Chapter 4
The day started out in fine fashion and Jett felt like a king. His aunt had fixed them a whopping breakfast of eggs and potatoes and sausage and juice and coffee and gave both Jett and his uncle a big lunch to take with them. The two girls giggled and flirted coyly with him across the breakfast table, and the fifteen-year-old had worn a minidress that was short enough to show her panties in the back if she bent over at all. She made sure that Jett saw them.
As he went out the door, his aunt had the opportunity to squeeze his arm and say, "I'll think about you this afternoon. And tonight, don't lock your door. If Luke falls asleep early I'll come in to see you for a while."
With that promise echoing in his mind and the excitement of his first job buoying him up, Jett greeted the world with a big smile.
"You look fat and sassy," said his uncle when they got in the car. "A night's sleep perked you right up."
"I sure was tired last night," admitted Jett. "But when I woke up this morning I was back to normal again," he added, thinking of the towering erection he had found when he opened his eyes.
"How's your father?"
"Fine. He said to give you his regards and ask you to come to see him when you could."
"I guess it's as hard for me to get away from the garage as it is for him to leave the farm," the stocky man said musingly. "Still, we ought to get together once in a while. It's been too long now." He paused. "What'd he think about you coming here this way?"
"He didn't like it." Jett flushed. "But he saw I had to do it, so he didn't try to stand in my way."
"He's a good head, old Paul is," Luke said affectionately of his brother. "The garage isn't too far, about a twenty-minute drive. Will that old car of yours run at all?"
"Some. It's in pretty bad shape, though."
"If you can nurse it over to the garage you can work on it after hours, if you want. Got all the equipment there. You can tear it down, turn the crankshaft, rebore it, all that, get it in real shape. Be hard as hell to find any new parts for it, though. Might not be too good an idea to fool with it at all."
"I'd like to, anyway."
"Be a test of your skill, all right," said Luke wryly.
"Is the garage anywhere near Dave's place?" Jett's brother was larger in his mind this morning.
"No. He's clear across town. You'd like to see him, eh?"
"Been two years now." It had been that long since his older brother had come to the city to seek his fortune, too. "Do you see him often?"
"Not much. We've had him and Edith over for supper a time or two, but he works late a lot."
"I guess he's doing good?" It was more of a question than a statement. Jett had wondered how Dave had been doing. He'd understood from the letters that Dave had written home that he was doing well, and hoped to verify it through his uncle. He tensed till the answer came, and then relaxed, sure indeed that he had done the right thing in coming to the city.
"Making money like it was growing in his backyard. Got a big new car and even bought a house already. He's a real sharp boy!"
"Golly!"
"Works a lot of hours, though. Don't envy him at all! Something I could never do." When he shook his head, the bushy mustache waggled.
"He said he was in electrical equipment," said Jett questioningly, wishing he knew more about what his apparently so successful brother was doing.
"Yeah," his uncle replied laconically. "Peddles vacuum cleaners."
"Sweepers?" he was a little shocked, although he wasn't sure why. He just couldn't visualize his brother as a house-to-house salesman.
"Peddles them door-to-door. Making a fortune. Got a real smooth line, that boy, a real style to him. I could never do it." He grunted. "We invited him over for supper one night and afterwards we got to talking and I said, sure, I'd like to see what kind of sweeper he was peddling. He brought one in from the car and, sure enough, after about a half-an-hour me and the missus had a brand-new sweeper and Dave had a fat wad of my cash in his pocket. He like to have hypnotized us with his words."
He shook his head. "He's slick, that boy. If I had his line and his gall I'd be worth a fortune today myself. Not everybody can do it, though."
I "You say he works late a lot?"
"Most evenings. He likes to put on his demonstrations when both the wife and husband are there. Says it's a more solid deal. Tell you what, we'll call him tonight, late, and maybe we can get him and Edith to come over this weekend-or else we can all drive over there. Got a real nice place, he has."
Jett sighed contentedly. So there were fortunes to be made in the city! In two years his brother had done real well. Well, that showed it could be done, and made him more sure than ever that he, too, would soon be making money as if it was growing in his backyard.
The garage was already open and running when they got there, and Luke started Jett right into the swing of it. There was a brake reline job on a Chevrolet, and he put Jett on it after introducing him to the other men. Luke had a busy garage in a good location, and usually kept three or four mechanics busy beside himself, he said, and there was also one young fellow who mostly chased parts and fixed tires and did a lot of the little nuisance jobs that came along.
The girl in the office worked part-time, five hours a day, but did all the billing, kept the books and answered the phone. Jett saw her only through the glass partition around the office, from the waist up, but even that view made his eyes widen and his heart pound. She was a pretty girl who didn't look much older than he, and who dressed in a tight sweater that sure looked like it didn't have anything under it but the nicest, biggest pair of tits he'd ever seen, and that's what had made his eyes widen. Her bust was a good forty or forty-two inches, with tits like huge, pointed melons. As she walked around the office they jiggled provocatively, pointing up and out like torpedoes, and he could feel his body respond, feel the sudden tension in his groin. His uncle saw where he was looking and sighed.
"Would you, son?" he asked with a knowing grin.
Jett flushed. "She's a looker. I guess I would if got the chance."
"Well, that's not unheard-of," said Uncle Luke with a wry smile. "I understand from the boys that she used to put out. But she's got a steady fellow now and, anyway, she doesn't like greaserack jockeys." He paused. "If you try, make it after hours. I got a garage to run."
The morning passed quickly and it was nearly lunchtime when Jett was called to the office by his uncle. A slim woman in a tailored suit was standing by the door. She looked as if she were in her middle thirties, and when her eyes met Jett's it was with an alarming directness. She had even features and clear blue eyes that scanned him slowly from his crop of tight-curled red hair to his size twelve shoes with a discernible pause as she studied the prominent bulge in his tight levis at the juncture of his thighs.
