The Roofer

Bart slid the shingle into place and nailed it down with three shots from his nail gun. Wiping his face, he looked around to find that he was out of shingles. He still had a large area left to finish. Somebody had fucked up and that somebody was Phil, his boss. Swearing at the loss of time, he pulled the hose from the nail gun and climbed down the ladder. He slid the nail gun into it's case and turned off the compressor. He wiped his face again and looked around for the hose. It was about 90 degrees in the San Fernando valley, but at least 130 up on that black roof. He didn't relish the idea of going back up there. What he needed was a nice tile roof, maybe wood shingles.
 Bart turned on the hose and held it above his head. The cascade of cold water took his breath away. He stood under the cold shower for several minutes, before he realized that the woman of the house was standing in the picture window before him. He waved and shut off the water.
 "Mrs. Curtain!" he called. She waved and made her way to the front door.
 "Hi Bart," she said, giving his firm body the once-over. He realized that she was admiring his figure in the wet t-shirt. He didn't mind, constant work in the hot sun tended to harden his body, in the summer months at least. Roofers didn't work in the winter, hot weather was needed to melt the tar strip which held the shingles into place.
 "Can I use your cordless?"
 "Sure, Bart. Do you want to come in?"
 "Not dripping, I don't," he laughed, shaking some of the water out of his long hair, then flinging it back over his shoulder.
 "Oh, don't worry about it, come on in," she insisted, holding the door open. Bart reluctantly skipped inside, then stood dripping on the rug. She reached behind her nearly perfect ass and yanked a towel off a shelf, then handed it to him, while glancing at his body again. Bart dried his hair, while following the sway of Mrs. Curtain's hips with his eyes, as she went to the phone, standing on the table.
 She had been hitting on him since the day he arrived. Normally he wouldn't mind, sex tended to lessen the complaints of a customer. He didn't mind call-backs if they were for sex. She was about 35 years old, rich, and had a great figure. Under normal circumstances he would have been sniffing around that lush ass of hers like a fox terrier. But he had a fine woman waiting at home, and he didn't want to fuck that up.
 Bart finished drying his hair and tossed the towel into the open washer with a practiced basketball toss. He looked down at himself in disgust. Roofers wore levis to withstand the sharp gravel in the shingles, and most of all the heat. His levis had lasted out the season, and seen better days. They were threadbare and saturated with tar. Mrs. Curtain, on the other hand, was dressed in shorts and a white sleeveless blouse which was tied above the waist. The top three buttons were open, one more than had been open when she went for the phone, he observed. Only her white, lacey bra contained that mammoth pair of fine looking breasts, which bounced as she walked. His eyes remained fixed on those breasts as she approached. She held out the white cordless phone and he took it absently, then pried his eyes away from her chest. She had a slight smile on her face.
 He dialed, while looking around the room in order to resist the temptation to stare. It didn't work. His eyes automatically returned to her breasts as she moved, and they jiggled.
 "Yeah," Phil said in a foul mood.
 "Boss, I need more shingle."
 "Where are you?"
 "Where am I? I'm on the Curtain job," Bart said in disgust.
 "You're still there?"
 "Yes I'm still here, and I need more shingles."
 "Shit, you should have had more than enough. How many do you need?"
 "One square, maybe a bit more," Bart said as he watched Mrs. Curtain slide her hand into her shirt and absently rub the cleavage between her breasts. Bart felt his cock hardening in his pants. She probably wasn't doing it to tease him, it was just an absent gesture.
 "Fifteen year, double tabs," Bart reminded him as he watched Mrs. Curtain's breasts bulge and vibrate around her hand. He was so close he could almost smell them. What a pair of breast. And as far as he could tell, her husband was gay. What a horrible waste of a good woman.
 "The truck is going to Del Rio the first thing in the morning," Phil said in a distracted manner, "I will have them drop a few off. You have enough to last out the day?"
 Bart started to say no, then thought better of it. "Sure, as long as the truck shows up early."
 "It will. Finish the shingles and clean that job sight before you leave. I want you out of there by tomorrow night."