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Blowjob

This is the forth true story I have submitted to Literotica. They are not in chronological order or even in order of my favorite memories. In the first one I took time to describe much of my upbringing and how it contributed to my naivety and sometimes shyness. Without that background knowledge, you might find some portions of my stories difficult to believe. For the benefit of those who will read all, or at least more than one of my true stories, I will not repeat myself with this description. However, if you have not read “My Neighbor Jessica,” I suggest you read at least the first 6 or 7 paragraphs before reading any of the others.

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The specific background for this story would need to start during the fall of 1989. The company where I was working went through several changes over a long period of time. I tried to take the first few in stride and be supportive to my company. There really was a period of time I felt ownership in the company, although I owned no portion and was only a loyal employee. The last few changes were more than I could handle, so I wrote my very first resume and started searching of new employment. I interviewed with a large retail chain and received a job offer to work in their design and construction division. I would continue to travel as I had for the past 6 years and represent the owner dealing primarily with the general contractors across much of the US that would be building their retail stores. Well this is where my naivety comes into play. Although they checked my references thoroughly, I failed to check with anyone about the integrity, character or personality of the company or to be more specific, the division I was to work for, within the larger corporation.

I reported to this new job on October 31st, Halloween day. From the very beginning, I felt out of place. Even though I was 41 years old, I felt as if I was a part time employee/high school student, being trained, disciplined and watched all at the same time. That very evening, there was an “Employee Social” with free drinks and hor d’oeurves in an outside patio area. At that social, I learned a few things; one being that I was the 10th person to hold that position that year. That’s 9 people gone in 10 months. Another, I learned from a person holding the same position and title as mine, who had (according to him) learned how to survive in the world of this particular company. According to this guy, a person in our position had to manipulate, disguise and shuffle numbers (meaning dollars) to satisfy our department head. Somewhat tongue-in-cheek I sometimes say “My integrity is greatly driven by the fact that I lack the intelligence to be a good liar.” Needless to say, I did not last very long, however I almost doubled the average stay in that position for that year. I resigned on the last work day of ’89 effective immediately.

That put me unemployed at the wrong time of the year for construction work. I was willing and able to do almost anything within my chosen field, so I started calling around to the people I had met and worked with during the previous 5 years. I still lived in my home State, which I have described as a “Gulf Coast State.” In just a few days, I received a return phone call from someone I had worked with previously. He wanted to know if I would be interested in going to California, along with him and his brother-in-law to work, helping another contractor remodel a restaurant. The details he described were acceptable and the money offered was really good, so he and I agreed to try it. If nothing else, it would generate some cash while I continued to look. At that time, I had never worked in California or even seen the countryside there. I had, however changed planes at both LAX and the San Francisco Airport.

The restaurant was next door to a motel, so the general contractor arranged for the entire crew, consisting of 10 men to stay there during the remodel. We worked very long hours and straight through for 10 days while doing what was called a complete “color change” for this chain restaurant. During that time, I was somewhat impressed with the general contractor on the job and decided to leave him a resume, “just in case.” Just as we finished that project, the man who had brought me to California, secured a project converting a large, but empty retail store to a very “high end” furniture store. That project was just north of the “Bay Area,” also in California. He wanted me to supervise that project for him and since I had no other offers on the table, I agreed. Now this was just 3 months after the big earth quake that did so much damage in October of ’89. By the time I got to the area, the Bay Bridge was restored and was open for traffic, but the freeway that had collapsed in Oakland was still in ruins.

That project only lasted 5 weeks and just as I completed it and returned to my home state, I received a call from the general contractor from the restaurant remodel project, offering me a full time job. He needed me to start immediately on another “color change” for çukurambar escort the same brand restaurant, but this time in Napa Valley. I explained that I could not possibly drive my truck, bring my tool and get there when the project started. He said that did not matter, I didn’t need my truck as there would be plenty of transportation available, and for this first project, he would furnish all the tools I needed and he would pay my airfare to and from this first project. So, again since I had no better offer on the table, I accepted and headed off to Napa Valley.

