Date: Fri, 31 Mar 2017 15:46:22 -0400
From: Bus Pender <buspender@aol.com>
Subject: Door-to-door sales guy

Door-to-door sales guy
by Bus Pender

........

This is a work of gay fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely unintentional.  This text deals with sexual relations between two
men.  If you find this offensive, if you are underage or if possession of
this text is illegal in your area, please leave now.  This story is not
intended to promote any action on the part of the reader.  It is merely a
fantasy and I hope you appreciate it as such.

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........


I first saw him from afar, through the screen door at the front of my
house.  It was mid-afternoon, a Friday, late summer, and the sun had laid
out a quivering carpet of dappled shade across my front yard.  A chorus of
cicadas was thrumming in noisy outbursts and the leaves on the trees
quietly applauded in the summer breeze.

He was on the other side of the street, a youth, late teens, possibly early
20s.  An angelic apparition in a blue t-shirt, khaki chinos and black
trainers.  There was nothing terribly special about him, except that he was
subtly gorgeous, and it was evident by his manner that he hadn't yet
discovered that fact.  He was making his slow way from house to house
.. dutifully, methodically, lugging with him a sizable briefcase.  He'd
approach a front door, ring the bell and, if someone was home, transform
into an animated caricature, gesticulating and motioning in what was
evidently his sales pitch.  He'd produce a brochure, more animated chatter,
until the moment when, invariably, the response was in the negative.  The
brochure would be returned, the occupant beginning to retreat behind a
slowly closing door.  At this point his gestures would cease, his shoulders
dip slightly, a pause, some slow movements to wrap up the encounter, and a
choreographed turn and approach for the final descent down the steps and
back onto the street.

I'm not sure why, but I found him absolutely riveting.  Average height and
weight, tending towards the lean side, neither fit nor out of shape.
Somewhat thin, horsey face framed by a mess of wavy dark brown hair in need
of a trim.  He looked sensitive, uncertain, serious.  Every expression and
awkward movement an absolute wonder to behold.  I couldn't take my eyes off
him.

It was obvious that he was canvassing the neighborhood, and I followed his
progress up the street.  I snapped out of my revery when I realized that
his trajectory would likely see him crossing the road and begin making his
way back down, eventually, soon, landing at my doorstep.  So I began to
prepare.

The first thing I did was take a quick shower to freshen up, followed by a
brief appraisal of myself in the full-length mirror.  Trim body, good
muscle tone (regular yoga and cycling regimen) and a relatively hairless
physique.  Full head of ash grey hair, longer in the front, cropped short
on the sides, and a youthful face.  Not bad for a 41-year-old guy.  I put
on a pair of white track pants and a mauve t-shirt, going for the casual,
"I wasn't expecting anyone" look.  Next I ran downstairs, cleaned up the
living room and tossed a couple of erotic magazines in with the standard
coffee table fare.

As I was heading for the kitchen, I stopped short in the hallway and saw
him again through the screen door, as though through a portal into another
dimension.  He was much closer now, standing at the end of the path leading
to my porch, examining a paper he held in his hands.  I stood there staring
at him, his lovely frame backdropped by the steaming asphalt of August.  I
couldn't let him see me there, ogling him, that wasn't part of the plan, so
I headed for the den.  I scooped up a couple of piles of papers, a box of
envelopes and some knick-knacks for good measure, when I heard the dull
reverberation from the front steps, announcing his imminent arrival.  I
paused, caught my breath, the doorbell rang.

I waited, counting one, two, three .. I made it to twelve when I emerged
from the den, objects in my arms, and marched towards the front door.  I
pretended to be somewhat flustered, balancing my load in my right arm as my
left hand pushed open the screen door slightly.  I took him in at a glance.
He was, if at all possible, more beautiful close up.  His steely eyes were
set off by the blue of his t-shirt, his lips were wide and expressive.  He
had an off-balanced kind of face, it wasn't quite symmetrical and looked a
bit lopsided, which only added to his charm.  I smiled, tilted my head
slightly and greeted him.  He launched into his spiel.

"Good afternoon sir, how are you today?" he blurted out earnestly.

I blinked, remained silent for a second, smirked and said, finally, "I'm
fine, can I .. help you?"

