“Mr. Brown?” the salesman said, offering his hand. Mr Brown stared at him for a moment then extended his hand as well. They shook briefly before Mr. Brown responded.

“Yeah, that's me. You the salesman from Erie Construction?”

“Guilty as charged. Heard you were interested in some windows.”

“Come on in.”

The salesman made a deliberate show of wiping his shoes on the mat before entering. Gee, look how considerate I am. Homeowners loved that shit. “Gosh, you guys have a lovely home! How long have you lived here?”

Mr. Brown furrowed his brow, the question demanding serious consideration. “Six years,” he finally responded.

The salesman was uncharacteristically quiet. Something about Mr. Brown's careful, deliberate responses put him on edge. This guy was different, not your everyday rolley (rolley was sales speak for someone who was an easy sell, as in “they'd roll over and buy anything”). It looked like it would take the salesman's A-game to sell Mr Brown. No problem. He was nothing but A-game.

“Honey, the salesman is here.”

The salesman followed Mr. Brown into the family room and saw a woman (Mrs. Brown, he presumed, but didn’t say, no need to inadvertently offend anyone) sitting on the loveseat. He smiled his Crest Whitening Strip smile and reached out to shake her hand. “Well, how do you do?” She smiled back, but rather than shaking his hand, she extended her arm, bent at the wrist. The salesman was taken aback, but always quick on his feet, he scooped up her hand and brought it to his lips. As he lowered her hand he caught a glimpse of her extremely low-cut top, breasts nearly spilling out. He did not stare. He was a professional, and professionals didn't close deals by staring at the customer's tits.

“So, would you like something to drink?” Mr. Brown asked. “Water, Coke, a beer?”

“Sure, thanks. I'll have whatever you're having.”

“He's not having anything. Are you blind?” Mrs. Brown (?) snorted.

The salesman snapped his head toward the woman, mouth agape, unable to form a reply. She quickly smiled again, laughed slightly and hunched her shoulders forward, squeezing her breasts together. The salesman smiled back, trying not to let his confusion show. He prided himself on his ability to read people, but this woman proved to be something of an enigma. What was with the faux-flirting? Maybe it was a ploy to keep him flustered so her husband could negotiate a better price.

No matter. The salesman didn’t wear a gold Closer’s Club lapel pin because of his inability to think on his feet. What he saw here was a challenge. And he'd rise to that challenge and sell the shit out of these motherfuckers.

“So, as you can see, sir,” he said, turning toward Mr. Brown, “with the energy savings you'll get from these windows, you can't afford NOT to buy them!” With the conclusion of his pitch, the salesman did as all good salesman do: he sat back and shut the hell up, waiting for the Browns to give him the ammunition he needed to close the deal.

“I don't know. Honey, what do you think?” Mr. Brown said, turning to Mrs. Brown. She leaned back in her seat, rolled her neck, puffing up her chest. The salesman tried to look without gawking. He saw her nipples poking through her top, the left one pierced. He realized was staring, and looked up to see Mrs. Brown staring back at him. His mind raced, trying to come up with something to say. Instead, Mrs. Brown continued to stare, then reached up to pinch and twist her nipples through the shirt. The salesman was taught with confusion.

“Uh ... could I use your restroom?” he stammered.

“Down the hall. On the left,” Mrs. Brown moaned. The salesman stood too quickly, knocked over his chair and bashed his knee on the table, spilling Mrs Brown's drink. Both Browns stared at him, blank-faced.

“I'll, uh, be back, ” the salesman said, sprinting to the hallway. For the first time since he'd been a FNG (Fuckin New Guy), the salesman had no idea how to proceed. He found the bathroom, shut the door and leaned against the sink. He splashed water on his face, took several deep breaths and ran a comb through his already slicked back hair. He shut off the water, looked back at the door and considered his options. Unable to face the Browns he whipped out his cock, pissed on the hand towels, and dove out the window.