textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/cleaning.txt

THE CLEANING MAN..............Copyright (c) 1987 by H. S. and TG BEEP
..                             From Doug's Den BBS

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.   
'
0*((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?