Hello Pool Boy

I'm the pool boy with a knack for scoring gigs. I slip my card under the windshield wipers of cars parked outside the supermarket—right when the bored housewives are stocking up on wine and fantasies. Just tested the waters myself, and damn, it hooks 'em at that golden hour when the sun dips and inhibitions loosen. The card's got my pitch: 'I clean your pool. Easy-going, good-hearted, always horny. English spoken.' They get it. No games, just straight-up invitation. They dial me up, swing the door wide, and we dive right in—they're sharp like that, knowing exactly what they crave. I scrub that pool spotless, skimming leaves and building steam. And I don't quit until she whispers—or moans—for me to ease off.