The Handy ManChapter 11
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The journey to the hypermarket for a cheap new computer printer had been a complete waste of time and I was fed up that I'd wasted an afternoon. Being mid evening now, the bus was crowded and I had to stand for a while. But as we went through one small town a lot of people got off and I finally managed to get an empty seat.
This was early spring in the outskirts of Buenos Aires in Argentina and it was warm in the bus. I wished that I could get a window seat so at least I'd get the breeze from the open window, but the girl I'd ended up sitting next to had the window seat. She was leaning against the window looking either bored or miserable.
I looked out of the window again and as I did so, I saw a tear roll down her cheek.
"What's the matter?" I asked, in the best Spanish I could manage.
"Nothing," she answered sullenly, then bit her lip trying desperately not to cry any more and failing as more tears followed the first down her cheek.
"You know. They say a problem shared is a problem halved." By the puzzled reaction, I gather they either don't have that saying here or my translation of it was wrong. She still didn't say anything, but gave up trying to wipe her tears away.
"You'll never see me again, so why not tell me what's wrong?"
I was having to raise my voice above the noise of the bus, but at that moment we stopped at a level crossing and the driver stalled the engine, so my last two words sounded like a shout.
In the sudden comparative quiet, I heard her tummy rumble. She looked embarrassed.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
She cast her eyes down.
"Why don't I take you somewhere for some food? Then you can think about telling me what's wrong."
She replied simply, "No, thank you."
"I'm not going to rape you in a restaurant," I promised. "The owner wouldn't like it."
Almost a smile.
"Burger or pizza?" I asked her.
She thought for a long minute, then finally gave in. "Burger, please," she muttered.
By now we were getting into town and there were quite a few takeaways and restaurants.
"MacDonalds?" she asked, which I took as being encouraging as it was the first thing she'd said without me dragging it out of her.
If I live to be a hundred I shall never understand why so many Argentines love McDonalds. In a land where meat is king, (I'm sure that being vegetarian is probably against some law or other, ) there are so many parrilla restaurants serving fantastic steaks at a price you could only dream of in England, as well as others serving delicious home-made burgers, yet many crowd into their local McDonalds to eat their pre-packaged comparatively tasteless and often dried up version of a burger. But I didn't hold it against her. I'm sure she never knew what a sacrifice she was asking of me to eat at McDonalds.
She ate her burger so quickly that I insisted that she have another. She looked embarrassed, but finally picked it up and began to eat. (By the way if you're ever in a Spanish speaking country and hear the word embarazado, it doesn't mean a girl is embarrassed, although she might be, it means that she is pregnant. So if you're a guy and you're embarrassed don't say you're embarazado or they'll either piss themselves laughing at you or call the newspapers so you can sell your story.)
"How long is it since you last ate?" I asked her.
"Yesterday morning," she replied.
"Have you got a place to sleep tonight?"
She nodded. "I'm going to see my aunt in..." and she named a town not too far away.
When she'd finished her second burger, she got up to go. "Thank you," she said simply, then turned away looking like she was about to start crying again.
As she walked out of the door, I had the sudden impulse to call her back but I didn't even know her name, which shows how much we'd talked. I ran to the door, "Just a minute."
She looked panicky.
"It's okay. I just wanted to know your name."
"Oh." She actually smiled. "It's Dulcinea."
"Like you," I said. Dulcinea means sweet. Then I realised that I'd embarrassed her again.
She shook her head sadly and began to walk away.
"Dulcinea. I'm James. This is my number. Keep it. If you need help, please call me."
"I don't need help," she said, but all the same, she almost snatched it out of my hand and ran away. I didn't follow her.
I walked sadly to the bus station and caught my bus home. It felt even emptier than usual. I didn't even bother to check my emails, but read a book until my eyes hurt and then I went to sleep.
The next day passed like every other for the last year, that is slowly. I did the things I had to do, like get dressed, cook and eat and wished it was over. The morning had been hot, like most of the previous week, but in the afternoon there was a terrific thunderstorm and the temperature dropped a lot. By the evening it was actually quite cold.
