Snow Day – Meeting Claire Ch. 01 by soppingwetpanties

Literotic asexstories – Snow Day – Meeting Claire Ch. 01 by soppingwetpanties

Snow Day – Meeting Claire (Ch. 01)

soppingwetpanties

Chapter One is a set-up for the remainder of the story. There’s no sex in this short introductory chapter.

Thank you D.E. for the inspiration.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

Chapter One

Meeting Claire

We had the first real snowfall in a long time, so I had an excuse to get out my old bulky snowblower. There was about a foot of freshly fallen snow on the ground. I was a retired divorced guy with lots of time on my hands so I was out there in my heavy parka and jeans making a project out of it. The houses on our road were generously spaced out, with a narrow boulevard separating the sidewalk from the street. Whenever I got this relic out of the garage it was my neighborly tradition to clear the sidewalks of the neighbors on each side of me.

On my right side (facing the street) was an older retired couple who were always grateful for my help. I could expect a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies as my recompense. On my left side lived a forty-ish woman named Claire — single, tall and blonde, living alone. Even though I’d lived there ten years, I’d never formally met her but saw her from her porch, waving to me when I cleared her sidewalk. She appeared attractive from a distance. I always wondered what she looked like up close and thought maybe it was going to be my lucky day and I’d get a chance to meet her.

The snowblower was in the corner of the garage, covered with cobwebs. If I was diligent I would have started it every three months to keep the carburetor from glazing over. But of course I never kept track of those things so it hadn’t been started in about a year. I cleared the cobwebs off and rolled the beast onto a patch of driveway I’d already cleared with my shovel.

I checked the gas level, turned on the flow valve and bravely gave the starting cord a tug. Mind you I was wearing a heavy coat and wasn’t in the best of shape. The engine sputtered and died. Fuck. I instantly regretted not maintaining this balky machine instead of watching endless porn and generally fucking off every day. Being the patient and thoughtful user, a gave the wheel of the vehicle a swift kick with my boot. Of course the blower was the winner. I screamed “Fuck!” at the top of my lungs.

For my second attempt I put my foot on the wheel and pulled with all my might. The engine sputtered again, this time catching for a moment as my momentum carried me backward. I fell unceremoniously on my ass as the engine died again. A second “Fuck!” graced the heavens as I got up off my fat ass and brushed the snow off my butt. Now there was a big wet spot on my jeans and I could feel it through my boxers.

I was really pissed off and decided to really show it who was boss. I threw off my parka, and wearing only my Ozzy Osbourne “No Rest for the Wicked” World Tour 1988 black t-shirt I tried again and put everything I had into it. It sputtered and caught and suddenly the engine was running. I increased the throttle and the engine coughed and died.

There was no other choice than to increase the length and volume of my swearing.

“Fucking shit, fucking snowblower,” I screamed.

And for good measure I gave the wheel another kick, this time bending my big toe in an unnatural direction.

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!” I yelled at volume 10.

I hopped around, trying to restore the feeling in my toe. It hurt like crazy. I sat on the ground, wounded and tired. My pants were cold and wet.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

It was a sweet, melodious female voice coming from the direction of the sidewalk. It came from Claire. I’d never seen her close, yet there she was, standing not more than a few feet away. She was wearing a gorgeous white cashmere coat, unbuttoned to reveal a form fitting burnt orange sweater and gray tweed skirt underneath, her natural blonde hair, straight and shoulder length, with a heart shaped face framing bright blue eyes . She was slimmer, yet curvier than I recalled from the few times I saw her sitting on the porch and waving to her.

I felt a bit awed being in her presence. She looked like a model in those ads for new cars, fashionable and beautiful.

“I’m trying to get this thing started,” I said, still on my ass. I pushed with my hands to get into an upright position. I looked pretty comical, standing up in my concert t-shirt, heavy gloves and wet jeans.

“I can see that,” she said as if she’d already figured everything out.

She squatted down, bending her knees so she could see the snowblower engine more closely. Her skirt rode up so I could see a good part of her thighs. I thought I caught a glimpse of her pink panties. Fuck, she was hot. Suddenly I didn’t feel cold in a t-shirt in zero-degree weather.

“You swear good,” she said while I was enjoying being so close to her.

“Uh . . . thanks, I guess,” I said, acknowledging her “compliment.”

Then she got back to business.

