Construction Grime & Catcalls

The car door slammed shut harder than I intended as I hoisted the heavy leather work bag over my shoulder. Tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind my ear and wiping the beaded sweat from my forehead, I checked for traffic in both directions on the one-way street before scurrying across the road to the far sidewalk. Due to road work, the once wide, brick sidewalk had been reduced to a narrow strip of asphalt walkway between the orange construction fence and the storefronts. Even as I stepped carefully along the footpath's rutted blacktop surface, my ankles wobbled and rolled in my espadrille wedges and I had to grab the plastic barrier for support.

Over the last five weeks, the street construction below my apartment had become the bane of my existence. First, the city had commandeered my building's parking lot for worker parking and equipment storage, leaving residents like myself to scour the neighborhood for spots on the street. Then the three block stretch of street had been torn up, allowing the exposed dirt and concrete dust to be whipped up by the hot, dry summer winds, coating every surface in the neighborhood in a film of gritty, brown-gray grime. Worst of all, there was the noise. Every morning promptly at 6:30, the drills and saws and hammers and pile-drivers kicked up their chorus that echoed among the surrounding buildings. As I crawled into bed Friday night of that first week, I breathed a sigh of relief that the next morning would be quiet, but at 6:30 I was once again jolted awake by the pulverizing of concrete below my window.

I crossed the first of two barren intersections along the stretch of the project. My heels dug into the hot blacktop with each off-balance step. The summer sun reflected off the asphalt, rising in hot drafts up my loose, knee-length, gray skirt. I pinched the thin, elastic cotton of my pink top and tented it from my body, flapping the blouse to dry the sweat trickling from my flat stomach and round, full breasts. Despite my lace underwire bra's efforts, I felt my tits shudder and sway with each hot, heavy, staggering step.

The heat and humidity of early summer was made worse by the fact that I now had to walk four blocks because of this stupid construction. My mind turned briefly from the misery of the walk to the refreshing beer that awaited me in my apartment fridge. But that seemed far in the distance as I trudged along in the heat, clammy and grumpy.

As I crossed the second abandoned intersection, I caught faint notes of wolf-whistles oozing from a group of workers. My hand instinctively contorted into a gesture of offense, but I reconsidered and muttered insults under my breath as I flattened the back of my skirt against the wind. The cat-calls I endured on my twice-daily walk weren't unexpected - it was a construction site, for Christ's sake - but that didn't mean that I appreciated the day-to-day degradation. "They're just a pack of dumb apes. This is only until September." I sighed to myself.

I picked up my pace as I neared my building. It was just another stretch of sidewalk, a shadowy alley, and then the air conditioning of the lobby and my apartment. As I reached the edge of the alley's mouth, a deep baritone rang out behind me.

"Damn, baby! You're looking hot!" The demand for attention came from the alleyway, in a spot where some of the workers parked their trucks for shade during the afternoon heat. "I've got something that'll help cool you down, honey!"

I stopped dead in my tracks and rolled my eyes so violently I worried my nose would bleed. Another fucking cat-call from a construction worker?! When I was this close to my own door? The weeks of pent-up fury spun me on my heel as I turned to set the roughneck straight. I could see two men standing next to a black pickup truck, while one of them reached into the bed for something I couldn't make out. Further down the alley a white utility van sat idling with one of its rear doors ajar.

The other man spotted me as I approached. "Ohhh, you're dead now, Dave!" He chuckled and nudged his friend in the ribs, warning him of the advancing danger. I reached the wooden barricade barring the alley's mouth and wiped a trickling line of sweat from my jaw as I ducked my head to peer through the orange and white slats.

"What, exactly, do you 'have' for me, you needle-dicked halfwit?!" I spat at him as my glare set fire to the twelve feet between us. Dave's friend collapsed against the truck door in hysterics as my rage echoed off the surrounding bricks.

"Whoa! Okay! Hold on, I come in peace!" Dave stammered as he straightened his six-foot frame, a condensation-coated can of beer in each hand. "Hand to the sky," he held one of the dripping cans above his head, "I was just offering you to join us for a beer on a hot day." He did his best to smile while my blistering gaze softened to a narrow, suspicious burn.

Dave took two hesitant steps towards me, holding a beer at arm's-length ahead of him with the cautious manner of a man approaching a wild animal. "Do you... like... beer...?" He was almost to the end of the alley, and in the direct sunlight I could make out the outline of sinewy muscle beneath his sweaty denim shirt. His eyes darted nervously from my face to the bulge of my breasts, then returned to resume nervous eye contact.

