Odd Job Man

I don't think there's an English word to express the combined emotion of pure terror and utter excitement that accompanies moving from Rusty Shit Pail, USA to BIG CITY, USA. I'd already landed on my feet before I even left RSP. Online, I'd found a building that housed mainly seniors that required an odd job man to live-in and deliver some fairly basic services: collect prescriptions and some light cleaning mainly, according to the post. It also required me to do some basic training in cpr and learn how to operate a defibrillator. For the room I would get, for the rent I would pay, it was a dream.

No U-Haul was hurt in the move. Everything I possessed fitted nicely in an old suitcase I'd found in my grandparent's loft. The apartment was partly 'furnished' so I made do. My bed was to be a rickety couch for the first month or two. My suitcase was my closet. My chores comprised keeping the bulletin board up to date, daily sweeping of the stairs and lobby and being active on the building WhatsApp group to deliver whenever the old ladies who lived in the building needed something they couldn't get for themselves. Zero hardship there.

The first night I was there, Katerina, my cross-hall neighbor, knocked on the door around 6.30 in the evening. As I was yet to do anything to merit the incredibly low rent, I was in excited form when I answered the door. Katerina was in her 70s, probably. Though regular gym visits kept her looking mid 60s. But to be honest, to my early 20s guy-brain, anyone over 30 looked like a senior anyway. But in Katerina's case, she was a 70-year-old knock-out. Like, an utter sex bomb. I know, I know! How could a 20-something guy fall for a 70-year-old. Trust me. Just meet Katerina.

There was something so alluring and sexually raw about her that made my cock twitch in my pants. It was hard to put a finger on, but she had an amazing body and a sassy air about her that was at once sensuous and innocent.

"I just wanted to drop by and welcome our new sacrificial lamb." She laughed. "Honestly, though, we're all so independent here, you'll probably never hear from us."

"That's reassuring." I responded stupidly. "But I am her to help."

At that, Katerina's eyes lit up and, if I'd been even mildly experienced in the ways of love, I might have detected the unmistakable signs of lust. Being, ostensibly, a virgin, I wondered if she was perhaps suffering from gas. She was fairly short, but I imagined all old people were. I guess maybe 5 foot or five-one. She wore her dyed grey-black hair in a surprisingly modern bob which framed her piercing grey eyes. Her height accentuated her athletic frame, and her breasts were naturally large. This is all looking back on it with the eye of maturity. At the time, I saw a sexy old broad, no more.

"I'm sure we can find lots to keep you occupied." She said with a healthy dose of throaty innuendo which sailed over my head. She asked if I was settling in ok. I said yes.

"I didn't see movers. You must travel lightly."

"Very."

"But I can't imagine there was much in the apartment when you arrived? Mr Ballustrone left with all his worldly."

I admitted it was a tad frugal, but I planned on furnishing over time.

Katerina said she'd ask around and see if anyone was planning on disposing of any old bits and pieces.

I thanked her. And that was it. Our first meeting. Although, I admit I stood in my door watching her walk to her door, and my eyes couldn't but help drift to her ass as it wiggled while she walked away. She turned at her door and gave me a curious look. If I'd been a bit wiser, I would have detected the gaze of pure lust.

Over the next week, I met Amy Galloway, 80, Susan Bridgewater, 72, Valentina Sorenson, 68 and Valerie Marinelli, 76, the rest of the residents. Katerina arranged a get-together in the shared space beside the lobby and provided prosecco and sandwiches. I was paraded in front of the women like Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North.

Whatever they saw, they all seemed impressed and thoroughly lovely.

Valentina's was the first text I received.

"A small favor?' it read.

Within minutes, I was tapping on her door and greeted by the tall thin Russian in a skimpy robe. I think, even in my profound innocence, I noticed her incredible legs. I suspect, even a blind person would. It turns out Valentina, a former ballerina, was fond of pirouetting down memory lane and had pulled her hamstring in the process. I moved some bits and pieces around her Aladdin's den of an apartment, mildly jealous of her collection of nick-nacks.

But the real reason for the summons, it transpired, was to apply liniment to the affected area.

