Millennium Construction Company
By Bald Hairy Man e-mail bldhrymn@aol.com or bldhrymn@excite.com
This is an adult story intended for adults. It is a fantasy, so I again remind you that I have done away with the requirements of safe sex, and have included no gestures toward common sense either. Please e-mail me if you have any suggestions or comments.
At age 58 I found myself the victim of my own thought processes. I am John Williamson, retired building contractor of Richmond Virginia. By most standards my career and life had been successful. My company had grown from a small operation into one of the largest and most respected in town. Last year I sold it for more money that I would have thought possible and retired.
My wife was beautiful and socially prominent, and we had a picture book marriage, with two kids, a big house and a dog. Ellen just got up and left one day. At 52 she fell head over heels in love with a doctor in her hometown. Her mother had cancer and Ellen spent more and more time in Charlottesville taking care of here. One day she called me and said she wasn't coming back.
Everyone though this was terrible for me, but it was a relief. We shared remarkably few interests and once the kids were grown the interest dwindled down to the dog. He died. While a divorce for a middle-aged couple can be emotionally and financially draining, it was no problem for us. The doctor was loaded, and Ellen had her own money from her family.
I am an ambitious and hard-working person, but I hadn't stopped to look back on my life and find out what I really wanted. After two months of retirement I knew that golf every day, a big house in a good neighborhood and three or four calls to my stock broker and financial advisor wasn't enough to keep me happy.
I loved building, creating things. I liked working with people, and I had no interest in a life of leisure and getting fixed up on dates arranged by my former wife's friends who knew a nice widow. I wasn't interested in getting married again.
When I sold my old company I signed a non competition clause, so I couldn't go back into commercial or institutional building again. Architectural preservation always interested me and I decided to buy an old house and redo it and see if my contracting skills were suited for this.
The answer was yes and no. While I knew a lot about building, there were many new skills that were needed dealing with older buildings. Much to my surprise, I loved it. Some old dogs like to learn new tricks, and it was exciting and fun to be developing new skills and leaning so much.
I bought a large house on the edge of Richmond's Fan district, and began working. With 6,000 square feet it was a monster. Converted into ten apartments in the 1950s it was in poor condition, but had been a showplace when built in 1906. Fortunately the conversion to apartments had been shoddy, and the owner hadn't bothered to rip out any of the elaborate architectural trim or decoration. He had stuck baths in corners of rooms and added closets and kitchens in the broad hallways, but he had just screwed up the house. He hadn't destroyed it.
My neighbors were urban pioneers, and I soon realized that most were gay. They had bought when the area was marginal and sensible people, like myself, wouldn't buy there. Bob and Karl were to the west of my house. Bob was a banker, Karl, a caterer. To the east was Larry, a painter and small scale real estate developer. I had never been near openly gay men before, but we all got along well. They were overjoyed to have someone working on the neighborhood's biggest problem house. I appreciated their advice. They knew all the carpenters and craftsmen who were familiar with restoration work and gave great recommendations. After working on my house for a few months I realized that I liked them.
Bob and Karl were what I thought was a conventional image of gay men. They weren't effeminate, but they seemed elegant and almost prissy. By contrast, Larry was a bearded man's man. I never would have guessed that he was gay in a million years.
Being in construction, you get an all male and aggressively heterosexual view of the world. Making lewd comments about every woman who passes within a mile of a construction site is a great tradition of American building. Most construction workers, however, seem to hang out with other men. Wives and girlfriends are never present and seem to be converted into an "old woman" or the "ball and chain." I rarely met any of the wives or girlfriends and my former wife wondered if many of the girlfriends existed.
During my brief stint as a retired businessman I had been unhappy. When I started work on the house I felt good again, and I think it was because I was in all male company again. After several months of work I had the house cleared out and was ready to start putting things back together again. With my neighbor's advice, I had assembled a good crew and felt comfortable with the project.
