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Gay man finds a maid
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I don't usually spoil myself, but since I'd just gotten a
raise, I figured I deserved some special treatment. Looking
around my apartment, trying to decide what would be the
greatest self-indulgence, it struck me. I'd hire a maid to
come once a week to clean my place up.
While I was thinking about it, I decided to go to the
convenience store around the corner. It's a short walk, and on
the way I noticed that there was a Xeroxed sign on a tree. It
read: I'LL CLEAN YOUR APARTMENT. REASONABLE RATES. CALL PETE.
There was a row of phone numbers along the bottom of the sheet,
with vertical slits in the paper, so passersby could rip one
off. I decided to call Pete.
On the phone he sounded ok. I told him that I wanted someone
to come in once a week to clean up -- especially the bathroom
-- and that for the most-part I'd want him to come during the
week when I was at work, but this first time I'd like to meet
him. Really, I was a little embarrassed to have someone else
cleaning up after me. It seems kind of decadent or something.
But on the other hand, I didn't want some jerk coming in and
ripping me off. So I decided to be major middle class for once
and meet this Pete guy -- after that he'd be on his own.
Whatever. It was a Wednesday. I made an appointment for Pete
to come over the next Saturday afternoon. Then I spent the
next two and a half days cleaning up my apartment. Especially
the bathroom. I guess I'm crazy. But then again, my mom used
to do the same thing when Rose, her cleaning person, came in
once a month. I guess she didn't want her maid to think that
she was a slob, either. What a life.
Pete showed up right on time. When the doorbell rang, I
thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest.
"What the hell was there to be so nervous about?" I asked
myself. You'd think this was a first date, or something.
Anyway, after I opened the door, the lump in my throat was
matched by the lump in my shorts. This Pete didn't look
anything at all like the cleaning lady I remembered from when I
was a kid.
Pete was about nineteen years old and just under six feet tall.
Blond -- that sort of light brown blond that gets streaky in
the summertime. He had grey-green eyes that were flecked with
little spots of gold. He was tanned, and that made the smile
lines that stretched out from the sides of his beautiful eyes
stand out, drawing you back when you tried to look away. I
couldn't stop staring into those eyes, and I guess he must have
been used to it, 'cause after I had been just standing there,
staring at him for what must have been fifteen seconds, he
laughed a low, airy laugh and asked if he could come in. I
stammered out something stupid, like "please", but with an
extra three syllables in it -- "p-p-please". And I stepped
aside, tripping over the cat and nearly knocking a lamp off of
the table near my front door. I was acting like a complete
jerk. I would have given anything to roll time back sixty
seconds so I could start this over.
I asked Pete to sit down and offered him a drink. "Coke?" he
half said, half asked, and then smiled -- pulling his wide,
sensuous lips over a set of straight white teeth. This kid was
perfect. A two-in-one commercial for Solaflex and Ultrabright.
Anyway, this smile was a smile that could have gotten him a
hell of a lot more than just a Coke. He knew it, too, but he
was having fun, not being stuck up. I picked up the cat, which
was rubbing up against my leg
-- she was purring like an electric fan. I stroked her,
thinking "Yeah, baby, I know...I know."
In the kitchen I took a couple of deep breaths and opened up
the refrigerator. Luckily, I actually had the Coke I'd just
promised. When I reached for the ice tray, I noticed that my
hands were shaking and I decided that maybe I could use a cold
drink, too. There's a pass-through in the wall of the kitchen,
so you can see people in the living room. While I was fiddling
with the ice and glasses, I looked up to see what Pete was
doing. He was sitting on the couch, flipping through the
International Male catalogue that I'd gotten in the mail that
morning. From this distance, I was out of range of those
magnetic eyes, so I could finally check out the rest of him.
It just got better and better.
