The Technician and the Loose Cable That Changed Everything

The move took all day. The new sofa wouldn’t fit through the stairwell as it was supposed to, the refrigerator scratched the hallway wall, and the storage-room key got lost during the truck’s second trip. But by five in the afternoon, more or less, the apartment had begun to look like a home.

The most delicate part remained: the computer. I had dismantled it carefully, labeled every cable with masking tape, and now connected everything in the right order: power, monitor, peripherals. I pressed the power button.

Nothing.

I pressed it again.

Nothing. Not a fan, not a beep, not the faintest electrical hum. Just silence. The machine had gone four years without giving me a single problem and had chosen this moment to die. In a city where I didn’t know anyone, where I didn’t even have a plumber’s name, let alone a computer technician’s.

Wonderful.

I checked the cables for half an hour. Changed the plug on the power strip. Searched my phone for every possible cause of a computer that wouldn’t start. Nothing worked. At six-thirty, with the sun already low beyond the living-room window, I decided to go out and look for help.

The shop was two blocks away, between a laundromat and an insurance office. Small, with the window filled with laptop cases and discounted cables. I pushed open the glass door.

Inside, a man looked up from behind the counter. In his forties, perhaps. Tall even while sitting down. His forearms rested on the counter, tanned and covered in dark hair. A gray cotton T-shirt fit him snugly without seeming to try. He had the kind of physical presence that made a space seem smaller than it was.

“Good afternoon,” he said. A calm voice, without a sense of urgency.

I explained the problem. He listened without interrupting me, nodding from time to time. When I finished, he thought for a second.

“I do this kind of inspection at home, outside the shop’s hours. If it works for you, I can come by this evening around eight.”

It worked for me. I gave him the address and went home, taking advantage of the walk to buy something at the supermarket on the corner.

***

It wasn’t until I reached the elevator, grocery bag in hand, that I realized something I had completely ignored while talking to him about the loose cable and the motherboard.

That man was really hot.

He wasn’t the kind of attractive that imposed itself from the first second. It was subtler, more physical. The big hands. The jaw that hadn’t been shaved in a day or two. The way he listened with his head tilted slightly, making you feel that what you were saying really mattered. And the body. That body filling out the gray T-shirt with no apparent effort at all.

I took a shower. Under the hot spray, I surprised myself with my cock half-hard just from imagining him. I grabbed it, stroked it a couple of times while thinking about those hairy forearms, and forced myself to let go before I came against the tiles. If something was going to happen, I wanted to arrive loaded. I looked for clean clothes among the unpacked boxes. I wondered whether it was normal to spend so much time thinking about the technician who was coming to check a cable.

Probably not.

At eight oh-three, the intercom buzzed. I opened the door without asking who it was. His footsteps on the stairs were slow and sure. He knocked three precise times.

When I opened, I saw him again. Closer this time. Without the counter between us.

“Andrés,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Emilio.”

He went into the living room. He headed straight for the computer without looking at the rest of the apartment. He followed the cables with his finger, checked the power strip, inspected the wall socket. He tried to turn the machine on.

Nothing. Just as before.

“I’m going to open the case,” he said.

He took a screwdriver from his back pocket and loosened the screws on the side panel in three movements. He set it aside carefully, leaned it against the wall, and bent over the inside of the tower, one hand braced on the table to keep his balance.

I was standing a little behind him and to his right. I don’t know exactly when I had gotten so close. But I was close. Close enough to smell his cologne, something fresh and understated that I didn’t recognize. Close enough to see, when he bent over, how his pants pulled tight across his ass and made me wonder what it would be like to grab it with both hands.

“Here’s the problem,” he said. “A motherboard cable. It must have come loose during the move.” He pointed to something inside. “Do you see it?”

I bent over to look. To see it, I had to lean my head over his shoulder, and as I did, our bodies brushed. I didn’t move away. Neither did he. My hip pressed against his, and through the fabric of his pants I felt something thick resting there, still soft but promising a lot.

We stayed like that a moment longer than necessary.

“You smell good,” I said. It came out on its own, without my planning it.

He stayed still for a second before answering.

“My girlfriend buys me the cologne.”

I straightened up. Took a step back. That was the end of it.

“Even if you have a girlfriend,” he said slowly, turning toward me, “you can stay right where you were.”

He had risen to his full height. He stood in front of me, arms crossed, his expression not aggressive but direct. Confident. The same calm he had shown with everything else.

“I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at me for a while,” he added. “And it doesn’t bother me at all.”

Two steps. His. And then his lips were on mine.

***

The first kiss was brief, almost a question. His lips barely pressing against mine, waiting for an answer. The answer came on its own.

