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I hope that this update will read better for the masses.
Thanks again to Mutualnjoyment for the editing!
Keep the comments coming, and enjoy!
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I guess I have always been kind of nerdy as it often seems as though I get along better with computers than with people. I think that was one of the main reasons that I'm going to State U. for Computer Programming. I have finished my first year at university and have come home for the summer.
My parents live in a fairly affluent neighborhood. We are not on the same level of rich as the others on the street but between Dad's accounting practice and Mom's real estate sales we are doing very okay.
Who am I? My name is Jacob Travis Turner, but everyone just calls me Jake. I am 19 years old, 6'2", and tip the scales at just under 200 lbs. I am sort like Clark Kent: tall, lean build, short brown hair and black framed glasses that I don't really need to see with (I just like the look).
I was bullied during my early school years. So much that I talked my Dad into letting me take martial arts classes so that I could at least make it harder on the bullies. It did and as I got better at it they stopped. I was just not that easy to beat up any more. I also liked the classes so much that I have kept them up to this date. I also do a little weight training, not heavy power lifting, but enough to give me some nice muscle tone. Not that any of the girls at school ever took notice.
My first day back home I am sitting in the backyard with my tablet just scrolling through my Facebook feeds.
"Jake!" my Mom yelled from inside the house.
"What?" I yelled back, before getting up and heading inside to see what she wants. She was in her home office with her phone to her ear. "What is it, Mom?" I asked in a polite tone.
"Mrs. Stratfield needs some help with her computer.....What was that?.....It seems that her printer stopped working and she needs to print something.... Not so fast.... oh, and her computer seems to acting up and running slowly," my Mom said while trying to have two conversations.
"Tell her I will come over and have a look, but not promising anything," I said as I went to my room to put on some jeans and a clean T-Shirt. I also grabbed my pack with my laptop. Most likely she has a virus of some sort, I thought to myself.
As I reached the front door, "Don't help the Enemy too much," my Mom yelled at me.
"Okay, Mom," I replied. Mrs. Stratfield is not just one of the MILF's in the neighborhood, but she also works for as a realtor for a different agency than my mom. In public they are always friendly to each other, but behind a closed door mom could have nothing to do with her.
Mr. Stratfield works in a large brokerage in the legal department making a lot of cake, so I think that Mrs. Stratfield just works to keep herself busy. They did not have any children which was always part of the local gossip. Mrs. Stratfield could easily hold her own in the Miss America contest. She must stand 5'10" at least without her heels on, and she seems to always being wearing heels. Heels and stockings, well I am guessing that they are stockings. It helps with the multitude of fantasies I have had of her over the years. You never see her in a pant suit, always a skirt and blouse or a dress with a jacket of some sort. She is always dressed classy with a hint of sexiness.
Her long straight black hair is always done just right. Those blue eyes of hers and her incredible tits (the best that a man could buy, says my dad). Real or fake, all I know is that they help to make the whole package amazing. I have to stop all these thoughts as I am sporting some good wood here and it is a short walk across the street to their house.
I paused at the door to calm myself and to get the blood flowing back to the big head before ringing the bell.
"Ding Ding Dong" went the bell. Why was I nervous? I have been in their house before, back when my parents and the Stratfields were better neighbors. Seemed like twice a year they hosted a backyard pool party. I shook my head trying to keep those old memories from taking hold.
"Who is it?" a demanding female voice barked from behind the door.
"Hmm, it is me Jake Turner," I replied trying to be polite, "You called my mom about a problem with your computer?"
"Oh, yes Jake," Mrs. Stratfield replied as she opened the front door, "Come in"
Even though I have been in their house a few times, I am always taken aback by the lack of all the normal life clutter. It is like a page out of one of my Mom's magazines. I am not saying that my home is dirty but you certainly can tell that people live there. This house seems like one of those Model Show Homes or a designer's house that you see on TV.
While looking for a place to put my shoes I noticed her. First thing to come into my sight was her well manicured painted toes in sandal high heels. I think this was the first time in a long time that I had glimpsed Mrs. Stratfield's well toned bare legs. She must have been out tanning because as my eyes worked their way up the thin, white robe was slightly open, revealing a body that was barely contained in a red string bikini. I dare not let my eyes linger to long before snapping up to meet her eyes trying to stare me down.
With a huff, Mrs. Stratfield turned and walked down the hall toward her back office. I quickly followed. I could not help myself as my eyes drifted down to her ass. I think she could feel me staring because she seemed to put more sway into her runway-like strut. I entered the office shortly after her, with my laptop bag cover a growing hard on. We made eye contact. Then her eyes darted down and up, before a sly smile came across her face.
"Well there it is," Mrs. Stratfield said as she pointed at her laptop siting on her large wooden desk. "It just does not want to do anything I tell it to do, just like my husband. Get to it!" With that, she turned and walked out of the room.
What was all that about her husband? Oh, well I guess I should just get started. I booted up her laptop. "Hmm, it is slow," I said to myself. I set out to start mine up for I knew I was going to need to work a little computer magic. I was right, her computer had viruses alright. Lots of them, but that was not what were really slowing it down. It seems someone installed a shadow program to record emails and chat messages. It was hard to find, so it was not just your average hack job. This was installed with a purpose.
I copied it over to a USB before loading up a decompiler. It would take a few minutes, but there were other things that I could do to speed up Mrs. Stratfield's computer. As I worked on her computer mine chimed in that it had finished its task. I surfed some of the source code. It was well written, but I was able to find the dump site for the copies. "Someone has some 'splaining to do," I thought to myself in the classic Ricky Ricardo voice. It seems that the files go to another computer on the local network. Now, whoever programmed this was good, but they must of been sure that no one was going to hack it because in the program were the keys need to get into the destination computer.
I quickly copied the information on to a piece of paper before I started an antivirus program. I finished just in time because that was when Mrs. Stratfield poked her head into the office. With her desk facing the back wall, both of the computer screens could easily been seen from the door way.
"How's is it going?" She asked.
"Well you have a lot of viruses, and some internal routing conflicts," I replied maybe sounding too geeky.
"Whatever, can you fix it?"
"I have started doing it, but it will take a while for the program to run,"
"Oh, well help yourself to the fridge, I am going out to meet with a few friends for a coffee, should be back in about an hour or so," Mrs. Stratfield stated before disappearing from sight.