This kid was built like he'd been working as a lifeguard in
Southern California -- or Australia -- or ... well, you get the
idea. He was wearing a tight, clean white t-shirt that hugged
every inch of his chest, strong shoulders and biceps. The thin
white cotton didn't leave much to the imagination as it
stretched over him, rising sharply over two hard nipples, and
dipping gently in the middle. This shirt must have been washed
and dried once too often, because it rode up short at his
stomach. As he sat there, a thin stripe of lightly tanned
belly showed between t-shirt and shorts. It was so tight that
the skin there didn't even fold when he sat down, and I could
see his perfect little navel, which was perched on top of a
slight blond arrow of hair which shot itself into his shorts,
cut-off Levi's that were so short that the tips of the front
pockets poked down an inch below the fringe and sat plastered
against his hard, hairless legs.
The cold glasses felt good in my hands, which were still
shaking a little. On the way from the kitchen to the
livingroom -- six or seven steps if you take your time -- I had
to pull my thoughts together. "Don't be a fool" I told myself.
"He's here to clean the place up, not suck you off." Calm
down. And after that we had a pretty normal conversation. He
told me that he had left home recently because he and his
father fought too often, and that he wanted to go to school,
but he wasn't sure what to learn, so for the time-being he was
cleaning houses because it paid ok, and the IRS never had to
find out about it, which made it that much better. I asked him
how much he charged, and was not surprised to find out that it
was about twice what I had expected -- although I nodded my
head to indicate that it was ok, and he smiled that smile
again. He had me and he knew it.
After Pete finished his Coke (with a long, glass-emptying
gesture that pulled his shirt up an extra six inches on his
belly and forced his biceps and chest to flex) he stood up,
pulled the shorts down along the fringe where they must have
been binding, and asked "Where do I start? This place looks
pretty clean to me." I couldn't even think, but the words
"uh...the bathroom" produced themselves automatically on my
lips. Then I went to the closet to get a bucket (which had a
brand new sponge, and three bottles of unopened cleaning stuff
in it) then I led the way to the bathroom.
I walked into the bathroom first, which is almost as large as
my livingroom. I'd often thought that for an apartment so
small, it was kind of a waste to have half of the floor space
in the bathroom. But right now it meant that I could hang out
and watch Pete while he worked without being obviously in the
way. "Here you go," I said, and handed him the bucket. Pete
just looked at me, smiled in a friendly way, and put the bucket
down. He reached for the bottle of Ajax cleaner, and started
prying off the safety seal. I watched with a knot in my throat
as the muscles along his arm flickered and twisted with every
tiny movement of his fingers. "Damn these safety seals," Pete
muttered, and twisted the bottle around to try it from a
different angle. After a second, the clear plastic band flew
off --
but so did the top of the detergent, and a spreading yellow
stain covered most of Pete's chest and stomach. Pete
straightened up and held both arms out to the side, looking
down at his drenched soapy front in surprise. There was a
second when neither of us knew what to do, but then -- at the
same time -- we both started laughing.
"Drag," I said. "And that stuff's not going to do your skin
any good. I guess you should take the shirt off. I'll get a
clean one for you." Pete obliged, grabbing the t-shirt at the
bottom, cross-hand style. He lifted the shirt slowly, pulling
it away from his torso and face to avoid spreading the Ajax any
further. I was in heaven. Now the shirt was off, and Pete was
standing there, bare chested, with the shirt in one hand, a
sheepish smile on those incredible lips, and a sticky shine all
along his smooth, hard chest and belly. "Listen," he said. "I
know this isn't normal, but do you mind if I shower this off?
It'll just take a second, and then I'll get on with the job."
Of course, I didn't mind. I just made a gesture that said 'the
place is yours', turned around and left the bathroom, closing
the door behind me.
On my knees at the keyhole (I know, but I couldn't help myself)
I watched Pete undress. He was far enough away from the door
that I got a full view of him. First he took off his deck
shoes and then his shorts. No underwear. And no tan line,
either. Pete started toward the bathtub, but got sidetracked
at the full length mirror, and decided to check himself out.