What followed wasn’t gentle. His hands gripped my waist and pulled me firmly toward him, and the kiss became deeper, more direct. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth; I sucked it, bit it, and tasted the coffee he’d had earlier mixed with something salty and masculine. My hands found his back and ran over the muscles beneath his shirt, then dropped without asking permission to his ass, grabbing it through his pants. It was hard, firm, and he growled into my mouth when I squeezed it.

He pulled me tighter against him and I could feel it: his cock was already hard as a rock, pressing against my stomach. I lowered my hand and felt him through the fabric. He was thick. Thicker than me. I squeezed him through his pants and felt him shift, felt him throb against my palm.

“Fuck,” he whispered against my lips. “Keep doing that.”

We moved toward the sofa without breaking apart. When the backs of my knees met the edge, I sat down and looked up at him. He remained standing for a moment, taking his time, then pulled off his shirt in one motion.

The chest revealed was exactly what I had imagined beneath the gray fabric: broad, bronzed, covered in thick dark hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared into his pants. I stood up just to touch it. I ran my hands down his torso, felt his heartbeat racing beneath his ribs, and leaned in to lick his left nipple. Slowly at first, then with more pressure. I sucked it, nibbled it, and he let out a deep, straightforward moan, without affectation. I ran my tongue over his other nipple, tugging at the hair with my teeth, while my hand kept rubbing his cock through his pants.

“You’ve got me hard like a kid,” he murmured. “You bastard.”

He gently pushed me back onto the sofa. He took off my shirt. He looked at me for a second with that same calm he brought to everything, then lowered his hands to my belt. He undid the button, pulled down the zipper, and slipped his hand inside my underwear, grabbing my cock directly. He squeezed it, stroked it once, twice, his eyes fixed on mine.

“You’re already wet,” he said. He brought his thumb to his mouth, sucking off the bead of precum he had gathered from my glans. “Let’s fix that.”

When I finished undoing his, his pants and underwear fell together. What appeared stopped me for a moment. Big, thick, taut, circumcised. It pointed upward with a confidence that demanded nothing. The head gleamed, swollen, and a thick vein ran the length of the shaft. His balls hung heavily beneath it, covered in the same dark hair that carpeted the rest of his body.

I sat on the edge of the sofa and took it in my hand. I closed my fist around it and couldn’t even circle it completely. I stroked it up and down, feeling its weight and heat, the way it throbbed against my palm. My other hand grabbed his balls, weighing them, squeezing gently. I kissed the tip slowly, eyes closed, licked the drop that welled from it, savoring the salty mess, and then took the whole head into my mouth.

“Fuck, yes,” he said through his teeth.

He placed one hand on my hair without pressing, simply resting it there. I set the pace: slow at first, my tongue tracing every contour of his glans, slipping beneath the rim, feeling his responses in the subtle movement of his hips. Little by little I went lower, taking more of him until I felt him hit the back of my throat. I gagged a little and pulled off, breathing hard, strands of saliva hanging from my mouth to his cock. I spat on the head and swallowed him again, this time with more rhythm, moving my head up and down, my hand taking care of what wouldn’t fit in my mouth.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop,” he panted.

I pulled his cock out and licked his balls, one first and then the other, taking them into my mouth one at a time while stroking his shaft with my hand. I licked its whole length from balls to tip as if it were an ice cream, then swallowed him again. His fingers tightened slightly in my hair. His breathing changed, becoming more broken, and I felt his cock grow even harder inside my mouth.

“Wait,” he said hoarsely. “Stop for a moment. If you keep that up, I’m going to come already.”

He knelt in front of me. He yanked my pants and underwear down together, and my cock sprang free, so hard it hurt. He looked at me with half a smile before lowering his head.

When his mouth closed around me, I had to clench my jaw to keep from making too much noise. He swallowed me whole on the first stroke, right to the root, and I felt his throat close around my glans. He knew exactly what he was doing. He alternated pressure and softness with a precision that didn’t seem accidental, but learned patiently. He pulled my cock out and licked the tip with his flat tongue, then swallowed it again to the bottom. One hand held the base while the other massaged my balls, pulling them down just when he sensed I was about to lose control. Every time I thought I was adjusting to his rhythm, he changed it.

He lowered his mouth to my balls, sucking them eagerly, and his tongue kept going even lower, to my perineum. He spread my legs with his hands and licked between my ass cheeks, his hot, wet tongue pressing against my hole. I tensed and let out a sharp gasp.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck, fuck.”

He ate my ass without any hurry, covering it in saliva, slipping the tip of his tongue inside, loosening me. When I felt the edge getting too close, I stopped him by pulling on his shoulder.

“I’m going to need you here,” I said. “Now. Fuck me.”

He smiled. He searched the pants lying on the floor and pulled out a condom.

“You always carry one?”

“Today I’m glad I did,” he replied.

