I opened the door and announced myself. I heard nothing, so I let myself in. The kitchen was to the right, but I stopped dead when I looked to the left. There, in the middle of their spacious living room, was Mrs. Shannon, asleep on the couch. Not just asleep, but topless. That’s right, topless.
I stood there, not ten feet away from her, unable to move. Her hair fell about her shoulders, one hand rested on her bare stomach. She wore jeans, and that was it. Her breasts-good god they were even better than I imagined-rose and fell with each breath.
I froze, the hair on my neck standing up as I tried to decide what to do. If she woke up right then I’d be in trouble, I knew that much. I thought I should probably leave quietly and come back later, but then she’d assume I was late and I’d be in trouble. Less trouble for sure, but trouble anyway.
Either way I could end up losing my job on the very first day, something I wanted to avoid. I could announce myself again, or step outside and ring the doorbell, even though she explicitly told me not to.
As I stood there thinking of possible actions I was aware of a stirring in my pants. I had fantasized about Mrs. Shannon for some time, so to see her topless like this was having a profound impact on me.
I found myself running through another series of thoughts, ones involving me and Mrs. Shannon. As I tried to figure out what to do I stared at her massive breasts, her nipples hard from the cool living room. I grinned, thinking of the show I was getting, but also worried that she might wake up any second.
She suddenly stirred slightly and I jumped. She exhaled softly and moved her hand, and then was still. The feelings of excitement and nervousness battled inside me and then I decided that I would never see a woman of this caliber like this again.
I set my paint cans down quietly, and cautiously walked closer. I was five or so feet away now. Her flat stomach rose and fell gently. I noted that she probably tanned in the nude, or at least topless, because she had no tanlines. I took as good a look as I could.
Then, just as quietly, I picked up my paint and headed into the kitchen. After all, I didn’t want to give the impression that I was late. I banged about, being deliberate in making noise as I set up. I even put my phone on the counter and played music through its external speakers. I figured that if she woke up and asked, I’d say I didn’t see her because I had headed straight to the kitchen.
I set up my brushes and rollers. I began edging, because I had painted my own house and had it down to a science. It was after seeing my handiwork that she hired me. And the thousand naira she was going to pay me was what had gotten me initially interested in the job.
Now, after seeing her breasts on display, I would have done it for free. I had run the first coat of edges and had started brushing the corners when something filled me with panic.
If Amy comes home, see her mother topless on the couch and see me painting, how will I explain myself?
“Nice work, Henry,” I heard from behind me. I jumped, almost dropping a paint-laden brush on the tiles.