when alone with an attractive woman in her apartment, he needed to seem less threatening – both to do his job and get positive reviews.

"Well, why don't I show you the problem?" Sam asked, turning and leading Jimmy to the spare room. As she walked, she pulled her robes tightly around her backside, feeling more secure and sexy at the same time. She tried to glance back and catch Jimmy checking out her ass, but he was too tall, and she couldn't be sure what he was looking at.

In the spare room, Sam flipped the switch on the wall several times, and the lights didn't turn on; the fan-blades didn't move. "It's been like this for a week," she said, sitting on a blue recliner, the only item of furniture in the room.

Jimmy set his toolbox down and the floor creaked slightly under its weight. "I'm going to go kill the power in this room, then I'll be right back," he said, turning and leaving.

Sam sat upright, momentarily shocked by the speed Jimmy had left the room. His sudden absence left a void, and she crossed her legs, almost insulted. Without his energy, his presence, she was just a moron sitting in a room.

Then...of course! He was going to shut off the power to avoid electrocuting himself! Sam shook her head at her own silliness – she didn't repel men, she attracted them. She quickly stood and rearranged her robe, tying the belt low and loose, exposing halfway down her stomach. Absent-mindedly, Sam's hand went between her legs, and her fingers prodded around the thong, teasing the tiny fabric over her clit. She applied more pressure, and sweat broke out on her back, so that she sat arched forward, her arm lost up her robes. Sam slipped her fingers inside her, and they were moist, probing. She thought of her body against a man like Jimmy, feeling his hardness...

Jimmy returned at that moment. Sam's eyes were closed, and she was biting her lower lip. Her face was red and sweaty, and Jimmy immediately looked away, worried that she would catch him peeping.

But – she had called him. He was there to do a job, and a deep stirring began in his crotch, a tingle of life that brushed against his thigh. "Um, Ms. Samantha?" Jimmy asked.

She saw him in her periphery, but she continued fingering herself, for once in her life, not giving a shit what anyone thought of her. Her freedom, sexual or other-fucking-wise, brought her to climax. Secretions flowed over her fingers, and she continued, teasing every second of pleasure she could from the orgasm. When she was done, she slowly freed her fingers and just sat there, sweating and looking down. Jimmy watched her wordlessly, though the odor of pussy – a sweet, feral scent – filled the room.

"Ms. Samantha...I'll just start on the ceiling fan," he said, sidestepping around the sweating woman.

"Oh, right, yea go ahead," she said, leaning back. Her robes were open now, revealing the inner halves of her breast, nearly to the nipples.

Jimmy looked at her like a starving dog, and then he blinked the thought away – tenants could do whatever they wanted in their homes, and if he tried to seduce this woman and failed, his job would be gone shortly afterwards. Regardless of his cock's sudden rise to purpose, Jimmy turned and began unscrewing the fan's lock bolts. He was tall enough that a ladder wasn't needed, and he worked silently – eventually identifying the problem, a burnt switch conductor.

Jimmy already had the replacement part, and he worked deftly while Samantha watched him the whole time, subdued by a post-orgasm ecstasy that obliterated social norms. For the first time in years, she felt utterly relaxed and confident in her choices. She could finger herself all day in any room she damn well pleased, and if a maintenance man happened to be present, he just had to deal with it.

Besides, Jimmy's powerful, confident movements as he repaired the fan were exciting Sam again, and her hand fell to her inner thigh, her appetite not yet sated. Quivering, she moved her fingers back to her thong and pulled it, enjoying the stimulation. She was about to begin anew, but Jimmy abruptly turned around, his face the picture of ambivalent longing.

"It's all done," he said, "I'll just go throw the power back on."

He returned a minute later, and demonstrated that now, indeed, the switch and pull-cords were fully functional. When he was finished, Samantha stood and just stared at him silently, almost daring him to mention her exhibitionism.

"Good job," she said, flapping the collar of her robe, "you work quick."

"Some jobs are quicker than others," he said, the hint of a blush on his neck.

"So, do I, um, owe you anything?" she asked, biting a nail, the gaze in her eyes innocent.

"The apartment pays me, and I've got 2 more calls this afternoon," he said, hefting his toolbox. As much as Jimmy would have loved to acquaint Sam, his job came first. Tardy maintenance orders received tenant complaints, and managers were quick to fire an easily replaceable handyman.

