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“Relax,” she said breathily in my ear. “You’re going to like this, at least I know I did.” It was then that, instead of the now familiar opening credits to “My Wife the Slut”, an image appeared that horrified me more than I could have imagined. There on the 55” screen was me, in my Action Park shirt and my Umbro shorts sitting on the same couch I was on at that moment. My mind started racing. All that electronic equipment, there must have been a camcorder in the glass door cabinet, it must have started recording when I turned on that damn universal remote. I was totally and completely busted. My head just dropped. Then, Debbie broke my shocked silence.“You have no idea how much watching this turned me on. When we got home this morning, I had to check the tape right away to see if you had gotten to see my little movie. When I saw you enjoying my performance so much, I got so horny.” She picked up the remote and started to fast forward. She pressed play when the tape. He was pleased to know that I was from the IT industry. He informed me that even his daughter was working at an IT firm. I looked around, not seeing her. Maybe she was still sleeping, I thought.After some chit-chat, their daughter joined us. I was surprised by her appearance. She looked completely different from yesterday. I had to have a second look at her to confirm she was the same girl. Yesterday, she was a pale shadow of who she was today - young, chic, trendy, and incredibly hot.She wore a single-piece skater dress falling to just above her knees. Her fair skin was a beautiful contrast to her maroon dress. Bold red lipstick, black eyeliner, and a little eye shadow painted her face. I caught a whiff of lovely light perfume. Her fair hair hung slightly wet and untied with small beads of water dripping from the edges. The morning sunshine shone brightly on her hair; her face looked like an angel from above.“Regal” was the best word to describe her. She could not have looked more.
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You’re such a nice bloke, all grins and no heart,’ Max cracked, removing a bit of loose tobacco off his tongue. ‘I better light this thing up and look busy. Here come the boys.’ An old Bedford had turned into the access track and was grinding up the rise to the house. It was loaded with timber, bags of cement, builder’s mix, other odds and ends and tarpaulins. Perched on top of that load were two labourers with another inside the cab driving who was ‘Misfit’ Jones, a retired shearer. ‘Good morning Matt.’ he called, as he pulled up. ‘Me and the boys are here to turn this dump of yours into a palace.’ Looking at his boss he turned again to Matt and cracked, ‘I see our tea-maker and bottle washer is already here.’ Misfit whistled and a young Border Collie jumped from the floor of the cab and dived over Misfit’s knees and out the open cab window. ‘I told you not to bring that flea bag on to jobs as it’s a bloody nuisance,’ shouted Max. ‘In fact I’ve told you that a hundred times,.

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