About eight-thirty my phone rang. I picked it up, expecting another automated reminder to pay my phone bill, but instead I heard, "James?"
"Yes?" There was silence at the other end. "Dulcinea?"
"Yes." She sounded hesitant.
"What's wrong?"
Then I realised she was crying.
"Where are you?"
She told me she was at a service station not far from where we'd eaten the night before.
"I'll be there as soon as I can. Please stay where you are. I have to take a bus, so I may be an hour or two. Promise me you'll wait."
"I'll wait."
I had to wait ages for the bus and not for the first time I cursed the fact that I didn't have a car. Of course if I had a car, I wouldn't have met her yesterday anyway.
Finally it came and it seemed to take forever to get to the nearest stop to the service station. I jumped off and ran across the road. I couldn't see her anywhere. I checked in the toilets and everywhere. "Dulcinea?"
"James?" Her voice sounded weak.
I found her sitting behind the rubbish bins, shivering with the cold. I reached to pull her up and she shrank away from me.
"Dulcinea. It's me. What's happened?"
She struggled to her feet and I saw the top she was wearing was torn. She saw me looking and held it together with her hands. I took off my jacket and put it around her.
"Where's your bag?" I asked.
"They took it," she answered.
"The boys who tried to..." then she burst out crying.
"They didn't?"
"No." She shook her head. "They heard people coming so they left me, but they stole my bag."
"When?"
"Last night."
"You've been here since then? Why didn't you call me?"
"I didn't have any money. I didn't know what to do, so I hid here all night and all day. But when it turned cold I started begging. Nobody wanted to give me anything. Finally I went into the service station and asked if I could make a phone call. A man gave the cashier a peso to let me call you." She giggled. That sounded so good and I felt my heart twist. "I said you were my uncle."
"You must be starving. Let's get you something to eat."
We walked to a pizza libre, where, for a fixed price, you can eat as much pizza as you can handle. Both of us did pretty well. Of course they make their money on the drinks, so we shared a big bottle of coke.
I wanted her to relax and eat and feel better so it wasn't until we finished that I asked, "Why didn't you go to your aunt?"
She looked down at her plate. "I wasn't going to my aunt. I just said that."
"Why?"
She couldn't meet my eyes and I guessed.
"You thought I was trying to... ?" I didn't finish the question.
She nodded.
"So why call me now?"
"I didn't know who else to call."
I looked at the time. "Come on. We have to hurry or we'll miss the last bus."
"Where are we going?" she asked in a worried tone of voice.
"To my house." I could see her hesitate and tense up. "You got anywhere better to go tonight?"
"No."
"Come on then."
Of course we had to stand most of the way on the crowded last bus, but finally we stepped off and I held her hand as we walked to my house.
When we got into the light of my house I could see that even standing all that way had worn her out again.
"You're exhausted," I told her. "You need the bed."
She slipped off my jacket and her top hung open. I didn't want to look but I couldn't help seeing one of her boobs before she pulled the top to cover herself.
"I'll find you something to wear."
I found a bag with all my wife's nightwear in it and told her, "Choose what you like. You can change in the toilet, there."
I started working on the computer and didn't hear her return until she tapped me on the shoulder. "This okay?" she asked.
She'd chosen a little top and shorts pyjama set which made her look even younger. I didn't trust myself to answer so I nodded.
"Where do I sleep?"
I pointed to the bed and she suddenly looked even younger and frightened.
"Hey. It's okay. I'll sleep on the floor."
I turned off the computer and dragged a few spare pillows and a blanket onto the floor and lay down. "Good night, Dulcinea."
I couldn't get comfortable and I thought it's going to be a long night, when I hear her say, "James. I feel bad. I should be on the floor. It's your bed."
"No. It's okay."
"Get into bed. It's big enough for two."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"I trust you," she said simply.
"Thank you."
I wasn't sure that getting to sleep with her laying beside me was going to be much easier, but I was wrong.
