It's Just A Tee Shirt, Man

Seduction comes in may forms
As our hero learns over the course of a summer

He was on the other side of the glass patio doors. I wasn't sure but thought he thought I couldn't see him. Then again, maybe he wanted me to see him. He was standing back in the room, not right up against the glass. It wasn't too clear what room it was. When I glanced that way he always caught my eye and I wasn't concentrating on the furnishings around him.

He obviously was watching me. Just as obviously, even standing back away from the bright sunlight, he was playing with himself. Not a bad looking dude. Hung like a fucking horse.

I was taking longer than planned. This was the first routine call after the crew came and refilled the pool, regenerated the filter, got things started for the summer. Wasn't much to do, some skimming, check the water, add some chemicals. But, I kept postponing leaving, sneaking looks at this guy, watching him beat off.

The next week was different. He just stood there for about five minutes then left. Guess I was too familiar now. Must get off on watching new meat. When I got in the truck to leave he was at the front window, curtain pulled back, watching.

Two weeks later I had just got the water sample and started testing when a movement up at the house caught the corner of my eye. There he was again. This time he was going at it hot and heavy. Standing spread legged he was jacking on that rod like mad. This time he wasn't trying to hide either. he was almost right in the patio doorway. When he threw back his head and squeezed out his creamy spunk it splattered against the glass. I sat there on the edge of the pool and watched. It was quite a show. Got a little hot and bothered myself by the time he was finished.

That day, when I was done and heading for the truck, he came out the front door and met me in the drive. He thanked me and handed me an envelope. I checked it. It contained seven tens and a five.

"For what, man?" I asked, meaning both the thanks and the dough.

"The shirt. That enough to buy it off you?"

Geeze! So that was his thing. Seventy five for this piece of trash. I whipped it off and tossed it to him.

"Wear something grungier next time. The more worn the better. O.K.?"

He was serious. I smiled warmly, chuckled to myself and told him, "Whatever turns you on. Same deal? You'll buy it?"

He nodded, solemnly.

"Anything else?" He deserved good service for that money.

"Stay closer to the house. Want to watch you. You get off watching me?" It seemed a mild curiousity. Didn't appear it was a requirment.

"Un Hu. Even though, honest, man, that's not my thing."

"Every guy masturbates." He was still very solemn and sincere.

"Not over another guy, or another guy's clothes." I had to put this guy straight.

"Oh, well. If the urge hits, don't feel shy on my part. I won't come on to you. Do it 'cause it feels good. If . . . " With that comment left hanging he turned and went back into his house.

Damn strange dude. But, an extra seventy five. A free and clear, unreported seventy five. For nothing, or next to nothing. I should be so lucky. Shit. If I can come up with the shirts that's a minimum of an extra three hundred a month. For that he could come on to me or even cum on me, I thought, and then shuddered. Uggggh!

My next day off I cruised over to the Thrift Shop on Hillside. Spent a grand total of two fifty for three tee shirts out of the rag bin, two ugly mother tank tops and an old baseball jersey with long sleeves that I figured could be ripped off. Stopped off on the way to the apartment and ran the lot through at the laundromat. Used double bleach to really clean them and weaken the fabric. My grunge I can take, not someone else's. He had said the worn the better.

Started with one of the tees. It was a wreck to begin with. Tore out the sleves. Did a lousy job, almost shredded the whole thing. Wore it night and day. Got a lot of nasty cracks about needing to spruce up my wardrobe at work. It was one size too small and got a few tears when I hoisted some big cartons of chemicals into the truck. Used it to wipe off the sweat after every job. It was rank by the time I pulled into his drive. Even I could smell myself. Figured it had to be the grungiest shirt ever.