I stepped around the barrier, extending my hand to take the can from him as my face softened into a friendlier, guarded smile. "Thanks," I said as the frosty, wet metal sent a chill rushing from my palm through my shoulders, "I'm sorry I called you a needle-dick."

"Hey, don't worry about it, I've probably been called worse by my own mother! And I'm sorry you I called you 'honey.'" His smile widened with friendly relief. "As you heard, I'm Dave and the guy drinking my beer and laughing at my stupidity is Joseph." Joe raised his can in salute as he set his hardhat in the front seat of the pickup.

"Dave and Joe, got it. I'm Sarah." Dave smiled broadly and extended his free limb to shake my small hand, pointed his beer-arm to the idling van in invitation.

"We've got the AC going full-blast in there. Company vehicle means company gas." He winked mischievously at the misuse of commercial resources as Joe held the van's rear door open.

"A strange van, huh? I don't know... You're not gonna 'Silence of the Lambs' me, are you?"

"Nah! You're pretty and all, but you're way too small to make into a suit!" He winked and laughed, taking my hand as he boosted me through the door.

As I climbed in, I was met with a blast of icy air; the guys were not kidding about their abuse of air conditioning! The arctic breeze almost instantly dried my skin, and my flesh burst into goosebumps as I moved further into the vehicle.

The ceiling was low enough that I had to bend slightly at the waist as I shuffled forward. I felt my billowing skirt fill with the cold draft from the van's vents, and I self-consciously brushed my hand along the back of my legs to make sure I wasn't flashing my lace thong to my new acquaintances. Surveying the inside of the van, the interior was unremarkable with stacked shelves of tools along half of one side. There was a makeshift bench made of boards fastened to the other wall, and grimy cardboard had been duct taped to the floor to spare workers' knees.

Joe and Dave climbed in behind me and Joe shut the doors, sealing the three of us into the cool, dim space. Dave had brought the cooler with him from the pickup bed.

"So, uh..." Dave cracked his beer as he sat down on the bench and motioned an invitation for me to join him. I lowered my ass to the board carefully, mindful of splinters in my flimsy polyester skirt. Joe seated himself on the floor across from us, splaying his long legs and resting his head against the metal wall.

"So..." Joe also seemed at a loss. I sheepishly sipped my beer as my eyes traced the pattern of scuffed dirt on the cardboard floor. "...you live in the building here, huh?" He finished his beer immediately after his unsatisfying final syllable and fetched another from the cooler.

"Yeah." My voice trailed off for a moment as I searched for something more to say. "I've been here about two years now."

"Yeah... we've seen you around a bit..." He stared intently into his beer can for another beat before his eyes came to life and he grinned at me. "Do you know the old guy in the decades-old Stanford windbreaker who yells at us about the noise like every morning?" The image of the resident in question - always in the same faded red jacket - cracked my face into a wide smile. Joe read the recognition in my expression and launched into an accurate impression of the man's cranky delivery, waving a curled, gnarly finger in the air.

"Hey, take it easy, Joe! Don't be so hard on Sarah's boyfriend!" I playfully slugged Dave's shoulder just as he was taking a drink, spilling beer on his face and shirt.

"Oh! Sorry about that!" I said, instinctively reaching to wipe the suds from his stubbly chin. Mortified by my own actions, I froze, staring at my beer-wet hand suspended beneath his jaw. Pausing only a moment, Dave moved quickly, slurping the spilled foam from my palm.

"What?" He said, reading the shock in my expression. "Don't wanna waste beer..." he trailed off, flashing a disarming smile as I burst into laughter again. Joe eagerly moved forward with his list of annoying residents as he enthusiastically handed me a fresh beer.

"So who's the prick who keeps posting code excerpts about street projects requiring specific approval from city council? It's like 'Yeah, guy. We know. We're not getting up before dawn and tearing up the road to amuse ourselves.'" I pictured a bow-tie sporting young attorney from my building whom I was certain would be behind the notes.

