– Horny Scene VII: Outside the Office Window –

I can’t seem to get anything done. I’m staring at a spreadsheet, columns of figures marching in an orderly but endless formation off the monitor.  Not helping is the view from my office window. Normally the cluster of trash cans and car hoods shimmering in relentless sun doesn’t do much for me, but today the scene is improved by Carl. (I don’t know that his name is actually Carl, that’s just what I’ve dubbed him). 

Carl is pressure washing the sidewalk that passes beneath my window and wraps around the end of the building.  For this task, he has selected neoprene and rubber boots—of the Muck variety, but I don’t think the brand—and shorts of a slightly shiny dry-fit material.  Sadly, Carl mostly faces away from me in this task, though this is probably a good thing. Between my workload and the casual open door culture in the office, I can ill afford to truly enjoy the spectacle…at least not until later. 

For the past half hour I have been occasionally hitting the tab key while staring at Carl’s calves as he backs his way up the walk.  His body rocks as he directs the wand right to left and back like a pendulum, the piped rims of his boots keeping time as they slightly slide up and down his legs with the movement. The band of tanned skin between his boot tops and his shorts is peppered with debris from the work. Behind his heels, the hose snakes across the sidewalk and vibrates the puddles with a hypnotic shimmer in the midday sun. 

Carl isn’t the only one getting damp this afternoon. I leave to stretch and gab with Sandra down the hall, who bores the hell out of me with tales from her kid’s recent soccer match. I return to my desk only once my hormones are in check. The spreadsheet patiently waits. When I realize that the purr of the pressure washer hasn’t stopped or changed pitch for a while, I risk standing up and parting the blinds. 

Carl is past my window now, and I can see his face, shining from sweat and spray. He seems to stare unseeingly ahead, transfixed by something. The jet of water hits the sidewalk before him, making no progress across the square. He is motionless, but not petrified. There is something vaguely familiar about his expression.  Then I notice the handle of the wand between his legs, the loop of hose buzzing against his shorts, as if full of hornets. I’m breathless. I want to close the door to my office, but I don’t I have time—Carl can’t have long. I wouldn’t. 

Unbidden, like a turtle from its shell, my own cock sympathetically stretches as Carl sways. I can only imagine his moan, but I see his glassy eyes roll back.  The water stream darts from the sidewalk into a flower bed and mud spatters Carl’s boots and knees as he shudders in ecstasy.