In mid August I was working in the living room, when a sag appeared in the ceiling. At five in the afternoon it was 95 degrees with matching humidity, and Skeeter, a carpenter-jack of all trades, was helping me. I rushed up stairs to see if the floor was giving way. It was perfectly level. Returning downstairs the drywall ceiling was sagging a good 18 inches. Skeeter got on a step ladder and knocked a small hole in the ceiling.
"Give me a flashlight!" he asked. I did and he peaked into the hole.
"Sky!" he yelled. I thought he meant that he could see sky.
"It can't be. The floor above is fine!" I said.
"Painted sky!" Skeeter said. "There are ceiling paintings!" He made the hole bigger and I got up on the ladder. Looking in I saw a blue sky with billowing clouds and some figures near the middle of the room. On the edge I could see an elaborate cornice. Someone had suspended a drywall ceiling concealing an elaborate painted design.
By that time Skeeter had the neighbors there and they knew of similar paintings elsewhere in the area. The drywall was supported by wires that had been nailed through the painting. The sagging ceiling was pulling these out. I knew it could pull the paintings down, and that we should cut the wires and try and lower the drywall to preserve the decoration above with the least damage.
The drywall ceiling was collapsing and there was no time to lose. Skeeter was the only carpenter left on the job. My neighbor Bob said he would call some friends and in ten minutes we had ten guys in the house ready to help. We cut the drywall into pieces and then cut the supporting wires. Several men put 2x4's up to hold the ceiling in place until it could be removed safely.
There was dirt and drywall dust everywhere. Two hours later the drywall ceiling was gone and the original spectacular ceiling was exposed. In the center was Mars, Jupiter and Neptune floating on summer clouds. The cornice was plaster and unusually elaborate, Rococo in style. It was in great condition except for a nail hole every three feet. We all stood and gazed in amazement.
"Beautiful!" I said.
"That Mars is hot!" Skeeter said.
"This deserves a celebration." Karl said. "Dinner at our house in 30 minutes!" That sounded fine to me. I was filthy, caked in dirt. I was going to shower at my house in the west end when Larry offered anyone who needed it a shower in his house. I took him up on it as did Skeeter. Larry's house beautifully restored and furnished in high style modern furniture. I had never been up stairs before but it was a one bedroom house with a gym and huge bath-shower room on the upper floor.
It was a locker room type shower with four heads and there was more than enough room for the three of us. I was so dirty and hot that I didn't even consider that I was naked and showering with two gay men. I looked at Larry who was downright handsome. He had a neatly trimmed blond-brown beard. His gym toned body was covered in a down of brown hair and he had a classical Greek cock. He looked a bit like the Mars in the painting with compacts balls and cock.
Skeeter was taller, thinner and wiry. He had a thick, long, uncut cock and low hangers that seemed to almost reach his knees. He was covered in shaggy dirty blond hair everywhere except his bald head. He had a handlebar mustache. I was checking them out as they looked at me. I had never been embarrassed to be nude in the showers at the club. I'm 6-3, 220 pounds, with a mat of black hair on my chest. I had been growing a beard, which was getting thick, but seemed to be more white than black.
We dried off. I had a set of clean clothes in my car, so I got into them, Larry lent Skeeter some shorts and a tee shirt. As we went to Bob and Karl's house, I was surprised to note how interested in Larry and Skeeter I had been.
The dinner was great. Karl confessed he had catered an affair earlier that day and had fewer people show up than anticipated. The left over food was wonderful. I am a straight meat and potatoes man, but after the hard work and heat of the day the food really hit the spot. I also got to meet the guys who had helped me save the ceiling. Chuck was a redheaded architectural draftsman, who had helped cut the wires and detach the ceiling supports. Rodney was a house painter, Steve was a retired army man who lived with Rodney. Billy was a therapist who seemed to deal with gay problems.
The conversation was about the painting and the group was a wealth of information. Larry thought that the paintings might be important. Richmonders had been uncovering paintings for years, but he knew the people at the local museums to contact to see what should be done.
