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Thank you for all of the positive responses that I’ve received in regards to my first story. It has given me the confidence to continue writing. I find that using the dating profile summary adds something unique to my stories, it also helps in updating anything that has changed in the characters life. Any spelling and grammatical errors are solely on me. All characters are 18 years of age or older.
Name: Emma Chalmers
Occupation: Grade 12 Graduate/Aspiring Carpenter
Age: 18 (Aquarius)
Body Type: Petite/Toned, 5’0″, 145 lbs
Hair / Eyes: Red / Green
Relationship Status: Single
Heritage: Irish, Scottish, Welsh
I feel that I didn’t do the greatest job in describing my physical attributes/description the first time around, so here is a little bit more information. I’ll start from the top and work my way down. I have long auburn hair that goes just below my shoulders and I usually have it styled in a ponytail. When it comes to my facial features, I would say that I’m average in the looks department. I’m not ugly, nor am I a classic beauty, I’m more of a girl next door. My facial features that do stand out are my bright green eyes and the light dusting of freckles over my nose and upper cheeks. When it comes to my body, I’m short in height and petite in build. I workout every other day, so my physique is somewhat toned. My body measurements are 32B-25-34.
“Don, you promised that we would finish the renovation together!” I said placing my hands on my hips showing my frustration. My stepdad and I had worked for the past month on tearing apart and remodeling my stepsister’s old room. We had to gut the entire room and start from scratch, and even after a month, there seemed to be a fair amount of work still left to do.
To make a long story short, my stepsister Alyssa didn’t leave the house on the best of terms. She had a difficult time coping with the news of her father’s pending new marriage, her new stepmother’s pregnancy, and the addition of said stepmother and me into her household.
When the wedding day arrived, Alyssa was a no-show. When my parents and I returned home later in the day, we found the house in complete disarray. No room in the house had been safe from her rampage, almost every room had at least one or more items either broken or knocked over. Her room had taken the full brunt of her rage. She had taken a sledgehammer to each wall, making sure that there was at least 3 to 4 holes per wall. There was also major damage done to the electrical outlets, so much so that Don was surprised that an electrical fire hadn’t started.
That had happened five months ago and the household is still in the process of settling down. It has been a slow process as both my mother and stepfather always seem to be on the go. My mother is in the process of delicately balancing both her career as a legal secretary and entering the sixth month of her pregnancy. My stepfather bounces between building sites, his house building company is helping to expand a subdivision on our city. Yet even with all of his work, he still finds time to help me with the renovation of my new room.
Breaking my train of thought, Don explained his reasoning for leaving our work in progress project. “Emma, I need to attend this trade show. It is vital in obtaining new contacts and potential jobs for the company and besides, it is only for one week. You’ve learned enough over the past month, that I know that you can continue the job on your own. In your downtime don’t forget to read those carpentry and workplace safety textbooks that I bought for you, I need to know that your competent enough to step onto the job site later this summer.
I hate losing arguments, but he was right. I had learned a lot about basic construction. In just a month I had learned how to frame walls, install insulation and vapor barriers, and finish up with the drywall. The remaining items on the list involved painting the room, installing the click lock hardwood flooring, and the baseboards. I chose the click lock flooring because of how it reminded me of the fun that I had playing with lego and it is also waterproof. (Easier to clean up, just in case I decided to squirt all over my floor again, which is how I got into this mess in the first place)
Don helped me with the measurements and the cutting of the wood that I would need in order to install the subfloor. He also drew a rough layout of what the subfloor should look like when it was finished. It looked good on paper, but I had my doubts about whether I would be able to get it done right, only time would tell. The rest of the day and evening went by smoothly, I read a few chapters in each textbook and caught up on a few of my favorite tv shows. I decided that the best course of action was an early bedtime, I wanted to start the week Kıbrıs Escort off fresh and well rested. Before bed, I set out a rough plan for the week ahead on my whiteboard.
