An Unusual House Call for a Broken Appliance!
The brutally cold weather in Ohio during Christmas season 2018 reminded me of this incident which occurred three winters ago during a cold spell. The dishwasher in my house is installed on an outside wall, and an internal water supply line in the machine has a tendency to freeze when the external temperature descends into the minus five range, unless I anticipate the problem and turn off the emergency supply valve. I forgot to do that one cold January evening, the supply line froze and burst, and when the thermometer rose into the plus digits the line thawed and water flowed out onto my kitchen floor. After belatedly shutting-off the emergency valve, I looked-up the factory-certified appliance repair company and called them to arrange for a house call. Since the water was already shut-off, and the damage had already been done, I opted not to pay the additional fee for an emergency call, and got an appointment for a repair in the late afternoon of the next day.
It was still cold weather, so I was dressed warmly when the repairman arrived. I would call my appearance to be somewhat androgynous: Tight-fitting boy-cut Levi 501 jeans, penny loafers with black athletic socks, ribbed tight-fitting acrylic/wool turtleneck sweater, and underneath male 2xist bikini underwear and a white compression Under Armour tee shirt. My honey blonde hair, which is well past shoulder length, was tied back in a low, braided ponytail, and I was wearing a bit of concealer makeup underneath my eyes to coverup age discoloration, as well as a hint of brown pencil to accent my blonde eyebrows. I was also wearing masculine type small gold hoops in each ear; it was far from a macho presentation, but it was not patently gay, and certainly not an obviously M2F transgender look.
The repairman was a husky fellow, late forties or early fifties, maybe an inch or two shorter and 35-40 pounds heavier than me, had a medium length beard, and was dressed in some sort of Dickey's type denim uniform with several appliance manufacturer logos sewn on. He said his name was Greg, gave me a business card from his employer to demonstrate he was bona fide, and I showed him the problem. He proceeded to pull the appropriate panels off the dishwasher, extract the broken part, and replace it. When he had gotten done with the repair, he replaced the panels, and ran the machine through a couple of cycles to make sure that all the fittings were tight. We discussed the situation, and he confirmed what I already knew, that the architect and the original contractor who had built my place had made a mistake with the placement of the machine against an outside wall, and had further exacerbated the situation by failing to put additional insulation in the wall. He also recommended that I bite the bullet and keep the machine turned-off from the water supply lines between December 1st and March 1st instead of trying to anticipate cold fronts.
He got out his billing pad, and between the cost of the part and his time it came out to a two hundred fifteen dollar hit on the bank account. Ouch! And, I knew it was partially my fault, too, which didn't ease the pain any. I wrote a check to the repair company, did the subtraction in my check ledger, and chalked it up to experience. As the old saying goes, there is more living than learning in Life.
Greg and I had been chatting while he worked, a bit about the Indians, Browns and Cavaliers, and a bit about politics. This was before the bitterness of the 2016 election, so it was still safe to talk about things like the war in Afghanistan, the Gay marriage decision, Gerrymandering, and so forth, without getting into a bare knuckle fistfight, and somehow we got around to the transgender bathroom question. I always try to stand up for LGBT rights in discussions without coming across as being strident, or involved on a personal level, and in any case Greg was supportive, also, so we were getting along well. Since it was already almost five o' clock then, I offered him a cup of coffee if he didn't have any more appointments scheduled, and he accepted. He took a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, and we continued our conversation while I was making the coffee (I'm a coffee-nazi who insists on grinding the whole beans fresh).
At that time he said something to me which made me pause a bit. The comment was to the effect that he thought that maybe he had seen me before, fairly recently. I said that maybe it was the case because it's a small town, and asked him where we might have met. It was a bit of a cold shock when he said he might have seen me at a local night club a few weeks ago, but that I was dressed differently. I had been to a local Gay/Alternate bar two weekends before that, in full female presentation, and hadn't been clubbing either in Drag or Drab since, so lights began flashing in my brain. Choosing my words very carefull I said that it was certainly a possibility, but was he sure that he wasn't mistaken. I admitted that I went out to night clubs but said that the place I frequented wasn't very popular with either the Date Crowd or the Married Crowd.
"Maybe," he said, "but I think that you were wearing a black silk shirt and your hair was done (pause) differently. And, you were sitting at the bar talking to the bartender, without a date."