Around ten I left and Billy was heading home at the same time. He was going to take a bus, but since it was late I offered to drive him home. He was about my age and we hit it off well. He asked me in for a night cap and I took him up on it. We had a couple of drinks and he asked if I wanted to go to bed with him. I said yes.
To this day I have no idea why I said yes. It was like a lightening strike out of the blue. I was a bit drunk, and that may have played a role. Anyway I got in bed with him and he went down on my cock. I didn't know what to expect. I was unprepared for the intensity of the pleasure and enjoyment I felt. My wife was no a sexual athlete. To her sex was simply what you had to do to get kids.
Billy was short and stocky, solid rather than fat, with close-cropped black hair and a matching beard. Naked he was a hairball and I didn't get to see his cock before he went down on my cock. After a minute or two, I was more that willing to let Billy do anything he wanted. He got me from soft to rock hard in seconds and when I moaned that I was going to shoot. He didn't stop. I was afraid he was going to be mad when I came in his mouth. He wasn't. My cock head gets really sensitive during an orgasm, and I had always stopped thrusting with my wife as I unloaded. Billy kept on sucking and I couldn't believe the feelings. It was so pleasurable it was almost painful.
He sucked my dry and didn't stop until the last drop of cum was suctioned from my balls. I was exhausted.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to shoot in your mouth." I said weakly. Billy laughed.
"You might not have noticed," he said, "but I liked it. Those tangerine sized baby makers of yours were fully loaded." My cock was good sized but my balls were big, and I admit I was pleased to have someone notice them. I was lying on the bed with a man I had just met who was flicking his tongue on my piss slit trying to get the last drop of cum and talking.
I was also enjoying every minute of it and felt comfortable. Expecting guilt or disgust or confusion, I felt relaxed and comfortable. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I twitched and spurted another small gob of cum.
"Damn! Desert!" Billy said. I laughed. I told him I was new to this. He liked that. We talked for a while. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, but my interest in sex drops to zero after I shoot. I apologized for that but Billy seemed to know that and not be concerned. We talked for a while and I realized that all of the men on my crew were gay and most we free lancers. Billy said that it was difficult for an openly gay guy to get a job on a construction crew.
"That's too bad. They're all good men. They know their stuff." I said.
"There is a lot of substance abuse in construction workers." Billy said. "It's a very macho profession and many guys can't reconcile their sexual interests and the image of the job. They aren't swishy, but they like cock." he paused. "Do you like cock?"
"Really don't know. I wasn't interested earlier today." I said. "But after what you just did, I'm reconsidering!" Billy laughed.
"A blow job is an easy thing to like!" I laughed and thought a minute.
"It sure is!" I said.
"It was a lot more than just like, wasn't it?" Billy asked.
"How in hell did you know that?" I asked. "You must be a mind reader." As soon as I said that I recalled he was a counselor. He did this for a living. He laughed again.
"I don't want to shock you, but I'm not a virgin." Billy said. "You aren't the first guy I've sucked, and you aren't the first guy I've sucked the first time. Some guys remain tense and uneasy the whole time. Once they've popped, they want to get away as fast as they can. You loved it."
He was right about that. It had been good, and I had no desire to leave, and I knew that I wanted to do it again. Billy had finally abandoned his cock to mouth position and he was on the pillow next to me. I rolled over and touched him. I had a strange sensation of being a kid again with a teddy bear next to me. We got closer. He was erect and his cock touched me.
I felt pleased that I had sexually excited him. I felt his cock. Billy was a fire plug of a man, thick and stubby but his cock was long and thin, maybe six inches, and was capped by a mushroom head. The head was slippery and I swirled the fluid over the bloated mushroom. He moaned.