He put on the condom with the same calm he had shown while opening the computer panel. He spat into his palm, ran it over his sheathed cock, then spat again onto my ass, spreading the saliva with two fingers, slipping one inside first, then two, opening me slowly. I writhed on the sofa, pushing against his fingers, moaning every time he brushed something inside that made me see stars.

“You’re tight,” he said. “I’ll go slowly.”

“Fuck me slowly,” I panted. “Put it in already.”

He chuckled under his breath, withdrew his fingers, and positioned himself between my legs. I raised my knees and placed them over his shoulders. He rested the head of his cock against my entrance.

He pressed slowly. The tip forced its way in and I felt a stab of pain that immediately dissolved into something much hotter. He waited. Pressed a little farther. Another centimeter. Another.

It wasn’t my first time. Even so, I had to breathe deeply to open myself to his size, exhaling through my nose and gripping the back of the sofa with one hand. He entered inch by inch, without rushing, until I felt his balls resting against my ass and his pubic hair against my skin. When he was completely inside, he stayed still for a moment. Both of us motionless. Only our breathing between us and my ass pulsing around his cock, adjusting to him.

“Good?” he asked.

“Move,” I asked him.

Then he began to move.

At first with long, slow thrusts, almost pulling all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt, testing the ground. I felt every inch entering and leaving, the thick vein scraping inside me, the head striking the spot that made me grit my teeth. Then he picked up the pace, using more force. His hips struck my ass with a dull, fleshy sound, and the sofa creaked beneath us with every thrust.

“Like that, fuck, like that,” I panted. “Harder.”

“Harder?” he growled, accelerating and fucking me with thrusts that shook my whole body.

From below, I could see all of him: the muscles in his chest tightening with every movement, his stomach flexing, his cock sliding in and out of my ass, glistening with saliva, his focused expression, the sweat beginning to shine on his forehead and chest. My legs slipped on his shoulders with the sweat, and he grabbed them and put them back in place without stopping his fucking.

“What a good fucking ass you’ve got,” he growled. “I could swallow you whole. Squeeze there, squeeze.”

I squeezed as hard as I could, and he let out a long, filthy curse. He leaned over me, folding me nearly in half, and kissed me with his tongue while continuing to thrust. I felt his hairy chest brushing my nipples, the sweat from both of us mixing between our bellies.

With one hand on my hip to hold the angle, he took my cock with the other and began masturbating me in time with his thrusts. Every drive of his pushed my cock deeper into his fist. The double stimulation was too much to control for long.

“I’m going to come,” I warned him, barely able to speak. “I’m coming.”

“Come,” he said, squeezing my cock faster and fucking me harder. “Come for me, come on.”

I came across my own chest with a moan I didn’t try to suppress. The first rope of semen reached my collarbone. The second and third fell over my stomach in thick, hot spurts. The tension that released was long, intense, complete, and my ass clamped down hard around his cock as I came, squeezing him like a fist.

“Goddamn…” he began, and didn’t finish the sentence.

He continued for three or four more thrusts, wild and rhythmless, then stopped suddenly, buried to the hilt. His whole body tensed. He let out his breath all at once, long and slow, eyes closed, and I felt his cock throb inside me through the latex, unloading in waves. A deep, almost animal growl came from his throat.

He remained still for several seconds, his cock buried to the hilt, then let part of his weight fall onto me, panting against my neck. When he finally pulled out, slowly, I felt the emptiness all at once. He removed the condom with a knot, looked for somewhere to throw it, and left it wrapped in a tissue on the table.

***

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The living room was almost dark. I hadn’t turned on the light when he arrived, and we hadn’t turned it on afterward. The only light came from the street, through the window that still had no curtains. My own semen was cooling on my chest.

“The motherboard cable,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Did you fix it, or did you only come here to do this?”

He burst out laughing. A real laugh, the kind that comes out without permission. He stood up, gathered his clothes from the floor, and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the tap running for a minute. Then silence.

When he came out, he was fully dressed, his damp hair combed back. He went over to the computer, connected the cable he had found loose, closed the panel with the same screws, and pressed the power button.

The fan started immediately. The monitor lit up. The operating system loaded slowly, with that familiar hum I hadn’t heard all day.

“It’s working,” he said.

“I can see that.”

He looked at me. That small, confident smile at the corner of his lips.

“If it acts up again, you know where I am.”

He put the screwdriver in his pocket and headed for the door. He opened it. He paused for a second in the doorway without turning around.

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

He closed the door. His footsteps descended the stairs, slow and sure, exactly as they had been when he came up.

I stayed on the sofa without moving for quite a while, my cock still soft against my thigh, semen drying on my skin, my ass throbbing with the memory of his dick, staring at the computer switched on in the corner, its fan turning silently.

Welcome to the neighborhood.

It was, without a doubt, the best welcome I had ever received. And it wouldn’t take me long to find a way to make the computer fail again.