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 a 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 study, 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 living room. 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 a 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?