A little background story is in order here. I’ve had various repairmen in my bathroom for the past couple of weeks. There was a leak from the apartment upstairs, and my bathroom ceiling was cracked open in two areas. Also, the water had traveled down the inside of the wall and rotted everything, so when I went to use my bathtub stopper, it snapped right out of the tub wall.
So first, the plumber had to cut a hole in my ceiling to find the leak. That was one visit. Next, the painter came in, drywalled the hole and repainted the ceiling. And last week, yet another guy came in and replaced some of the inner workings inside the shower wall, also replacing the access door. All I needed now was a new stopper.
Which brings us to this morning. Steve called at 10 and said he’d be there in about 20 minutes. Fine. A minute later, my phone rang again. This time, it was my building manager, George. “Hi Erica, I’ve got the plumber coming with your new stopper and he’ll be there sometime before noon.”
@#$%&!!!! Now what? And how long would that take? Ugh!
When Steve arrived, I told him the plumber was due to arrive, and he said that was ok. We hadn’t seen each other for two weeks, so we had lots of catching up to do. And when the plumber showed up, we could leave and go have some lunch. So we talked, and we waited. And then Steve got mischievous.
“Come to the bedroom,” he insisted. I knew where this was going. “No! The plumber will be here any minute,” I protested. “So you’ll let him in then. Come on…” And once there, he flipped me over and started pulling down my leggings and panties, above all my yammering that I’d have to get up to answer the door.
Sure enough, the doorbell rang. I was on my feet in a split second… but my leggings were all tangled up around my ankles, and I kept fumbling trying to pull them up, cursing mightily. The doorbell rang again, then there was a knock. Dammit!! In desperation, I yanked the leggings off in an attempt to untangle them, but then they were inside out. Steve was encouraging me and snickering at me at the same time. My hands shook worse as I struggled to turn them the right way, and I was so frustrated, I just yanked them on without bothering with my panties. At that moment, I heard my front door open. “Erica, you there?” George called out.
“Be right there!!” I called back, and then I dashed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
Why, you might ask. Well, George is a great building manager and he takes good care of everything. But he’s also older (in his 70s), kind of a busybody and a gossip. And he knows John; he’s seen him here, knows how long we’ve been together. So I didn’t see how I could possibly explain a strange man being in my bedroom. (“Oh, don’t worry, George, John knows all about him; he just comes here once a week to spank me.”) Yeah, I didn’t see that flying.
The plumber and his assistant went into the bathroom, and I figured George would leave, like he usually does once the work gets under way. But today, apparently, he was in a chatty mood. He pulled up one of my living room chairs and sat down, yakking away with me about the building and the neighbors and how much he can’t stand the president and this and that and the other. What could I do… I sat down and listened, figuring he’d leave any minute. He didn’t. The plumbers kept on working, George kept on talking, and Steve was shut up in my bedroom.
I repeat, @#$%&.
Finally, I jumped up and said, “Well, George, I have to go, I have a lunch date.” As timing would have it, the plumbers finished right at that moment! All the hardest work had already been done and the stopper was a snap. And so the three of them left. I felt bad about making Steve cool his heels holed up in my bedroom for about 15 minutes, but I needn’t have. He was in there, watching TV with the sound off, and he thought the whole thing was hilarious. “This was all your fault!” I hissed at him. “You and your insisting we come in here and play!” He just laughed, said there was no harm done and I’d handled it fine.
But wait, it wasn’t over yet. I’d told George I was leaving… and yes, we were going to lunch, but I couldn’t let him see me leaving with Steve! I just had a feeling George would be on the grounds somewhere, so I told Steve to leave ahead of me and then wait for me near my parking garage. Sure enough, once again — I walked down to my car, and there was George, checking out something in the garage. He called out, “Have fun, dear,” and I answered, “I will, thanks!” and looked around to see Steve approaching the garage, so I waved him away and he ducked back. Jesus, so much freaking intrigue! The things a woman has to do to get spanked, for God’s sake. But hopefully that will be it for my repairs for a while.
We had a lovely lunch at a little café with outdoor patio seating; it was a perfect sunny day, not too hot, and we were in the shade, so we lingered quite a while talking after we’d eaten. But finally, we came back, and Steve showed me all the pictures from his trip to CO. I was still sitting at my computer chair, and he went to the couch, patting his lap. “Come here,” he said.
I just smiled. “No,” I answered. “Say please.”
He shook his head. “No. Come here.”
So I leaned back in my chair and smirked at him, not moving. He got up; I thought maybe he was going to pull me out of the chair. But no… he just went to get his camera.
After that, he said, “Come here,” once again. I started to get up, but then he said oh-so-smugly, “Ha! I knew I’d get my way.” And I sat back down.
Oh, don’t worry. I went over there eventually.
After all this, it was anticlimactic, since we had already decided we were going to do a light scene, just hand, so I’d be fine for the party. Not even worth pictures. But that’s OK. I will make up for it later.
And he could not stop snickering about how we got “busted.” How did he put it… oh, yeah. “We were a couple of of 50-somethings acting like high-school kids.” (groan) Thanks, honey.
I told John the story, and what did he say? “You owe Steve an apology.” Men!!
It was a fun day. …