I was really trying to collect my thoughts at this time. As best I could remember, I had worn a black silk, long sleeve blouse over a paisley skirt, and a shoulder length wig the lat time I had been out, and it was becoming apparent that I had been "made," but in reverse. Like most crossdresser who operate out of the closet, I'm always a bit worried when I got out dressed as a female that I'll meet with someone I know who will look at me, recognize me, and blurt out, "What the heck are you doing in that dress?" The last thing I had ever expected was that someone who had seen me as a woman would recognize me when I was in Drab, but it was looking probably that was exactly what Greg had done, and that he was testing the waters to see which way we were going to play whatever game was occurring.
The last refuge of the cornered crossdreser is, I suppose, the bald-faced lie, so I said, "You may have seen my cousin Ingrid, who looks a lot like me, and who has interesting choices in the bar she frequents. For example, she likes to go to This End Up, but you don't look like one of their regular customers yourself." This was an admission on my part. This End Up is an openly Alt/Gay/Trans/Bar, and it was the place where I had been two weeks previously, and since no one in the room believed I had a cousin who resembled me all that much, it was an admission I had been there. On the other hand, when he said, very cooly, "I bet that's it, I go to This End Up fairly frequently," that was an admission that he was almost certainly Bi or Gay.
I made a quick decision, smiled, and said, "That's interesting. My cousin lives with me, and she happens to be upstairs right now. Would you like me to ask her to come down so you can meet her?"
"Very much, " he replied.
I put a cup of coffee, with cream and sugar in front of him, said, "Here, you enjoy this Cuppa and I'll go fetch her."
I flew upstairs, stripped down to the skin, put on a bra with a set of breast forms, a pair of thong panties, slid back into the Levis and turtleneck, exchanged my penny loafers for a pair of Capezio ballet shoes, hastily applied eyeliner, eyeshadow, a dab of powder and some lipstick, and donned the same wig which I'd been wearing the night he'd seen me at the Alt Bar. I was moving at near light speed, and accomplished his in about ten minutes.
I went back downstairs, not sure whether I'd find a horny appliance repairman or an empty house, but Greg was still sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and watching television.
I tried to pause dramatically and frame myself artistically and sexily in the door, and said in as sultry a femme voice as I could muster, "Hi, I'm Ingrid, is this more of what you were thinking about?"
He stood up and said, "Yes, very much so. Very pretty and very sexy, just the way I remembered you from that night at This End Up. I wanted to buy you a drink and ask you if I could sit with you, but you left before I had a chance."
I said something to the effect that every Trans-girl loves being lied to by a handsome man, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table. We chatted a quarter of an hour about how he made me as the Trans he had admired even when I was in Drab, since I admit that I don't want to look too much like a Sissy when I'm presenting as a male, and he sort of hinted that I was fighting a losing battle because I was sort of a pretty boy type. I'm still not sure how I feel about that, but I didn't argue the point. The truth is that on fairly numerous occasions when I've been in male dress Gay men have propositioned me, some of whom wanted to suck my cock, and some who frankly wanted to fuck me.
After he was sure that I was the girl he had seen at the night club, Greg came onto me a bit more forcefully verbally, and I responded to his hints with double entendre's and risque comments. Then he said directly, that he thought I have high sexy cheekbones, full pouty lips, and a great ass and legs, and that he wanted to fuck me whether I was dressed as a man or a woman. That definitely produced a twitch in the prostate which might have produced a spurt of precum. One of the classic memes about Trans-Sissies goes to the effect that you don't need to seduce them, all you have to do is let them seduce themselves because they really want to submit to males, and that fit my mindset at the time and place. I suggested that we go sit in the family room, which after his statement was tantamount to me saying, "Yes, I want you to fuck me, too."
We sat down on the sectional sofa, and there really wasn't much conversation from that point on. He leaned over and kissed me tentatively, and then with more force, and within seconds his tongue was in my mouth, and his hands were all over my body. I slid out of the Levi's, but there was no effort to get the turtleneck off, and he just shucked his shoes trousers and underwear and stood in front of me me with his cock pointing at my face. There was no decision or conscious thought, and reflexively I accepted him in my mouth and started sucking him. It all went pretty fast after that, and in a relatively brief period of time I was bent over the arm of the sofa being fucked vigorously from behind, with his strong, mechanic's hand gripping my hips and controlling me as he slammed into me. I like a powerful man, and the sex was very enjoyable, but he finished fairly quickly, and it occurred to me afterwards that the weird circumstances probably made it more titillating than it would otherwise have been.