Monday – install the subfloor
Tuesday – paint room
Wednesday – paint touch-up and plan flooring design
Thursday & Friday – install click lock flooring
It looked like a tall task, but I wanted to prove to my stepdad that his faith was well placed. I have to show that I can complete a task that is lined out for me. After all, I do have a mid-summer job within reach and maybe a potential career, if I play my cards right. I quickly changed into my pajamas and then flopped down onto my makeshift couch-bed, and tried to get some sleep. Sleep was sporadic at best, it is hard to make a 10-year-old couch comfortable.
I awoke to the sound of my cell phone alarm buzzing. I reached for it with my eyes still closed, dreading to see the time. I slowly opened my eyes, trying not to blind myself with the glare of the backlight. The digital clock ticked over to 6:31 am. (Fuck me, did I really set it that early?)
I rolled myself into a seated position and tried to work the kinks out of my body, my lower back tightened in response. (Mental note, invest in a heating pad) I got up off of the couch and headed up the stairs to the kitchen. I needed some liquid motivation in the form of coffee. I grabbed a clean mug and placed it under our single serve coffee machine. I chose the strongest flavored cup, placed it into the machine and pressed the brew button. The kitchen slowly filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, I paced back and forth across the floor of the kitchen impatiently waiting for the machine to finish.
I grabbed the steaming hot cup of coffee and headed downstairs. I took a few sips of the bitter liquid, each sip both warming my body and jump-starting my brain. I placed the cup down on the nearest counter and then set up my yoga mat on the floor. Over the next half an hour, I alternated between drinking my coffee and various yoga poses. Once the balance of being fully caffeinated and stretched was achieved, I got up off of the floor and changed into a crappy t-shirt and an equally crappy pair of sweatpants, no sense in destroying good clothing.
I put my steel-toed boots on and entered chez Emma. I taped the roughly drawn subfloor layout to the window and then laid out the tools and materials that I would need for the job. Over the course of the next 3 to 4 hours, I laid and nailed each wooden board into place, taking little glances from time to time at the layout. I finished the framing and then took a break for lunch.
During the lunch break, I sent a few text messages and photos to my stepdad. He responded with a few tips, but he was ultimately pleased with my work and gave me the thumbs-up emoji for approval. It took me the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening to finish covering the subfloor framing with the plywood covering. I could have completed it quicker, but I decided to take a safer and slower approach. When I was finally satisfied with my work, I took a step back and surveyed my handiwork. I snapped a few photos, sent them to my stepdad and then turned out the lights.
When my mother got home from work, I gave her a tour of the work-in-progress and then I helped her with dinner. After dinner, I spent a few hours of quality time with my mom before she decided to call it a night. I checked my cell phone for new text messages and I was happy to see another thumbs-up emoji from my stepdad in regards to the completed subfloor.
I dragged my tired teenage body down the stairs and sat down on the couch to read a few chapters from my textbooks. I stopped reading when my vision started to blur and then I got ready for bed. I took a few painkillers to help ease my tired and achy muscles. It worked like a charm, as sleep came easier than the night before.
Tuesday morning arrived with more aches and pains than the prior morning. I followed the same morning routine of coffee and yoga, except this morning required more stretching than the day before. I picked an even crappier t-shirt and sweatpants combo as it was paint day. (Hooray for paint day, not really, but it needs to get done) I guess that I could have gone with a painters suit, but I didn’t feel like wearing a body condom.
I placed a tarp over the subfloor and then set out the paint supplies for the job ahead. I opened up the first can of paint, mixed it up and poured it into the paint roller tray. I took the paint roller and started to paint the walls of the bedroom. My original plan involved using a ladder, but I ruled that option out quickly as I’m very accident prone. Painting the first wall was a breeze, but halfway through the second wall my arms and neck really started to cramp. I normally don’t care about my height, but this is where being just a few Kıbrıs Escort Bayan inches taller would have come in handy.
