July 10

Want someone who can screw?

Drill?

Nail?

Pound?

Look no further than Jackson Decker. I do it all, and I make women happy. Pretty easy to do when you have the right tool and know how to use it.

So, yeah—I’m talking sex, but I’m also a handyman, although I’m not much into that title. For me, that label always conjures up a guy with a beer gut and his ass crack peeking over saggy jeans, running around fixing leaky faucets. I prefer the term “renovation specialist.” Although James Taylor had a nice angle on being a handyman.

Like the song says, they’ll come running to me. Business is going well, really well. I’ve been toying around with the idea of expanding, maybe adding a crew, but I’ve only been at this a couple years and I’m not sure it’s what I want to do with my life. I thought I knew before, but things took a detour. I’m okay with detours, because sometimes you find your way when you go off the beaten path. If that makes any sense. It didn’t to my father, but I learned that it’s more important to be happy with my own decisions than to please him.

Shit, I’m getting too philosophical for a beauty of a day like this one. Perfect Maine weather: clear, bright blue sky with just a few cotton ball clouds here and there, 72 degrees and a hint of a breeze. I’ve got the windows to my truck rolled down, partly because I’m not a fan of AC and partly because I want to smell the salt air. I’m driving to meet a new client in Surry—bathroom remodel. We spoke on the phone a couple of weeks ago. First impression (if phone call first impressions count) was that she’s polite, cool, and high maintenance. I sometimes make a game out of predicting what a client will look like, and for Ms. Madeline Callaway, I’m picturing thirty-ish. Tall, thin, pale skin. Dark hair, probably in a bun most of the time. More angles than curves. We’ll see if I’m right.

I always get a kick out of women’s reactions when they first lay eyes on me. They usually look surprised, almost startled, probably because they were expecting someone who looks like the ass-crack guy I described earlier. Some of them get flustered and have trouble looking me in the eye. They think I don’t see them resting their gaze on my mouth, darting their eyes across my chest or glancing at my crotch and blushing. Jesus, that always gets to me—when women try to hide that they want me. Like they’re back in high school, glowing with innocence but burning with want.

Being a renovation specialist has some key fringe benefits.

I’ve taken quite a few of my clients to bed. Single women only—I’m not into parking my car in someone else’s garage. I don’t really have a type—I’m attracted to all different kinds of women: sleek brunettes, spiky redheads, curly blondes. Curvy, tiny, bold, shy. I love getting to know their scents, the feel of their skin under my hands, what makes them gasp. I love the moment when I hook my thumbs in the waistband of their panties, just before sliding them down—the intake of breath from both of us, the anticipation of what her pussy will look like, taste like. One of my favorite things to do is go down on a woman, especially when she’s bare and glistening pink so I can see it all, lick every quivering millimeter of her. It sometimes feels like it’s going to kill me, when I’m eating her and listening to the sounds she’s making, wanting to bury myself deep inside her. But getting high from making her squirm…pleasing a woman like that is the best kind of ecstasy there is. And I don’t care how much a girl might protest my going down there, or act like she’s too pure for it—once she feels what my tongue can do, she’s pretty much putty in my hands.

Little renovation humor there with the putty reference.

I can get a sense pretty quickly of who wants to be made love to and who wants to be fucked hard. For most of them, it’s a combination.

I can do that.

Jesus. Things are getting a little uncomfortable below the belt. I take one hand off the wheel and raise myself up a little out of my seat for a quick dick adjustment. Doesn’t help that it’s been a week or so since I’ve fucked someone. I’ll have to rectify that soon, or I’ll be taking matters into my own hands, so to speak.

So you should know that I’m what you might call perpetually aroused. In other words, horny as fuck. Think sixteen year old boy in the back of his daddy’s Benz with his hot little girlfriend. Even though I’m pushing twenty-eight, I have a teenaged cock. Combine that with a pair of very experienced hands, and you’ve got some highly-satisfied women.

My good buddy Drew says that I’m really just a gigolo in a tool belt—that my female clients are more interested in how I can service them rather than how well I can take care of their home improvement needs. I’m good with that. Maybe it’s really my bedroom technique that’s paying the bills...I’ve had customers whose homes seem to develop an awful lot of issues. I take care of those issues, and I take care of women who need me for more than that.

Before you start thinking I’m all about fixing broken hearts like Sweet Baby James sings about, let me stop you right there...I’m not. I can be kind of a dick, if you want to know the truth. I subscribe to the four F’s philosophy of relationships: find ‘em, feel ‘em, fuck ‘em, forget ‘em. I make it a priority never to hurt anybody, but I’ve mastered the art of caring without loving, and I try to seek out others who operate the same way—hot chicks who don’t want anything more than a guy with a big cock and a tool belt. The shallower the woman, the better, so there’s little chance of me getting too deep, and because they’re easier to leave that way. We have a good time, I give them everything except my wallet and my heart, and this keeps me out of trouble. At the end, a lot of them have wanted more, but once the job is done, I’m out of there and onto the next project. And the next woman.

Nice the way that works. A win-win situation, for sure, and I plan to stay with it indefinitely.

My GPS has brought me to a fork in the road that’s Morgan Bay and Newbury Neck. I turn left onto Newbury. All this deep thinking has resulted in my dick going limp, which I see as a good thing. Wouldn’t want to meet a new client with a huge boner—at least not until I can assess the situation. I do know this, though—I’m going to need to take a woman to bed soon, for my own sake.

I’m about a half-mile away from the house when I feel an unexpected little jab of anticipation. Not sure what that’s about.

Madeline Callaway, ready or not—here I come.