He was facing away from me, broad shoulders tapered down to
narrow hips and a beautiful tight ass, curved in on both sides.
He had strong, muscular thighs, cycler's thighs that were
smooth and hard, and had only the faintest dusting of light
golden hair that gradually got courser and darker as it worked
its way down the back of his legs. I never got as far as
Pete's ankles, because I suddenly discovered that in addition
to this incredible rear view, the mirror was giving me an even
more amazing front-view. My eyes climbed up his body, passing
over the front of his thighs and resting for a long moment on
his heavy young cock, arched forward slightly, a long swollen
vein standing out clearly along the length of the six-inch
shaft. I couldn't believe my eyes. This kid was half hard,
excited by his own reflection. Pete reached down and cupped a
strong hand over his hardening dick and massaged lightly. I
couldn't believe the show I was getting. But just then, Pete
must have realized that he was taking too long, and he moved to
the shower. His three-quarter hard cock swayed as he walked,
and he reached down to stop the slow back and forth motion
which must have been getting him hornier and hornier.
Pete stepped over the high edge of the bathtub, to place one
foot on the cool porcelain inside. For a second, as his foot
went over the lip of the tub, his low-hung balls showed between
his legs from behind, heavy and round. Then he was in the tub,
one of those 'afterthought' jobs that has a shower installed
where a shower was never intended to go. Pete looked a little
perplexed. As he bent down to figure out the water taps, he
stood in perfect profile. Along his side, the outline of ribs
jumped out, and the hard curve of his shaft stuck straight up,
hugging the contours of his stomach. I might have been
dreaming, but I swear that a drop of pre-cum glistened on the
tip of his full, round, swollen cock-head.
With a quick twist of the knobs a pulse of water shot out of
the showerhead. For a minute, Pete enjoyed the warm water
flowing over his body. He bent his head backwards, and let the
water soak into his hair. The water poured down the entire
length of his tight body, cascading off here and there in
twisting spirals of water. I noticed that he was getting water
all over the floor and thought ironically that this was one
maid that I was going to clean up after. Not that I minded
much ... under the circumstances. Anyway, he finally noticed
the water puddling up on the floor and he pulled the shower
curtain closed. Damn.
The cat watched curiously as I sprinted to my bedroom to find
the perfect t-shirt. At first, I thought I would just give him
a plain white t-shirt like the one he was wearing, but then I
found the tank top which a friend had just bought for me in San
Francisco. It was a loose fitting white tank top with the
words, 'Gay Games 86' in small black letters. "This is pushing
it," I thought, and grabbed the white t-shirt after all. Yes,
that would be perfect.
At the bathroom door, I thought about knocking, but decided
just to walk in. Pete liked hot showers. The bathroom was
filled with a light fog, and billows of steam rose above the
shower curtain. "Pete, here's a shirt," I said, walking up to
the curtained tub. "I'll just leave it on the sink, and..."
But as I was finishing my sentence, he shut off the water and
drew open the curtain. This was incredible. He was acting
very no-big-deal, like he was in his own bathroom, and there
was no one else there. For my part, I thought I was going to
have a heart attack. "Have you got a towel?" he asked with
that smile. There he was, standing in my bathtub, with water
dripping from every part of his nude body, asking for a towel
and I couldn't move. "Have you got a towel?" he asked, again.
It was a simple enough question, but at that moment, as I
struggled to pull my mind together, it seemed terribly complex.
All I could think of was a description I once read of the way
deer will stare into the headlights of an oncoming car until
they're run right down. They just stare. But at the same time,
a little voice was telling me that only a fool would hand a
naked man a towel.