"My name is Ethan, sir, and I'm selling organic produce of the highest
quality .. I would love to show you our selection of organic goods if you
can spare a few moments .. "

"I'll tell you what, Eden", I interrupted, "I'm just finishing up a couple
of things, if you can wait a few minutes I'd be happy to see what you have
to offer.  I'm actually thinking about going organic."

"It's actually Ethan .. that would be great sir, I can come back in fifteen
.." he said, but I cut him off.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's hot out there, you must be tired, come in and
make yourself comfortable, I won't be more than five or ten minutes," I
said.

I opened the screen door wider and he stepped inside, thanking me as he
entered.

"You can sit in the living room, just in there," I motioned, but as he took
his first step in that direction, I placed a hand gently towards his chest
and said, "Oh, you need to leave your shoes here, no shoes in the house".
Obligingly, without question or hesitation, he stepped out of his runners.
I paused to take in the splendor of this young man standing handsomely
before me in his socks -- black, cottony, athletic socks that hugged the
contours of his spectacular feet -- he looked yummy.

He moved into the living room and took a seat on the sofa (I'd placed a few
piles of items on the two armchairs so he wouldn't be tempted to sit in
either of them), in full view of the magazines I'd spread out.  I urged him
to make himself at home and promised that I would be with him shortly.  He
opened his briefcase and rummaged through it a bit, stopped, let out a sigh
and took in the room.  I left him there and made my way to the kitchen.

I opened the fridge and pulled out a frosty jug of iced tea.  But this
wasn't just any iced tea.  It was a concoction I make from natural herbs
that have a certain, um, potency?  I call it "glee-tea".  It contains
yohimbe, sage and damiana, all said to have "stimulant" properties, along
with mint and other herbs for taste and freshness.  Add a bit of lime and
honey, and it's a delightful tonic.  I consume this tea from time to time
to help keep me keen and robust.  I added a splash of vodka to the jug to
"firm up" the brew.

I filled a couple of tall glasses with the concoction, over ice, and
brought one to him.  I made sure to have a pile of papers in my other arm
so he'd realize I wasn't quite ready to sit with him yet, but that I was
only tending to his pleasure and comfort.  As I entered the living room, I
noticed that he was eyeing one of the magazines and, was it my imagination
or had they been moved out of place?

"Something cool to drink", I said matter-of-factly as I handed the glass to
him, my fingers gently grazing his as the glass exchanged hands.  "Iced
tea".

"Oh, thanks very much sir", he said gratefully, and began to gulp the drink
down.  "It's delicious", he added when he came up for air.  I smiled at him
as I left the room, promising to return in a few minutes.

I went back to the den, moved things around a bit and, after about five
minutes, returned to the kitchen, grabbed my drink and the jug, and went to
sit with him in the living room.  He smiled as I entered, and started to
stand up, but I waved him down.  He'd finished his drink so I refilled his
glass, and he thanked me very much again.  I sat myself down beside him
with a couple of inches to spare.

"So, Eaton, how did you come to be selling organic produce door to door?"

"It's Ethan .. I'm starting first year university next month, philosophy,
and I need to find a way to pay my tuition, it's so expensive.  I have a
couple of other part-time jobs, but I don't get a lot of hours.  So I'm
selling organic goods on the side .. or, trying to anyway."

"Yeah, I guess it's not easy selling door-to-door, is it ?"

"No, but I've made a few sales, repeat customers, and I meet a lot of
interesting people"

We got onto the topic of the produce he was selling, and he opened his
brochure for me to look at.  I took the other end of it so that we were
holding onto it together.  I allowed my fingers to touch his from time to
time, and then I'd retreat back to my corner of the pamphlet, as though we
were negotiating territory on a map.  I wanted him to feel comfortable with
my touch and not see it as any kind of threat.  At the same time, I eased
my bare foot over slightly so that the edge of mine was touching his.  He
didn't pull away.  This was an ultimate turn-on for me, to be touching his
socked foot and him being okay with it.  I actually wanted to grab it and
massage it, taking in its glory with all my senses, but foot-to-foot
contact of any kind was a promising start.