I let out a sigh of relief as I rolled the paint over the last bare patch of the second wall. I did a couple of stretches to ease the tension in my neck, shoulders, and arms. It was time for a well-deserved break. I walked upstairs to the kitchen to get a drink and to sit down for a little rest. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat down at the kitchen table. I looked at the clock on the wall and realized that it was almost noon hour, I’d been painting nonstop for a good 4 to 5 hours. I finished my bottle of water and reach for my cell phone to check for any text messages.
There were a couple of text messages from my stepdad asking about the days progress, one message from my mom letting me know that she was going to be working late and a message from a new number. I tapped the screen to look at the message from the new number.
***Emma, its Sara. I haven’t heard from you since you stopped in at the store, are you enjoying your toys?***
I re-read the message again before starting to compose a reply text message. I thought about the black plastic bag hiding the sex toys that I had purchased a month earlier and how they must be burning a hole through the floor of my closet.
Me: Hi, Sara. I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten back to you. I’ve been busy renovating my new bedroom, I’m using the toys as a reward for when I’m finished.
Sara: You’ve gone an entire month without even a peek at the inside of the bag, aren’t you at least a little bit curious about what is inside?
Me: Of course I’m curious, I just don’t have as much privacy as I would like at the moment. My old room is a mess and my new room is a work in progress.
Sara: You can always come over to my house and give those toys a trial run. I can teach you how to use them.
I didn’t know how to respond to her last text message. Was she being serious or just joking around, I’ve always masturbated in private, it was just a fluke that my stepdad had caught me in the act. Sara didn’t give me a chance to reply, she immediately followed up with another message.
Sara: That was meant to be a joke, no need to go silent on me. You can experiment with the toys at your own pace. It sounds like you can use a break from the renovation, why don’t you come over and relax in the pool. I’m also keen on you teaching me some yoga.
I really wanted to get all of the painting done today, but my head and neck still felt tense. Fuck it, I’ll finish painting tomorrow. I quickly sent a reply text message to both my stepdad and my mom, then replied to Sara.
Me: I’ll be over shortly. I just have to eat lunch and pack a few things.
Sara: Just pack your things, I’m making my lunch right now, I will make an extra portion.
That was the best thing that I’d read all day, I’m not the greatest cook. My plan was to have a bowl of cereal because you can’t burn cereal. I stripped from my painting clothes, took a quick sponge bath and then got into a pair of my workout clothes. I grabbed my backpack and loaded it with my swimwear, a couple of bottles of water and a change of clean clothes for afterward. I strapped a couple of yoga mats to my backpack, it made me look like a sherpa, but at least it was lightweight.
I flipped a coin between using rollerblades or my bike. Rollerblades won, mostly because drivers in my city never seem to stop for cyclists at least this has been my experience. Rollerblades also won because they help me keep my butt toned, I love getting the head turns from others as I skate by them. My small toned curvy butt in a tight pair of yoga pants, who can blame them for looking. It could also be the fact that when I workout it is always in a sports bra instead of a t-shirt.
I have a bad habit of leaving windows and doors unlocked and leaving lights left on, so I did a quick check around the house before locking up. I try to avoid the repeating lectures about the security of the house and the conservation of energy. I put my backpack on and fastened my rollerblades and then set off on my journey to Sara’s house.
I quickly checked the maps app on my cell phone to refresh my memory, as it had been quite a while since I’d set foot at the Linden household. It turns out that using my bike would have been quicker as I had forgotten how far away Sara’s house was when compared to my own house.
Cycling it would have taken 10 to 15 minutes depending on traffic, rollerblading was going to take me closer to 20 to 25 minutes. I find that music helps the time fly by faster, so I put my earbuds in and loaded up my summer playlist. I took slow strides at first but gradually worked my way into a good skating pace. I hit a few delays due to lunch hour traffic, but I eventually made it to Sara’s neighborhood in a reasonable 18 minutes.
