Some days Frank loves his job; other days he thinks if he has to fish out one more condom clogging a drain he's going to scream. For the most part, though, it's kind of the perfect job. He works in the mornings, occasionally fucks a bored housewife or two who think they're being adventurous by screwing a tattooed college kid, goes to class in the afternoons and, if he has the energy, picks up some hot-ass guy to fuck in the evening. Life is pretty good.
He took over Todd's route his freshman year. Todd, his pool guy mentor, is tall and blond and pretty in a Calvin Klein model sort of way and pretty much the exact opposite of Frank physically. He's also not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, but he gives great head and he handed the job over to Frank on a silver platter, so Frank can forgive a little bit of idiocy. Especially if the bored housewives keep on slipping extra money in with his pay.
Most of Frank's clients are older; women with more botox than personality and a bunch of absent husbands who throw money around to ease their consciences. It's all a horrible cliché but it tends to work out in Frank's favor and, really, it's none of his business. After all, he's just the guy who cleans the pool. If he makes them able to pretend they're twenty again, then who is he to argue? He's well compensated and he's found that desperate forty-somethings try a little harder than girls his own age.
Still, it is just a job and when he's done for the day he doesn't take any of its problems or moral dilemmas with him. He goes home and washes sweat and chlorine from his skin and heads to class with no worries other than upcoming midterms and whether or not he'll feel up to clubbing tonight.
Every other Friday, Frank cleans the pools of the Troutmans and their neighbors the Ways. The Troutmans are never home, but he sees Mrs. Way fairly often. He wouldn't mind hitting that; she's hot and only a couple years older than he is, but she seems devoted to her husband. Frank has never met the elusive Mr. Way and, from the few conversations with his wife, it seems he's away on business a lot.
Today neither of the happy couple seem to be home so Frank sets about his business. He nearly has a heart attack when a man steps out of the shadows of the large maple tree. Frank tries not to tremble as the man rakes a hot gaze over him. He's being undressed in this guy's head. It's happened enough times that he recognizes the look. He just wishes he were being actually undressed instead of just mentally.
"Um, Mr. Way?"
The man chuckles and cards a hand through his short black hair. "Mr. Way is my dad. Call me Gerard."
Frank licks his lips. This guy is so his type. "I'm Frank."
"So. You're the pool boy."
"Generally I prefer 'pool maintenance' but you can call me whatever you want," Frank flirts. This is wrong. He likes this guy's wife, respects her, even. She never treats him like hired help and she seems really nice. Still, sex radiates from Gerard like the sun and Frank has never been particularly strong willed.
Gerard steps a little closer. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Well, I'd like something," Frank replies suggestively, trailing a finger down Gerard's arm.
Gerard laughs. "This is edging into ridiculous. Do you want to come inside? No one's home."
Which is how Frank finds himself bent over the kitchen table, board shorts around his ankles, on the receiving end of one of the best fucks he's ever had. Gerard seems determined to reduce Frank to a boneless mass. By the time he comes, he's grateful for the table because he's not sure his legs will support him anymore. So he lays across the now slightly sticky surface, muscles trembling, while Gerard finishes.
