He Came for a Drink

I don't know what possessed my husband and me to buy this house. It was a fixer upper. The cheapest house in the nicest neighborhood. We had just found out I was pregnant. A month-and-a-half later he was dead is a car accident. I really didn't do much for the next year the house is livable. You can live in it, it just has a lot of little things wrongs. The dishwasher malfunctions; the garbage disposal is entirely broken. The hot water heater works sometimes. Lots of the outlets in the house don't work. Some walls have holes in them. When the sign says handyman special, that assumes that you're handy. I'm not handy. I'm a widow with a 1-year-old child that I'm trying to wean. My breasts are engorged. Every article of clothing pressing against my sensitive n*****s makes them sore and leak. I can’t sleep because they wake me up leaking everywhere. All the ladies in my neighborhood have been helpful and kind. They got me someone to do the yard. I've had a myriad of odd-job people come to help us with this monstrosity that I'm stuck in. But I'm alone. I have a child, a mortgage and I'm horny as hell. No one is going to help me with my enormous leaking titties. Every time I even think about my t**s, they turn into Niagara falls. Its embarrassing. I thought weaning would be easy. All you have to do is offer less milk and more food. Only my breast didn’t get the message. They keep producing as if im feeding fifty people for a banquet and the menu is my breast milk. Knock, knock. Ugh. My shirt has wet spots again. I yank the shirt off toss it on the floor and grab a tank top before opening the door. “Good morning Natalie. How are you this morning?” Marta is my lovely, helpful, nosy neighbor. “Oh okay thank you, Marta.” I reply with as much sugar as I can inject into my voice. She never notices my fake smile so Im sure the fake sweet voice will be lost on her too. A sticky sweet smile is plastered across her face. She appeared to have more to say but held back. Being the neighborhood gossip made it difficult for her to keep a secret over 20 minutes. “Are you still looking for someone to fix your dishwasher?” her eye bright with the question. She knew I was. I just didn't have time to wash all my dishes, take care of my child and work. “Yes, I am.” I sing song-ed back to her. Her plump frame rocked back and forth on her heels. She clasped her hands in front of her body turning her hand over and over. “You know that house on the far end of the street, the one where no one is ever home?” her eyes glanced in the direction of the abandoned house. God, I wished she would get to the point. It's the baby’s nap time and I am running out of my time fast. “Yes, everyone knows the house. What about it?” “Well, the man who owns it is back from the Middle East and he is a great handy man. If you want I can ask him to come take a look at your dishwasher for you.” She knew I wouldn't say no. I just didn't get her angel. “Thank you, that would be lovely. What is his name?” She flushed all the way to her ears. That was new. Marta was never put out or off her game. All of a sudden she blushes? Strange, not that I have time to care. “Great, his name is Matt. Is tomorrow okay?” She smiled and turned to leave. That too was new, Marta never left in a hurry. She was a fart that lingered until you practically had to push her out the door. I nodded, mumbling a reply, then told her I could hear the baby crying trotted back inside. Not too fast. I didn’t want my breasts to swing too much. I headed to the shower. Maybe if I could express some of the milk, it would take the pressure off of me. Hopefully Matt wouldn’t show up while I was touching myself. My clothes hit the floor and for the first time all day the irritating fabric covering my breast was gone. I turned the shower on and stood there, waiting to see if the water would get hot. It was a fifty/fifty chance. The doorbell rang, and my hopes all died. I grabbed my bathrobe and stabbed my arms into the dam thing as I headed to the door.