In-Home Service

A month and a half into my employment, my 19-year-old brain couldn’t have been more disappointed. There were housewives, sure, and they may have been lonely, but none of them showed an interest in doing anything other than paying the invoice once my work was done. As I parked in front of my last stop for the day, I figured this visit would be more of the same. I grabbed a main board and my tool bag from the back of the van and walked up the stairs towards the small Cape Code house. The door opened before I could ring the doorbell. A man in his mid-40s stood in the open doorway. He had short blonde hair, blue eyes, and a sleight build. His gym shorts and shirt fit loosely on him, so much so that he was practically swimming in them.

“Hi, Sterling Electronics,” I announced, stating the painfully obvious.

“Come in, the television is over here.” I followed him into the front room where a large console television sat lifeless against the wall. I put my tool bag and main board down on the carpet and picked up the remote.

“It’s Collin, yes?” I asked as I pushed the power button on the remote. A wide shelving unit lined the wall adjacent to the television, and it displayed photo after photo of Collin and a woman who I assumed was his wife; she had long dark hair, pale skin, and was very curvy. Whether accurate or not, the photos showed her to be a woman who embraced those curves: her tits, hips and ass were prominently displayed in each.

“Yeah, Collin. I don’t know what the deal is. It just stopped working completely a few days ago,” he answered as he sat on the sofa in front of a bay window.