Over the past few years my dishwasher has performed perfectly, but Greg and I have hooked-up on six other occasions. He still tells me that I'm sexy and pretty, and that is all it takes to get me horny and willing. I am such a slut!
It was still cold weather, so I was dressed warmly when the repairman arrived. I would call my appearance to be somewhat androgynous: Tight-fitting boy-cut Levi 501 jeans, penny loafers with black athletic socks, ribbed tight-fitting acrylic/wool turtleneck sweater, and underneath male 2xist bikini underwear and a white compression Under Armour tee shirt. My honey blonde hair, which is well past shoulder length, was tied back in a low, braided ponytail, and I was wearing a bit of concealer makeup underneath my eyes to coverup age discoloration, as well as a hint of brown pencil to accent my blonde eyebrows. I was also wearing masculine type small gold hoops in each ear; it was far from a macho presentation, but it was not patently gay, and certainly not an obviously M2F transgender look.
The repairman was a husky fellow, late forties or early fifties, maybe an inch or two shorter and 35-40 pounds heavier than me, had a medium length beard, and was dressed in some sort of Dickey's type denim uniform with several appliance manufacturer logos sewn on. He said his name was Greg, gave me a business card from his employer to demonstrate he was bona fide, and I showed him the problem. He proceeded to pull the appropriate panels off the dishwasher, extract the broken part, and replace it. When he had gotten done with the repair, he replaced the panels, and ran the machine through a couple of cycles to make sure that all the fittings were tight. We discussed the situation, and he confirmed what I already knew, that the architect and the original contractor who had built my place had made a mistake with the placement of the machine against an outside wall, and had further exacerbated the situation by failing to put additional insulation in the wall. He also recommended that I bite the bullet and keep the machine turned-off from the water supply lines between December 1st and March 1st instead of trying to anticipate cold fronts.
He got out his billing pad, and between the cost of the part and his time it came out to a two hundred fifteen dollar hit on the bank account. Ouch! And, I knew it was partially my fault, too, which didn't ease the pain any. I wrote a check to the repair company, did the subtraction in my check ledger, and chalked it up to experience. As the old saying goes, there is more living than learning in Life.
Greg and I had been chatting while he worked, a bit about the Indians, Browns and Cavaliers, and a bit about politics. This was before the bitterness of the 2016 election, so it was still safe to talk about things like the war in Afghanistan, the Gay marriage decision, Gerrymandering, and so forth, without getting into a bare knuckle fistfight, and somehow we got around to the transgender bathroom question. I always try to stand up for LGBT rights in discussions without coming across as being strident, or involved on a personal level, and in any case Greg was supportive, also, so we were getting along well. Since it was already almost five o' clock then, I offered him a cup of coffee if he didn't have any more appointments scheduled, and he accepted. He took a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, and we continued our conversation while I was making the coffee (I'm a coffee-nazi who insists on grinding the whole beans fresh).
At that time he said something to me which made me pause a bit. The comment was to the effect that he thought that maybe he had seen me before, fairly recently. I said that maybe it was the case because it's a small town, and asked him where we might have met. It was a bit of a cold shock when he said he might have seen me at a local night club a few weeks ago, but that I was dressed differently. I had been to a local Gay/Alternate bar two weekends before that, in full female presentation, and hadn't been clubbing either in Drag or Drab since, so lights began flashing in my brain. Choosing my words very carefull I said that it was certainly a possibility, but was he sure that he wasn't mistaken. I admitted that I went out to night clubs but said that the place I frequented wasn't very popular with either the Date Crowd or the Married Crowd.
"Maybe," he said, "but I think that you were wearing a black silk shirt and your hair was done (pause) differently. And, you were sitting at the bar talking to the bartender, without a date."
I was really trying to collect my thoughts at this time. As best I could remember, I had worn a black silk, long sleeve blouse over a paisley skirt, and a shoulder length wig the lat time I had been out, and it was becoming apparent that I had been "made," but in reverse. Like most crossdresser who operate out of the closet, I'm always a bit worried when I got out dressed as a female that I'll meet with someone I know who will look at me, recognize me, and blurt out, "What the heck are you doing in that dress?" The last thing I had ever expected was that someone who had seen me as a woman would recognize me when I was in Drab, but it was looking probably that was exactly what Greg had done, and that he was testing the waters to see which way we were going to play whatever game was occurring.
