Charles is a service technician with the cable company who doesn't usually do new installs. His day is limited to trouble calls and reconnects.But an irate customer has called into the office -- he missed the installer and now demands the cable company send someone out to hook up his service. Charles is already in the neighborhood when he gets the call.
New installs aren't usually in Charles's job description. But when he meets the sexy Billy Jackson, he's more than willing to hook the guy up.
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EXCERPT:
I get the ladder off the back of the truck and lean it against the telephone pole in front of his house. After jiggling it into a secure position, I climb up to the amplifier and change the fittings, trying not to think about Mr. Jackson inside the house, who's probably now undressed, drying off with that thirsty towel, rubbing it roughly through that wavy hair ...
Stop it.
I concentrate on unrolling the cable wrapped around my shoulder. Okay, sure, he's a cute one. Fuck, he's probably the hottest guy I've ever seen in this dead-end town. But I'm the cable man. I'm here to hook up his TV and make sure he has pictures and then if I'm lucky, he'll have no problems and will never call the office again.
Screwing one cable fitting onto the tap, I toss the rest of the coiled black wire down to the ground. I hope I have a long enough drop. When I walked from the house to my truck I counted my steps in an effort to take my mind off the young man inside, and for added measure I pulled out another ten feet of cable before I cut it. I don't want it to be too short. He'll think I'm an idiot if I have to do all this over again.
I turn to look over my shoulder, mentally measuring the distance from the pole to the side of the house, and I have a clear view into the second story window, where he's standing in that damn towel, digging through a pile of clothes. The curtains are open and I know he knows I'm here, he has to know, but he turns his back to the window and lets the towel fall away ...
Sweet Jesus.
As the towel drops to the floor, it reveals a round, chiseled ass, perfectly shaped, and I have to grab onto the telephone pole because I'm going to fall. I think I've already fallen, and I can't look away from the window as he tugs on a pair of white boxers followed by jeans, wiggling his hips to settle everything into place before he zips up. My mouth has to be open. My eyes must be bugging and staring and wide. Suddenly my pants are way too tight and every move I made chafes my cock, sending sweet splinters of pleasure through me. What did I turn around for again? What the hell am I doing here?
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