In my blessed innocence, I happily did as directed. Valentina sat bolt upright in a wicker chair with her long legs, slightly apart, stretched out before her, robe hitched up to her waist. I took the tube of liniment and rubbed some between my palms, then, kneeling and cupping her thighs with my hands, I gently massaged it into the muscles from rear of kneecap to the base of her buttock. At the time, I thought she must be in a lot of pain, because as I was administering the lotion, her breath became raspy and labored, and she gave out the odd small gasp. I asked her if I should stop.

She pleaded with me to add more lotion to my hands and reapply, concentrating on the upper part of her leg, and perhaps the thigh muscle at the front where she was experiencing referred pain.

I duly did so. I liberally applied the liniment to my hands and caressed it into her thigh, thumbs meeting on top, fingers snaking underneath to cover the hamstring. My hands pushed a small roll of skin ahead of them from above her kneecap, right up to the edge of her panties -- which I had just become aware of. The knuckle of my first finger bumped into the roundness just at the top, where her legs almost met, and she shivered. I asked her again if I should stop. She said whatever I had just done seemed to be working and to repeat my application on just that spot. So, I did as requested, over and over.

I was just thinking I had used to much lotion, because I could feel her underwear were damp when I brushed against them on the upstroke. I was about to mention this to Valentina, when she started to violently shake. I genuinely though she was having some kind of seizure. I went to stand up and she snapped at me.

"Don't stop!"

So, I kept up the rubbing of her upper thigh, bumping each time into her panties, until the seizures lessened, and her breathing returned to normal. (Embarrassingly, towards the end of the massage, she appeared to do a small pee in her panties, and I could see the dark patch spreading on the light color material. I pretended not to notice. Old age, I presumed.) As I was leaving, Valentina pirouetted towards me, obviously feeling much better. She hugged me, thanked me, kissed me on the cheek and slipped a hundred-dollar bill in my shirt pocket. I protested, but she'd hear none of it. She said, I had been a wonder and she hoped she could call on me in the future. I said "of course, any time. You have my number and I'm only thirty seconds away." This seemed to give her some solace and she blushed -- presumably feeling a bit feeble at having to require the help of a young boy.

The next call, I felt, was a bit beyond my paygrade, but I accepted the task with all the odd job man enthusiasm and compassion I could muster.

Amy Galloway sent me a text, summoning me to the top floor, late one afternoon. It seemed her usual nurse had called in sick, and Amy was suffering more than usual from bed sores, having been ordered to rest in bed for a week by her doctor. The worst, she confided in me with some reluctance, we're of the posterior variety. Again, she asked if I would be able to apply her drugstore elixir to the affected spot. Literally, having no clue what she was requesting, I agreed immediately.

Soon, Amy was on her front and on her knees on the mattress, bare ass in the air. I had not seen many asses of any kind in my, to date, sheltered life. It's large, lumpy, rounded whiteness did stir something in me. But I put it aside. I offered to get surgical gloves to make it all seem more medical, but, thinking I was squeamish, she assured me that she'd had a shower earlier. I didn't want her to feel embarrassed, so left it there.

I applied a liberal dose of the cream to my hands and began to massage the proffered buttocks. The slightly flabby skin had lost some of its bouncebackability, but if I applied enough cream, I was able to make short work of her buttocks. Amy then asked me to go after the particularly annoying sores, which it turned out were along the crack of her ass from back to front. Lotioning up my hands, I set to work. First, I used my fingertips to bring the cream in from her buttocks, into the crack just below her spine. Then, using one hand as I stood at her hip level, I leaned over her buttocks and slid my hand along the crack of her ass, liberally applying the cream. Then, taking a half step forward and cupping my arm, I continued sliding my hand along her ass crack, over the speed bump, and along her front crack to her belly button.

I checked in to make sure I was reaching the affected area effectively. She told me I was hitting the spot alright. She said that repeated applications were the best way to avoid sores and that I should concentrate a little more at the front and along the slit there as that was the area more prone to sores.

I set to my task with renewed vigor. Amy kept me up to date with how I was doing by asking me to speed up or slow down. At one stage, on her instruction, my hand was a blur, rubbing furiously at a particularly sensitive spot about six or seven inches below here bell button, just at the top of her slit. That seems to do the trick and she collapsed, whimpering onto the bed, exhausted at the effort required to kneel for that long. Turning onto her back, she asked if I would very very gently apply one more layer to her 'front bum'. I did so. She sighed with the relief it was obviously affording her.