He met me at the airport in Santa Rosa and although it was late at night, gave me the details of his job offer while setting in his truck. He wanted me to become his third project manager, which was the only position receiving a guaranteed weekly salary. While we were on a contracted project, like the color change remodels, we would work whatever hours and whatever days necessary to complete the project by the deadline. We would not receive any extra compensation for these 60 and 70 hour weeks, but when we were between projects, we would receive the same salary as if we were working. The compensation also included all temporary housing. That would be with the entire crew at the motel nearest the job site during these intense schedules. Also, since I and one of the other project managers were single, we could stay at his large, oversized home near Riverside, when we were between projects. He also offered to include one round trip airfare from California to my home each month. The salary alone was more money than I had ever made, so what did I have to lose?

I talked to Jeff, the other single project manager, who had quickly become a friend and received all the good points as well as the bad points about staying at this guy’s home between projects. It didn’t seem so bad, although he said HE felt more like an intruder than a welcome guest. It was actually several weeks before we were all back in the Riverside area, necessitating staying at this house. It was not really inconvenient, as there were two bedrooms and a full bath upstairs, where Jeff and I would stay as well as a huge balcony/loft area. The contractor’s family, consisting of him (Robert), his wife (Sandra) and one 3 year old daughter (Jaime) and a well manicured poodle stayed downstairs. Both of the guests (Employees) were given a key and a code to the alarm system. The staircase was just a few steps from the front door and the only areas in between were a seldom used, small living room and a door leading to the garage. Many times either Jeff or I would come in and go directly upstairs without as much as stopping to converse with the host family.

They would offer to share the living areas of the home, especially the wide screen TV, but I think they also appreciated our decision to not intrude upon their privacy. Robert was a football fan like me, but Sandra didn’t care at all to watch any games on television, so I did join him in watching Sunday afternoon football if it was a game that interested me.

Downstairs, the master bedroom had a private bath and dressing area and was adjacent the smaller bedroom where the daughter slept. That area was removed from the living area and kitchen, providing sufficient privacy for the different people staying there.

Most of the time, our projects were planned and scheduled a few weeks in advance, so we would know ahead of time when we would be away on projects and when we would have time off. My trips back home would be planned during the time between jobs, so usually I could buy airline tickets at least two weeks in advance.

First Introduction

In talking to the contractor’s wife, Sandra (everyone called her by that name and not Mrs./Ms. Brown or Sandy) I learned she traded at a gas station a few blocks away from their home and she was always touting the advantages of that business. I decided to try it one day and discovered it to be an older Mobil station with service bays, like you would see in the 1960s before self service gas became so prevalent. They had a wash bay and a grease bay as well as a detached covered area where they did wax, polish and detailing. There were signs posted at the gas island stating to “Honk for Full Service.” Although all the gas dispensers were priced the same, they offered full service for any customer who wanted it. While I was there, an older lady driving a late model Cadillac pulled up to one of the dispensers and honked her horn. A very pretty young lady, dressed in shorts, low top work boots and a blue striped “Mobil” work shirt, hurried out from the office to assist.

The girl looked almost exactly like one of those models on a tool calendar. You know the ones, where a scantily clad beautiful girl is holding some power tool as if she knew its purpose. The top few buttons of the blue shirt were undone showing quite a bit of cleavage and the edge of a lacy beige bra. The bottom of the shirt was tied in a knot, just below her very nice sized breast, demetevler escort leaving a bare midriff. I don’t think I had ever heard the term in 1990, but her appearance could be described as the “Daisy Duke” look. She had that typical “California Girl” appearance with medium length blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail and a golden tan on all of the skin she was showing, which was quite a lot.