I was woken by Dulcinea trying to climb over me to get out of bed.
"Good morning."
She ran to the toilet, then asked if there was a shower. I showed her the feeble excuse for a shower and left her to enjoy her shower.
Afterwards, she returned, still dressed in the pyjamas. I put the water on for another shower and said, "If you look through those cases you should find some clothes. You can get dressed while I have my shower when the water's warmed up."
I made us some coffee, which she took without milk, something I cannot get used to.
"Whose are all these clothes?" she asked.
"My wife's."
"You're married?"
"I was. She died six months ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too." Feeling a little awkward, I said, "Quite a bit will be too big for you, but you should find some stuff that'll be okay."
I think she was quite surprised at some of the clothes as I'd always tended to buy young-looking clothes for my wife, at least for her to wear when we were alone even if she wouldn't wear most of them if we went out.
"What plans have you got?" I asked her. "Have you got anywhere to go?"
She turned round and shook her head, then turned back to the cases and I saw her shaking. "Dulcinea?" I asked. She didn't answer. I didn't need to see her face to see that she was crying. I touched her on the shoulder. "Dulcinea?"
She turned to face me, tears running down her face. Suddenly she clung to me, sobbing into my shoulder. After an age she calmed down and said, "My name's not Dulcinea."
"You didn't want to tell your real name to a stranger? That's okay." I deliberately didn't ask her what her real name was, but I didn't have to.
"It's Esperanza," she said bitterly. Esperanza means hope.
"What's wrong with that?" I asked.
"I haven't any hope."
Realising that she was going to start crying again, I pulled away and said, "You're a pretty girl. There's always hope."
I went for my shower and called out to see if she was ready (i.e. decent).
She said yes and so I walked into the main room of the house to be greeted by lying on the bed in a black lacy body. "If I'm very good, can I stay here?" she asked. She patted the bed beside her.
I groaned. "You don't have to do that," I said. "You can stay. Now I'm going to a room I use as a storeroom. If you get dressed properly, you can help me make space for you. There's a bed in there under all my things."
"You don't want me to stay here, with you?"
I didn't answer her. I was trying not to look at a nipple almost poking through the lace. "When you're are dressed, turn right outside the front door and you'll see the other building. That where the storeroom is."
I left her quickly before I gave in to her oh-so-tempting offer.
I'd barely started on moving the things around in the storeroom when she joined me. She'd worn something more decent, but not much more. She'd chosen a short yellow skirt which just about covered her bum and a white vest top, which didn't actually show anything but which clung to her every curve. And, unusually for an Argentinean, she wasn't wearing a bra.
I knew she was teasing me and I wasn't going to rise to the bait. "If we pile this stuff on this side, there's a bed under here and enough space to bring in some other furniture if you need anything, a table and some chairs. I haven't a wardrobe at the moment, but I'll find some boxes to put your clothes in."
"I haven't any clothes," she pointed out.
"You can take what you want from my wife's clothes. She doesn't need them now." I felt my voice choke a little as I said it.
The bed was actually a built in bunk bed and she said, "How about if I store the clothes up here?"
"Okay, we'll put the boxes and stuff over here then. I'll get them down."
"It's okay. I'll pass them to you." With that she climbed on the bottom bunk and pulled herself up. As she passed me the things that were on the top bunk I tried, I really tried, to keep my eyes from looking up her skirt. At least she'd worn knickers, I thought. But the tight material only seemed to emphasise the tightness of her bum and that I could have her if I wanted.
When she climbed down I saw her glance at my erection. She pretended to ignore it but the next time she was turned towards me I noticed a smile of satisfaction.
I brought some hot water and we began to clean the room. It was filthy. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't realise it was this bad."
"I guess I didn't choose the best clothes for this, did I?" she said, looking down at the now grubby top and skirt.
"It doesn't matter."
"I'll wash them before they are ruined," she said. "And your clothes too."
As it was already hot this morning, I'd chosen a light green shirt simply because it was thin and cool with short sleeves. I'd picked some dark blue shorts with it, but the shirt was marked.