Sara lives in an older Escort Kıbrıs section of the city where the houses and yards tend to be larger and more spacious. Whereas my neighborhood is in a newer section of the city with a more uniform take on urban planning. There are more houses, but they are smaller in size, I call it a cookie cutter neighborhood because every house follows the same basic design. The Linden house is a large two-story red brick rancher, their front yard is smaller than most of the houses in the neighborhood, but their backyard definitely makes up for it.
The backyard was built to host parties, there is a large wooden deck with a huge barbecue/grill and a full complement of patio tables and chairs with enough room for at least twenty people. There is also a large round gazebo just in case rain wants to ruin the party, but the best feature in their backyard is the enormous in-ground pool with a diving board and lounge chairs which are perfect for getting a good tan. It is basically the backyard that my dream house would have.
I entered the backyard via the side gate which is between the garage and the east side of the house. The front door is never used as an entrance, as it is actually a false door and purely for decoration. The standard procedure is to use the entrance in the backyard, there are two gates in which to use, one is near the garage at the front of the house and the other is via the alley that runs behind the house. The reason for the extra caution and security is that the neighborhood is prone to break-ins due to it being one of the wealthier areas in the city.
I walked up on to the deck just as Sara was coming out of the kitchen door with a couple of plates of food. Perfect timing on my part. I set my backpack down on the nearest patio chair and approached the patio table that Sara had set up for us to eat lunch at. Sara set the plates of food down and turned to look at me. She looked at me from head to toe, smiled and commented on my attire. “I know that the weather is hot, but the sports bra is little much don’t you think? You could have at least worn a shirt until you got here.”
(Jeez, I’m not even her daughter and she is mothering me)
I pulled out the nearest patio chair and sat down to see what Sara had prepared for lunch. It was a simple Summer lunch consisting of bite-sized club sandwiches, a bowl of Caesar salad, and a mixed fruit smoothie. Sara had also set aside a bottle of mixed berries flavored wine accompanied by two medium-sized wine goblets.
Sara said grace and then we both started to eat our meal. Partway through the meal, she popped the cork off of the bottle of wine and emptied the contents of the bottle between the two goblets. I don’t drink wine or alcohol very often, so this should be interesting. Over the course of the meal, our conversations ranged from the news of the day, then to general gossip, and then eventually settled on our lives in general.
Near the end of the meal, Sara abruptly changed the topic of discussion to a more personal matter. “So Emma, since your stepdad isn’t here, feel free to tell me the real reason for your visit to the sex store. I don’t believe for one minute that a smart girl like you would be tricked into entering a sex store unless you really are that naive.”
(For fucks sakes, what is this the Spanish Sexual Inquisition)
I could feel my cheeks blush in response to Sara’s unexpected question. I bit my lower lip, thought for a few seconds and then realized that there was no way out of this conversation. “How was I supposed to know that it was a sex store, the name sounded like it could be either a Greek religious store or a place to buy frozen yogurt. There were no posters or anything alluding that it could be an adult sex shop.”
Sara laughed and replied. “I don’t think that the city, nor the store owners in our plaza would look too highly on us if we decided to put a poster of a naked busty woman on the windows or a giant veiny cock as the store logo. It is supposed to look like a normal storefront so that customers don’t feel embarrassed about going inside. Our society still views sex stores as being taboo or something not culturally appropriate.”
I nodded, the redness in my face slowly subsiding. Sara continued. “You’ve heard the term brown paper bag before?” Sara asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “It has to do with someone hiding alcohol or hiding something that they don’t want others to see or observe.”
Sara nodded with approval at my response. “Making it look like a normal storefront is like putting a sex store in a brown paper bag,” Sara explained. “When we bag the customers’ purchases we use black plastic bags to hide the contents from prying eyes, we also ship our internet orders using just a tracking label and a normal looking cardboard box. It helps to reassure our customers that we respect their need for privacy and security, but also that it is okay to explore their sexuality, even if society seems to think differently about it.”
“You explained your reason for not knowing that it was a sex shop, but you’re still stalling at telling me the real reason behind your visit.” Sara said, a small smirk appearing in the corner of her mouth.
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