She was just a few feet from me as we were servicing the different vehicles. Unlike the calendar girls, she knew exactly what she was doing at the gas pump. She lifted the hood and checked all the fluid levels before informing the lady driver that everything under the hood looked just fine. She washed the windshield and then topped off the tank before approaching the lady to collect for the gas. I am not exactly sure when “Pay-at-the-pump” started, but this older station did not offer that option. The girl took the credit card offered by the driver of the Cadillac and brought it to an imprint machine located on a stand close to where I was servicing my truck. Because my Ford truck had two gas tanks and they were both practically empty, it took me much longer to fill my tanks that it did this girl to fully service the Cadillac.

After getting the signature from the other driver, the girl returned to the stand close to me and for the first time greeted me and fully acknowledged my presents. She simply smiled and asked, “How are you today?”

I was completing topping off the second tank by that time, so I returned the nozzle to the dispenser and started to remove my wallet from my hip pocket as I replied, “I’m doing great! And how are YOU?”

She answered, “I couldn’t be better!” as she took my credit card to start the transaction while smiling like that calendar girl I mentioned. Neither of us introduced ourselves and she didn’t wear a name tag, so I didn’t know her name. I would have estimated her age to be about 20 to 23, but I sometimes miss these guesses by a few years. Assuming I was close to correct, she would have been about 20 years younger than me, creating the “old enough to be her father” syndrome. I considered her “eye candy” and figured she was placed in that position for marketing and customer relations reasons. Girls don’t dress like that for comfort alone; she wanted to be looked at and was providing the opportunity.

In the few minutes she was so close to me, I took advantage of the opportunity she was providing. As she moved in different directions and into different positions, her lace bra was more visible at times. I thought the mix of her clothing was strange, but being in the construction business while having a preference for outdoor and athletic type girls, it was one of the hottest outfits I have ever seen. Her shorts, “oh my, her shorts;” they looked like they were bought to fit her ass tightly, but because her waist was so small; the waist band of the denim shorts hardly touched any of her mid-section. The legs were similar; they were about 3 inches long below her crotch, with a cuff that took up half that distance. The legs looked loose enough to place a hand inside each one and touch your fingertips in the middle. My fantasies are running as wild now as they did as I watched this blonde babe in this hot outfit.

The next time I spoke with Sandra, I mentioned to her I had gone by the Mobil station to get gas.

Her one and only questions was, “Did you meet Alyssa?”

I said I didn’t meet anyone, but there was one girl there, working the gas island.

“About 21, blonde, really pretty?”

“I don’t know about her age; but yeah, blonde, really pretty and BUILT!”

She laughed, “Yeah, that’s Alyssa alright! She will be 21 in a couple of weeks. She is really nice and Jaime really likes her. I think she is going to start babysitting some. She says she really needs to make some extra money and I would like someone to keep Jaime while I do some things.” That was the end of the conversation and I really didn’t think much about how that might affect me in the near future.

Labor Day weekend was approaching and the restaurant chain did not close for remodels during any major holiday, so everyone was scheduled to scatter for most of that week. Both Jeff and I were scheduled to travel to our respective homes and my employer, Robert was taking Sandra and Jaime to Indiana to visit his family.

Just a few days before I was to fly home, my 16 year old daughter phoned me to ask if she could go to the beach on Labor Day weekend. A friend had invited her to vacation with her family and she really wanted to go to the beach before school started back. She and I had already been on a vacation together in June, so I agreed to let her go with this family I knew and trusted.

Without being able to see my daughter during this trip home, I decided to forgo that trip and just stay in Southern California for a relaxing weekend of riding my motorcycle. I contacted the travel agent and was able to convert my airline ticket dikmen escort to a travel voucher to be used at some later date. It was not necessary for anyone else to adjust their schedule and some of the crew didn’t even know I was staying in town.

I told Robert of my change in plans and he expressed his regret that I would not get to spend the weekend with my daughter, but showed no concern about me staying at their house while he and his family were gone to Indiana.