Spotted him at the front window. He was there in the double wide glass when I got to the pool. No pretense, standing there stark naked, fingering himself, cock hard and pointing at the sun. He gave me a big O when I first glanced over. He dug the shirt. Man, did he dig that shirt. Wasn't half done with the needed work and he had cum smeared all over that glass door. I stopped and watched the climax of his show. Man, what a load he packed. 'Course maybe he only dumps it once a week, for me. Suspect I'd be equally impressive if I could hold off for a week. This was making my balls ache.

He had thrown on a robe and stepped out on the patio just as I was finishing. Didn't say anything. Held out another envelope. I stripped off the shirt and we made the exchanage.

"See you next week, same time, same place," he said with a grin.

I grinned back. "You can count on it."

Variety. The spice of live. I opted for one of the oversize tank tops next. Not as many holes or tears but heavy underarm stains that hadn't washed out. Gave a few tugs and started a hole. Ripped from there to turn it into a ragged abbreviated version exposing my bare midsection. Looks sorta sexy, I though. Sh-i-i-i-t, I'm starting to think like him.

By Wednesday that shirt was ripe. Didn't even wear it to bed Tuesday. I would have choked on the fumes. Slipped it on after picking up the truck and leaving for my first appointment. I had found myself thinking about him and his act more and more as the week passed. What really bothered me was I started getting aroused just thinking about being there. My nuts were tight when I pulled in his drive. Right on time. He wasn't at the front window.

I honked. Nothing. Shit. Got all worked up over nothing. Piled out and headed around back. Still had the pool maintenance that was paid for and should be done. Swung open the gate from the drive to the poolside patio and there he was, lounging in the all together on the opposite side of the pool. No, actually, here was a towel discreely draped over his privates. Protection from the sun, not modesty, I figured, 'cause that rod was tenting that towel a good ten inches in the air. I waved. He waved back, sat up and gave me the once over.

A wolf whistle shrilled across the pool. He lifted that towel and whirled it around over his head in approval. The terry cloth fell on the bricks. He propped the back so he could sit and watch me work as he stroked. He straddled the seat and squeezed on his rod as I plucked the skimmer off its hooks on the fence.

I worked, trying to pretend he wasn't there. He worked, only because I was there. He didn't take his eyes off me. What made it difficult was with him right there, not behind the glass, I could hear him. When he got into it, he really got into it. There were moans and groans and slapping sounds drifting across the water. It was impossible not to look up now and then. Aw, hell, it was impossible to see what I was doing half the time because I was watching him. I found myself breathing harder. The boner and ache in my balls that had faded when I though he wasn't home had come back. Strong.

Now, not like when he had been standing behind the patio doors, his equipment was on full display. That horse cock pointed at the sky over a sack that contained what seemed to be walnut size gonads. A sack that bounced on the lounger's pad as he stroked up and down on that rod of flesh with the shimmery head. Maybe with that size cock you could always blow a load like he does. Whoa. I had to remind myself I was suppose to be testing the water, not just crouched here at poolside contimplating manual erectile tissue manipulations performed by an obvious exhibitionist.

But he was so in to it. Devouring me with his eyes. At the same time daring me. Like he knew what I was thinking. Knew what his display was doing to my head, not to mention my loins. He wasn't saying it, not now. Still, I could hear him, " . . . if the urge hits, don't feel shy . . . Do it 'cause it feels good." And, damn it, I had the urge. I was carrying a hard on that was almost ripping out of my shorts.

I sat on the edge of the pool, dangling my feet in the water, trying to cool off. Found all I wanted to do was get hotter. He was smiling big now, rocking with the beat, slow and steady. That prick was just waiting for me. He knew. Of course he was looking right at me and could not avoid seeing the unmistakable bulge in my shorts. Even sitting, leaning forward, it could not be hidden.

"Fuck you, man!" I yelled across the pool, stood and whipped off the offering of the day. Dropping it at poolside I got the hell out of there. If he was honest, I'd get my money. Later. If not. Right then I didn't give a fuck.