Once more, she pressed a fistful of money on me. I found my resistance slightly less than with Valentine. I guess I was becoming accustomed to being tipped for working above and beyond the call of duty.

I was hardly back home, stashing my cash, when I got a text from Valerie Marinelli. Turns out, she was suffering from painful dryness due to a reaction to drugs her doctor put her on. Rather than try to explain where the afflicted area was, she dropped pants, bent over, and showed me. Soon, I found myself lubing up my forefinger and applying it to Valerie's puckered asshole. I'd never seen one up close before and was amazed at how quickly the exit relaxed to my touch and allowed me to slip my digit inside. The procedure, she told me, was to gently ease the lubrication inside the hole with a finger. Again, it required multiple applications. I duly took to my ministrations like a duck to water. It can't have been easy for her, Valerie shook and moaned the whole time I was sliding lotion in and out of her asshole. I really felt sorry for her, because it was not something I would have liked to have performed myself.

When she was unable to let me continue because the area had become too sensitive, I was to help with the other part of her issue. Again, it required me to lube up my hand, and this time, rub it along the dry slit below her belly. This seemed to require a lot of back and forth rubbing that soon had my wrist tiring. I swapped hands and that seemed to help. On each forward stroke, I found my fingers in the folds of her labia as they opened up beneath my lubricated touch. Obviously, not having the technique perfected, Valerie helped me considerably by grabbing my hand and positioning it over the most affected areas. She was also able to move my hand at a speed that helped apply it best. Again, Valerie seemed to go through an intense period of discomfort before she got the required level of relief from the lotion. Quite frankly, I was worried for her wellbeing as she thrashed about, rubbing my hand at ferocious speed over her slit in the same area as Amy had on her own before her. Eventually, it seemed to do the trick and Valerie lay back panting, holding my hand tight in hers and squeezing it between her thighs.

I made three hundred bucks for my trouble. I protested but she insisted.

The next text I received was from Susan. Again, she suffered from an especially dry vagina. She found my fingers too rough against her sensitive spot, and requested I try to apply the watermelon tasting potion via my tongue. As strange as this seemed to me at the time, I was beginning to realize the ladies in this house were all afflicted from age-related issues 'down below' and that I could make a fine living by helping them find relief. To be honest, as I lowered my head over her grey bush, tongue coated in pleasant-tasting unction, the scent was overpowering. Not in an unpleasant way. In fact, it made me lightheaded and caused a stirring in my shorts. Ignoring these sensations, I carefully licked the lotion into her slit, carefully puling the flesh and hairs away from my tongue with my hands.

Susan, it seemed, benefitted most from quick, little laps near the top of her lips. This I took to with great gusto and soon she was helping me by thrusting her buttocks upwards, making sure the affected area got most benefit from the lotion on my tongue. I soon solved the dryness issue. I could tell because my mouth filled with a warm, delicious tasting liquid, accompanied by a thrashing from my patient. I was used to the effect that relief as having on these elderly patients by now and no longer feared they were feeling an ill effects.

Susan, it seemed, used the time to catch up on her prayers as she repeated 'Oh, God' over and over with greater rapidity as I worked the lotion into her.

Another three hundred bucks were added to my pot.

The WhatsApp group was alive with lovely comments from the women, and I really began to feel I was making a real difference to their health. This made me feel even better about the reduced rent and the tips I was receiving for my medical ministrations.

Strangely, when I slept on the lumpy couch, I'd often wake with my lower region soaking wet. I'd have half remembered dreams of applying the various potions to the ladies, and a trembling sensation in my newly engorged penis that I couldn't account for.

And so, time passed in that lovely apartment. I didn't even need to look for work because the old women kept me busy, sometime twice a week each, getting me to apply various medicines to their stricken elderly lady parts.

The only member of the group who never seemed to need my help was Katerina. Worst thing was, she was the one I would deeply have loved to have gotten to know better. We'd exchange pleasantries in the corridor, but other than that, she kept more or less to her own. I always tried to catch a sneaky look at her ass as she walked away, and somehow, she always caught my look. And never seems to be offended. She'd occasionally ask me how I was fitting in and hoped that my duties weren't too arduous.