"Well...next time something goes wrong, I'll ask for you special," Sam said.

"I'd be happy to assist you with anything you need," Jimmy said, grinning and turning towards the door, "even for a job that takes all day long."

"Then I'll be seeing you," she answered, smiling as Jimmy left and shut the door behind him.

*****

The next two days passed miserably. Daniel's barracuda lawyers had delayed the divorce finalization again. They were trying to argue that Samantha didn't deserve half of Daniel's money because she was frivolous and irresponsible. They filed more motions and continuances, and Sam was stuck in her hot Dallas apartment, waiting for the judge to decide.

To take her mind off things, she went for a jog around the complex. The skies were clear and the day warm, and within a few minutes of shoes-on-pavement, her mind began to unclutter, and she became aware of her body – her sweaty, tanned skin, jutting breasts and loosening muscles. Daniel had rarely ever exercised with Samantha – he insisted that she was prettier after a shower, with makeup and a nice dress. Fuck him, she thought. She was no trophy, to be polished, oiled, and displayed on a mantlepiece.

As she rounded a parking lot, Sam caught a glimpse of Jimmy, the mammoth maintenance man, entering an apartment. Sam couldn't see who was within, but she saw red-painted nails holding the door open, and then Jimmy was inside, and the door closed. Sam stopped and stared at the door a moment, trying to remember who lived there. Was it Joan, the accountant from California? Or Emily, the barista from Starbucks? Sam had met both women at the apartment's swimming pool, and she was damn-near certain one of them lived there. Suddenly annoyed by her bad memory, Sam jogged up to the apartment and pressed her ear against the door.

Sounds like a feast emanated through the wood. Smacking lips, hungry slurping, groans and squeals. Unconsciously, her hand went between her legs again, and Sam grabbed the door handle to steady herself. She was beginning to explore her wetness when the handle twisted, and then, to her horror, the door opened. Sam stumbled into the apartment, froze, took a deep breath, and began to back out, closing the door silently. But...she couldn't resist a peek of the action – the apartment was neat, though obscured by shadows, and Sam looked across the foyer to the living room beyond. Jimmy was sprawled on a couch, and Emily – Sam suddenly remembered who lived there – was on her knees, Jimmy's giant hand guiding the back of her head.

"Yea, baby, get it real wet," Jimmy grunted, and Sam pulled the door closed. She stood on the walkway for a moment, dazed, and then wandered back to her own apartment. She sat on her couch and came to a realization – Emily and Jimmy must have been boyfriend/girlfriend. They were the same age, about 10 years younger than Sam – but, was Jimmy allowed to have a relationship with a tenant? Wasn't that favoritism, or something? Sam wasn't sure, but she needed to know. If Emily was making Grande mocha's with Jimmy's cum sliding down her throat – well, Sam needed to know that, too.

With the decision made, Sam picked up her broom, marched to the kitchen, and jammed the handle into the garbage disposal. She hit the switch, and the blades whined and scraped against the hard plastic. The engine began to sputter, and after a minute, the damn garbage disposal stopped working.

*****

Another week passed with no news from Daniel's scumbag lawyers. Sam was lounging on her couch, wondering how life had gotten so badly out of control, when a knocking came at the door – the same three, hard bangs that had announced Jimmy's presence last time.

Sam stood and brushed her hair down, then wiped sweaty hands on her sofa. She wore a short, blue skirt that hugged her ass cheeks and hips, and her thong made a small squeak as she walked. Her top was a frilly, white, low-cut blouse, and no bra. Sam didn't know when Jimmy would arrive, so she had taken to spending the days dressing in her sluttiest wares, examining herself critically in the mirror and wondering when he would show.

She answered the door with a playful smile, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. Her excitement immediately turned to disappointment – Daniel Blumgold stood before her. His average, almost pudgy build was concealed by a priceless Versace suit, and his face was serious, a mask of business and asexuality. When he saw Sam, his brows arched in curiosity at her scant coverings.

"I'm sorry to stop by like this," he said, shifting on his heels, "but I wanted to let you know that, well, can I come in?"

Sam half-stepped back. She went from the anticipation of hot, new sex to the tedious drudgery of Daniel's manner. "Um, well..." she said, searching for the right words for this man whom she hadn't had any contact in the past two months except through lawyers. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" he repeated in his aloof, answer-my-question-first way. His snobbery was attractive when they had first met, belying a social confidence that Sam never acquired. In the light of day, though, he only seemed bullish and uncaring.

