Cable Box

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Rainy days can be the best days.
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The anchorman on the local news station had predicted sunshine for the next two days, but today it was gloomy. Raindrops fell on the sidewalks and rooftops of the small California suburb with an unexpected gusto; sometimes lightly and more often in immense sheets of speckled grey but since first light the storm had not once let up. Claire sat at her kitchen table looking out at the street outside through a large bay window, sipping a cup of green tea and listening to the pitter-patter of droplets as they impacted the roof of her quaint, one story house. Claire had never been particularly fond of rain, and this was due mostly to the fact that rain always decided to come at the most inconvenient possible times. She was a caterer by trade. She worked for a local organic foods company and was responsible for the setting up and managing of demonstrations at local events, such as fairs, parades, anyplace friendly to street food enthusiasts. She worked Monday through Friday setting up tents, organizing outdoor cook stations, hauling van-fuls of food and supplies from place to place, and in her profession stormy weather was considered to be an almost intolerable inconvenience.

That was why today, sitting in her favorably sized kitchen sipping hot tea and resting her elbows on her circular, exquisitely lacquered dining table, Claire felt a nearly overwhelming sense of relief. The dread she had felt the last two days upon hearing the anchorman predict an unseasonably beautiful weekend and heavy rains starting on Monday had melted away like frost after sunrise when the storm had come two days early and elected to start on Saturday instead. This meant that Claire would not have to leave her home at 6am instead of 7am to battle her way through the inevitable mob of congestion on the 101. This meant that Claire would not have to take special measures to cover and protect all of the equipment that made up her mobile kitchen, struggle to load them into plain white vans that would slip and stumble and groan all the way to the destination under the added weight and slick roads, and assemble her temporary restaurant while fighting howling winds and debilitating cold to serve the few street goers who were brave enough to venture out of their cozy little kitchens. Now that those factors were eliminated, Claire found herself strangely entranced by the steady drumroll of precipitation that she had been relieved from.

On the rare occasions that permitted her to shelter herself from the storm, she in fact found the rain very calming. It was like nothing else in the world, really. No matter how bad it got, the constant downpour that sounded like a continuous pounding on the rooftop could be broken down into individual parts. If you really listened, you could hear each drop impact the earth, but if you just let it happen, let it wash over you, the feeling was majestic. It reminded Claire of going to see a symphony when she was a girl. Her parents had both been high school music teachers, and insisted (though it seemed more like force to Claire at the time) that their daughter develop an appreciation for classical compositions. There was no rock music, no pop allowed in the household when Claire was growing up. She would hear names like Haydn and Chopin on an almost daily basis, but never once could Claire recall either of her parents utter the words "Michael Jackson". The only records they had ever let her buy as a teenager were old LPs etched with the great symphonies of the last two centuries past, and though she enjoyed a little light rock on occasion, a grand orchestra was all she really needed to get her blood pumping. And so it was, when she sat and listened to the rain pour down mere feet from her, she could hear the music it made. Each individual part, when combined together, suddenly becomes something much more whole and grand. A symphony of the type only Mother Nature can provide.

In her contemplation of the notes expressed in the raindrops outside, Claire had not noticed that her tea had gotten cold. In fact she had been so lost in her own thoughts that she had hardly finished half of it. She curled her lip at the thought of the wasted brew, but she still had some water left in her kettle, so she walked to the sink to dump her remaining tea and re-start the burner on the oven. She threw the used tea-bag away and stood at the sink under the bay window that had until a few moments ago been the portal into her subconscious mind, and in the reflection of the etched glass, she noticed Thomas for the first time since he had arrived. Thomas was her next-door neighbor, and they had been mutual friends since she had moved to the block almost a year ago. He was a tall man, in his mid-thirties, with a large build and a well-shaped body. Besides being an avid bicyclist, he was also an electrician, and Claire had called him over earlier in the morning to fix her cable box, which she told him wasn't working. She smiled to herself at the sight of him crouched down with his head thoughtfully examining the back of her television. He had been over for about an hour trying to find a solution to her problem, but Claire was confident that he wouldn't be able to fix it. She had unplugged it before he arrived, and so far her plan was coming together nicely.

