Wayne was pretty sure that the guy was a fag. That fruity voice, all that art and shit on the walls. And what kind of normal guy answered the door in a silk robe? (He did look like he had a great body, though, but then didn’t fags spend all their time at the gym?) Wayne could feel the other man’s eyes on him as he installed the cable to the living room and then the bedroom TVs.
“OK, turn it on and make sure it’s hooked up alright,” he told the man, then heard the click of the remote, followed by a humming, hissing sound. “What’s wrong?” he called, climbing out from behind the TV.
“You’d better come and see for yourself,” the man replied.
The pulsing hissing sound had already begun to make Wayne feel a bit dizzy, so once he looked at the screen—got pulled into the swirling colors, the flashing lights, the short bursts of images, words, new truths cycling on the screen—it was all he could do to whimper, “Turn it off…”
But of course the man didn’t. And soon Wayne didn’t want him to. It was the most wonderful thing, standing, watching, absorbing the sights and sounds and new desires that flooded into him. Though it would feel even better if he unbuttoned his shirt. And took off his pants. And then his briefs. And then played with his balls and his rising cock. And then worshipped the other man’s hairy, muscular body.
And then once the programming had ended, Wayne took a case of TV modifier boxes with him. He had four more houses on his route that day, and he was sure they could all use some new programming…