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Help!
Mason just showed up here to help me paint.
I wait for his reply.
Tell him to fuck off.
I smile. Good answer.
I can’t. He’s being helpful and nice.
I see the dots bouncing.
My foot up his ass will also be helpful and nice.
I giggle and reply.
I didn’t realize you had a foot fetish.
I wait for a reply, but one doesn’t come.
Okay, at least he knows why Mason is here now. I feel better about it, having told him. I get back to painting, and just like he promised, Mason comes back. He’s wearing shorts only: biceps and abs for days.
What the hell? He’s cut like the Hulk. All that special-ops training sure pays off.
“Couldn’t find an old T-shirt, so I guess it’s skin.” He throws me a sexy wink.
Nice.
I’ve got to give it to him, that’s pretty smooth.
“Well then”—I smile as I go back to painting—“skin works for me.”
“Skin always works for me too,” he says. “Maybe you should paint in your underwear?”
I giggle. “Oh, you’d like that?” I tease.
“I would, actually.”
You are never seeing me naked; I look like a jellyfish compared to you.
“White, eh?” Mason says as he pours some paint into his paint tray.
“Yeah, I am trying to make it all fresh and classic,” I reply.
“I love this old house.”
“Me too. So tell me about your work,” I ask him as I paint.
“I’m a Navy SEAL.”
“Have you always wanted to do that?”
“Pretty much. I loved scuba diving and the ocean when I was young, appreciated discipline, and loved to train hard.”
I can see that.
“Those things kind of went together,” he adds.