As our conversation continued, I noticed that he was starting to act a bit
looser and more comfortable.  He was smiling more and laughing openly at my
jokes.  I assumed the tea was kicking in.  For my part, I started touching
him on his arm, his shoulder, ever so briefly, to punctuate parts of the
conversation, before backing off again.  At one point, he reached down to
take out a few more brochures from his bag and I took the opportunity to
put my arm over the back of the sofa, just behind him.  He opened the new
pamphlet and went on about the benefits of eating organic.  I told him I
definitely liked what I saw and that I was interested in finding out more.
As I was saying this, I made a daring move.  I brought my hand up to the
back of his neck and caressed it briefly.  He froze when I did this and I
told him his body seemed tense.  That's when I began a string of bold-faced
lies.

"I'm a massage therapist," I said, "and I can help loosen up your neck if
you'll let me."

"My neck is fine, thanks", he said without looking at me.  But I insisted.

"Look, Aiden, I've been a massage therapist for 20 years and I can tell
when someone has neck problems.  I'm just going to massage the back of your
neck and shoulders a bit and you tell me if you notice any difference."

"Um, it's Ethan, and my neck is okay, really, but if I can just show you
.. ", he argued.

"Sit still, this won't take a moment and it'll help you relax."

"But I AM relaxed, " he argued.

"Hush", I whispered sternly, like a father would to his son.

He went quiet and let me massage his neck, but he didn't look happy.  I
went slowly, allowing my thumbs to probe the smooth hollow at the back of
his neck while my fingers reveled in that spot where the side of the neck
meets the shoulders.  I gently pressed, and then smoothed, kneaded and
spread.  My thumbs played just below the neckline of the t-shirt, he felt
exquisite.

"Is your body always this tense?" I asked.

"I dunno, feels normal", he replied.

"You're carrying a lot of tension, it goes right down your back, I can see
it in the way you're sitting".

He straightened up when I said this, as I started to work the upper
shoulder blades.  I tried to go further down, towards his upper back, all
the while whispering soothing words to him.

Finally, I said "I need to lift your t-shirt up a bit so I can get at your
upper back".

"Oh, no need, I feel better already, thanks", he said.

"I know, and you'll feel even better when I've done your back," I said.

"Really, I'm fine .. now if you want we can get back to .. "

"Egan, I need to lift your shirt so I can finish my massage," I said
evenly, emphatically, as though addressing a dull child.  "I want you to
sit still while I do this".

"It's Ethan, and I really don't need ..".  He stopped short and sighed
audibly as I raised the bottom of his shirt almost up to his shoulders.  I
fumbled around awkwardly for a minute while he sulked.

"This isn't working, we need to get that shirt off so I can get at your
back", I said.

"No, please, I'm fine", he pleaded.  He sounded exasperated.

"Easton, will you stop making such a fuss.  How do you expect to relax if
you keep fighting me every step of the way." He continued with his
objections, but I went ahead and hoisted his t-shirt further up anyway.
His arms were loose and they shot up as the t-shirt rose higher, off his
shoulders, over his head; I flung it onto the far chair.  And suddenly, he
was shirtless, and looking incensed.

I ignored his demeanor and set my sights on his creamy torso, the smooth
white flesh firm under my touch.  He flinched as I began, so I went slowly.
I moved down, digging my thumbs into his shoulder blades as my fingers
played softly with the sides of his torso, moving around towards his chest.
At one point I held the left side of his torso while my right hand got a
good grip on the shoulder blade.  My fingers on the left hand gently edged
around and touched his nipple as I tried to firm my grip.  He grunted a
bit, I pressed harder into his shoulder blade and repositioned my fingers
on his nipple.  He grunted again and I kept the hand there for another half
minute before doing the same thing on the opposite side.  I started working
down his spine now, in small circular motions and his body started to
loosen up, along with his mood.  He was looking more serene now, and his
body was beginning to move with my rhythm, allowing, enabling.  I decided
it was time to switch gears.

"Have you ever heard of reflexology ?", I asked.

He shook his head.

"It's a type of foot massage.  You see, there're hundreds of points on the
soles of your feet that are connected to all other areas of your body, and
by massaging those points, you're relaxing and helping the rest of your
body.  Reflexology is actually a part of my massage practice.  I'll show
you."

"No, thanks, I .. I don't need my feet massaged," he argued.

"I know, and your neck didn't need massaging either, but look how you feel
now.  Take a bit more of your drink and lie back, I'm going to give you a
quick reflexology treatment.  Reflexology 101!", I chirped.