Conversation became more comfortable as time passed (and beer was drunk). After multiple refills - eagerly provided by Joe - I was pressed against Dave's shoulder, supporting myself as I collapsed giggling over Joe's impersonation of another notorious old woman. I shifted slightly to take a drink of beer and felt him rotate his muscular arm between us. My heavy rack rested on of his forearm, but Dave didn't seem to notice. I rocked forward with laughter as Joe parroted my neighbor, Mrs. Porter, threatening to "call my senators" about the early morning noise, and my left breast slipped into Dave's upturned hand. Gasping for air in my hysterics, I struggled to compose myself to listen as Joe resumed his storytelling.

"Then there was that one sexy redhead who insulted us and threatened to have us fired for trying to be friendly." Joe smirked. I rolled my eyes at the accusation.

"Yeah, whatever. Seriously though, what's worse than the charming harassment from your buddies is how early you start on Saturday mornings. You guys need to knock it off with all the drilling and hammering at the crack of dawn!" I was still bent forward with my head on Dave's shoulder, unable to straighten from the laughter (and beer) that shook my entire body. "Who do I talk to about that?"

Joe sat up straighter and cleared his throat as he shot a glance at Dave. Beneath me, Dave's hand shifted and flexed slightly under my tit.

Dave fumbled for an explanation, "Well, no one could authorize that sort of schedule change except a supervisor an-"

"Aaaand!" Joe interrupted, "Dave, is exactly the sort of supervisor who would be able to authorize that kind of adjustment!" Dave's fingers almost imperceptibly tightened their hold on my boob. My head still resting on his shoulder, I craned my neck to look up at Dave's face, but his expression was unchanged as he watched Joe speak. "So... Dave, here, is the guy that you'd need to convince."

Dave took a sip of beer and cleared his throat, his fingers slowly pulsing and massaging my breast as he began to speak. "Yeah... I'm a - uh, the - guy who could adjust the work schedule if there was a compelling reason." He took another pull from the can then shifted his gaze down to my face.

"I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble. Or ask too much..." I pouted my full lips, hating myself for trying to play the silly girl, but hooked on the thought of sleeping in. "...but I do really love my sleep on the weekends." Shifting slightly, I pushed the full weight of my breast into his hand. Joe opened another beer, took a double slug, and - freshly fortified - spoke up.

"Since we're, uh, all making friends, I have a... it's a kind of personal question." He shifted on his butt and tugged nervously at his flannel shirt tail.

"Hmmm?" I craned my neck to face him.

"We've noticed you coming and going - pretty much all the guys on the crew have - and there's been some discussion... a lot of, uh, debate about... You're obviously real small - petite - but they... Are... How big... What size are those... you?" Joe's voice was chopped by his nerves, but his eyes were still working just fine as he stared intently at the bulges in my blouse. Dave was now openly palming my tit, as though seeking an answer his friend's question.

I held my answer until Joe returned my eye contact. "My bras are a 32-inch band with a size D cup. You guys understand how bra sizing works, right?" They nodded absently. "So, like, how much 'respectful' debate are we talking? And what were the guesses?" I flashed him a friendly smile, but Joe's gaze had returned to my bosom. "Any other questions your scholarly panel was deliberating?"

"We figured you were a D," he indicated to Dave with his chin, "but other guys' guesses ranged from C's to F's." I pictured my tiny frame collapsing under the weight of massive size F breasts and giggled. "Yeah, but the other thing that got lots of debate was whether they're... or you're... real or, uh, enhanced..."

"They're real." Dave answered for his friend as he squeezed the soft meat of my chest.

"No fucking way!" Joe was incredulous and scooted across the floor of the van. "Let me feel!" He extended a pincer-like hand and clamped down on my unclaimed tit.

"Hey! Gentle!" Joe withdrew timidly from my scolding, but gawked hungrily at my mounds.

"I got a little crazy, sorry. It's just that I - we - have been talking about them - you - for weeks, and now they - you're - here..." His apology trailed off, his eyes bulging from his skull like a cartoon hobo staring at a pie. I looked from him to Dave, still joyfully kneading my right bosom, and debated if I was treating Joe unfairly. I drew a deep breath.

"Joe... I'm sorry. I guess it's only fair that you can feel that they're natural, too. Here..." I slid off the plank bench and knelt on the grease stained cardboard next to Joe. "This counts as 'convincing' you to change your schedule, right?" I looked from one man to the other as I lifted my shirt to expose the powder blue lace of my bra, tucking the blouse atop my generous bust.

