Installation Man


(Part 1 from 2. Fiction.)

A fantasy. Don't try this at home without lots of practice!

It’s been a busy season for me. This part of the North Shore had been hit with it’s own personal crime wave. A rash of break-ins had made everyone jittery, and the alarm companies that I do installation work for had been hard-pressed to keep up with the demand. Concerned citizens across Nassau and Suffolk counties were frantic to have home protection systems installed as soon as possible. A few of the recent break-ins had actually become violent, when the surprised homeowner walked in on the thieves. No fatalities yet, but it seemed that the burglars had no fear of using force. I get paid on a by-the-job basis, so I was happy for the work.

I had just completed a house on the bay, took most of the day. The center radioed me, asking if I could do one more place that afternoon. A small house, an easy installation. I could probably knock it out in a couple hours. I said sure, I had no life, might as well. I drove over to the address and pulled the van into the driveway.

It was a small bungalow-style house, but not modest. It was probably built in the twenties, solid stone with a wide portico across the facade made of timbers. The second story was pierced with clerestory windows and covered in a rusty colored slate roof. It looked like a storybook cottage from the English countryside. Those big leaded windows are an installer’s nightmare, old and hard to wire for alarms. I went up to the substantial oak front door looking for Nick Johnson, the name on the work order.

A man answered the door.

“Mr. Johnson? I’m Jim from the Guardit Alarm Company; I’m here to install your system this afternoon.”
“Come on in, but I’m not Nick, I’m his housemate Mike. I’ve been waiting for you.”

The man was a knockout, about twenty-five, light brown hair with wide shoulders and a slim waist. He wore a tank top and nylon sweat pants and sported weight bands on his wrists and ankles. They reminded me a little of those bondage cuffs you see on the Internet, and I started to get turned-on. He smiled at me, and we walked through the house to the kitchen. I saw his weight bench beyond the door leading to the garage. I imagined him lying on the bench, the dumbbells grasped firmly in his hands, his pale arms glistening with sweat as he pumped them over his head. I pictured his broad, hairless chest heaving with every rep, flexing his pectorals, his abs popping... Damn, gotta stop daydreaming! I got a job to do.

Mike was saying something; I only caught the tail end of it as I came out of my fantasy.

“...every room?”
“Huh? I’m sorry, wha’?”
“I said, do you think we need a motion detector in every room?”
“Prob’ly not, you can aim them to shoot across doorways so several rooms can be covered usin’ the same port.”

He was looking at me funny. I probably had a big shit-eating grin on my face, as I imagined him pinned down to the bench under my black , my big uncut dick lying across his face, his nose pressed into my wiry black crotch hairs.

“I’ll need ya to show me around the house. The salesman left me some notes, but I gotta check out the locations for details. Shouldn’t be too hard to install, ‘cept for those goddam leaded windows!”

Mike led me through the first floor: the den, the dining room and living room. Beautiful expensive furniture, not antiques but they looked like really good quality reproductions. Lots of photographs on the wood baby grand in the corner. We headed for the stairs, where he was going to show me the two bedrooms on the second floor. I followed him up, his little butt swinging back and forth in front of my face, tantalizing and sweet. I could reach out and cup each perfect globe in my hands, squeezing them gently as he moaned... there goes the imagination again!


We got to the head of the stairs, and Mike showed me the smaller bedroom. Very sparse, decorated in a very neutral style. It looked like a spare room, or a guestroom.

“I can cover this one with a detector in the stairwell. That’ll cover this bathroom, too.”

Mike led me into the master bedroom. He was rubbing his arms; probably sore from the workout I had interrupted. His hands were elegant with wide palms and thin, long fingers. I imagined him massaging my own thick biceps. His hands caressing the dark blue tattoo on my arm. He crossed the room and stood in front of a double French door, leading out to a second floor “Juliet” balcony.

“I’m worried about this door. It seems like a very vulnerable entry, and I’d hate someone to just break in and find me here sleeping, alone!”

I wondered about that: did he sleep here alone, or did he share his bed with Mr. Nick Johnson? Did this guy Nick get to hold Mike’s firm, muscular body pressed against his all night? Did Nick wake up in the morning and see Mike’s beautiful, angelic face on the next pillow? What must it be like to have a beautiful man like this as a “housemate”? I would never know. The guys that I meet are not in this dude’s league. I don’t get that lucky, believe me!

I stared at Mike for a few more seconds as he lay across a chaise next to the door. His body stretched out as he reclined, his arms raised to cradle the back of his head. I longed to bury my face in his downy pale armpit hair, still damp from his workout. His legs were slightly parted, and I could see a generous bulge beneath the shiny nylon fabric of his sweatpants. I longed to put myself between those long, well-developed legs and push my groin up against his. I could picture myself lowering my big strapping body onto his, my substantial upper body pressing down on his perfect pectorals. Rough, black chest hairs coarse against his smooth, unblemished chest.

“Can I see your closet? I need to see if I can bring the wires up through there, or if I gotta channel through the walls.”

He jumped up from his prone position like a gazelle, leaping across the room and opening an oak door that led to the walk-in closet built into the eaves. It had a slanted ceiling, but was tall enough for Mike to stand up in. I am six-four, so I had to bend slightly at the knee to reach the back of the room. It was lined in wire shelves, one of those closet systems you pick up at the home improvement center. I saw the face of the chimney at the back, and knew this would be an easy installation. I could be done in an hour or so. If I wanted to rush, that is. I had nowhere to go, so I decided I’d take my time and do a really good job for fine-looking Mike and his friend, Nick.

Mike was standing behind me as I squatted in the corner with my flashlight, looking at the closet’s flooring for an entry point for the cable. I glanced up at the sexy sandy-haired man and considered other entry points that I would like to search for if he would only let me! He was leaning over me as our eyes followed the beam of my flashlight. I focused the pool of light on a stack of magazines on the floor under a shelf unit. On the top cover, a man’s torso, thick with black hair, glistening with sweat. I thought it was a fitness or exercise magazine until I saw, lit by the pool of light, that the man in the picture had a raging hard-on that was partially disappearing into another man’s mouth.

Damn! I stood up too fast, embarrassed by what I had found. I hit my head on the slanted ceiling and fell back into Mike, who was standing right behind me. He tried to catch me but I’m a pretty , so we both tumbled to the floor.

Mike thought it was very funny. He laughed as I rolled myself off him. We lay next to each other on the carpeted floor. Flustered, I apologized.

“What’s the matter, Jim? You never saw a blow-job before? I can’t believe you’re that easily shocked. You want to see the rest of the magazine?”

Mike reached across my heaving chest, and pulled a couple of the magazines out of the stack. I felt his snowy white arm brush across my tight-fitting tee shirt, and smelled his warm fragrant scent as he crossed over me. I started to get up, but he stopped me.

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