Claire had been unreasonably attracted to Thomas since the day she first laid eyes upon him. Being only 24, she usually went for younger guys, but there was something about this man that had piqued her interest from day one, and had not waned in all the time since. She enjoyed the way he smiled, the way he could talk to her with the confidence of a younger man but a matured and refined charm that did not make her feel as though he was constantly thinking about what she looked like naked, although she could often see flashes of closeted desire in his eyes from time to time. She had spent almost a year wanting him, thinking about his lips moving slowly down her neck toward her shoulders, and what his penis might feel like when clutched in her hand, but for much of that time he had been living with his girlfriend, and Claire was forced to leave her fantasies inside her own mind. Now though, they were two months separated. Thomas caught her sleeping with another man three months ago, and after a few weeks of turbulent and futile attempts to salvage the relationship, she moved out and Thomas was left in an extremely emotional state. Claire had wanted to go to him then, to comfort him and express how much she fancied him, but she elected to let that conversation slide until he recovered a bit. Instead she called him once a week, just idle chat, and once they had gone out to dinner. It had now been almost a week since he made any mention of his ex, he was back to his regular, charming self, and Claire had decided that today was the day she was going to make it happen. So she unplugged her cable box, and while he worked, she pretended to pass the time in the kitchen like a regular client on a house call while she waited for the champagne sitting in an ice bath in the sink to chill, and was now watching him labor in a window reflection while she imagined what would take place in the next few minutes.

She had spent a full thirty minutes that morning deciding what to wear. She wanted to impress, but not give away her intentions right off. Full on lingerie might have made the wrong impression, so she settled on a knee high white summer dress, (because of the rain, of course), a black lace bra, and a quaint little black thong. It was still a sharp contrast to the black t-shirt and carpenter Levis that Thomas had arrived in, but it just functioned as a testament to why she liked him. Here was the perfect opportunity for him to seduce her: a rainy day, unlimited time to spend naked together, an entire house of possible love-making surfaces, and yet he still maintained his professionalism. He could have walked thorough the door and carried Claire to the bedroom without a word spoken between them, and she would not have protested. But she knew it would not happen like that, he was too modest to do something so brazen and unexpected, but she had no problem making the first move.

Claire could see now that Thomas was beginning to give up tinkering with the television and the cable box, and she sensed that he would soon come to her and ask to see the other connections in the house, where he would discover the simple answer that had been eluding him, at which point Claire's window of opportunity would pass and her goal would walk out the door. She had to take him now.

She quietly pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet to her right and set them on the counter. She then unraveled the metal wires that held the champagne cork in place and submerged the bottle in the water that had melted from the ice bath and popped the cork off underwater. The sudden exhalation of gas still made a muffled puff in the water and Claire looked back to see if Thomas had heard it and become curious. He was still examining the wires behind the TV and was doing something with a screwdriver that Claire could not identify so she turned back to the bottle of wine in her hand. She removed the cork completely and filled the two glasses with the bubbly, golden liquid. She placed the bottle on the counter, grabbed the wine glasses by the stem, and walked out into the living room where Thomas was working.

"Have you found anything interesting back there yet?" She asked innocently.

"Ill be quite honest, I am so far at a loss", he replied without looking back. "I've checked all the connections. All the leads are good, so it isn't a problem with the TV itself, but I meant to ask you if I can check your Ethernet connections around the house, maybe something came unplugged".

Claire suddenly felt a little guilty for having made him wait this long, but was nonetheless flattered by how thorough he had been in his inspection. He truly was a professional.

"Well", she said. "I really do appreciate all the work you've done, and I'm sorry the solution has been so complicated." She sat down on the couch. "You've been working non-stop for almost an hour, why don't you sit and have a drink with me?"

Thomas now looked back at Claire sitting on the right side of the couch in front of the television he was working on, noticed the two glasses of champagne in her hands, and with a little smile, agreed.