He told Sandra and she approached me quickly to explain the possible issue with me staying at their home because she had arranged for Alyssa to house set and care for their dog. She said that if she had known I was going to be there, they would have just let me feed the dog and let it out a couple of time a day, but she had already promised Alyssa and she was counting on the extra money she would make. She did say she would talk to Alyssa and see what she thought.

I asked Sandra to please let me know as soon as possible. I told her I would be out of the house most of the time and only sleep there, but if I needed to make other arrangements, I needed as much notice as possible.

Sandra called Alyssa, who evidently put her mind at ease, by saying her boyfriend would be with her most of the time she was at their home and she had no problem with me being there also. For the week preceding Labor Day weekend, this conversation was probably the only time I gave any thought to someone else being at the house during the weekend.

We were all pretty busy with different task; mine was gathering information and prices for the next project to start the Sunday after Labor Day. As an afterthought, and since I was available, Robert asked if I would take him and his family to the airport, so they would not need to leave their vehicle parked in Airport Parking for 5 days. That meant I would also need to get them on Wednesday of the next week. So everyone could ride and carry their luggage plus have a child’s seat for Jaime, I would need to use Sandra’s mini-van to take them.

On Friday morning, I went into the office/warehouse early and then back to the house to drive them to the Ontario Airport for an 11:30 flight. By this time I had flown out of Ontario four times and had learned the fastest route to get from I-15 to the airport. Since there were two adults traveling with one child and they already had their boarding pass, we chose to drop them off at curbside and check their luggage at that point.

Remember that flying in 1990 was much easier and check-in was much faster than it is now. Also in that era, Ontario was one of the easiest airports to get in and out of, if you were in a rush. As soon as all the luggage was out of the mini-van, the security guards were motioning me to move on and that was all the excuse I needed. I hurried back to their home to park the “soccer-mom mobile” until the next Wednesday.

By now I was ready for five days of zero responsibility. My ’89 Harley FXSTC was parked in their garage, so I parked and locked the mini-van in the driveway and mounted up. Southern California was a fun place to ride a motorcycle in 1990 if you exercised just a little bit of caution and common sense. On the freeways, you could either take the HOV/Carpool lane or you could ride the stripes. This is also referred to as “Lane Splitting.” I have ridden in several States along the Mississippi River and along the Gulf Coast. I can’t tell you how many times I have been caught in traffic and been tempted to just go between the cars. In California, this practice is (or was) legal.

Depending on what you are wanting, Southern California affords almost everything a motorcyclist could want; from gravel roads through the desert (which I do not like) to asphalt roads winding through the hills, to the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) to major freeways. If you are not familiar with PCH or California Hwy 1, it would be worth your time to just do a web search and see what this drive has to offer.

By this time, we had remodeled restaurants in Anaheim, El Toro, Dana Point, San Diego, Long Beach, Brea and Redondo Beach, though not necessarily in that order. With travels to each of these locations, I was getting a grasp of the area and planning some trips I wanted to make on the Harley. One trip was to leave Riverside and head south on IH-15 to Lake Elsinore. For the readers who have never spent time in California, they refer to highways differently than we do in the South. We precede the highway numbers with nouns and adjectives like; Interstate, Highway, Route, State Route, U.S. Route, Farm Road, County Road, etc.

In California, all those nouns and adjectives are replaced with one three letter word; “The.”

So in the local lingo, I wanted to take the 15 down to the 74 at Lake Elsinore, and then take the Ortega through Caspers Regional Park over to San Juan Capistrano. Then I would take the 5 down to Dana Point and pick up the 1 (or PCH) and head north. Then I wanted to follow as closely to the coast as possible and travel through the beach cities and along the beaches until I got to Manhattan Beach. That would have me riding about 130 miles, but leave me somewhere around 70 miles from Riverside following the 91. As I planned to make this trip, I wanted to have time to “stop and smell the roses” so to speak.

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