Christmas Cleaning
Above the noise of the pressure-wash machine that I was using to clean the tiles in our yard, I heard the voice of our neighbour, Deniece.
"It must be nice having someone like you around at Christmas time. I really like your spirit, the way you tackle chores, not like these two lazybones over here," she said, followed by an amused chuckle.
The lazybones she was referring to would be her husband, and her older son, Josh. Directly after graduating high school Josh had begun working in his father's small business. Though they worked a regular eight-hour day, I'd never seen either of them doing any work to the house or yard when they were at home. Anything needed doing was done by hired help. I had known Josh since primary school and was delighted when his family bought the house next door four years ago. Since then, we had become best buddies. Unlike Josh, after high school, I had chosen to attend a technical institution for studies in electrical engineering, instead of taking a job. On that day I was at home due to exams going on.
"You look like you are good at anything you put your mind and hands to. Your mom is lucky. I'll have to ask her to lend you out to me during the holidays. I'm sure you would gladly help me with a few chores," she added in her peculiar, slow, soft drawl, eyes searching mine for confirmation.
Those words were probably just meaningless neighbour jesting. But on the other hand, they could have been cleverly put together to convey a subtle message. I decided in my mind, that it was the latter. This was due mainly to a particular incident that had occurred a couple of months ago, which was still fresh in my mind. That and the little smiles and lingering looks she had been giving me of late. On the day of the above-mentioned incident, I had gone over to collect a book from Josh, and was standing just outside their front door, waiting for him to bring it, when Deniece appeared from inside the house.
"What a nice shirt; I wish Josh had your taste in clothes. This would look good on him, I think. Where did you buy it, Gerald?" she asked.
She looked admiringly at the blue muscle shirt I had recently bought and was wearing for the first time.
"Amazon, they have it in many colors" I said, feeling pleased that she was admiring my shirt.
She stepped forward and placed her open palm on my chest, running it slowly down to my stomach, testing the feel of the fabric.
"It feels so soft and nice; I'll look it up tonight and get him a couple,"
She raised her hand to my chest again.
"They're neither too thick, nor thin," she said.
"Just like you," I blurted out.
"Oh, damn, I'm sorry ... I don't know where that came from," I added hastily, forcing a troubled smile.
She smiled back. "It came from a good place, I'm sure ... nothing to worry about, only I heard that, and I'm not a snitch ... but one thing ... I am, a lot thick." she assured me, in a jovial manner, doing a little spin around and offering my eyes an appraising look at her, indeed, generously thick body in tight shorts.
We both smiled like there was suddenly a sweet secret between us.
Her hand moved back to my chest testing the fabric. And as her thumb and forefinger lifted the moisture wicking material, they somehow managed to grip my nipple and drag it up. forcing a gasp out of me.
As if she was the one being pinched, she cried out:
"Ouch! clumsy me ... I'm sorry."
We both chuckled, simultaneously.
"I didn't do it deliberately ... you understand, Gerald," she said, a concerned look on her face.
But her light-brown eyes, twinkled mischievously, belying those words. Also, I had felt the brief search of her fingers to locate the nipple - It was deliberate, but I didn't mind, I liked it, and over the years I had observed what a playful person she was. I thought her apology was due to the intimate nature of that brief playfulness. She must have suddenly realized that it was a tactless mistake that could send the wrong message. We heard Josh approaching and she walked out into the yard.
Deniece was light skinned; what you would call a redbone ... she was multi mixed; a little bit of this, a little bit of that ... Black, Portuguese, East Indian and Indigenous Indian, and was as thick as a fatted Christmas pig. I had been carrying a torch for the incredibly luscious, and sexy woman for a couple of years, but had kept it in check because of my friendship with her son and her status as a married woman. Also, she and my mom had become good friends over the years.
As I stood there in the yard, washer spout in hand, digesting both her words and the body of thickness wrapped in a thin, figure hugging, sleeveless, white dress that stopped a good six inches short of her knees, and having concluded that the lovely lady was flirting with me, I decided I owed it to myself to test the waters. I was no coward, and loyalty has its limits.
"It's nice having someone like you around at Christmas time too ... you brighten up the place more than any Christmas lights, Miss Deniece ... You're nice to look at ... so beautiful."
Not the best of lines, but honest and it was all I could think of at such short notice. She literally jumped, obviously startled by my flattering words.
"Oh, my, thank you; that is so sweet ... you just made my day." She said, blushing severely.
"I hope I can continue to do so as the days go by ... it would please me so much, knowing that I'm pleasing you." I said, thinking it a better line than the previous one, with a subtle hint at my feelings for her
She laughed.
"Are you being mannish, with me young man ... yuh making a pass at me?" she asked, playfully, laughter in her eyes.
Mannish was the local, folk equivalent of being fresh or forward.
"Not really, I just bein' honest ... I like you," I said.
"Only kidding, ah know what yuh mean ... and I like you, too, Gerald ... I like your honesty ... and bravery ... I gon check what ah need help with and I'll ask your mom to lend me your strong arms."
"No problem, anytime you need help with anything, whether house cleaning or any other chore, just let me know and I will be only too happy to be of service to you." I declared.
"Thanks," she said, licking her lips through a little amused smile.
As she turned to walk away, I playfully turned the hose in her direction, spurting water close to her feet. With a little joyful screech, she nimbly skipped away. A few minutes later, when she was passing back, I aimed a line of water, chest high, directly across her path, causing her to stop. After a moment's hesitation, she ducked under the water, but I quickly reduced the force and widened the spray, so it wouldn't sting much, and let it hit her chubby backside when she was at a distance where it wouldn't do much more than wet her dress. She screeched again and spun around.
"Boy, why yuh so playful ... suppose I take off this dress and hand it to you to dry and iron?"