Joe - forgetting my instruction to be gentle - attacked my pillowy tits greedily with both hands, cupping and squeezing both orbs roughly. Stunned by his blitz, I didn't notice Dave lifting the shirt over my head until my face was already buried in soft pink cotton. Freed from the fabric entanglement after Dave removed the garment, I struggled to regain some degree of control over the situation.

"Okay... I wasn't going to take that all the way off, but thanks, Dave, for being so, uh, helpful. Joe..." he couldn't hear me, caught up in his intense engagement with my rack. "Joe!" He finally looked up grinning wildly, slowing the pace of his fondling. I smiled as I cautioned him. "You need to ease up a little or you're going to tear my bra!"

"That sounds like an easy fix." Dave announced from behind me, deftly unclasping my bra as Joe yanked the bustier from my chest. I gasped in shock and my hands instinctively flew to cover my naked breasts. Joe and Dave each grabbed an arm and stopped my protective reflex, leaving my tits exposed for them to each resume their groping with their free hand.

"Okay, they feel pretty real to me!" Joe issued his verdict. "But how do they taste?" He lowered his mouth to my pale rose nipple, caressing the nub with his wet lips and swirling his tongue around the sensitive point. I murmured my approval and brought my hand to the back of his head, running my fingers through his hair in instinctive approval.

"Do they taste real, Joe?" Dave asked as he stood up from the bench. Refusing to pull his mouth from my teat, Joe extended an enthusiastic 'thumbs up'. Bracing himself against the roof of the van with one hand as he hunched in the low interior, Dave unfastened his fly and belt and pulled his erect cock from his pants. Without missing a beat, he pushed his blood-engorged tool between my soft lips, prying apart my jaws with the motion.

I obediently took his erection into my mouth, bucking my neck as I rhythmically enveloped and released his thick pole. Moaning softly, I slowly crammed more and more of his hard cock into my mouth until my nose pressed into his bristled pubic hair. The full length of his dick fully inserted in my mouth and throat, I extended my tongue and flicked the tip along his scrotum. Reaching with my free hand, I gently gripped his balls, lightly caressing and tugging them as I resumed bobbing my lips along the length of his shaft.

Dave moaned his approval and staggered slightly, the stress of his awkward stance taking its toll on his ability to stand. I pressed my palm into his thigh, urging him to sit and make himself more comfortable. Holding my mouth in place on his cock with his hand on the back of my head, Dave took a seat on the bench. Following him, I turned my torso so that I was bent into his lap on my knees supporting myself with my arms on his thighs as I hungrily bobbed my mouth on his shaft.

My change in position pulled my tit from Joe's mouth and he grumbled with brief disappointment. Shifting on his knees behind me, he gathered my gray skirt above my waist, exposing my round ass. My milky white cheeks hugged the narrow pale blue lace strip of my thong. Joe gripped a firm handful of my butt, feeling the muscles flex and release as I rocked on my knees blowing Dave.

"You know, there was lots of talk among the guys about this ass, too." Joe mused as he released his grip and slid his open palm along my cheek. "Not as much as your tits, but a lot of talk." He laid a firm smack square on my buttocks for emphasis, then gently ran his fingertips along my rump.

Tracking his fingers along my crack and the delicate lace line of my thong, Joe's fingertips traced the rim of my asshole, continuing across my perineal on their way to the moist patch of my panties. He pressed harder into my wetness, probing my drenched pussy through my panties. I bucked my mouth even more energetically on Dave's cock from the stimulation.

Joe tugged aside the scrap of my thong and plunged two fingers deep into my pussy. As he probed my soaked hole, I ground my hips against his hand and felt his knuckles reach the inner folds of my twat. Jerking the thong from my waist with his free hand, Joe slowly withdrew his fingers from within me. I lifted each of my knees in turn, allowing him to remove my panties as I kept my mouth busy with Dave's cock. After he had freed my espadrille-strapped foot from the thong's band, I heard the sound of a belt buckle and zipper unfastening, then felt Joe's hand on my ass holding me in place.

The round head of his cock pushed against the wet folds of my cunny, teasing my hungry slit for a moment, before stabbing his full length into me. My satisfied groan was muffled by Dave's rod in my throat as I rocked back on my knees pushing Joe further into my sopping pussy. He grabbed me by my ass and hips, pulling me close as he rhythmically thrust his dick deep into me before relenting and withdrawing almost completely before collecting himself for another drive.