It was the summer of 2018. I was looking out a window that was a portrait of suburbia I hardly knew. I mean, I knew Cheesecake Factory and happy hours at NOBU. I knew Michael Kors purses and Teslas. But I didn’t know the seedier side. That was about to change.
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I could tell she wanted more than just her garage door fixed. Why was I, the supposed handyman, invited inside her world of luxury for lemonade? Why was she dressed a bit scantily? Why had she left me at her couch?
These are all rhetorical questions. The answers to them all were because I was a handyman, or at least I looked the part, and she wanted handyman sex.
When she walked back in, she placed the lemonade on the coffee table.
“Are the open curtains making this place too hot? What are the best ways to conserve energy on such hot days?”
She drew the curtains on the east-facing windows where a view of a neighbor’s window existed. But she notably left open a window with a more distant view of luxury homes lined up like models of elitist pop up boxes.
“My garage door seems to work now.”
When she approached me, I was gazing into suburbia’s great beyond. This wasn’t going to be my first handyman sex rodeo. A year prior, using adult dating apps, I learned that many housewives had the fantasy of fucking their handyman. One of my friends, in fact, divorced his wife because he caught her fucking the handyman. It sounds like a Lifetime movie’s salacious script, but in this opulent bubble, it was reality.
I learned to run the handyman sex scam by learning a few simple handyman skills. I’d place ads that said I could help women with simple house duties. I could fix easy things, such as faulty garage doors or broken table legs. I also updated my Fuckbook Adult Dating profile to note my new skillset of handyman work. The fact that I advertised to women and the things I offered to remedy were uber simple conveyed a clear intent that I was down to fuck to women. It was discreet, the husbands never saw the ads. The women had plausible deniability. In fact, I often met the husbands prior to fucking their wives.
The husbands were none the wiser, probably banging hookers in outlier shitty motels.
When this housewife got near me, I could feel her breath. I’d never handyman fucked her. We’d never talked about fucking. But the script was always the same, the wife wanted to feel a working class dick pound her pussy.
She began to undo my tool belt that held a hammer and a screwdriver. I carried a plunger off body. I made sure the optics were on point for the sake of neighbors.
When a toolbelt hits the ground, my dick gets super hard. I’ve gotten erections in Ace Hardware before, that’s how addicting this handyman sex scam grew to be.
“I’m so thankful that you take care of my home – slop slop – it’s so kind of you – sip suck – I’ll do anything to make you happy,” she says while down on her knees between deep throats.
I kept the flannel shirt on, I placed my hands behind my head, I watched her head, ripe with $1,000 extensions, bob back and forth. You could tell she hadn’t sucked any man’s dick for months.
Once I couldn’t hold it in any longer, I grabbed on to her hair and held her head in place. Her eyes shot up to me as I blew what felt like a gallon of cum into her mouth. A rich housewife, disheveled hair and cum seeping down her mouth and on to her neck, rises up and tells me I deserved every second of that orgasm.
The handyman sex fantasy is odd. If you understand it, you can leverage it in your local hookup community or on a free dating app.
This one, like many before her, recommended me to another friend’s home. Her friend, she said, had all types of issues around the house, but most focused on her bed. The next day, I ended up fucking her over a $2200 Pottery Barn table. These women don’t shop at IKEA.
In one case, I met the girl at a Lowes and she jacked me off in a bathroom. Her handyman sex fantasy included the public bathroom handjob fantasy.
In another case, the housewife wanted me to spank her with plywood. And I don’t mean lightly. Her ass was bright red when I left. I asked her before the first swat, “does your man ever bend you over the bed or table to fuck you?”
“Never,” she replied.
The swats bellowed out across the room, echoing in on treated concrete floors. She was grabbing her knees and grimacing the entire time.
“Don’t ever break the sink faucet again. Do you understand me?”
“I understand.”
SWAT!
Some women gave me gifts or cash. They would say they felt sorry for me because I lived in an apartment. To them, I was a poor guy that didn’t fuck top pussy. They knew I fucked other hot housewives, but the fantasy played better believing they were the best pussy I’d ever put my dick inside.
The handyman sex fantasy run continues. But I had to temper things. In some ways, fucking that many housewives actually got a bit boring. I had to change it up. Now I use adult dating apps to meet girls in their 20s. Those girls don’t exactly care about a handyman. Some day, however, they probably will.
And maybe then, I’ll return to the greatest 2-year handyman sex run of my life.