Thomas took a seat about a foot away from Claire on the sofa, picked up one of the glasses of wine and drank heartily. He had not noticed until now how thirsty he was.

For a while, they chatted. Claire went on about her job and her lazy co-workers, Thomas talked passionately about bicycle science, and by their third glass of champagne, neither Claire nor Thomas were thinking about anything business related any longer. Claire's desire for Thomas had become almost irresistible. His modest swagger was having an undeniable effect on her; the sound of his voice alone sent shivers up her spine. She wanted to see him naked. She wanted to see his penis and feel it become hard in her hand as they teased each other in her bedroom, and she wanted him to undress her as well.

Thomas too, was feeling his emotions start to rise at the sight of Claire. The dress she had chosen fitted her almost perfectly, it almost seemed to be a part of her. Her breasts were not noticeably large, but they were well proportioned and fit her body well. He began to imagine what her nipples might look like, whether they were dark like her hair, whether they were large or small. He had succumbed to these kinds of thoughts before, but never with the intensity he was feeling now.

As they talked, Claire's eyes began to wander over Thomas' body. He was dressed very casually, but she could still detect the muscular build underneath his clothes, and she wanted nothing more than to see it for herself. She imagined her hands running up and down his arms, feeling his chest and traveling down toward his pants.

Suddenly, she didn't know whether it was the alcohol or whether she had fallen back into a trance like she had looking at the rain fall outside the kitchen window, she unexpectedly found that that was exactly what she was doing.

She immediately withdrew her hand from his bicep in embarrassment. She couldn't believe what she had just done. Claire momentarily looked completely away from Thomas, who she was sure was looking at her with that strange look a cat gives a person when it is touched by someone unfamiliar. She was afraid that she had blown it, but when she looked back at Thomas, she found that he was staring directly at her, and in his eyes there was a determination that she had not seen in them at anytime before this moment.

Thomas put his hand on Claire's cheek, all the while looking directly into her kelp green eyes, and pulled her lips toward his. Their mouths met softly at first, but that small touch opened the floodgates, and suddenly their pent up passions began pouring out of them all at once. They were making out fiercely now, with Thomas' hands clamped on Claire's face, and Claire holding onto his firm shoulders. Their tongues were creating a dance between them as their hands began to explore each other. Claire wrapped her arms around Thomas, sliding them under his shirt and feeling every part of his torso, from his arms down to his sides, and across his stomach. His body was just as she imagined it: firm but not lean, meaty but not large. Thomas' hands were gently moving down her neck to the bare part of her shoulders that were exposed in her summer dress. Her sensitivity was running so high by now that the gentle caress of his fingers made her Claire moan almost involuntarily. Thomas began to move his hand and his head downward on Claire. His lips found her neck, and his hands began to move across her breasts. At this point, Claire could not take the stimulation any longer. After a whole year of waiting, it was time to make it happen.

"Let's go to my room." She said as she let out a loud gasp of pleasure.

"I concur with that." Thomas said and smiled that amazing smile that had made Claire's heart flutter since they had first met.

Claire got up first, grabbed Thomas by the hand, and led him across the room toward the back of the house, where she opened the door that revealed her bedroom. The room itself was sparsely furnished. An old fashioned record player, a queen sized bed with a white quilt on top, a small TV in the wardrobe, but given the situation, Thomas noticed none of these things. As soon as Claire closed the door behind them, they were in each other's arms and frolicking as though there had never been a change of location at all. Thomas reached under her dress, sliding it up over her hips and lifting it over her head. She was dressed sparsely in a black bra and thong, and the sight instantly shot a fresh dose of blood to Thomas' loins. In response to Claire's nearly naked appearance, Thomas ripped off his shirt and began to undo his pants, but Claire was already taking the initiative on that end.