I knew exactly what he was feeling. Minutes before his tongue was doing the same thing to my head, and I was having the same reaction. I knew just how sensitive the organ must have been and pulled Billy closer. I scooted down in the bed and licked his cock head. Nature took its course and I had my first lesson in cock sucking. After a few minutes I came up for air and we kissed. He ground his cock into my body as we embraced and I felt him twitch as his warm, sticky cum squirted into the space between our bodies.
We fell asleep. I woke with Billy sucking my cock again. I was more relaxed this time, the climax was better and much to my surprise, I shot off another huge load. I left the house at three in the morning and went home. I knew that my life had changed.
I picked up Skeeter at 8:30 and we returned to the house. Skeeter had lost his licence and was without wheels. I wasn't tired at all from the later night. The painting looked even better that it had the night before. I made some calls and the curator, Ellen Smith, from the local museum came over to look.
"My God!" she said. "It's impressionist!" Ellen found a signature of a French artist and the date 1913. She had encyclopedic knowledge of local painting and realized it was done by an important French muralist who had visited Richmond to design a mural cycle for a public building. We peeled back some wall paper and found that the walls were also painted. She returned to the museum to do some further research.
She was followed by a reporter for the newspaper and later in the day, a television crew arrived. Ellen dispatched a pair of very handsome and very swishy men to look at removing the wallpaper.
Otto and his helper, Lance, looked like the Marlboro man and talked like PeeWee Herman. I was turned off until I discovered how good they were. They knew their stuff and removed a small test panel. They discovered that the painting was firmly attached to the wall. It had been done in the true fresco technique of painting on wet plaster rather than painting on plaster. The glue of the wallpaper was weak and had not damaged the painting.
I was exhausted that night and went home to watch my house on the evening news. It must have been a slow news day, because it was a long segment with Ellen, Otto and me interviewed. One of my old friends called and told me he had seen me. It was exciting, but that wasn't it too bad there were so many faggots in that part of town.
After I hung up the phone I ate dinner and went to bed. I woke at three in the morning thoroughly pissed. I wanted to call him us and say that he lived in nice part of town, but too bad there were so many idiots living there. I got back to sleep and stewed about it. When I woke, I was ready to move. I didn't want to live in the old neighborhood and associate with the social set there.
I had planned to renovate the house and move into it when it was finished, but now I didn't want it empty during the process. I would add a bath and kitchen to the rear wing and make an apartment to live in while renovating the house. I picked up Skeeter and went to the house. The neighbors all arrived with copies of the morning paper with a full page article on the house. I told them of my plan. They were enthusiastic since they also were afraid of arson or vandals. They were watching it, but having someone in the house was the best insurance policy.
Chuck, the architectural draftsman, came by on his way to work and I told him of my plan. He said he would sketch something out for me. Otto and lance returned and began removing a larger panel of wall paper to expose a section of the wall. The idea of getting rid of my suburban hose and its decorator selected furniture seemed liberating to me.
Billy came by the house in the late afternoon and I told him of my plans. He took me aside.
"I shouldn't tell you this, because it was told to me in confidence." he said. "Skeeter had the same plan."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"He was hoping to move in and live here free for watchdog services." Billy said. "You know he got divorced, his wife took his kids, came out, drank too much and lost his licence all in a 12-month period. He was hoping to have a rent-free period to get back on his feet."
"I had no idea." I said, "How is his drinking now?"
"I think he's turned the corner, but that rooming house he's in is not help." Billy said. I didn't know what to do with this information. I don't mind helping, but I also didn't want to become a therapist. Skeeter was a good carpenter but I wasn't sure about a room mate. Skeeter was a bit rough and ready.
The problem resolved itself. When I took Skeeter home that night after work, his apartment house was papered in condemned stickers. There was a police man at the door who let him in to get his things and there was a letter for him explaining that the city had condemned the building and he would get his rent refunded by the courts. There had been a minor fire in a rear apartment and when the city discovered the actual conditions in the building all hell broke loose.
Skeeter had a duffle bag and a boom box and that was about it. I must have looked surprised.