Finally, a choked noise that sounded something like "oh, yes."
came out of my mouth and without turning my head, I reached for
the towelbar which was two-thirds of the way behind me, coming
up with a bathtowel on the third grope. I handed him the towel
and continued to stare as he dried himself. I couldn't help
myself. Pete, for his part, was obviously getting off on the
power he had over me. His dick, which had been on the plump
side from the first, was now definitely swelling. It swayed
heavily as he brought the towel to his dripping hair and rubbed
vigorously. As he brought his arms back down to his side, he
winced slightly, and rolled his left shoulder as if it were
stiff. "Listen, I wrenched my shoulder a couple weeks ago
doing some yard work and it's still sore. Would you help dry
my back?" he asked. I couldn't believe my ears, but this time
there was no delay. "Sure" I said quickly, sounding a little
too much like a 17-year-old who's been offered a chance to
polish the neighbor's Porsche.
I took the towel and slowly wiped the water droplets from his
shoulders, shoulder blades, and lower back. I now had such a
hard-on that I thought the zipper might not hold it in any
longer. He took the towel and turned around. I quickly covered
my crotch with the tank top, but I knew he had seen the bulge
in my pants. "Is that t-shirt for me?" He asked, knowing what
it was hiding. I handed him the shirt, which he took, staring
at my crotch. He smiled again. My eyes were fixed like
magnets on his beautiful eyes -- eyes that smiled. I tried to
break the stare. I forced myself to look down, and was glad to
see that his dick was still hard. I started to relax, although
my cock didn't.
Pete stepped forward and with his strong arms pulled me close
against his naked skin. He kissed me gently, with soft, warm
lips. I wrapped my arms around Pete's neck, sliding my embrace
down until I was holding him just above his hard, hot ass. I
pulled him tight against me. Pete responded with a kiss that
nearly ripped the tongue out of my mouth. His hot tongue left
my tingling lips and wandered down my neck. My hands slipped
down another few inches to massage those firm, round buns of
his. "You feel so good." I said. He knelt at my feet. Then,
looking up, he said "I want your cock in my mouth." and began
un-zipping my pants. "I want to eat it." he said. He pulled
my pants down and started licking my dick though my underwear.
I felt as though I would cum any second if he didn't stop. I
had to do something or else it would be all over much too soon.
I quickly knelt down and grabbed his dick. He kissed me with
his probing tongue. As I rubbed his now huge cock, he moaned,
"Oh, that feels great." He look at me with those eyes of his.
"Would you like to go into the bedroom?" Pete asked. I nodded
and led the way. In the bedroom, Pete grabbed me from behind
and we rolled onto the bed together. He un-buttoned my shirt
and lay on top of me. His chest against my chest. He kissed
me again, then he licked his way down my chest and stomach.
Reaching my white Fruit-of-the-Looms, Pete caught the waistband
in his teeth pulling one side down, then the other. He wrapped
his lips around my pulsing dick. His warm mouth felt great.
We maneuvered around to 69 position and I slipped his balls
into my mouth one at a time. He moaned loudly (Now I know what
he likes!). Then he started licking my balls too. I took his
cock and swallowed it. He twisted in delight. We were both
inhaling and exhaling deeply, our bodies moving in the rhythm
of our rapid breathing. He pumped his dick deep into my throat
while his mouth sucked my cock faster and faster. I was so
fucking close, but I wanted to cum with him. It took all my
energy to hold back. He was driving me crazy, but his breath
was very fast now so I knew he was close, too.
Pete took one long, hard, full length suck on my dick, then
pulling it from his mouth, began to beat it. I grabbed his
ass, forcing his dick deep into my throat. He moaned deeply.
With each beat of his strong wet hand on my cock, my balls
tightened -- ready to explode. But Pete was ready, too. He
pulled his dick from my mouth and then we both shot our loads
all over my chest, the bed and the wall, too!
Pete sighed and fell off of me. As he rolled onto his back, he
noticed our cum dripping down the wall. He began to laugh. "I
guess I know where to start cleaning," he said pointing at the
wall. We smiled, and both laughed. It was so great. It didn't
seem odd that we were laughing. Somehow it seemed completely
natural. He lay down on top of me smearing the cum from my
chest all over his. Then he rolled over, pulling me on top of
him, held me tight and kissed me.
I think I found the right cleaning person, don't you?
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