The washing machine was in the same building as the storeroom so I showed her where it was. I turned on the water heater. "There's also a toilet and shower here so you don't have to come over to my place just to use the toilet."
"You don't want me there," she said, sadly.
I picked up some bubbles from the now dirty cleaning water and put it on her nose. "Don't be silly. You can come when any time want to come. But if you wake up in the night you won't want to walk over there to use the toilet. And your own shower will give you some privacy."
"Okay," she said, but still looked sad.
I flicked some water at her. "Eww," she cried, "It's dirty." But at least she didn't look sad any more, so I splashed her again. She tried to splash me back, but I moved out of reach.
Some of her top was wet and it clung to her even more. "It's too hot to play," I said. "I'll get some clean water and we can finish the cleaning."
When I came back with some clean hot water she surprised me by throwing a whole bucket of cold water at me. Actually, being a sunny day, even the water from the tank wasn't very cold, but cold enough.
"You said you were hot," she teased and began to run away.
I caught her in a few seconds and pulled her back to me. She looked at me expectantly, then I scooped her up in my arms and began running.
"Where are we going?" she shrieked.
I ran round the back of the house and threw her unceremoniously in the pool.
"No!" she cried as I let her go, then jumped in myself. God, it was nice.
We splashed each other in the pool, dunking each other until we'd had enough.
She climbed out of the pool. She'd lost her loose skirt somewhere and her decent white knickers weren't so decent any more and the top was almost see-through.
She looked at me looking at her and grinned. "Can you give me the skirt?" she asked.
I found it floating and handed it to her. She ran off, laughing.
I found her back in her room, still cleaning and still wet through.
We finished the cleaning without another word and I brought bedding from the other house. She came to help me carry the cases of clothes. "I never knew there was another bed under this lot," she said.
"Yes. The house was a weekend cottage, that's why there's so many beds everywhere, but it hasn't been used for ages until I rented it."
She insisted on making the other bed, "because it looks better that way."
"Perhaps I could sleep here instead of in the other house?" she asked.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said. "you are too much temptation and you deserve to find someone of your own age."
"Nobody will want me," she said.
"Don't be silly," I snapped.
"It's true."
"Why?"
She hesitated, then said quietly, "I'm pregnant."
"Why didn't you say?"
"I knew you wouldn't want me if you knew."
"Don't be silly. But I wouldn't have let you do all that work if I'd known."
"I'm pregnant not disabled," she said. "Most mothers still have to run a house and look after the other children when they are pregnant. I don't think moving a few boxes is going to harm me." She laughed, then added, "or the baby."
"What happened to the father?" I asked.
"As soon as he found out he ran away. And my father threw me out. He's very Catholic."
"And that's when I found you?"
She nodded, then said, "So if you do want me, nobody will care. I can give you lots of children and do anything you want."
"I'm a bit old for children," I said and she looked sad again. "And I'm sure you're wrong. Someone will want a beautiful sexy girl who can drive them crazy."
She looked up at that, and smiled. "I drive you crazy?"
"Yes. Now I'm going to have a shower and change into some clean clothes. You can do the same. Then we can wash these clothes before they are ruined."
She left to go to the other house and I stood in the shower until it finally ran cold.
"What do I do with her?" I asked my wife, searching for inspiration.
When I went to the other house to show her the washing machine, she was dressed in a pair of trousers which were too big for her and a blouse which she'd tied below her boobs leaving her tummy bare and made her boobs almost fall out when she bent over.
"I know how to use a washing machine," she protested when I tried to help her.
She took her hand off the jeans and they began to fall down, so she pulled them back up.
But every time she had to move something with both hands they fell down again. And this time, I noticed, she'd picked a thong. Finally she grew inpatient and just left the jeans hang round her feet.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked.
"As you said," she grinned. "Driving you crazy."
"You do that anyway," I said. Then bent down to kiss her. She opened her mouth in expectation but I kissed her lightly on the nose. "We're gonna have to buy you some trousers which fit."