"This is Doc Edmunds' wife," explained Uncle Luke. "He has all the work done on his cars here. He left the Chrysler here yesterday for a tune-up and she's come to get it now. You go back with her and she'll give you a check for the work done."
He paused, then cautioned, "It's not far, but watch the roads, boy, so you'll find your way back okay."
"How will I get back, Uncle Luke?"
"Motor scooter. Fastened on the back bumper of the Chrysler already. When you get there, just cut her loose and come on back."
When they got in the car, Mrs. Edmunds smiled at him. "Your uncle thinks highly of you. Says you're a real fine boy."
"Why, that's nice of him. And thank you for telling me, ma'am."
"He tells me you've come to the city to seek your fortune." Her mouth was crooked in an odd little smile.
"Why, yes. They say this is where the opportunities are and so I've come to try and find one for myself."
"An opportunity, you mean?"
"Why, yes. And I hope that coming to the city will mean my getting ahead. Like my brother did."
"He's done well in the city, then?"
"He has. He's done real good."
"Well, I'm sure you will too." She looked at him archly. "You must remember to be alert."
"Alert?"
"Yes. Be ready to seize opportunity wherever and whenever you find it. Grasp it firmly when it's there before you." She smiled that odd little smile again. "I don't really think you'll have any trouble."
"I hope not, ma'am."
"You're a good-looking boy." She glanced over at him from behind the steering wheel. "You're going to be working a while for your uncle, then?"
"Well, I don't know just how long. It was swell of him to give me a start, anyway."
"I'm glad. I hope you stay a little while, anyway. I like you. I can tell right away whether I'm going to like someone or not, and I like you, Jett."
"Thank you, Mrs. Edmunds."
"I hope I see a lot of you, Jett. You're a good-looking boy. I've got a son in high school and you remind me a lot of him. Although he's not nearly as big as you. How tall are you, Jett?"
"Six feet two, ma'am."
"I thought you were at least that tall. My husband's only five foot six," she said confidentially. "With my heels on I'm taller than he is. That's why I almost never wear heels. Men like to have women that look up to them. And women like to be able to look up to a man." She glanced over at him again.
"You don't mind if L rattle on like this, do you? I chatter quite freely with somebody I like, and I like you."
"I don't mind at all," he said, but he felt a bit uncomfortable and he stirred in the seat.
"You've got enormous shoulders. I'll bet you weigh over two hundred pounds, don't you?"
"Just about that, I guess," he said cautiously. "It's been some time since I weighed myself."
"You've got a real nice build. I like men with nice builds."
"Why, thank you."
"Please don't keep saying thank you. I'm not trying to flatter you or anything like that, anyway. I'm just commenting on your looks. You're really quite a good-looking boy. I like the way your pants fit. You've got athletic-looking legs, like a runner. I'll bet you've got a lot of stamina. How old are you, Jett?"
"Eighteen."
"Fancy that," she murmured, pulling the car into a broad, asphalted driveway. "Well, here we are. Come in with me while I make out a check for your uncle."
In the living room she slipped out of the jacket of her suit and threw it on a chair. Her blouse was white and filmy enough for her bra to show through. She had delightful breasts, pulled up and out by her bra, and a narrow waist above a flat tummy and flaring hips. Her skirt was several inches above the knee, and as Jett looked at her he found it hard to believe that she was old enough to have a son nearly his age.
"Do you like this house?"
"It's real nice." And it was. The living room was furnished in Italian provincial, and a huge fireplace took up almost one complete wall.
"Come on with me. I'll show you the rest of the house. My checkbook's in the other room, anyway."
She waited till he was almost alongside of her, and she tilted her head back and smiled up at him.
"You're a lot taller than my husband. It's a lot of fun looking up at you."
Jett gulped and said nothing. When she turned, he followed her, but not too closely. From a couple of paces behind her he had a better view of the provocative sway of her hips as she walked.
"Roger had a lot to do with designing the house," she rattled on. "He's quite artistic. He worked very closely with the architect, deciding on what materials to use-fieldstone in the rec room fireplace, cedar shakes for the roof, thermopane windows-I was just out of my mind the way they keep tossing all those strange terms around. But it was exciting for him till it was done and gave him something to take his mind off his work. Here's the master bedroom."
She pushed the door back and led the way into the huge room. "Roger calls it the playroom." She giggled. "He's a gynecologist and he's busy all the time. He's an intellectual, too." She paused. "They're really not the best kind of men for women to be married to. You know, the intellectual, professional type. The more time a man puts into his profession and into his thoughts the less he has for his woman, and that's hell if she's the down-to-earth emotional type like me. Come on in. My checkbook's over here."
She walked over to the dresser against the far wall and wrote out a check for him. He gulped, and came in to stand in the center of the room. After finishing the check she laid the pen down, raised her head, and continued brightly: "I suppose you're wondering why it's decorated like this. Well, Roger says he has a hard time getting stirred up about sex. I mean, well, after all, it's his job to look at women's bottoms and insides. I tease him about feeling women's cunts all day, but he says it's all so clinical that it takes all the joy right out of it. I know it has for me. You'd think after seeing women's vaginas all day he'd come home all stirred up and anxious to get me in bed, but, no, he'd just as soon not be bothered." She sighed and her eyes seemed dark and sad.
"Anyway, that's why this room is the way it is. Roger won't have any white in it at all. He's planned everything for effect. He says it's the only way he can get aroused at all, and that's not saying much." She giggled, looking at the swelling in his pants.
"And from the hard-on you're starting to get, it looks like it's getting to you, too."