"Far from it." I responded.

"The ladies require very little and recompense me generously."

She nodded ambiguously, an odd look in her eyes.

One Friday evening, I was carrying groceries to my door, when hers opened. She caught me grimace slightly in pain as I turned the key in my door and asked if everything was ok.

"Just one too many nights on that old couch." I replied. I'd almost saved enough to spring for a bed. I was hoping soon I would be sleeping well once again.

"Oh, my dear, boy." She said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "We can't have that." I smiled and said it was ok.

"Nonsense. We need to keep you at your peak. Otherwise, how will you be able to look after us all?"

I nodded.

She then invited me to dinner that evening. I accepted gratefully, tired as I was of packet mac and cheese boiled up with milk on my tiny stove.

I managed to convince the old guy in the liquor store that I was purchasing a bottle of wine for one of the old ladies in my apartment, and rocked up to Katerina's door, showered and shaven.

The door opened on Katerina in a figure-hugging red dress that left very little to the imagination. Below her wattled neck, she had the figure of an eighteen-year-old. Albeit an eighteen-year-old with massive breasts. I felt butterflies immediately. My heart was kicking off at a higher rate as I passed over the bottle. She read the label carefully and smiling, popped it into her wine rack, slipping out a different bottle altogether.

"You look very handsome tonight." She said, withdrawing the cork.

I stuttered some compliment in response and watched her pour two glasses. The smell of delicious home cooked food mixed with her perfume, giving me a curiously full feeling in my crotch.

We took our glasses into the other room and sat on her small couch, knees almost touching.

"How are you finding the job?" She asked me with a twinkle in her eyes.

"It's not a hardship." I responded honestly. When she moved, I could make out every curve shifting inside her dress.

"You never told me what services the ladies require." She said.

I stammered, not sure, suddenly, if this was private ground and those were private acts that should remain between me and each woman.

"I just help them with their medical needs." I decided, diplomatically. Full disclosure: I knew exactly what I was doing with the old ladies. But as long as I told myself it was innocent and medicinal, then I was just an odd job man and not some kind of gigolo.

"Really?" She moved on the couch, so our hips touched. I shivered.

"Tell me more." Said in a sultry whisper that instantly had me blushing. I realized I'd had the hots for Katerina since I first saw her. Something I couldn't compute considering her age. But there it was, I wanted to fuck my seventy-something neighbor. Maybe that's what prompted the truth serum to course through my veins.

"Well." I cleared my throat, my brain abandoning doctor-client confidentiality. "Valentina has a hamstring issue and I massage ointment into her upper thigh." Katerina nodded.

"Amy suffers from bed sores on her.. em... ass. I apply a lotion."

"Uh huh." Her voice had become suddenly deep and throaty. I felt hairs rise on my neck and a stiffening in my pants.

"V-Valerie needs me to lubricate her bottom hole and her front hole." I was beetroot now and Katerina laid a hand on my thigh that made me feel wonderfully uncomfortable.

"And Susan?"

"Susan has a painfully dry front bum."

"And how do you help relieve that?"

"Um, well, my fingers are too rough..."

"Oh, dear. So, what do you do?"

"I, eh, I, apply the lotion with, em, my tongue."

"Your tongue?"

I nodded.

"And does that seem to give relief?" her hand was sliding up and down my thigh.

"It does. Great relief."

"I can imagine. In fact, I have imagined."

By now, I had a painful swelling in my pants and my heart rate was off the charts. My head swam a little and my palms were sweating. I couldn't figure exactly what was happening, but I knew that whatever Katerina was thinking off was a lot different to the other ladies in the apartment block.

She leaned in close, face right in mine, fingers grazing against my erection.

"You do know what you give these ladies?" She whispered.

I shrugged, nervously.

"Sexual gratification. You get them off. For money."

My face was beetroot and blank. I felt her breath on my neck.

"It's such an amazing service you do for them. And they're right to pay you for it. How else can a woman of a certain age enjoy a young man without any fear of consequences."

I shrugged again.

"Me, on the other hand, I don't fear consequences. I embrace them." Her fingers traced the shape of my erect penis through my trousers, making me shiver.