'Okay, this is creepy.' Tom stepped inside the house, alternately trying not to make a sound but doing his best to make his presence known to whomever might be inside. Tom was on a mission . . . well, on a job. Mr. Garringer, his boss, had given him an address with the explanation, "I normally take this job. The little twit needs to take better care of her wiring. Anyway, I think you can deal with it. You'll be paid double." At the time, that was all the explanation Tom needed. Money was always a great motivator. Although he knew the job would be interesting, he didn't expect the pleasant house at the end of the street to be empty. After knocking for at least five minutes, Tom noticed that the door was unlocked. Against his better judgment, he walked inside.

The house was well furnished, even if most of it was covered in a gossamer thin sheet of dust. The dark drapes were drawn, leaving all illumination to come from the rustic chandeliers. He thought it all looked lovely, like some sort of graceful home in need of a little cleaning to make it perfect.

Tom heard a sound emanate from the kitchen and he followed it. He glanced around the tan colored walls to find nothing. He turned around the see a woman standing in the archway. Her long legs were covered in tight pale denim. The left knee had blown out and she hadn't bothered to trim the frays, letting them grow into a ragged mess. She wore a faded flannel shirt with the first two buttons undone. Underneath, Tom could see a thin white t-shirt. Her face was freshly flushed and flawless, its lines being delicate and beautiful. Her hair color looked to be ash blonde, but he didn't assume it was. The room was much too dark to tell. Her eyes looked to be the palest of grays. Tom would have thought her gorgeous had she not been scowling and holding a baseball bat in her right hand. "Okay buster," she spat in a smooth, careful rasp, "you have 30 seconds to tell me who you are or you get to explain it to my Slugger. Got it?"

"Absolutely. I . . . I'm Tom Jennings," he stumbled. "I . . . I work for Garringer. You called him and he sent me here to fix your stuff."

"You don't work for Garringer," insisted the woman. "I've known Garringer forever. I know everyone who works for him. I don't believe you."

Tom didn't know what to say. He frantically dug through his pockets to find the directions that his boss had written out. He managed to unearth the note and hand it to the irate younger woman. He noticed that he had moved back a foot after handing her the note. Was he really so intimidated by a girl who couldn't be more than 20? She read the note and her face fell through once she finished. She looked up at Tom and whispered, "I'm so sorry. See . . . um . . . my step dad knows Mr. Garringer really well and that's why I know all the guys . . . well, practically all the guys . . . that work form him. You must be new."

"I've only worked there a little over a year."

"Oh . . . I was hoping that it would have been a shorter time. I'm so very sorry." The young woman stared at Tom a moment more before her already large eyes widened to extreme proportions. "Oh God," she cried, "I've made such a bad impression."

"It's fine," said Tom. He walked closer to her and extended his hand. "What's your name?"

"Um . . . Reeves. Genevieve Reeves." She quickly shook his hand and pulled away. Tom could tell that she was embarrassed, but he didn't know of any way to soothe her. She would stare at him a moment and then turn away just as fast, as if she were afraid to look at him for too long. "Okay, well I better show you where the problem is."

"Wait a minute. What's wrong?" asked Tom.

"Nothing."

"No, there has to be. You keep looking at me as if there's something there that seems wrong."

"It's nothing that a high post bed and a pair of handcuffs won't fix," she muttered. Genevieve immediately covered her mouth. The poor thing had spoken without thinking. Tom, for one, didn't know what to say. On one hand, he was definitely shocked. On the other, he was willing to take the comment as a compliment. It had been a long time since anyone had said anything remotely like that to him. None of those girls had been as lovely as Genevieve. Although he was willing to let the comment slide, she didn't notice. "Well, I . . . um . . . I should take you upstairs. No! I have to take you to the fuse box and then upstairs. Oh, forget it! Follow me."

Tom followed Genevieve to a room in the back. He was a bit worried by the way she looked over his shoulder as he cut the power to the upstairs rooms. But he didn't mind following her upstairs. He was enjoying the view of her ass swaying as she crept up the stairs. 'I really need to get out!' he thought.

Once at the top, Genevieve pulled out her flashlight and pointed toward a power outlet near the head of the stairs. "That's the problem." Tom shrugged and fell to his knees. As he removed the cover, he felt eyes pierce the back of his skull. He turned around to see Genevieve staring at him, her back pressed into the opposite wall with her legs pulled into her chest as she looked at him. Tom couldn't describe the way he was staring at her, but it was apparently enough to make her shiver. "Is it okay if I watch?" she asked quietly. "If an audience will bother you, I'll move on. It's no big deal."

"No, it's fine," answered Tom as he turned back to his job. "You just took me by surprise."

"Didn't mean to." Genevieve went silent for a moment, allowing Tom to prod at the different wires in virtual peace. He found the calm to be refreshing, invigorating. She didn't seem to appreciate the quiet as much and soon began to talk. "You know, I don't normally wander around the house like this, you know dressed like common white trash and ready to bash the brains in of every guy who happens to cross my way. See, my parents are out of town for the next 2 weeks. This is the first vacation they've had in 5 years. Since it's been so long, Carl, my step dad, wanted it to be special. Mom always wanted to go south, like Florida or something, and that's what they did. They've never been out of Maine. Neither have I. Have you ever left Maine, Mr. Jennings?"

"No, I've never left Maine. And the name's Tom…not Mr. Jennings."