"Do we have to?" she asked.
"Yes," I said firmly. "And anyway, you'll need something you can wear if we go out."
"You want me to go out with you?"
"For a start we need to do some shopping and you should have a check-up from a doctor."
"Oh," she sounded disappointed.
"I need to work. When you finish this, find something that won't fall down and we'll go buy you some clothes."
"There are more clothes here than I've ever had in my whole life," she answered.
"Yes, but you need some trousers that fit you. My wife had bigger hips than you."
I went back to my computer and went through all my emails, telling myself not to get too attached to this girl. Too late, self replied.
She dressed in a respectable long skirt and a blouse, then we took the direct bus to Once, (pronounced On-Say), which is the cheapest area for clothes. On the way we got stuck in traffic, as usual, and I noticed that Esperanza was watching a group of schoolgirls waiting at the traffic lights. To my surprise, they were covered in what looked like eggs and flour.
"What's that for?" I asked her.
"Last day of school," she said with a sigh. "We write all over each other's blouses then have a big fight with eggs and flour and oil and ketchup. But I had to miss it because my father wouldn't let me go back."
"Well look on the bright side," I said, "at least you missed all that."
"I didn't want to miss it," she said. "It's a crazy way to end school, trashing your uniform because you're not a schoolgirl any more. At my school, some of them even go back afterwards in their gym kit and have a water and mud fight to ruin that as well."
The only disadvantage to Once is that quite often the quality isn't that good and also most shops don't have somewhere you can try things on. She said she was fine for tops and blouses, and even found some dresses she liked in my wife's stuff, but didn't have any trousers and most of the shorts and skirts were too big for her too. She also wanted some underwear.
She took me to a tiny little café for lunch, which was dirt cheap and served enormous burgers and milk shakes.
She went to the toilets and came back in a pair of white trousers and a crop top, though she wasn't brave enough to wear it without a bra, I noticed. She bought one of those bra with invisible plastic straps. The white trousers stopped not far below her knees and were tight enough to have been painted on.
"They look a bit tight for you," I commented.
"They're supposed to be. I noticed you liked me all wet, so I got these for you."
"Don't tell me. To drive me crazy."
"Yup," she said happily.
"You don't need to buy them to do that," I told her. We started eating and halfway through I said, "I quite like the idea of you as a schoolgirl."
She grinned. "I could dress up as a schoolgirl if you like. There's even a shop that sells my old school uniforms. Shall I buy one?"
"Okay," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Shall I get a normal uniform, or a gym kit? The gym kit has a shorter skirt."
"You choose. I'll wait here."
To my surprise she was back in under ten minutes and said cheerfully, "I couldn't decide, so I got both. I hope you don't mind."
"I don't mind."
As we approached home, I got up to get off. "You go home," I said. "I've got some ordinary shopping to do."
"I can help," she said.
"No, I know you're dying to try on your new outfits."
"You trust me with your keys?"
"Yeah. I won't be long."
She looked like she was about to start crying, so I was glad it was time I got off the bus.
When I arrived home, I wasn't surprised that we met me wearing the school uniform.
"Wait there," I told her. "I must take a photo." I got my camera and she posed trying to look sexy for the camera. Finally I put the camera down.
"You've bought a lot," she commented. "What did you buy?"
"Close your eyes," I told her.
"Why?"
"Close your eyes."
She closed her eyes and I took out the marker pen I'd bought and started scribbling over her new blouse. She opened her eyes with surprise.
"No. Tightly shut," I warned her.
I smashed two eggs together over her head and rubbed them into her hair. Then two more. Then I tipped half a bag of flour over her head and rubbed it in.
She squealed and opened her eyes.
I broke two more into my hands and rubbed them on her chest. She moved my hands to rub them over her boobs.
Then she looked into the bags and cried, "oh my God, how much have you got in there?"
I made her sit down and I went to get a bucket. We both broke all the remaining eggs into the bucket and I poured them over her head and down both her back and front.
"Cold," she protested.