Why I felt all right whacking off in the cab of the truck sitting in his drive, but not out back by the pool, I wasn't sure. But I did -- feel all right about it and did it. Shit, I hadn't got that high a buzz off masturbating since I was sixteen. I was all prick and a mile high. I creamed into a handful of paper towels. Tingling from head to toe, I wanted to race back down the drive, rip open that gate and yell at him. Yell what? I didn't know. This was getting too fucking weird.

Didn't prep the next shirt until Tuesday. Used another of the rag bag tees, a grimy gray one that came out looking worn from the wash. Why the hell was I going back? 'Cause it's a job. And, it's just a tee shirt, man. A lousy tee shirt for a lousy seventy five bills. A lousy tee shirt so a dip shit can get his jollies. A lousy tee shirt that already makes my skin tingle in anticipation.

Didn't expect to see him in the front window. Didn't. It was like he hadn't moved since last Wednesday. Not even to pick up the towel. Well maybe it was a different one. Still it was laying there on the bricks, not covering him. The tingling anticipation had balled up in my gut, wrapped a rubber band around my nuts and pumped my cock so full of blood it was ready to burst. He was already hard, too. Not playing with it. Just sitting there, hands on his thighs, that giant cock sticking up like a fucking roman candle, watching me as I came in the gate. He grinned at my discomfort. Discomfort which again he could clearly see. My shorts' crotch was sticking out as far as the fabric would stretch.

"Forgot your money last time. Got it here. If you want it." He patted the envelope resting on the cushion right between his knees, right out in front of that stiff pole of his. "It's not finished until you take the money. Hate unfinished business." There was a gleam in his eyes. Again he was daring me. Daring me to walk over there and pick up that envelope, just the envelope, nothing else.

"Fuck you," I repeated, this time muttering it to myself. I strode around the pool. I stopped beside him, looked him right in the eyes, picked up the envelope and stuck it in my hip pocket. "Thanks, " I said.

"Nice shirt," he commented. "You joining me today?" He didn't move a muscle except for that long hard one that twitched with his every heart beat.

"Haven't decided." I turned and started back around the pool.

"Your body has. Why not tell your mind to fuck off? Who the hell will know or care? Or, you just going to go beat off in the truck again?"

I jerked my head back around. He was grinning, had a light grasp of his cock with his forefinger and thumb and was running them over the full length of that firm but quivering shaft. Deliberatly, provocatively he let out a low moan. A shiver twitched his whole body while I watched. I turned back and proceeded with the pool jobs that needed my attention. Kept finding myself rubbing my crotch. Every move I made was accompanied by a mounting series of sex sounds from across the way. I kept my eyes averted, refusing to give him the pleasure of knowing he had captured my attention. But, he knew it without me looking at him. He could see my body jerk when he groaned. He could see, and I could feel, my erection. Every grunt and moan of his just tightened the ball pulsing in my gut. It didn't matter if his vocal seranade was real or fake. It tore into me. It was sapping my will, beating down my resistance.

So there I lay, my legs kicking in the water, flat on my back, howling at the sun. My hand was jerking wildly on my boner, racing for relase. Fuck him, I was into my thing now. It was like last week, in the truck, gut wrenching, body shaking. There was just me, the sun, my hand, my cock. The rest of the world faded into oblivion as the tingling broke free. It imploded my balls and reverberated up that pulsing shaft. Knotting tight around my swollen dick head it sat, then leaped for the sun, pulling behind it the viscous white core from my nuts, ripped free and flying into the sky.

My chest was heaving, the tee shirt was cum soaked and I never felt better. The euphoria lasted clear to the truck where, for some reason I checked today's envelope. There was a paper wrapped around the bills -- five twenties.

"Welcome to the club"

So. Sue me. It feels good. I do it. Every fucking Wednesday. Lying right beside him on the other lounger. Sometimes we even compete for distance. Joe paid an extra fifty the time I won. We won. Well it was my cock. His hand.