"No, I'm fucking busy right now. What do you want?" Sam snapped.

"I wanted to say that I miss you. What happened between me and Kathy, that was, well, nothing. She was a young woman who made me feel young again, but in quiet moments, it's your touch that I long for."

Sam bit her lip, a contradiction of wills warring in her head. She almost swooned forward, fell into his wealthy arms, and apologized for everything. She thought she might look back on this fight one day as an aberration – a trial separation that ultimately made their relationship stronger. Daniel had gone out into the carnal world to see if it offered better, and lo and behold, it did not. "This is...unexpected," she said.

Daniel knelt and produced a ring. Princess-cut diamonds encircled a pink, amethyst heart, and he held it out eagerly, his eyes locked onto Sam's. "Be mine again," he said, his eyes watering in expectation.

Sam felt her arm reach out, an alien limb beyond conscious control. She could take this ring that was worth three year's rent, return to Daniel's aegis, and be happy again. She would explain the whole thing to their friends and families, and decades from now, this separation would be nothing more than a spat in their long, complex love story.

As her hand reached forward, another sensation erupted in Sam's breast. Her mind saw Daniel bending over that college girl, squeezing her ass, the exultation on his face. He didn't even stop when Sam caught them – he just kept ramming her, even as Sam stood in open-mouthed fury. He had finished, too, and only when he released the girl from his grasp did the younger woman notice Sam's presence. She had covered herself and run out of the room, tears running down her face. Sam clenched her fist.

"We'll be happy for a bit, then you'll cheat again."

"Do what again?" Daniel asked, his face the picture of wounded innocence.

"Cheat!" she yelled, and the word hung over the air between them, a heavy concept that smothered hopes of reconciliation.

Daniel began to shake his head 'no', his eyes unfocused. "No, no, no..." he began, but then a giant shadow fell over Daniel's kneeling form.

"Excuse me, Ms. Samantha?" Jimmy asked, looming behind Daniel like a vengeful god.

Daniel caught himself, and he smoothly rose and spun, smiling at the maintenance man. "Can you come back another time? We're in the middle of something," Daniel said, dismissing Jimmy like he treated everyone he considered low status.

"Ms. Samantha?" Jimmy repeated, ignoring Daniel utterly.

"Um, Jimmy..." Samantha began.

Daniel spun around, red-faced, with his fists balled by his sides. "Get out of here you big lout! We're busy!" he yelled.

"I don't know you and don't take orders from you," Jimmy said, his nonchalance like a subtle insult, a calm dismissal of Daniel's violence. "Ms. Samantha, are you ready for me to look at that garbage disposal?"

"Yes Jimmy, please come in," Sam said, stepping aside to let the huge man pass through. Knowing that Daniel was watching her, Sam laid a hand on Jimmy's forearm and looked lustfully into his eyes, "Go ahead and get started, I'll be there in a minute," she whispered.

Jimmy disappeared into the apartment, and Daniel's eyes were wide and suspicious. "What the fuck is going on?" he asked.

"Since you ask," Samantha said, beginning to shut the door, "I'm going to go suck that guy's giant dick, then I'll let him fuck me," she said, slamming the door.

Daniel's shouts reached her ears anyway. "You bitch! You cheating bitch! He banged on the door hard with his fists, and Sam simply called out through the thin wooden frame separating them, "Go away, or I'll call the cops!"

After a moment of silence, she watched through the peephole as Daniel left, his shoulders slumped in defeat, still clutching the ring he hoped to win Sam back with. When he was gone, she went to the kitchen and found Jimmy's lower half sprawled on the floor, his head under the sink, tinkering with the pipes or something.

"He's gone," she said, kneeling next to his legs. Jimmy's white shirt had ridden up to his bellybutton, exposing a brown, flat stomach and hair that trailed to underneath his boxers. Sam reached out to touch his stomach, but she paused, her hand hovering over his waist. She felt that ache in her crotch again, that wet, insistent void that demanded fulfillment.

"Y'know Jimmy, I saw you go into Emily's apartment the other day," she said casually.

He paused his work, unsure of exactly what Sam saw. "Yea, she had a leaky faucet in her bathroom," he said.