He continued to protest, saying he didn't need it, he was fine, felt
relaxed, but I poo-pooed his arguments and put my hands gently on his
shoulders, easing him back into a reclining position.  Surprisingly, he
complied.  He took a couple of quick gulps of his drink and laid back
against the armrest of the sofa, looking a bit defeated.  At my urging, he
brought his legs up and I lifted his feet onto my thighs.  I was in heaven.
This was the kind of thing I'd only fantasized about, but here I was,
holding in my lap the socked feet of a handsome young man, with full
license to maul them.

"Just relax and let me know how this feels", I said as I held his left foot
in my hands and began to knead.  I spent a moment savouring the situation,
as I took in the firmness of his foot beneath the soft fabric of the sock,
the perfect give as I massaged and pressed into it.  The smoothness of the
fabric sole, the undulating contours of his foot.  The pliancy of his toes.
The ambient aroma.  I could have spent all day like that.  But there was
another foot to do.  And more.

He began to relax under my touch, and closed his eyes as if in a trance.  I
realized I had to be careful as his feet were perilously close to the major
wood I'd sprouted.  I tried to stay focused and not allow myself to get
carried away, adjusting my bulge as needed.

"That feels good," he said softly.

"Of course it does, I'm massaging your entire body through your feet," I
said.

I worked his right foot, much the way I'd done his left, but this time, I
allowed my right hand to stray up beyond the sock line, all the while
massaging his foot with my left.  My hand continued higher up his leg until
I found what I was looking for.

"Do you experience pain in your legs?", I asked.

"No, .. it's alright, I, I feel okay".

"`Cause I found a big knot in your calf, and I'm willing to bet that
there's one in your other calf too.  I dropped his right foot and picked up
the left again.  I felt up towards the calf and said, "yup, I knew it,
you've got muscle strain in your calves."

"What?", he said, as though he were coming out of a daze.

"Muscle strain .. in your calves.  It causes extreme sensitivity in the
areas around the calf.  You get it from excessive walking, especially in
shoes that aren't comfortable.  Are your shoes uncomfortable?"

"They're okay, I dunno."

"Let's do a test", I said.  I jabbed my fingers hard into the sensitive
spot behind the knee; he yelped in pain.

"Hmm, not good.  How about this?"  I leaned my thumbs mercilessly into his
shin; he screamed again.

"I knew it, muscle strain".

"Is it serious?" he asked.  He looked genuinely worried.

"Well, you don't want it to turn into a muscle rupture, that's for sure.
But I can get rid of it for you right now, but I need to massage the calves
fully.  Drop your pants down to your ankles so I can get at your calves."

His eyes widened and he stiffened up.  "I don't think that's a good idea."
He was shaking his head.

"C'mon, the sooner we do this, the sooner you'll be free of that pain."

"But I don't have any pain."

"Yup, classic symptom," I said.  "You don't realize how much pain you're in
until someone touches the sensitive area".  I punctuated this comment with
increased pressure on the shin and he screamed again.

"See?  Let's go, drop `em".

"I don't know, I .. "

"Ethan, I'm practically a doctor.  Here, I'll help you", I said, opening
the top of his pants and lowering the zipper in what seemed like one quick
movement.  I eased the pants down to his hips as I encouraged him to lift
his pelvis, which he did.  Then I pulled the pants all the way off.

He was wearing navy boxers, Star Wars theme, and he was tenting slightly
.. just what I was hoping for.  The distorted image of Darth Vadar peered
out ominously from his crotch.  This was so good!

He looked a bit embarrassed so I handed him his glass and he finished off
his drink in two gulps.  I took it from him, put it aside and told him to
lie back and relax.

My state of arousal was now extreme and evident, and it was really
difficult to conceal, but for some reason he seemed not to notice.  I
started to work his calves, kneading and softening, extending the reach of
my fingers outward and upward.  Especially upward.  I allowed my fingers to
roam just above his knees.  He started to squirm a bit, so I moved my
fingers behind his knee and pressed hard.  He gasped in pain.

"I think we've caught this just in time," I reassured him.  I began
massaging some more, upward, in circles, ever upward, until I found myself
in uncharted territory -- his upper thighs.  He seemed to be enjoying it
now, but he didn't want me to know.  His eyes were shut and it looked like
he was concentrating intensely.  His breathing was becoming heavy and
irregular, and he was trying to suppress soft moans, that came out as tiny
gasps from time to time.  I moved my hands up further, just under his
shorts and he tensed up.  His hands went to cover his crotch, he didn't
want me to see what was going on there.