Claire unzipped him and shoved his pants to the ground. Thomas wrapped his arms around Claire and brought her as close to him as he could to kiss her. Claire could feel his firm cock pressing against her crotch just above her clitoris, and the sensation sent an immense wave of pleasure through her body and caused her vagina to tighten. His body, now revealed to her, was just as pleasing as she had imagined it to be. He was no body builder, but he was in shape and strong enough for her to feel when he touched her. As if he had seen these exact thoughts floating in her head, Thomas picked Claire up and they both fell onto the bed, still clutching at each other and kissing furiously. Claire lay on her back, and let Thomas use her body as his playground. His lips moved from her face down her neck, eventually reaching her chest and he began to suckle on the exposed parts of her breasts. Claire's nipples were so stiff they were beginning to chafe against the lace material in her bra. Thomas moved his head down further, kissing her just below her breasts, on the top of her stomach, lightly pecking her all the way down to her crotch, where he removed her panties. Claire spread her legs in anticipation without thinking, and Thomas wasted no time going to work with his lips and tongue on the folds of her vagina.

This sudden sensation caused Claire to gasp audibly and arch her back. She had never been with a man that started out by giving her oral sex. Almost all the guys she had ever been with had either refused to do it or agreed only to do it if she performed oral sex on them first. This was a new feeling for Claire, and one that she enjoyed immensely. Thomas was now using his tongue to depress Claire's clitoris and using his finger to tease the walls of her vagina. The combination caused Claire to lose all shred of conscious thought for a few moments. All she could do was hold on to his head and stare at the ceiling and moan. She was close to a mighty orgasm already: she could feel it building up inside her. Thomas' finger was now thrusting deep inside her. She didn't know if he knew it or not, but he was tickling her G-spot with each thrust. Claire didn't want to orgasm before they had even started, so reluctantly she dragged his head toward hers and embraced his mouth. She flipped him over onto his back and removed her bra, letting her well-shaped breasts finally hang free. She threw her final article of clothing to the floor and stripped Thomas' boxers off, then went to work trying to match amazing things he had done to her a few moments before.

She was thoroughly satisfied with Thomas' penis. It was thick, about seven inches long, and his pubic hair was well trimmed. She wondered for a moment if he had recently landscaped himself in anticipation of something like this taking place, but at this point she just wanted it inside her. She performed fellatio on him, and went out of her way to make sure it was the best she had ever given. The constant moans and groans coming from Thomas reassured her that she was indeed performing well, and within a few seconds he was as hard as Claire could imagine a penis could be. She lay down next to him, his cock firmly in her grasp, leaned in close to his ear and whispered,

"Do you want me?"

Thomas looked at her glowing green eyes, and despite being asked the easiest question that he had ever been asked in his life, all he could think to utter was,

"Uh-huh."

Despite not being the most confident answer he could have used, it didn't seem to make a difference. Claire reached into her nightstand drawer, withdrew a condom, and slowly unwrapped it around his pulsating cock. It took naught but a few seconds of maneuvering before, after a whole year of fantasy and buildup, Thomas was inside her.

With Claire on top calling the shots, Thomas just laid back and let her go to work on him, and he found nothing wrong with that. Claire was properly wet, and his penis glided in and out of her effortlessly as she gyrated on top of him, varying her speed every few seconds but not once stopping.

Claire was in heaven. The feeling of Thomas inside her was one she had dreamed about for so long, to finally have it was something that seemed still unreal but with every thrust she was reminded that she was, in fact, not dreaming. She straddled him and shoved him as deep inside her as she could. Every thrust was finding her G-spot in just the right way, and his penis never lost any of its firmness. She could feel a biblical orgasm spreading through her body, and this time she was ready to welcome it. She bounced up and down, all the time moaning towards the ceiling. Suddenly she felt Thomas' hands move across her body. His left hand grabbed her right breast, and his right hand settled just below her stomach. Then, without warning, Thomas simultaneously began to rub her nipple and her clitoris, and the shock sent a deep-throated grunt flowing from her mouth. She could feel the orgasm coming, and from the look on Thomas' face, his was on his way as well, so she pressed harder than ever, forcing him deeper and deeper into her. Outside, the rain was coming down harder than it ever had before.

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