"Okay . . . Tom," said Genevieve, her voice tinged with restrained glee. She inched closer to Tom and began to talk again. "But that doesn't explain me, does it? See, I went to job interviews all day yesterday so I'm slouching today. I'm sure to have various rejections. No one really wants to hire a 19-year-old. How old are you, Tom?"

"21."

"Cool . . . milestone. Did you have some sort of celebration?"

"Nope. My older brother kind of went crazy at 21. My birthday was wasted because we all sat around waiting to see if I'd go nuts too."

"Well, you obviously didn't."

"Obviously." Tom put the cover back over the outlet and turned to Genevieve. She looked so innocent, all wide eyes and cherub's lips. 'It's been much too long since I've been laid,' he mused, chewing his lower lip as he tried not to look too guilty. He attempted to shake off his lust and said, "Well, it should be fixed now."

"I'm sure it is." Genevieve stood up and walked to the stairwell. She turned back to Tom, her flashlight slowly rising to his face, and said, "I'm going to switch the power back on. Come with me?"

"Maybe later."

"Huh?"

"Oh . . . um . . . never mind. I'll go with you." Tom shoved his tools to the side and followed Genevieve to restart the power. As they walked back up the stairs, Tom heard the distinct pops of overheated light bulbs. "God! You do have extras, don't you?"

Genevieve scrunched her face and said, "I knew I should have picked some up last night. Sorry."

"No need to apologize to me. You do have candles, right?" She nodded. "Good. Well, I'll get you situated before I leave. Is that cool?"

Genevieve sighed and mumbled a strained affirmative. She trudged into a nearby closet and rummaged around. When she returned, she was carrying a handful of tapier candles. She handed them off to Tom before running into her room to retrieve a three-pronged candelabra and a stand-alone candleholder. He plugged in the candles while she looked for more holders. "Maybe you should take a few light bulbs from downstairs," offered Tom. "It would be much less a hassle than pulling out a bunch of candles."

"Won't help," murmured Genevieve. "It's hard enough to light the downstairs as it is now. I don't want to be running blind through the entire house."

"I suppose not." Tom pulled out his lighter and lit the candelabra. He looked up to see Genevieve standing in front of him, her eyes level with his and her lips slightly parted. Carefully, she moved the candelabra away and sat in front of him. Her hands slipped up his shoulders and around his neck. Tom didn't resist her as her mouth moved in for his. He reached out to her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as much as he could before coming up for air.

Genevieve pulled away and whispered, "Not here. Not like this."

"Then where?"

"My bedroom. Down the hall. Grab the light and follow me."

Tom didn't argue. He grabbed the candelabra and followed Genevieve to the end of the hall. She fiddled with a faulty doorknob for a few strained moments before the door swung open. Genevieve grabbed his hand and led him inside. Although the lights were probably fine, neither of them jumped to switch them on. Tom loved the ambiance the candlelight gave the room. The sepia walls seemed to glow, lending the room the illusion of a crumbling daguerreotype. The furnishings looked just as ancient, but were completely beautiful.

Then there was Genevieve Reeves. She took the candelabra from his hands and placed it on an out of the way dresser. Without speaking, her hands immediately sought out his shirt buttons. He attempted to unfasten the buttons to her shirt, but when his passion overcame his dexterity, he grew frustrated and pulled the shirt so tight that the buttons popped off. Genevieve took his lead and furiously tried to tear his shirt. In practically no time, they had ripped every stitch of clothing from their bodies. They stood before one another naked and confused. "I . . . um . . . I'm not so good at this," stuttered Tom shyly.

"Neither am I," whispered Genevieve as she moved closer. Her lips pressed chastely against his before she pulled away. She strode toward the bed and stood her ground. "I was hoping that we could learn from each other."

Tom needed no further encouragement. He joined her on the bed, straddling his thighs between hers as they devoured one another. They experimented for an hour, taking turns with touching and caressing one another in different places to see what brought on the desired effect. Sometimes they failed but they succeeded just as often, bringing about rapture more times than they were able to count. In the end, they lay in a pulsing, sweaty heap on Genevieve's bed. She remained pressed against his chest, her fingers toying with his nipples when she cooed, "I should break things more often, hmmm?"

"Well, maybe, I mean it took no time to fix. I was told it would take . . . oh shit! I have to get back to Garringer." Tom bolted from the bed and began grabbing for his clothes. He hoped beyond hope that Mr. Garringer wouldn't notice that he was coming back late or that he looked like he had been through a windstorm. "Genevieve, I . . . "

"You're not leaving me!" she protested.

"For an hour. Let me clear out my stuff at work and get everything settled at home. Get cleaned up and I'll take you out to dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah." Tom stumbled up to the bed, taking a seat next to Genevieve as he put on his shoes. "I've never just . . . "

"Screwed without question?"

"Right. Well, I've never done THIS before and I want to make it…"

"Seem less weird?" Tom nodded. Genevieve sighed and sat up, slipping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his temple. "Yeah, I understand. This is odd territory for me, too. Dinner sounds great."

"Great!" Tom turned and kissed her before fleeing the bed. "I'll pick you up around 7:30, okay?"

"Sure, but hold up a second. What do you have to clear up at home?"

"Have to make sure someone's able to watch Amy."

"Who's Amy?" asked Genevieve suspiciously.

Tom laughed as he inched closer to the door. "You'll hear all about it at dinner. Believe me, you're not my way of cheating on my little sister."