"Don't worry, that's a normal reaction, I see it all the time," I said as I
steered his hands away.  I stroked the tented fabric with the tip of my
finger and the bulge spasmed upward.  He let out a pained moan.  I stroked
his dick through the fabric again as my other hand played inside his
shorts.  I found his balls, they were tight and drawn up close to his body.
I fondled them lovingly as I pried open his fly.  His dick sprung out like
a light saber ready for battle.  I slowly caressed the underside of his
shaft in the palm of my hand as a gesture of peace and goodwill.

His cock was beautiful.  Circumcised, about five inches, bone hard and an
indignant shade of red.  It was oozing.  I dabbed my index finger into the
tiny pool at the tip of his cock and pulled back a glistening strand,
bringing it to my lips.  I slicked the head of his cock with the streaming
ooze, and he groaned loudly.

I bowed to him reverentially and kissed the underside of his dick.  Slowly,
I slid the head into my mouth and held it there.  My lips were wrapped
around his shaft, just below the head, and I could feel his heartbeat
throbbing in his cock.  What a wondrous sensation, knowing that the
heartbeat I was feeling was responsible for the blood coursing through his
body, eventually finding its way to his stiff dick.  I began rolling my
tongue around the head leisurely, lapping at the underside now and then.
His fingers were grasping the couch as his body stiffened.  He was trying
to muffle the sounds that were working to escape his mouth, to little
avail.  At one point, a random stream of whimpers sounded like he was
crying.  I pulled back.

"Lift your hips", I whispered.

He did so, and I shimmied his boxers down and off.  He was now naked except
for his socks, which I promptly peeled off as well.  I took his cock head
once more in my mouth and held it firmly, as though I were entrusted with a
precious consignment.  Slowly, I began to ease down, taking in the entirety
of his exquisite shaft.  He was starting to squirm a bit more now, no
longer able to control his body responses.

I moved my hands up higher on his torso and began caressing the halos
around his nipples in narrowing circles.  Finally, my fingers found the
nubs, which were hard and erect.  I swirled thumb and fore-finger around
each nipple, as though working the combination of a lock.  At the same
time, I brought my mouth back onto his cock which was tightening, becoming
stiffer.

He squinted his eyes and grimaced sharply, his whimpers becoming words.

"Oh god, I'm gonna ....... unhhhhhh!"

He let out what sounded like a growly groan as he unloaded into my
expectant mouth.  I stopped moving, allowing only my tongue to play the
underside of his shaft.  I could feel the pulsing of his ejaculation
against my lips.  His cum shot hard, hit the back of my throat and slid
lazily down.  I reveled in the moment before swallowing, it tasted deep and
serious, like the substantial stuff it was.  I kept his softening cock in
my mouth for a moment before releasing it back into the world.

I sat up and looked at him as he lay there, eyes closed again, panting
softly.  His dick had shrunk significantly, and resembled an egg in a
brambly brown nest.  I took in his pale body one last time before grabbing
a blanket and covering him with it.  I gave him a peck on the cheek as I
drew the blanket over his shoulders and made my way to the kitchen.

Despite the thrill of the events that had just transpired, I felt troubled
and at odds.  I was still on a wild high, all horned up and kind of
frustrated too.  At the same time, I had no intention of trying to force
myself on Ethan any further than I already had, just so I could "finish
off".  And jerking myself right then would have seemed, well,
disrespectful, obscene.  A part of me felt at peace, honored to have had
the chance to be both witness to and participant in Ethan's "coming of age"
moment.  But to me, the episode was inherently soured by the fact that I'd
initiated and orchestrated it through deception, manipulation and downright
lies, hence the gnawing guilt.  And all to feed my own selfish cravings.  I
can be a real dick sometimes.

These feelings were still working to resolve themselves in me when, about
half an hour later, Ethan shuffled into the kitchen.  His hair was rumpled,
he looked a bit sheepish, but composed.  He was dressed again .. his pants
back on, his socks and shirt too.

I looked at him tentatively.  "Hey sleepy-head, want a soda?", I asked.

"Got any more of that iced tea?", he grinned.