"My X got everything." he said. "The kids needed it. She sold all my stuff. " I took him to my house for the night. He was from West Virginia and didn't have many friends in the city. Skeeter wasn't a complainer but I could tell he was shocked. He took a shower in the guest bed room and came out looking almost respectable. We talked and I suggested he might camp in the house until I could get there. There was a toilet that worked and I was adding a shower. He looked at me as if I were Santa Claus.
I fixed dinner and I discovered that the boy could eat. He had been doing fast food and frozen dinners so my grilled steak, potatoes and corn on the cob were unmitigated successes. I am not a good cook, but Skeeter was the perfect guest. He liked everything and cleaned up afterwards.
Skeeter was a bright guy. He was just poorly educated. He was also a character. We were talking after dinner and I mentioned that Billy seemed like a nice guy.
"Real nice!" Skeeter said. "Helpful too. Funny, he's such a fur ball, you'd never guess he has such a thin cock." Skeeter had the construction worker's tendency to comment on everyone's genitals. I'm sure he had discussed every set of tits he had seen walk by the construction site. He didn't seem to notice that he had switched from tits to cocks.
"He sure loves to suck." I said without thinking. Skeeter looked at me.
"Not as much as I do." he said. He paused and looked me in the eye. "You might not think it to look at me, but I am one hell of a cum hound. I love the stuff." I smiled.
"Truthfully, Skeeter." I said. "I can't say that I had any clear vision of a cocksucker. Is it the cock or the cum you like?"
"Truthfully, Mr. Williamson," Skeeter said, "it's hard to separate the two. I'd hate to take one without the other." I got up and realized I was half hard. Skeeter noticed too, and he followed me to the bedroom. We stripped and Skeeter attached himself to my cock.
It hadn't occurred to me that there was a range in sucking techniques. Skeeter was as unlike Billy as could be. Skeeter was much more vigorous and deep throated me and seemed to contract his throat to massage my dick. He got me the point of shooting then slowed down and let me cool off. He did this three or four times and I was going crazy. I thought that my balls might explode if there was any more cum in them.
As the cum built up, I began to crave cock myself. The other night I had sucked Billy more to be polite than from desire. The desire was building and I found myself wanting Skeeter's cock. The other night Larry's cock had seemed beautiful, like Larry himself. Skeeter's was a hairy and veiny tube of man meat. I pivoted in the bed during one of Skeeter's rare lulls in sucking activity and licked his cock head.
I wanted to deep throat it but it was so big that I didn't get very far. It had seemed a bit gross and crude until it got in my throat. Skeeter oozed a rich sauce of pre cum that seemed to spurt out with every movement I made. There must be some sort of physiological connection between the taste and smell of an excited man and other men. Whatever it was I responded to it.
As I sucked Skeeter, I must have broken his concentration. Instead of pulling off when I got near a climax, he continued. I began to shoot. I had the feeling you get after you piss after a long wait. Except I was shooting cum rather than piss. I felt release and relief. It was wonderful. Skeeter popped and filled my mouth with his juice. I was so excited I hardly noticed.
"Damn that's good, Mr. Williamson!" Skeeter moaned.
"Skeeter. I think you can call me John now." I said. If Billy had been like a teddy bear in bed, Skeeter was a devoted puppy dog. I slept until dawn. When I woke, Skeeter's cock was at my head. We had fallen asleep in the 69 position. His cock was soft and I licked it to life.
"My life has taken a turn for the better." Skeeter said as he woke. "Damn, this is nice."
At breakfast we talked about the work ahead. I had been hiring day labor, but knew that I needed a more stable workforce. I had run a big firm and I wanted to get more organized. I needed dependable staff.
"You can found an all homo-faggot construction company!" Skeeter said. "There must be lots of guys who would love to work where there is no harassment, no need to hide your boy fiends." At first I thought it was a joke, but the more I thought about it the better the idea seemed. A week later, I had founded the Millennium Construction Company.