"It needs to be to cool you off," I quipped, then squirted her with ketchup. "But maybe a load more flour will warm you up again.
She was a gooey mess by the time I'd finished and her hair was a matted lump of eggy-flour.
"You can stand up now. I'll wash my hands and take some souvenir photos."
When I came back she was saying, "I'm never going to get this out of my hair."
"Complaining?"
"No."
"Okay, Watch the camera." I took several photos.
"Are you done now?" she laughed.
"Almost. Do you think your uniform's trashed enough now?"
"I'm the most trashed schoolgirl in Argentina," she said.
"We'd better wash you down then. Close your eyes, I don't want this to sting them." I picked up the first of the bottles of cooking oil and poured it over her head.
Then I soaked her blouse and skirt, and even through the muck I could see her bra underneath through the now sheer blouse.
As she had to keep her eyes closed because of the oil, I decided to take a chance. I pulled her skirt up and her knickers out a bit. She didn't protest, so I emptied another bottle of oil into her knickers.
I dried off my hands and took some more photos. She insisted on having one with her holding her skirt up showing her now totally see-through knickers.
"Hmm. You'll mess up the place if I let you indoors like that. Hang on." I pulled the end of the hose out to where she was and turned it on. She squealed from the sudden cold water.
I just squirted the worst off of her before letting her into the shower. "It's gonna take me ages to get my hair clean," she warned.
It did take her ages. I loaded all her photos onto my computer and I confess I wanked over the one I'd taken without her realising, where I'd zoomed in on her oily see-through knickers.
I was close to cumming when she opened the door. I hid my erection, but couldn't hide the photo I'd been staring at quickly enough. She grinned.
"Ready for round two?" she asked. She was in her gym kit, a tiny blue skirt and far too tight white T-shirt.
"You want more?" I asked, surprised.
"Water fight next and mud wrestling. Don't you want to mud wrestle with a sexy schoolgirl?" she asked.
"What's the prize?" I asked.
"Me," she grinned.
"And if you win?"
"You make love to me," she answered seriously.
"Just as well I'm going to win, then," I said.
I took the obligatory photo of her beforehand and we went outside.
"Aren't you going to change into swimming trunks or something?" she asked.
"I think I'm safer fully dressed when you're around," I answered her.
She pouted.
It had been a hot day, and wanking over photos of her hadn't exactly made me cooler so I was glad of the water fight. Not that the sight of her in that white T-shirt made me much cooler. She'd "forgotten" to put on a bra.
She made me take a photo of her like that, "to go with the other one you like," she said.
As soon as I'd put the camera down safely, she threw some mud at me, hitting me in the face, so I pounced on her, pulling her down into a muddy area. I held her down with one hand, while the other smeared mud all over her, even her face.
She struggled free at one point and her skirt rode up and I realised she also "forgotten" to put any knickers on.
She wanted another photo of her all muddy, but I drew the line and insisted that her skirt stayed down which made me a spoilsport, she said.
After we'd hosed each other off, I insisted that she shower first. When she came out wrapped in a towel, I had a quick shower, got dressed again and loaded the new photos on the computer as she wanted to see them straightaway.
She was sitting on the bed, still in the towel and I suddenly realised that she'd let the towel slip and was showing me her pussy. Feeling strangely annoyed I snapped. "If you don't get dressed, you can go back to your room." She snapped her legs together as if she'd been stung.
I cooked some burgers and we watched a film on the telly, but since I'd told her off we were a little awkward with each other until she decided to go to bed early when the film finished. I gave her a deliberately chaste goodnight kiss.
"James. Thank you for today," she said quietly.
"I know it wasn't the same as with your friends," I said, "but you looked really sad when you saw those girls."
"It was better. And I've got the photos to remember it."
The next day she insisted on washing all the muddy and messy clothes. She actually managed to get them all clean, except for the white top, which was now rather grey and the marker marks on the blouse.
"I can still wear them round the house when I'm cleaning," she said. "But you were silly to waste them like that."
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