The last refuge of the cornered crossdreser is, I suppose, the bald-faced lie, so I said, "You may have seen my cousin Ingrid, who looks a lot like me, and who has interesting choices in the bar she frequents. For example, she likes to go to This End Up, but you don't look like one of their regular customers yourself." This was an admission on my part. This End Up is an openly Alt/Gay/Trans/Bar, and it was the place where I had been two weeks previously, and since no one in the room believed I had a cousin who resembled me all that much, it was an admission I had been there. On the other hand, when he said, very cooly, "I bet that's it, I go to This End Up fairly frequently," that was an admission that he was almost certainly Bi or Gay.
I made a quick decision, smiled, and said, "That's interesting. My cousin lives with me, and she happens to be upstairs right now. Would you like me to ask her to come down so you can meet her?"
"Very much, " he replied.
I put a cup of coffee, with cream and sugar in front of him, said, "Here, you enjoy this Cuppa and I'll go fetch her."
I flew upstairs, stripped down to the skin, put on a bra with a set of breast forms, a pair of thong panties, slid back into the Levis and turtleneck, exchanged my penny loafers for a pair of Capezio ballet shoes, hastily applied eyeliner, eyeshadow, a dab of powder and some lipstick, and donned the same wig which I'd been wearing the night he'd seen me at the Alt Bar. I was moving at near light speed, and accomplished his in about ten minutes.
I went back downstairs, not sure whether I'd find a horny appliance repairman or an empty house, but Greg was still sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and watching television.
I tried to pause dramatically and frame myself artistically and sexily in the door, and said in as sultry a femme voice as I could muster, "Hi, I'm Ingrid, is this more of what you were thinking about?"
He stood up and said, "Yes, very much so. Very pretty and very sexy, just the way I remembered you from that night at This End Up. I wanted to buy you a drink and ask you if I could sit with you, but you left before I had a chance."
I said something to the effect that every Trans-girl loves being lied to by a handsome man, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table. We chatted a quarter of an hour about how he made me as the Trans he had admired even when I was in Drab, since I admit that I don't want to look too much like a Sissy when I'm presenting as a male, and he sort of hinted that I was fighting a losing battle because I was sort of a pretty boy type. I'm still not sure how I feel about that, but I didn't argue the point. The truth is that on fairly numerous occasions when I've been in male dress Gay men have propositioned me, some of whom wanted to suck my cock, and some who frankly wanted to fuck me.
After he was sure that I was the girl he had seen at the night club, Greg came onto me a bit more forcefully verbally, and I responded to his hints with double entendre's and risque comments. Then he said directly, that he thought I have high sexy cheekbones, full pouty lips, and a great ass and legs, and that he wanted to fuck me whether I was dressed as a man or a woman. That definitely produced a twitch in the prostate which might have produced a spurt of precum. One of the classic memes about Trans-Sissies goes to the effect that you don't need to seduce them, all you have to do is let them seduce themselves because they really want to submit to males, and that fit my mindset at the time and place. I suggested that we go sit in the family room, which after his statement was tantamount to me saying, "Yes, I want you to fuck me, too."
We sat down on the sectional sofa, and there really wasn't much conversation from that point on. He leaned over and kissed me tentatively, and then with more force, and within seconds his tongue was in my mouth, and his hands were all over my body. I slid out of the Levi's, but there was no effort to get the turtleneck off, and he just shucked his shoes trousers and underwear and stood in front of me me with his cock pointing at my face. There was no decision or conscious thought, and reflexively I accepted him in my mouth and started sucking him. It all went pretty fast after that, and in a relatively brief period of time I was bent over the arm of the sofa being fucked vigorously from behind, with his strong, mechanic's hand gripping my hips and controlling me as he slammed into me. I like a powerful man, and the sex was very enjoyable, but he finished fairly quickly, and it occurred to me afterwards that the weird circumstances probably made it more titillating than it would otherwise have been.
Over the past few years my dishwasher has performed perfectly, but Greg and I have hooked-up on six other occasions. He still tells me that I'm sexy and pretty, and that is all it takes to get me horny and willing. I am such a slut!
7 years ago