“Did you check the stopcock?” she asked, again with unwavering confidence as if she knew what she was doing.

“What?” I asked. I just heard the word “cock” and that threw me for a loop. Why would this stunning woman say a word like that?

“You know, this,” she said, pointing to the valve that let the gas flow from the tank to the carburetor.

“Oh,” I said, realizing what she was talking about. And then I said “Yes” as manly as I could. I did check the fucking flow valve. Who was she to question my competence? Clearly it was the carburetor, not my lack of skills.

“Come here,” she said.

“Me?” I reflexively asked like a dumbass in the presence of a beautiful woman.

“Is there someone else here?” she asked, looking around at nothingness to make her point.

“OK,” I said sheepishly and stood next to her, basking in her aura. She smelled good, as someone that looks like her should. I was admiring the flawless skin on her face when she interrupted my reverie.

“Over here,” she said, moving my head with her finger to where she wanted me to look.

She gave the valve another quarter turn. She waited for half a minute.

“Stand back,” she said. She put her black leather high heel boot on the wheel and pulled on the cord, firmly and fast. The engine roared to life. I stood there proudly like I did it.

“Nice t-shirt,” she said in a somewhat mocking tone while we admired her handiwork. The snowblower sounded like it was performing for her, the PAH PAH PAH of the engine creating quite a din.

“This?” I shouted.

“Are you slow?” she shouted back, and this time truly mocking me.

“N . . . No . . . ” I sputtered like the balky engine. My voice trailed off.

She adjusted the throttle to a slow idle. “It’s kind of campy, in a fucked-up sort of way. Will you give it to me?” she asked.

This conversation was getting truly bizarre.

“Uh sure,” I said. “I’ll wash it and bring it over sometime soon.”

She laughed. “I meant now.”

“Now?” I asked, truly bewildered.

“Again . . I ask,” she said.

I sighed. “I know, there’s no one else around.”

“So gimme.”

I was at a crossroads. I was quite frankly getting bored in my retirement. After a while endless porn and pizza wears on you. But what she was asking me to do was scaring the shit out of me. I kind of knew where this was going. I just didn’t know how far. Did I want to go down that long, dark road?

Of course I did. I took the t-shirt off so it was my pasty white skin feeling the frigid cold breeze. To my surprise, my nipples hardened, and instead of feeling frozen I felt aroused. I looked at Claire, brimming with confidence, and handed her my treasured Ozzy Osbourne memento.

She took the shirt, wadded it into a small ball and stuffed it into one the pockets of her coat.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said to my amazement.

“You have?” I asked. My dumbass routine was wearing thin on her. She looked annoyed.

“Don’t speak again unless I tell you to. Understood? Nod if you understand.”

It was clear she brooked no argument. I nodded.

“I’ve noticed you a few times working in the yard. Maybe studied you is a better phrase. You seem to have something that I’m looking for.”

I almost said “I do?” but stifled myself.

“I heard the swearing and decided to come over and make sure. So I find you sitting on your ass after taking your frustrations out on this poor snowblower that you probably neglected all year. My, you have a salty tongue. Anyway, seeing you up close now I’m sure.”

“Sure of what?” I wanted to say but didn’t.

“So you’re going to be my pet and I’m going to call you ‘gray’ with a small ‘g.” I’m telling you, not asking you. Do you understand? You may speak.”

This was it. All the marbles on this answer. “Yes,” I answered firmly and without hesitation. I was already willing to walk over hot coals for this woman.

“I’m going back to my house and you’re going to follow me. And yes, like that. The cold will do you good.”

We trudged through snow up to the tops of our boots. She followed her footsteps on the way over to her house and I walked over her footprints. It was freezing walking down the snow-covered sidewalk with nothing on top. When we got to the walkway to her house she stopped.

“After your visit to my house you’re going to clear your walk and then mine. Be a good boy and do a thorough job this time.”

We fought through deep snow to her front porch. Her boots were covered with slush. Mine were soaked as well. Right before she went to open the door she said, “We’re going inside now, and there are things I’m going to ask you to do that might be a bit unusual. Do you understand? You may speak.”

Everything that happened so far wasn’t usual so why change? “Yes,” I said.

“What color are my panties?” she asked out of the blue.

I was tempted to say “What?” but stopped myself. She was expecting an answer. Truth seemed like the best option.